#sake of answering the questions of. can this be done. and is it possible to narratively critique canon and fandom treatment of emilia. that

[split-spectrum]

Concessions

Chapter 3

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Tags: SMUT (MDNI), oral sex (male receiving), orgasm denial, dubcon, noncon, Obi Wan gets chained to the wall and edged within an inch of his life

Description: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him.

☆☆☆

You should end this. 

For the sake of your friendship. For the promise you'd made to help him finish the Nikkama. For your own sanity. You should really end the call. But it seems too cruel, now, after what you've done. 

When you'd sent the pictures, the most you'd expected out of him had been irritation. Your goal had been to disrupt his thoughts; possibly to ruin his day with distraction, the way he'd ruined yours. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but sometimes with Obi Wan it's so difficult not to give in to the urge to tease; to toy with him. Now, the only question left is how far you're willing to go to atone.

The right thing to do would be to shut off your commlink. To look into his glassy eyes, ignore his indecent, combative gaze, and click that impossibly merciful button. But no matter how long your finger rests at it, you can't bring yourself to press down. 

Obi Wan hasn't said another word. He's hardly moved. But what little patience may have remained in his expression when he'd answered is now gone. The deep blue of his irises is hidden within the gradient of the hologram, but the black of his stretched pupils is easy to pick up when he widens his eyes accusingly. As if to say, "Well?"

He's waiting, against his will, to be put out of his misery. Cut him loose; end the call, or...

"Give me a moment."

You shut off your commlink before he can respond, then dress yourself, tying your robes with clumsy, hurried fingers, and slip quietly out into the hallway.

Trying to remain true to your promise of only a moment while keeping your footsteps soft enough not to wake any of the other Jedi in their quarters, you reach Obi Wan's door, rapping twice before he opens it. You find him in a state of half-undress, trousers fastened at his waist, but mid-section still bare. He's pulled his arms through his light undershirt, still working on wrapping it around his torso and tucking it as he steps back from the door to let you in. 

"You're dressed," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady as you walk forward, closing the distance between you. "I said I would only be a moment."

He finishes tucking his shirt, the open neckline still giving ample view of the soft curls that are begging you to run your hands over his chest. "Yes, but a moment for what, you didn't quite say."

You look down his body, backing him toward the corner of a wooden dresser near the doorway. You line your hips up with his, watching as he mirrors you, either consciously or subconsciously. "You're awfully clever, Obi Wan. Let's not pretend it wasn't obvious."

His bright pink lips hang slightly open when he stares down at your hands, traveling upward. The blush begins to creep into his face. "I... couldn't possibly be so presumptuous."

Your hands find his stomach, your noses now inches apart, and the soft smirk on your face evaporates when you draw your gaze back up to his. Using your thumb to peel open his shirt, you loosen it from his waistband and slide your other hand across the warmth of his skin, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Your lips naturally gravitate towards his, when suddenly a thought stops you painfully short: This isn't a passion-soaked tryst between two lovers. This isn't the closing of a romance that's long been harbored beneath the working partnership of two friends. This is you, helping him find relief, and nothing more. 

You drag your eyes away from his mouth, down to his neck, and the urge gushes to taste the skin there, too. Instead, you pull back while turning your hand down into his waistband. His eyes, which had been fixed on your face, roll to the ceiling. 

"You shouldn't-" He shifts, rubbing up against the dresser. "This is hardly-" he tries, not finishing either thought. 

One of his hands comes up to the small of your back, touching you with a respectful lack of weight or pressure, somewhere between holding you closer and warning you off. When you slither your palm between his legs and stroke it over the hot, dribbling length of him, though, he changes his grip. He grabs your waist and squeezes, looking down between your bodies, watching you touch him. 

You hadn't realized until now just how much you'd wanted his hands on you. Feeling him grip you hard, pulling you closer as his hips start to shallowly draw up with each pull of your hand - you're starting to ache. Bending the fingers of your other hand around the fabric, you start to pull down his trousers. 

His hand flies to your wrist, and you freeze. His eyes are closed, his breaths shallow. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. 

"No," he pants. "No, we- we can't."

He opens his eyes and you nearly pull away before you catch the way he's looking at you. It's clear he's being serious. But there's also... something else. A certain kind of frustration; almost desperation. 

You flatten your hand, grazing it over him, watching his eyes go foggy and his brows knead tight. He doesn't let go of your wrist, but he doesn't pull away. 

Suddenly, it all makes sense - why he chose you to help him in this; to be his witness. 

He trusts you. And more importantly, he knows you. He knows that when he needs it, you'll find a way to bend the rules, while allowing him to keep his lofty ideals intact. Because you've done it in the past, time and time again.

Though he'd never admit it, your willingness to compromise has often been an asset to him. You could skirt the rules, blurring the edges of the safe, moral choices, while he got to feign uninvolvement. Whether intentional or not, he'd chosen you because some part of him knew this.

And lucky for him, you know a path you can take, just as you always do. 

"Obi Wan, let me ask you something," you say, enjoying the unsteady breath he takes when you slide your thumb slowly up and down his shaft. "Do you trust me?"

You graze his head, then slip your hand away, and he drops your wrist, immediately gripping the edge of the dresser behind him. He gathers himself, and eventually, he nods. "Yes. Of course."

You straighten up, fixing his clothing back in place. "I hope you're not about to change your mind. Because I have an idea."

--

A few minutes later, after you've convinced him into one of the small cargo ships the jedi temple keeps on hand for communal use, Obi Wan is no further enlightened on the details, and he's starting to lose patience. 

"And why can you not just tell me the location?"

You force an easy smile, though your stomach is buzzing with anticipation. You need him to have faith that you know what you're doing. And you do. You convince yourself that you do. "I already gave you the coordinates."

You'd sent them directly from your commlink to the navicomputer, yet Obi Wan had insisted on flying manually. He glances down at the screen in front of him, with glowing numbers and no map. "Yes, somewhere in the Federal District. Very helpful. Is there a reason you haven't chosen to be more specific?"

With a smirk, you answer, "As I said before, you're clever enough to know the answer to that."

He glances out the window, clearly suppressing a scowl, then brings his attention back to the lane in front of him, shifting a hand to adjust his speed. "In other words, I won't like it."

You press your lips together, watching the shadows roll over him as you speed through the flashing lights of Coruscant nightlife.

"I never said that." You pause. "But you certainly wouldn't approve of it."

He shoots you another look, then brings his gaze forward again as you reach your destination. He can't take his eyes away from the monitor since he's in the middle of landing, but his scowl grows more pronounced. The Center for Republic Military Operations looms in front of you. 

"What in blazes are we doing here?"

"I thought you were trusting me."

He follows you down the ramp, keeping his voice low. "Yes, but the extent of my trust is rather proportional to the circumstance." He nods at a passing Coruscant Guard solider, then catches up to you. "And at the moment, they're about even."

You just smile. "Good. I can work with that."

You turn to enter the main building, Obi Wan trailing close behind. More soliders pass you on either side of the hallway as you make your way to security check-in. You walk past the manned stations and head straight to the automated keycard wall. You find the number you're looking for and enter your security code.

"You've dragged me here to work an extra shift in the detention cells?"

At that, you can't help but smile wider. You pick up the key card when it appears in the slot, then brush past him to head down the hallway. "In a manner of speaking."

You get the attention of one of the guardsmen as you near the end of the cell block. "Officer, we're conducting an investigation and we need to inspect cell 98. Please tell the other guards we are not to be disturbed."

The guard accepts your orders, assuring you they'll be passed along, and continues on his way. You swipe the keycard and, hesitatingly, Obi Wan follows you inside. You look both ways down the hall before closing the door, double-checking the lock. 

"Well, if you were looking for privacy, you've certainly found it, but that wasn't-"

"I wasn't looking for privacy," you interrupt, stepping toward him and reaching out. He looks around warily, but allows you closer. You take his wrists in your hands, walking him back. "I thought about what you said."

He raises his brows, saying nothing as you clasp around him gently at first, then start to firm your grip. "I do want to help you through this." 

His eyes widen and he glances behind you to the empty walls of the cell. "You don't need to-"

"Oh, I know that," you tell him sweetly, then press his arms upward. 

He pushes back, shaking his head as his back hits the wall. He hisses your name in admonishment. "The cams."

"Are broken," you assure him, lifting his arms above his head as his resistance lessens. "And the cells are soundproof, as you know."

"How do you-"

You activate the switch on the wall beside his hands. "I was down here last week with Master Sinube. We had to move some prisoners and we couldn't use this cell for that reason." The binders glow softly above Obi Wan's head. "Cams won't be fixed until next week."

He follows your gaze upward and a beat of silence passes. You wait for him to protest. You wait for him to rip his arms down and push you off. But all he does is drop his gaze and let out a low breath of air. The sound he makes, sighing softly through his nose, is disapproving, but the intensity of his stare betrays what he really wants. 

You press the button, locking the binders around his wrists, then stare back at him, watching the emotions swirl in his eyes. It's like you can see him traveling through all the same thoughts you'd had when this idea had come to you back in his quarters.

In any other scenario he would be giving in. He'd be at fault for not stopping you. But now... You've taken away his choice. You've lifted that burden from his shoulders. All he can do is protest. And you're ready to see if he's willing to do so, or pretend innocence as he's done so many times before.

You sink to your knees in front of him, sliding your palms down to his thighs, then running your hands up beneath his tunic. Your fingers curl at his waist, slowly dragging his clothes down, and you feel his cock twitch when you graze your thumb over the bunched fabric. You snap your eyes up, waiting from him to say the word. 

His chest is rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His eyes are piercing you with an aching, tight-jawed, guilty look. But he's silent.

Overwhelmingly, obliteratingly silent. 

You finally free him, staring with an obscene lack of restraint at the glossy river of precum soaking down the side of his dick. 

"Oh," you murmur softly. "Obi Wan..."

At the edge of your view, you see his eyes flutter heavily when you say his name. You gently settle your fingers around him, enjoying his soft breath of relief. Sliding your thumb up along his shaft, you spread out the slick, coating more of his skin. 

This should be a utilitarian exercise in urgency. You should be using your hand to get him off, hard and fast. But you left 'should' behind a long time ago. So you slowly turn your wrist, pumping your hand a few times, not with any real pressure, just for the pleasure of running up and down the full length of him. Then you lick your palm and do it again, listening to him suck air above you. 

You swallow, caught gazing up at him, and have to urge yourself to keep going. You want to go slow; wring out of him every carnal desire he's pent up for the last several months. But you're already pushing it by drawing it out this long, and part of you is still afraid he'll ask you to stop. 

When you finally lower your mouth to his pulsing, straining cockhead, you suck at the tip, flicking your eyes up to look at him again. His hairline is dark with sweat and he's panting like he's losing an agonizing battle. You lock onto his gaze and flatten your tongue to lap slowly at the slit of his cock, watching his eyes widen as your mouth drops open to swirl lazy circles. 

"You taste so good," you drawl before slipping your lips around him, suckling softly. 

"Ah- hmm..." That earns you a sound something like a sudden, abrupt hum. Like he's trying to get ahold of himself before words begin to fall out. 

You drag your lips back up to the tip, then spread them wide and push his head inside the wet heat of your mouth. He goes rigid. Closing your eyes, you focus on giving him all the warm, soft pressure he needs. You engulf his thick head like he's going to pull away at any moment, hollowing your cheeks to suck him sweetly, realizing to your dismay that you could do this for hours.

When you open your throat and take him deeper at last, he rewards you with a loud, plaintive groan. He hits the back of your throat, making you gag for a moment, tears springing to your eyes. You squeeze your legs together, soaking between them, and swallow his twitching cock. You make a small sound in the back of your throat as you wrap your hand around him and start to bob your head, one hand pushing into the back of his leg to bring him closer and the other hand drowning in your own spit, pressed tight below your mouth and running over the length of him as you find your rhythm. 

"Stars-" he grinds out. You open your throat and take him even deeper, watching his mouth fall open at first, and then watching him snap it shut to look down at you, face screwed up in a pained expression. His eyes crinkle hard at the edges and his brows pin together, a deep line creasing his face between them. 

"This feel good?" you pop your mouth off for a moment to ask him. "You can tell me."

You slide him back in, falling right back into your rhythm, waiting for an answer. But he says nothing. You want to be generous. You want to keep going. In fact, nothing could possibly make you want to stop. But you need to hear him say it just once. You won't be doing this again, and you can't pass up your one chance to hear him say that he liked it. That he wanted it. 

You feel his cock throb beneath your tongue, but he doesn't answer. You pull away again, pumping him with your hand. 

"Come on." You lower your voice. "You can say it."

His teeth are just visible when he opens his mouth, almost baring them at you. His gaze is somewhere between warning and pleading. 

"Tell me it feels good, Obi Wan." You're practically suffocating him with your mouth between interrogations, now. You squeeze him with your slippery hand, lips gliding over him in punishing, repetitive strokes. 

You gasp off, panting, "Does it feel good?"

"Yes," he moans. 

You're practically dripping, pulsing between your legs at the hoarse groan he lets out. You can't help it. You want to hear more. You pull off again. 

"Would you like me to keep going?"

His head lolls to the side and a harsh sigh escapes from deep in his chest, as if to say you know the answer. As if he's scolding you for asking it, and desperate not to reply. 

So you relent, and you give him back the slick, perfect heat of your mouth until he's bucking his hips softly with each dip of your head to meet you, and you look up again to see the wrecked look on his face. His cock is pulsing, his breath wild and ragged. It's like he's ready to come, but for some reason, he's holding back. 

Then you realize it. You haven't told him, and he can't ask.

"Mmf," you mumble, pulling his cock free of your mouth one last time to tell him, "You can come in my mouth, just like this. Please. Come down my throat."

"Oh, fucking-" he spits out, then seems to melt into your grip, hips falling out of rhythm as his head tilts up-

...only to snap it back down, his body curling in and shuddering violently to a stop when the door lock clicks open. 

His cock pops free of your mouth, bouncing when he jerks away, and you're already standing up and scrambling to put his clothes in place before your mind can fully register what's going on. 

The door swings open just as you desperately slap the button to free Obi Wan's hands and straighten your own clothes. A pair of soldiers look extremely surprised to see you. 

"Master Jedi," one of them says, trading his looks between you and Obi Wan, clearly not sure whom to address first. "I... I didn't know this cell was, um, occupied."

You take a step to the side, trying to block anything unprofessional in Obi Wan's appearance. "Yes, I checked in and gave orders not to disturb us. We are... investigating the... presence of the criminal who occupied this cell last week."

"I see," the guard answers. He doesn't seem suspicious to find you here. They both just seem put-off by your jumpy demeanor. 

"Yes, so if you would be so kind as to-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, no one told us the orders. I've escorted the security technician down here to work on fixing the cams. I'm afraid you'll need to come back later."

"Oh, I..." you trail off.

"That's quite alright, gentlemen," Obi Wan finishes for you. "We can report our findings thus far. Have a nice evening."

He gestures calmly toward the door and you obediently join him in leaving, grateful for the end of the conversation. 

It's a long, stiff, quiet walk down the hallway. Thankfully, you don't cross paths with anyone else on the way out. You're nearly at the other end of the hall before you dare to lean in and whisper, "We can, um... We still have the ship."

He gives you a quick head shake in response, and you can feel the frustration in it. "For thirty more minutes before Master Fisto will be looking for it. We need to have it back at the dock before the next shift."

You take a breath, realizing that wasn't a 'no'. 

"Well," you say slowly; carefully. "We still have your quarters."

Back at his quarters, he can't pretend innocence anymore, but perhaps you've pushed him past that.

You wait. And wait. And he doesn't answer. 

And you board the ship. And he doesn't answer. 

And when you land back at the dock a few minutes later, you realize: He's given you his answer. 

--

A/N: The next chapter might be the last; possibly two more, depending on how long it ends up. Please feel free to comment or message me to be added to the tag list. :)

Taglist: @slinkygail @wheres-mylove @millercontracting @cacti5539 @b0xerdancer-writes

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[suffarustuffaru]

i just. remembered again that i have a fembaru fic but also the premise is. Very Messed Up hah and also it was written before the canon genderbent au with its official genderbend names for everyone so its also outdated on top of that T^T i had like. Genderqueer subtext going on too. but i also wrote this fic like almost two years ago and havent touched it in forever so im unsure if i should go back to it…. o.o but i would love to finish it one day if only for my own satisfaction hah… i had a very detailed outline for ch 2 (its a twoshot) and several scenes written already anyway!! (and also i would probably update those names, make minor edits, etc etc hmm…)

[wip]

Please make it possible to hide users' posts without blocking them. Like, in cases where a person hasn't done anything wrong to be blocked, but you just don't like their posts.

Answer: Hello, @deithwen!

As it turns out, we’ve received this feature request a lot over the years. Usually, it comes in as wanting the ability to “mute” other blogs on Tumblr. While we would love to build it, we’ve balked at it a bit because of its technical and product complexity. Let us explain what that means:

In terms of technical complexity, our current blocking feature is closest to how “muting” would work. Our current blocking feature may seem simple, but it’s very complex because of how big Tumblr is. Every time we fetch a list of blogs for you or anyone on Tumblr, we have to also fetch the list of who you’re blocking, and who’s blocking you, and filter out anyone with that block relationship. This mapping of who’s-blocking-who is stored in a directional way right now, so the “cost” of loading that list gets higher the more people you’re blocking and the more people who are blocking you. If you’re blocking 1,000 blogs, we have to check that list a lot. If you’re being blocked by 1,000 blogs, that’s another big list to check against.

In technical terms, this is a “many-to-many” relationship, which is almost always incredibly difficult to manage while not degrading the experience of using a platform like Tumblr. The more people who are blocking, the harder it is to store those lists in a way that’s easy to check, but we’re working on making it smoother. The vast majority of people don’t block many others, if at all, so it’s never been a huge problem. But the outliers who block thousands of others (or are blocked by thousands of others) can degrade performance for everyone over enough time.

Adding muting would throw on top of that yet another list of blogs to check, increasing the complexity of something that’s already pretty complex. It helps that muting would be one-directional and not bi-directional (as in, it doesn’t matter who’s muting you), but, as that list of muted blogs grows, your experience may degrade further. So we’d need to solve for that, which is definitely doable. It would just take time—and lots of it.

And, as a product, Tumblr is already pretty confusing to people trying to figure out what “blocking” means already, as well as our other filtering options. Up until fairly recently, blocking was almost entirely one-directional, the opposite way you’d expect: blocking made it so the blocked person couldn’t see you, not that you couldn’t see them. We’ve been updating blocking to work both ways instead, which is more common on social media these days. Similarly, the options to filter tags versus content cause a lot of confusion because they don’t work the same way as each other.

So if we wanted to add another filtering option to that mix, “muting” blogs, we’d need to be conscious of how all of those options work together—and are confusing in context with each other. We should really clean up that experience to be more streamlined and simple, not more complex. And I didn’t even mention the oddity of how different settings apply to your primary blog versus your sideblogs if you have more than one blog!

Taken together, it is a great idea for us to clean all of this up, improve our existing options here, and add “muting” for even more control and granularity. Sadly, however, it just isn’t high enough on our list of priorities to tackle anytime soon. We don’t want to simply tack on muting for the sake of doing it—we want to do a better job than that. I hope that makes sense!

Thanks for your question. It was an important one to address. If anything should change here, you will get news through the usual channels: here at WIP, or at @changes. 

[ascesabo]

sometimes i want to reach through the screen and shake sabo by the shoulders because. god. there's just so much going on with him.

he's first introduced through the veil of luffy's memories- here he's just another feral jungle kid, sticking it out with ace and luffy, the 'nicer' brother in young luffy's eyes. and then boom. you find out he's a runaway noble trying to escape his abusive, neglectful family- and this changes nothing, they still get to become sworn brothers, but just as quickly as this is resolved, his asshole of a dad takes the three of them hostage. and what does sabo do? he gives up the little sliver of freedom he'd fought for, is willing to become miserable and lonely again if it means ace and luffy are spared. and then he comes home to find that in his absence, his parents have already found a replacement! great!

and he doesn't even get to address how fucked up that is, because stelly runs his mouth and now sabo's too busy trying to figure out how to stop his brothers and their home from getting burnt to the ground. he never gets to give them a proper goodbye- he exhausts himself trying to reach them, but he can't because. you know. he's ten. so where does this leave sabo? ten years old, with nowhere to go- he sets out to sea to try and start over, and for the crime of wanting to escape a terrible life, he's punished with an explosion to the face. he loses his memories, his brothers lose him- and so the cycle continues.

then the army saves him, takes him in; he's essentially a child soldier, with how prodigious of a fighter he is from the get-go. but hey, he thinks he's finally found his footing, even if his past's a blur to him- then it all comes flooding back. in the worst way possible. he sees his brother's corpse and he remembers, but it doesn't matter, does it? he's too late, ace is gone, and sabo's lost ten years of a life he could have shared with his brothers. we don't even know how (if, even) he recovers from this- except for a single passing statement from koala, asking him if he's 'had that dream again' because he'd been crying in his sleep. this is never brought up or addressed again. great!plus, we never do find out if getting blown up at the ripe old age of ten could have left any lasting fire-related trauma; and if it does, what does that mean for sabo, who's pretty much made of it, now?

both of these questions are answered at once- sabo treats the fire as if it's ace. it's ace's legacy he's carrying on, and it's ace he seeks freedom for. he copes by making sure ace lives on in his flames, and how can he ever hate the fire living in him if that fire is all he has left of the brother he never got to see again?

i just have to wonder about him, because he's got so many Issues that just. don't ever get addressed? every time we see him deal with his grief (episode of sabo, his own retelling of events in dressrosa) we never really discover anything about him. i wonder how it felt to finally remember the childhood that eluded him, just to find out he was an unwanted, replacable child. how he feels, living with the knowledge that he could have done something to save ace, that he'd failed to remember the two people he loved the most? i wonder just how terribly that guilt must weigh down on him- because where luffy's already begun to heal, sabo still sees ace in everything he does. his title of flame emperor is a direct callback to ace's final attack in his fight against blackbeard. he talks to his goddamn fire like his brother is still in front of him, which is sweet and heartbreaking and, considering his backlog of unaddressed trauma... incredibly unhealthy. i know these will probably be left unresolved for the sake of moving the story forward- but god, sabo, are you okay?

[sshadowritestoriess]

hihi!! Ty for answering my question lol 🫶 I was wondering if you could do nsfw hcs for ramattra, zen, and genji? gn afab if possible 🫰

Sure thing here’s some general hcs of mine!

Ramattra NSFW

He’s absolutely demisexual, probably even leaning on ace. Sex just isn’t something he thinks about or craves until there’s a very specific moment with someone he trusts that would make him consider it

He’d be entirely and completely shocked that a human would find attraction to him in that way. Cue this ravager being absolutely floored by the idea that he had somehow aroused someone just by existing

For your first time, he probably asked a couple hundred questions before either of you ended up doing anything

You’re certain? With him? What had he done to elicit this response? It’s not just an odd attraction to omnics in general? This really isn’t some twisted joke? What makes you believe he’d be a sufficient partner? You understand he can’t actually make anything of this, and that this would merely be for the sake of pleasure? What do you imagine him doing? You’re not afraid? What if he hurt you? Wait— you want him to do what to you—?!

He indulges your urges for the sake of his curiosity, and entertainment. While he would have a complete understanding of how the act of procreation works, he’d still have no clue what he’s doing. But to hell if he would admit that— he’s a very fast learner, after all

Zero performance anxiety despite his level of expertise. You hungered for him once, before ever knowing what he was capable of, and he had confidence that he could make sure you’d feel just as starved for him once again

He would find having control of your body’s reactions the most exciting part of this. He likes roaming his hands around you, feeling you up and watching you lean into his touch and make noises that encourage him to continue

He makes noises reminiscent to a purr when he’s satisfied with something.

But it’s also conflicting, learning to be gentle in this kind of setting. Everything else he’s ever done came with a roughness he was used to, always needing to exert some amount of strength. He fought humans, he’d never had to please one

So sex is rather more a form of play for him, and you his toy. He is more than capable of experiencing pleasure, and he doesn’t dislike it— but he prefers to see how quickly he can get you to come undone

Or, test how long you can last.

He’ll try to kiss you. A gentle pulse from his faceplate into your cheek or neck, that somewhat tickles and surprises you. And he’d do it again to hear your laugh while he curls his fingers in you

And he enjoys partaking in your kinks, if you have the confidence to share them. He wouldn’t be so against giving some things a try, and would find some that truly do enhance the experience for him as well

Anything that’s done to him would have to be earned with trust, however. Especially something like wireplay— delicate parts of himself that could cause uncomfortable damage if handled carelessly. You’d have to build up a lot of faith in order to get the sweet reward of his startled whimpers whenever you tug on such an intricate system

His orgasm is a slow system override that causes his entire body to go tense. Everything in him strains at once, overheating, and a low growl emits from his vocalizer for the few seconds it takes his form to practically attack itself with a harsh reset. He tends to grab tight to something as it happens, to the point of shaking as he fights against powering off, fans as loud as ever. And then he’ll relax, a huge sigh will leave him, and the small vents in his back will release hot air that got trapped in his chassis.

But now and again he may end up too overwhelmed that he is unable to remain conscious, and he will black out for a moment before restarting. He was just not built to endure these kinds of sensations, but that didn’t make the experience any less fun for him

Overall he does this mostly for you, more than he would for himself. He has pride that you would want for him in this way, and he has little reason to refuse it

Zenyatta NSFW

He’s not the best with implications, so you’d have to be pretty straightforward when you ask

And you’d be shocked, every time, to hear him calmly accept the invitation as if you’d merely asked him out for lunch.

Before you, he hadn’t met anyone who wanted to try such an activity with him before. He was very curious how this would go— then you’d find yourself bashful when he asks when and where like you were organizing a meeting: “Do you have a preferred time or place?”

Then when you both would meet, he would ask patiently, “Where do we begin?”

When he removes his clothes, he folds them neatly to the side— though with an efficient quickness that is typically unlike him

If you have him undress you, he does so in the same way he would for himself. Any buttons are carefully undone, zippers are slowly dealt with, and he’d ask so kindly for you to raise your arms when he lifts your top up over your head

Absolutely a service top. He has a preference to be told what you want and are feeling up to, and he will carry out these commands thoroughly

A hand will occasionally stray to where he wants it, though, if one of them isn’t too busy. This could either be him touching you or himself, depending on how far along you both are

He likes when you sit on top of him, so he can see everything that’s going on. His astral hands sometimes ghost around your form to enhance what ministrations he’s doing, or better keep you in place

But if you’re feeling a preference to top, he’s nothing short of eager to let you take full control of everything. He has complete trust in you that you wouldn’t do anything to harm him while vulnerable like this

He’s very verbal. He explained once, something about vocal release allowing for focus on another sense, or whatever. But regardless, he made some heavenly sounds when you would touch him

You knew how collected Zenyatta always was, so it was ethereal when you’d make him break character for a moment— whether that be something as little as hearing him cuss, or as great as making him lose his patience

And the latter was rare. There is a lot the monk can endure, seemingly without a breaking point. So in the event that he has been ‘fed up’, truly he just understood you wanted to get a rise out of him. So he would oblige, and turn things around for your amusement. Though he absolutely could have gone longer, he would not wish to bore you

He never marked you, he was always careful. Even if you asked him to be more rough, he wasn’t very interested in causing pain— but he would try, if it’s what you truly wanted.

He likes being surprised. Catching him off guard always gets a good noise out of him

But he also likes to take things slowly, as well. Truly relish in all the feelings and converse about what’s on your mind while he takes you— or while you coax him in

The first time he had orgasmed actually startled you— a brief flash of light emitted from his body that quickly vanished when he crossed his arms over his chest, arching into a loud moan, like he was trying to keep something in. It was quick, and he’d collapse again with heavy breaths, apologizing quickly for having scared you

And this happens just about every time. If you told him not to hold back, he would refuse— his astral form would only mitigate the build-up and he would be left without release

But he also really enjoys aftercare; putting you both back together. He likes rubbing your back after cleaning up the mess, and remains sat beside you until you’re ready to get up again— or sleep.

He loves basking in the afterglow with you, and sometimes he’ll also fall asleep. Even more rarely, he’ll fall asleep before you— but then you’d end up waking to having a meal in bed that he would have prepared just for you

Genji NSFW

He has scarcely had (if any at all) intimate moments with anyone ever since he was made anew. It’s just hard for him

As much as he’s come to terms with his body, there’s still some essence of repulsion that remains— it’s unnatural, this combination of metal and flesh. He finds it difficult to really be engaged with that kind of stuff anymore

He also just assumed no one would be interested, so he never initiated. You would kinda have to bring it up first, and probably even convince him that you’re serious

Genji would be very eager despite the distaste has for his body, though try to hide how ecstatic he is about someone wanting him the way he is anyways. Just another little nudge forward that made him feel better about himself

Even if it might have been awhile, he never lost his touch. You would find his hands as skillful with your body as he was with a blade, years of training guiding the ministrations that would make your legs tremble

He knows just where all the right spots are, and he’ll prod at them with vigor. He’ll have you come undone before he gets even gets a chance to please himself as well

He’ll keep his helmet on unless you ask to see him, and he’ll make you promise to have him put it back on if you feel at all put off by his appearance

But if you take his visor and put it on yourself, he would find it very difficult not to suddenly ravish you and cum as soon as possible

He would eat at your neck like a starved animal, biting a little too hard— but not long enough to earn a complaint. He’d suck and kiss at your skin fervently, leaving loving bruises in his wake to make sure you wouldn’t forget where he’s been

And god does he make a lot of noises. He’s very whiney, if it had to be described; drags of his breath eliciting quiet pulls of his voice in very whimper-like sounds. He could not keep quiet

Even when he ate you out, he was practically murmuring his gratitude around a mouthful of your sex as if this were the last thing he’d ever eat

He would be very passionate to give you as good of a time as he could possibly show, leaving no room for any disappointment. Faster? You got it. Touch here? Of course. You want to ride him? By all means.

He’s the quick and intense sort, but his libido would come racing back so he could go quite a few rounds. His stamina far outmatched yours

And after you’re done he would kiss your hands and thank you, then offer to run a bath for you. (With hope that you would invite him to join you, so he’d have further opportunity to tend to whatever tensions still lie beneath your skin)

[harmonictechnicality]

*my humble offering to @steddie-week (and the s4 anniversary!) | ao3 link here*

Like most bad ideas, it starts with a question. Eddie is sitting on the ground, messing with the laces on his sneakers. Tying, untying. Mindless shit.

Steve is taking up the whole damn park bench, practically laying on it. Hasn’t said a word in the last ten minutes. 

And Eddie sort of hates the silence. Would like Silence to get decapitated with a chainsaw or something equally gruesome. Needs that particular volume to die the loudest death possible. For the sake of irony, of course.

So Eddie kills it - the silence, that is. The lull taking up all this air between him and Steve Harrington.

He kills it with a question:

“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Steve’s head snaps in Eddie’s direction. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man.” Steve sort of twitches, right between his eyebrows. Shoulders going lopsided, unnaturally angled. Uncomfortable.

Eddie shouldn’t be feeding off this tension so much. Judging by Steve’s body language though, the answer must be a good one. 

He leans forward, almost singing the words. “You sure about that?”

Pushing is fun, darkly playful. Eddie enjoys getting under people’s skin, crawling around till they shrivel up. Is it wrong? Morally unethical? Well… the verdict is still out on that.

Besides, he’s been around Harrington enough lately to know that it doesn’t take much to make him surrender. 

“Fine.” Steve huffs. He lifts himself to a sitting position, knees bobbing up and down. It takes all of Eddie’s leftover energy to not gloat about how easy that was - how quickly Steve caved. Teasing can (will) come later - right now, he wants answers. 

Secrets.

“So, Robin and I went to this party in the city… got pretty shitfaced.”

Eddie throws his head back. “Lame.” 

“Story’s not over.”

Oh? Interesting. Eddie places his hand over his heart, then waves it back at Steve. “My sincere apologies. Continue.”

Steve rolls his eyes, clears his throat (not that he needed to but whatever). “Anyways, she somehow convinced me to go to this tattoo parlor with her. Said her friend worked there and she wanted to visit them, so-”

“Wait wait wait. Don’t tell me this story ends with you getting a butterfly tattoo on your lower back.”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

There’s this serious expression in Steve’s eyes. A combination of dark colors and pure annoyance. Eddie is sane enough to know that annoyance isn’t something he should find endearing, but he does. On Steve.

Just a little.

He shrugs, and Steve continues. “Well, it turns out her friend wasn’t working that night. But the piercing lady was working and was like… superpersuasive.”

“Look, Munson, I don’t remember many details after that. Like I said, totally shitfaced. I just know when Robin and I woke up the next morning, we were so fucking sore. And not like, hangover sore either. We were sore in the same exact place. Right here.”

Steve’s pointer finger is gesturing at his stomach. Right in the center.

No. Absolutely not. Either Steve had severe stomach pains that night, or he’s suggesting that…

No.

“Yeah. There you have it.”  Steve says. Blankly nodding into space. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done is get a matching belly button piercing with my best friend. Jesus christ, that’s freaky to say out loud.”

The Silence sneaks up on him. Stabs Eddie in the back when he isn’t looking because he’s too busy trying to imagine Steve Harrington with a piercing of any kind. Let alone the most famously slutty kind.

Wrong, so very wrong. He should never let the words slutty and piercing clutter up his imagination while thinking about Steve. The silence has been too long now. Gotta say something, anything.

“Bullshit.” His tone is harsh. Doesn’t mean for it to be. “There’s no fucking way.”

Steve pouts, crinkles his forehead. “I swear on my car - I’m not making this up.”

And see, here’s where the bad idea comes in. This stormcloud of pouting and piercings and chest hair, it’s all becoming dangerous. That urge to provoke is in Eddie’s bloodstream. He has to tip the scale, twist the knife of chaos as far as he can. Self control is out the fucking window.

“Prove it then.”

“Fuck off, Munson.” Steve laughs, maybe scoffs. Either reaction is a little confusing. “Seriously, this isn’t truth or dare.”

The truth is already out though. It’s the dare that Eddie is hungry for. “You can’t just drop a nuclear statement like that and expect me not to ask to see it.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask.”

Eddie clamors over to Steve, all theatrics and fake agony. “Please, Lord Harrington.” He clasps both hands together, rests his cheek on Steve’s knee. Batting his eyelashes till Steve cracks a smile. “Let me see the metal that has punctured thy skin. I beg of thee.”

Steve shoves him off. “You’re such a dork.” It’s lighthearted, barely qualifies as shoving. He’s become way too decent for actual aggression these days. 

A fact Eddie tirelessly clings to when Steve stands up. Lifts the bottom of his shirt and puts it in his fucking mouth.

“Holy shit.” Eddie mutters. No time to consider how pathetic it comes across.

In theory, this should all be stupidly unattractive. The way Steve holds his shirt between his teeth. The way he mumbles incoherent shit between the fabric in his mouth. The way he keeps pointing at it, poking it.

That shiny, teardrop-shaped metal. Just… hanging from Steve’s belly button, swinging slightly with every small movement. Eddie’s eyes start to swing with it, back and forth. Back and forth. Maybe those roadside hypnotists are onto something, because the dumbest piece of jewelry has Eddie captivated.

He could just be captivated by the guy attached to the dumbest piece of jewelry. Piercing.

Jesus Christ. Eddie really didn’t think his life could get any weirder. But here he is. Staring at Steve Harrington’s belly button piercing. Fucking mouth-breathing at the sight of it. Probably seconds away from salivating. 

He really should consider seeing a licensed psychologist. Fix his terminally horned-up brain once and for all.

“It’s…” Eddie swallows, his eyelids feel heavier than his stare. “Not what I expected.”

The fabric drops from Steve’s mouth. Unevenly falls around his waist... hips. “What were you expecting?”

To laugh. To mock. Threaten blackmail for six lifetimes, maybe more.

Instead, Eddie gazing at it the way people gaze through telescopes. He peers lower, tries to see if it’s silver or gold. Hard to tell at sunset. None of Eddie’s typical instincts are sinking in. All he wants is to feel the metal rolling over his tongue or get it trapped between his teeth. See how it tastes mixed up with Steve’s skin.

“Fuck.” Yikes. Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud. Straightens up from his questionable position, does it so fast that his spine sounds like bubble wrap. “Sorry, sorry.”

What the hell is he apologizing for? Cussing? Having a skeletal structure? Christ almighty, he’s a mess.

Steve’s lips spread into a grin, doesn’t look like his own. Looks more like the kind Eddie might give after pulling off a successful decoy in one of his campaigns. “What’s wrong with your face, man?”

“My face?”

“It’s all…” Steve trails off. Sighs and sits back down on the bench. “Nevermind.”

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, understands exactly what Steve is referring to. He feels feverish to the touch, must be a shade of red that is so deep, it’s noticeable in the darkening sky. 

“Sorry… sorry.” Steve hangs his head. Seems troubled even though Eddie is nailing that particular routine all on his own.

“Think that’s my line.” Eddie jokes. 

“Right.”

Silence is lurking around them yet again. Eddie hates it, but he’s running out of steam here. The embarrassment is on display, his cheeks and neck covered in splotchy red patches. His voice is higher, somehow, as if his vocal chords are shrinking. He’s undergoing a crisis and crush simultaneously and it is not an attractive look for him.

“Just go ahead and get it over with.” Steve says. Interrupts whatever cynicism that’s currently brewing in Eddie's head. 

“Get what over with?”

“The teasing.”

“Oh that’s not… it’s um… you don’t…” Eddie can’t pick an appropriate response. They’re way beyond politeness and niceties. And any bullshit he tries to pull isn't gonna be convincing. So it’s best to stay honest. Embarrassing, but honest. “I think it looks pretty good.”

“You do?” Steve looks softer. 

“Yeah. I mean… Bowie probably has one, and he’s a fucking superstar so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Bowie, huh?”

“I like Bowie.” I like Bowie? What a beefhead answer. Eddie joins Steve on the bench, hopes it distracts from that very un-cool line. 

“I like Bowie too.” Steve messes with his hair a bit. Elbows Eddie in the side and chuckles. “You should get one.”

“A piercing?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hold your breath, man. I’m not letting that nightmare creator you described anywhere near my lower abdomen. Not gonna happen.”

Steve reaches out, runs his knuckles down the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Stops at the crease of his nostril. “What about one right here?” His voice is even, calm. Too calm for what he’s asking.

His hand is warm, slightly calloused. The only two thoughts Eddie can process without going fully catatonic. Steve’s hand is on his face and it’s warm.

Slightly calloused. 

“Uh. Dunno.” Eddie says. A hoarse whisper in reply. “Probably not.”

Steve scoots in closer, never taking his hand off Eddie’s face. Just moving it around. Exploring. He brushes along to Eddie’s ear this time. Holds the edge of it between his thumb and index finger, looking straight at it. 

“What about right here?” Steve’s eyes stay fixed on Eddie’s ear. Every touch seems natural, just questions that involve connection or something.

Internally, Eddie is dousing flames. Fanning them left and right. Running in circles, fucking clueless on how to properly calm down. Be civil. Be Dude Civil. His breathing is so rapid, he knows it. Can hear it between them, collecting space. Decides it would be best to mimic Steve. Fix his eyes only on him, borrow the stability as much as possible.

“Mmm… maybe.”  Eddie gets stuck on the ‘mmm’ sound. That’s how good it feels having someone touch him like this. Careful, yet heavy in curiosity. Rolling the tip of his earlobe between two fingers, just enough pressure to create heat. 

It warrants that sound.

Steve’s glance drifts before his fingers do. Eyes landing on Eddie’s lips, slight hesitancy before his hand follows. Eddie has to hold his breath now. Minimal oxygen is the only way he’ll survive this moment, which makes no fucking sense, but it does all the same.

“Here would look really good.” Steve slowly traces the curve of Eddie’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. The back and forth pattern is disarming. Makes Eddie’s lips part, mouth slightly open.

Just enough to speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

If Eddie passes out from lack of oxygen, he’ll regret it. He’ll regret not taking the risk, finishing what Steve has started. Because this surpasses friendly touching. 

This is charged in electric shockwaves.

Eddie dips in, kisses Steve before he can move his hand out of the way. Steve makes a sound, not even a surprised one. It’s sweeter, laced in relief. Eddie pushes in, wants more, whatever he can get. Has his fingers wrapped around Steve’s wrist, the same hand that’s dragging down his face, his neck. Stopping at his chest. 

Every rumor is true, that kissing Steve Harrington is like the gates of heaven opening up. That his tongue could work miracles on amateur lips with a few licks and curls. But no one ever told him about the noises he makes - and those are the best fucking part. Heaving breaths, pleased whines, each one captured with Eddie’s mouth before they get any louder.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe those are just for Eddie. Reserved for kissing him.

Goddamn, he’s delusional. Completely delirious from kissing a dude with a belly button piercing.

There’s a light getting brighter, almost approaching them. Eddie opens his eyes, quickly backs off while Steve does the same. Has to literally detachhimself from wherever his hand was busy wandering all over Steve’s body. 

Headlights pull into the nearby parking lot. Eddie squints to get a better look at the car. It’s Robin and Vickie, showing up fashionably late as always. Sure, he’s grateful that it’s just them, the queerest people in his circle of weirdos. And while they’re reasonable people with shit like this, even they’dbe shocked to know that Eddie and Steve just sucked face for a solid three minutes. Probably best to not mention the gory details, not tonight. Eddie hopes Steve is thinking the same thing.

Both of them stand up, rearrange themselves to look presentable. Less tousled and kiss-bitten. Steve spends a few extra seconds with his hair before turning to Eddie, eyebrows high. Likely a non-verbal ask if his hair is looking as godly as ever.

Of course it does. Looks even better knowing Eddie’s nails were just digging into it.

Steve is a few steps ahead of Eddie, heading for the girls, when Eddie does it again. Kills the silence with a question. 

“Can we… do this again?” It’s edging on desperate, he’s so fucking aware of that. Self control really proving to be a major downfall with him tonight. Should definitely consider taking classes, train his willpower or some shit.

Steve stops walking. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look at Eddie as he speaks. “My place.”

Oh. That’s… wow. Unexpected. Eddie jogs up to Steve, beside him. Way too eager now, sort of buzzing for more information. Hints of excitement or maybe a smile. Anything, really. He’s at that level of weak for this guy.

Steve just keeps walking, but leans in, right next to Eddie’s ear. The same one he messed with earlier. His voice is quiet, but Eddie hears every damn syllable:

“I’ll leave the window unlatched for you.”

For him. 

Maybe Eddie isn’t completely delusional after all.

[akanemnon]

I've done a little thinking of how I'm gonna be tackling asks from now on...

Since I'm getting so easily overwhelmed I decided that asks will only be open for one day after a new comic comes out. That way you guys can ask about certain details you're curious about without it getting out of hand. I will slowly be getting to the asks throughout the week. Really hope you won't be confused about this decision. This was never intended to be an ask blog, since the focus was supposed to stay on the comic itself. It had kinda gotten out of hand a long time ago haha...

Anyways about how asks are gonna be handled... I'm sorry to say this, but for the sake of the comic, I won't be answering any more questions that are related to spoilers. Kinda learned my lesson the hard way *cough* So please don't be confused if your question wasn't answered.

Also, this one especially goes out for the new folks (Hi! Welcome! 💕) Before leaving an ask, please make sure to read the FAQ section of the masterpost that's pinned on my blog. It is possible any question you have might have has already been answered there!

Hope you understand

[genericpuff]

I wanted ask about the family trees in Rekindled, if you'd ever put out a post on how everything is lined up. Who is who's parent, like is Eris a child of Zeus and Hera or Nyx and Erebus.

So in Rekindled, the gods aren't created through 'traditional' means like mortals are. While they definitely have relations with one another and some have been born from sexual interactions, it's the fusion of their powers and the elements assigned to them that creates new gods rather than, y'know, the mortal way of making babies. Thus they don't share any DNA that would make them blood-related, however they do share some similarities in how their powers manifest depending on who created their predecessors!

That said, here's the 'family tree' in Rekindled, with some info on how they were created!

(*note that not every god / goddess / etc. who will make an appearance in Rekindled is on this family tree, I'm just trying to avoid spoilers as best I can while also providing info; on the flipside, not everyone included on here will necessarily play a role or even appear in the story - including Hyperion and Theia - they're just listed for the sake of clarity and worldbuilding)

As for Eris, I'm not actually planning on including her much in Rekindled as her role in LO is already reduced to that of a McGuffin to explain Persephone's wrath. She absolutely deserves to have her story told but I feel like it would be better saved for something adjacent to or involving the Trojan War / The Illiad rather than forcing her into Rekindled where she already doesn't have anything to do with the rewriting of the Act of Wrath.

That said, in the spirit of answering your question, with how we've done it in Rekindled, she can technically be 'both' a creation a Nyx / Erebus and Zeus / Hera - given a physical form by the union of Zeus and Hera, but with traits passed down to her through their lineage that connects all the way back to the primordial beings. But a more sensible answer is that I'm honestly sticking with the Zeus / Hera version, as Rekindled is still retelling Homer's The Hymn to Demeter and so I try to use as much of Homer's source material as possible while taking elements from other poets as needed. There's loads of sources to choose from so I work with the ones that connect best to tell a coherent story, with a predominant amount of sources coming from Homer, Hesiod, and the Orphic hymns.

Hope that helps! Enjoy the totally-not-confusing family tree chart LMAO

[vampirzina]

˚୨୧⋆｡ ┆ father!tomas vrbada (w. spouse!reader) hcs

tw: gn pronouns, suggestive themes, mdni, domesticity, kuai liang and bi han mentions

notes: for the sake of the story reader has a cooter

masterlist

It’s not all that surprising that you had twins. It’s exhausting running after them both as they grow older, but Tomas cakewalks it and still makes time to love on you as much as he did before they were born. As infants, Tomas hardly ever puts them down except for tummy time and the chores that require more effort than just one hand. As soon as he finishes [the task], he picks the opposite twin up (so that “they don’t feel jealous of the other”). He even picks you up when he has that insatiable urge to just hold someone brought on from parenthood.

Tomas engages in anything his kids want him to, even if it’s overtly ridiculous. Tea parties, house, having to watch over a doll like it’s their baby, dinosaur re-enactments, helping shovel dirt to bury something just to dig it back up again, faux makeovers—just anything you can name. His pride is not easily hurt by something as simple as something he feels is the bare minimum, and if you catch him, he gets you involved, too. When Tomas is busy [working] and he has to deny a child, he is 100% going to make it up to them with lots of snacks and playtime. You won’t have Tomas to yourself until late night; he’s the type of father to want to spend the entire day with his children, but can’t.

Tomas loves to tell stories his mother told him about him and his own twin sister. It’s usually in the spur of the moment, like when you’re both watching them play or after they’ve both fell/went to sleep and you’re talking about plans for them. You’re not the only ear he tells it to, and he says it to his own kids as well when he’s got the time for play with them—Tomas answers any and all questions that they might have, but kids are not all that emotionally mature enough to understand that sometimes you can’t just ask certain questions or say certain things. It makes Tomas sad on the inside, but he toughs it out and waits until you’re both alone to find your comfort.

If your kids show interest in the Shirai Ryu, Tomas is glad to teach them! Even if they’re not, he does want to teach them how to fight anyway. If you’re willing, you’ll have to serve as their model as your husband practices on you to show them how it’s done. If not, Hanzo or Kuai Liang is a good alternative. He’ll be as gentle as possible so that they don’t go hurting each other to bruises, of course, but he always has to reiterate that on real opponents they’ll have to hit harder. To make it fair, Tomas wants them to practice on each other, and he the referee. If one of them get hurt too badly you may be upset more than Tomas, so he’s almost too careful.

As for their uncle, Tomas tries to bring them (and you) around Kuai Liang as much as possible. He’s not really a selfish person in most cases, as he values family a lot. After Bi Han, it’s important to him that the rest of the family he has left gets along well—so what better way to do this by having the whole family in one place at the same time? Tomas’ number one favorite thing to do with Kuai Liang, spouse and children is to have one big dinner at any time of the year. He triple checks the children are properly accounted for first even after you’ve done so yourself before anything else, and then comes back to your waiting arms.

You and Tomas would probably only have twins. Although Tomas is busy at the Shirai Ryu, he wouldn’t be opposed to just one more child if you asked. But if that’s not what you want or see in the future with him, he honors that as if his life completely depends on it. He already worships the ground you walk on and kisses more than just your feet even before you gave him twins, and he couldn’t have asked for a greater gift. However if you agree [to having another baby], Tomas would be ecstatic to try again for as long as it takes. Quickie or not, anything counts, to him.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

info

[volturissideslut]

Hii!! Can you do Jane x reader where she’s Jane’s mate but still human. One day some important information gets leaked out and everyone in the volturi thinks the reader leaked the info. (Aro can’t read her mind) So they question her for a long time and when she still says that she didn’t do it they make Jane torture her with her power. As Jane is torturing her someone walks in and says that she didn’t do it. By the time Jane stops the reader is passed out. Everyone and mostly Jane regrets what they’ve done. The reader doesn’t wake up for a few days and Jane is in absolute sorrow. And when she finally wakes up she doesn’t even look Jane in the eyes bc of the betrayal she feels. Just a lot of angst yk:))) Buuut they make up in the end. Thank youuu🫶🏻

𝕵𝖆𝖓𝖊 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

This is more of the aftermath than anything. Mentions of looking thinner

"Get out"

Though your voice was hoarse, it didn't lessen the impact. Not one bit. Jane didn't think it was possible to vampires to have panic attacks, yet what else could this be. Why was her chest so tight? She doesn't need to breathe. And though she can't sweat he skin feels clammy behind all her layers. She's a vampire, their brains go fast - she could finish a novel in five minutes, but this feels too fast. It's making her dizzy. It's making her sick.

"Please-" her mouth feels dry. Is she panting? Why does it feel like Felix is cracking her chest again? You two can get through this. You can move past this. The thought is the only thing keeping her semi-rational right now. "I can't even look at you right now. Please leave, Jane. I can't see you anymore" and god you look so broken. And she did it. Your skin looks sickly, at least seven shades yellower. And your eyes - so dull - are dragged down by the bags she gave you. Are you thinner? You look thinner, you look malnourished. Definitely unhealthy.

It's the shakey movement of your hand accompanied by a wince that pulls her from her intense observation. And she remembers what you want. She wants to stay - absolutely has to - but she can't ruin this even more. She needs to save this and even now she recognises that her being here will be detrimental to that. So she does leave.

Out the door, she sits on the floor and stares at the ceiling. Not that her eyes are recognising anything though. No. Her head is leaned back against the big double door to your shared chambers and all she can bring herself to do is listen intently to your heartbeat. You're still here. You're still safe.

You, on the other side of the door, can no longer bring yourself to stifle your own sobs at the betrayal. Your mate, your love, the one who promised to always protect you, had actually been the only vampire to hurt you. The only one you ever truly trusted. Though her gift is mental, the rough treatment had still hared you. But it was hard to tell what hurt more - the mental scar on the one on your heart.

Could you even stay?

Maybe it was time to leave

--------

That night you packed, leaving through the window. Were you as strong as them? No. But could trust Jane and be in the same place as her? Also no.

It was killing you just to be in that room, with all of them memories. All of them were now tainted, and now you could see all the similarities between her room and the dungeons.

Bag at your side mainly just filled with your previous belongings you couldn't part with, you climbed out the window only to be face to face with Alec. For fucks sake.

"You shouldn't be here," his tone was more concerned than accusing. Was he actually worried for you, though, or was he more bothered about his sister? that seemed like the more likely answer. "come. Ill walk you back" he takes the bag for you and begins to guide you gently back, hand delicately on your arm as if you were made of porcelain. He looked guilty. Remorseful even.

He led you back the longer way round as if he was giving you time. He even sat with you in the garden for a few minutes - until Jane cane storming through.

"There you are! Your heartbeat grew faint and the window was open and I-" and her hand are on your face. She stops speaking when you flinch back, heart dropping to her feet, until she feels you lean into her.

Damn mate bond and damn exhaustion because you let yourself fall into her. She can feel your heart rate speed up in fear but feels frozen when you make no effort to move away.

"Let's- let's get you to bed, yeah?" she turns her head, face frightened as she mouths a 'thank you' to Alec for keeping you here and safe. He just nods, head down as he shares part of her shame. A drop in the bucket compared to hers, though.

--------

Here she lay, back in your shared chambers, sat up against the headboard of the bed while you lay on their lap asleep. Icy fingers comb through your hair and scratch lightly at your scalp.

"We'll be okay, right? We'll be okay."

[hypostatic-oath]

Hydro Archon, Hydro Archon, Don't Cry

I've noticed a pattern with 5star characters in my game - they only come home after I've done their story quest or at least the Archon Quest where they appear. From an in-game perspective it's obviously because it takes me a while to finish the quest and I raise the pity in the meantime, however... from a SAGAU perspective, it's adorable that they only come around after I've spent the time to get to know them better.

Content Warnings: Angst, Furina desperately needs a hug.

SPOILERS FOR 4.2 BELOW

Imagine Furina before the Archon Quest. She's holding it together, like she has been for five hundred years. She's been performing her role so well for so long, yet she feels like she's already gone beyond her limit. She doesn't know how long she can handle doing this for, but she knows she must.

Late at night, she takes a break to catch some air. She's aware that she's still performing - she's alone, but she cannot risk lowering her mask, even before an invisible audience. She takes a deep breath and looks up, and doesn't even feel the tears flowing down her face.

A shimmering light crosses the sky.

Foçalors, it beckons. Come home.

Oh no. Not this. She's not ready, she's not ready! Not tonight. She tells herself she'll answer your summons tomorrow. In truth, she doesn't feel worthy of answering. What if she's not what you expect?

That isn't even a question. She knows she's not what you expect.

She knows you have other Archons - real Archons - among your Vessels. She panics - she doesn't even have a Vision, much less an Archon's authority. There's only so much she can achieve with acting. What would she do when you took her out on the battlefield and she inevitably failed?

Come on... Another shooting star crosses the sky, your voice a faint, ethereal whisper in her ears. I need an Archon team...

It fills her with dread. She can't answer your summons! She absolutely can't! Not only would she disappoint you - because there's no way she wouldn't, surely, she can't imagine a world in which you are not disappointed once you figure out just what she is, a fraud who can't even use Hydro much less be the literal Archon - she'd also jeopardize her only purpose.

She rushes inside, back to her room, closes the shutters and the window and the curtains and almost leaps into bed, placing the covers over herself as if to shield herself from the world.

She can still hear you calling.

The next day, Poisson is struck. The prophecy is in full swing. She's frantic, searching for something, anything that could possibly help. All the while maintaining the façade. At least you seem to have given up.

It's both relieving and heartbreaking.

At night, she doesn't even risk it - her windows are kept shut. She analises every report, and locks her door when she notices that she's crying, the papers she's holding becoming dotted with tears that fall despite her best efforts. She can hear the rain hitting her window, and the downpour has her feeling even more hopeless.

Neuvillette speaks with her in the following morning. If the pressure from you wasn't enough, she now also has to manage to assure the Hydro Dragon Sovereign that she has everything under control. It's funny, how those eyes capable of such gentleness seem to gaze into her without a shred of mercy. Just speaking to him now feels like she's been put on trial, and Furina knows, deep down in her soul, that she is guilty.

He presses. Poisson has fallen. She knows. She also knows she's likely crying, the mask is slipping, but she can't give up. She has no right - no right at all, to sacrifice the lives of every person in Fontaine for the sake of her comfort. She cannot afford to slip up. And that means she cannot trust anyone - not you, and not Neuvillette. So she gathers the little control she can at this time, tells him she knows exactly what she's doing, and dashes out the door.

Wait, Furina!

She barely hears your voice as she runs. "I'm sorry, but I can't answer!" She thinks, as she rushes to the top floor of the Palais Mermonia. She knows she gas no time to lose. She needs to get herself in check, to wipe away her tears, to figure something out. Where had she gone wrong? Five hundred years, searching for a solution. Five hundred years of observing every trial, hoping it'll finally be the one she needs. But nothing.

She has nothing, and Poisson has fallen.

She thought the Traveler - and you, by extension - would be the key. That by judgding them she'd have the "most magnificent trial" that her mirror self spoke of. And yet, at every turn, the blonde outlander had managed to evade being sentenced, or even making the trial as grand as she'd expected. She paces around in her room as she mulls it over. Should she had judged you directly? Could she have done so? That would've been a trial for the ages - the Overseer, brought to justice by the Hydro Archon of Fontaine, for the crime of... what could she even accuse you of? Posessing people's bodies? That had to be illegal - or at least immoral enough to warrant a trial...

She lets her body flop onto the bed, covering her eyes with one arm as she lets out a sigh that despite its overdramatic appearance, is in fact incredibly genuine. She's tired. So tired.

Foçalors, come home.

Furina buries her face beneath one of the pillows. She hopes it'll drown out the sound of your voice. She can't distinguish whether that ache in her chest is from your summons growing more insistent or from how much she needs to cry.

The shooting star turns golden outside the window, and Furina wonders if the fact that someone else intercepted it will be enough to dissuade you. She hopes it is, otherwise, her days are numbered.

No more stars cross the sky that night, and relief washes over her body, in a wave so intense that she once again doesn't notice the tears. She falls asleep like that, and dreams of rising waters.

Furina heads to the Opera Epiclese in the morning. She's not looking forward to seeing Neuvillette, but she prays that there'll be a trial. "Please," she thinks, as she sits down in the throne reserved for the Hydro Archon, observing the stage from on high, "let it be today."

It isn't. Instead of a trial, there is a performance... and though she usually loves them, now is not the time. Worse yet, she's spotted by the crowd as she's getting ready to leave. They're angry, of course they are. The prophecy is true, and what is their Archon doing? Furina performs as best as she can, but this time the audience is completely unreceptive. She doesn't blame them. She'd be angry, too, in their shoes. She knows they're terrified. She's terrified, too.

But what can she do? Her search has turned up empty. She has no powers, not really, none besides the power of persuasion and even that seems to be slipping more and more these days. She cannot reassure her people. Neuvillette no longer trusts her, if he ever did. The water rises every day with no signs of stopping.

"Why, mirror-me? Where am I failing?"

The crowd chases her out of the theater. Neuvillette is nowhere in sight, and even if he were, Furina isn't sure she could call upon him now. The time in which he acted as her shield if gone. Neuvillette is now just another of the many she's disappointed.

It hurts.

With no other choice, she runs - as far as her legs will take her, she dashes away from the crowd, and guilt tells her she's being a coward. That she needs to stand up and reassure the masses, that she needs to do what an Archon would at that time.

The notion feels almost ridiculous. She cannot command her element freely like Barbatos, or raise protections over her city like Morax. She cannot threaten to strike down the unruly like the Shogun, nor does she have Lesser Lord (Lesser Lord! Hah! Even someone known as 'Lesser' is leagues beyond Furina's ability) Kusanali's foresight and wisdom.

So she does what she can do.

Whether it is fate or simply her own feelings of guilt, she finds herself in Poisson, at the base of the Spina di Rosula. The place where all those people - her people - had lost their lives to a disaster she was supposed to prevent.

When the Traveler extends their hand, she doesn't know whether it is a blessing or a curse. She wants to run again - what else can she do? But her pursuers are apparently still giving chase, and the outlander offers her aid. She can feel your presence from within them - every time she's crossed paths with them, as brief as those moments were, you were there. She can tell that the longing in the blonde's eyes is, at least in part, yours.

She's sorry.

She follows the Traveler to the hiding place - someone's home? It seems irrelevant. For a moment, she wonders if she could sue you for invasion of private property. "Oh, what am I thinking? The time for the grand trial is over... and even if it weren't, suing the Overseer for something so trivial would warrant the same result as the first time I challenged the Traveler..."

The Traveler. The outlander whose presence preceeded disaster. They were known for solving it, sure, but she knew that the moment they set foot in Fontaine the prophecy would have already started. Was it their fault, or yours?

Furina still feels like it might be hers.

The Traveler offers help once again. They extend their hand, and the look in their eyes as they ask her to confide in them is so earnest, so genuine. She swars she can hear two sets of voices saying the words - the Traveler's, and yours. It's faint, and gentle, and pained, and carries a yearning she knows she cannot fix.

Through them, you reach for her and she almost breaks. She knows you'll stop reaching once you know the truth.

Furina, please. You can trust us, love. Let me- let us help. People from your world cannot know, but neither of us fit that criteria. Your people will not dissolve, I promise you. I've seen enough worlds to know.

She considers it.

She hears your voice, and considers it. But there is uncertainty in your tone. You're gambling, and she's a good enough actress to know you're not sure yourself. They wouldn't do it, that's your reasoning. Furina doesn't know who 'they' are, but you're placing all your bets on the fact that 'they' would not erase an entire Nation. Who are 'they'? Celestia? If so, she knows for certain that your wager is more optimistic than based on facts. It's not enough - blind optimism is not enough for her to risk it, not even from a being like you. Besides, that is not her choice to make.

She cannot give up. She cannot lower her guard. Not with Neuvillette, not with the Traveler, not with you. The Traveler urges her for a response, reaches out, and she's about to deny them, when the house's walls fall.

Damn it, we needed more time! Furina, I'm so sorry.

She feels your sorrow about at the same time that she feels the spotlight on her.

Neuvillette looks down from his seat as the Chief Justice, and somehow the sliver of pity in his eyes hurts more than the coldness of a few days prior.

She's on trial.

________

She's crying.

She's not even making an effort to conceal it anymore. It's over. The curtains have closed and everything she worked so hard for has crumbled. The people know. Neuvillette knows. You know. Furina makes no effort to hear your voice. She knows you're disappointed.

If she did, perhaps she'd hear how you're screaming at the Traveler to go check on her. If she did, perhaps she'd hear how despite everything, you're reaching out, still. How you wish to hold her tight, as she deserves. She'd perhaps hear your outrage at the thought of her being subjected to the death sentence, she'd hear you trying to tear Neuvillette apart for allowing it, she'd hear you slowly realising that the fact that the sentence is addressed to the Hydro Archon means it's not her who dies.

She doesn't witness your relief.

Instead, it is you who gain an understanding of her thoughts. The Traveler reaches for her, and she can feel you pushing through, but she can't stop performing. Even now, she's still holding it, as much as she can.

You tear through her defenses with more ease than she expected. Furina had, until now, thought of you as detached. She knew you saw the world as a stage, a story for your amusement. Sure, you liked them, but only to the extent that one likes characters in a play, right? You were, as far as she knew, exactly the type of god - or, er, entity? - she emulated. Fickle. Boastful. Using lives as entertainment, watching trials and tribulations like a performance and solving the Nations' troubles like nothing more than a game. She had not expected you to care.

Not about her.

Not after knowing the truth.

You push forward. She knows it's you, and not the Traveler, who's in control. She can feel it, the intensity with which you reach out is the same she felt tugging at her very being every time a star crossed the sky. She knows it's you who's still trying to reach her. Even if she's failed.

Even if she's not capable of being in your Archon Team.

So she sighs, and lets you witness. That is your role, after all, isn't it? An audience of one, watching an interactive play. You haven't given up on her character, even though it's not what you expected. You're not what she expected, either. Funny, she finds herself thinking, you're both more human than anyone realised.

You witness her life. She lets it play out like a film before your eyes, the endless stream of memories of growing hopelessness as she realised that the prophecy was slowly setting itself up and she was not any closer to finding out how to stop it. Now you know - the truth, the whole truth. She has nothing left to lose now, anyway. Everything is lost. She was unmasked. She failed.

You're pushed out of her thoughts after she invites you to take your place on stage. You act in her memory, but this time the Traveler doesn't speak. You barely have time to state your piece - all you manage is an I'm sorry before being forced away. She has nothing more to share. That is enough, she figures, and far more than she ever thought she'd share. She still feels the urge to cry, but part of it is from relief.

After that, she doesn't feel your presence until after the flood.

The prophecy comes and goes and Fontaine is unharmed. The flood lasts no more than minutes, and no one is dissolved. Furina remembers your words - 'they' wouldn't do that. Though she is unsure as to 'their' identity, she is thankful that you were right. The sunlight feels like bliss upon her skin as she steps out of the Opera Epiclese, gentle rays drying the remaining water from the streets and the tears on her cheeks, and for the first time in five hundred years she breathes easy.

"They're still hoping you'll come." A familiar voice pulls her out of her trance. The Traveler, alone, stands behind her. Your presence is nowhere near. They look the same, yet different, without you within. Furina can't quite explain it, but it feels odd after being so used to seeing you within the outlander.

"I'm not an Archon." She answers, a certain bitterness in her voice as she looks down, defeated.

"I don't think they care. I know you need to rest for now, and they don't have enough primos for a ten pull anyways, but... just so you know. They'll keep trying."

Furina doesn't quite know whether that is meant as a warning or as an opportunity presenting itself. They're gone before she can ask. Either way, they're right - she is tired, and she does need rest. Out of instinct, she heads to the Palais Mermonia, but stops herself as she reaches for the door.

"Lady Furina." The gentle, deep voice she knows as belonging to the Iudex pulls her from her thoughts. She doesn't dare look him in the eye. He opens the door for her, but she simply turns away. She cannot face him, not after that trial, not after everything she'd done.

"Thank you, monsieur Neuvillette. But I... I think I'll be going, now."

The now fully restored Hydro Dragon can only watch as Furina walks away. He knows she needs her space right now, but that doesn't stop him from worrying for her. He'll arrange the best apartment he can get for her, and make sure she never lacks for anything. In the meantime, though, he'll just try not to let his emotions get the best of him, lest he causes a downpour to fall upon poor Furina, who definitely does not need rain right now. If there is one thing he knows about humans is that rain does not, for the most part, cheer them up. So he holds it in, promising himself that he'll take a small break for a walk after the aftermath of everything is over, and heads to his office.

There is so much to do...

_________

Three weeks pass. Furina lays on her bed, her window open, the soft breeze bringing the smell of a night that promises rain into the apartment. She is busy, not with work, or with renovations, but with the azure glass sphere that she holds up to the light, examining it under her lamp. A Vision... during all those years, she had never thought she'd receive such a thing, much less after being pushed away from her role as the Archon. She is thankful, yes, for her newfound freedom, and, she supposes, for the fact that she'd gotten to act again. But it still remains that this bauble was completely unexpected.

Power. This little thing can give her power. She's still unsure on how to use it, and it crosses her mind that the Traveler - or you - might know. You owe her, after all, after what she did to help you out with the play... she could feel you trying to strangle the Traveler and Paimon on the astral plane and that was perhaps why she wasn't entirely offended by their remarks. Still, she had made a great effort for that play. It was only fair that at least one of you repays the favor, no?

Furina smiles softly, sighing. She'll have to put up a commission at the Guild tomorrow.

She examines the light reflecting within, and it reminds her of the surface of the sea as seen from underwater. The holder, a silvery ornament not unlike those she's seen worn by Vision-bearers, has a distinct characteristic - four fang-like details that seem to secure the glass in place. Before she can give it more thought, the first pitter patter of raindrops reaches her ears, and she rushes to retrieve the clothes hanging on the line she has in the small balcony of her apartment before they get too wet. She rushes outside, hearing as the rain and wind pick up.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it..." She mutters to herself, quickly shoving the clothes onto a basket, trying to pick them off the line as fast as she can. Behind her, a flash of light illuminates the night sky. "Oh, I am so not in the mood for thunder..."

Furina cringes, hoping the storm is not directly above. Maybe she'll be able to sleep if it's just a faraway rumbling. What she hears, however, is not the booming sound of a storm.

Furina. Come home.

You're still trying. For a moment, she forgets about the heavy rain, and the clothes, and simply looks up at the sky. Blue flashes, one after the other, cross the clouds in rapid succession. Even after everything, you hadn't given up. The Traveler had warned her, but at the time she hadn't been in a stable enough state of mins to even care, still shaken from everything that had happened.

Now, she simply looks up.

"Overseer." She answers. You won't be able to add her to the 'Archon Team'. She knows she's not as powerful as most of your Vessels - hell, she doesn't even know how to use her Vision yet. But you still want her.

You know the truth - the whole truth - and you still want her.

The next star that crosses the sky turns gold, and glows brighter and brighter until it lands in front of her, hovering above the railing on her balcony. It emits a soft, warm light, and Furina reaches for it like she'd reached for her Vision.

Warmth spreads over her body, and it feels like every time she'd looked at the Traveler with you in them, except everything feels more... intense. It's not like she's seeing the filtered bits of you that shine through the cracks in someone else, no. She can feel you directly, and she understands why they call it 'coming home'. It's warm. It's comfortable. And for the first time she can truly, honestly say she doesn't feel alone.

You're happy she's there. Time seems to stop around her, and she finds herself dry and in a field full of stars. If she squints, she can barely make out a form, a swirling swarm of stardust in the vague shape of a person. She reaches a hand out.

You place the cursor over her outstretched hand.

Welcome home, Furina.

[dduane]

The Novel as Cake

    I was reading through the 'writing' tag on your blog, and came across your wonderful post about how you outline your novels using Cherryh's 'Shopping List' technique. My question is - how do you decide/come up with the 10 things in the novel? I have about 3-4 things I know must happen in my idea, and other random details about the world. But what is important enough to be one of the 10 things? And also, how do you generate your ideas for those 10 things? - Asked by Anonymous

…Okay, let’s take this from the top. (And for convenience’s sake, let’s stay in the shopping-list idiom; it’s useful enough.) (ETA: the blog entry that discusses the Shopping List outlining method is here.)

Let’s say you want to make a cake. …This cake also being your novel.

To have a solid story (in the western-novel tradition, anyway), you need at least two things: plot and theme. The plot is what happens. The theme is the why of what happens, and (to a certain extent) the book-wide spectrum of thought and emotion that underlies that; the answer to the question “But what’s the book about?”* …Think of this duality, for the moment, as the equivalent of having both liquid and solid stuff in your cake. You’ve got to have both or it won’t rise. A book with a plot but no theme has no soul.

So: you’re going to make a cake. What kind?

As an example, I’m going to ease myself out onto a limb here and equate “chocolate-chip devil’s food with chocolate buttercream frosting” with “epic-fantasy quest fiction with strong political, exoreligious, and quasiromantic components.” (A favorite for me, over time, as some folks will have noticed. I just can’t get enough of those chocolate chips…)

So how do you determine the ten things you need (or whatever number you like, but ten works for me) as major ingredients / sections?

Well, ideally from some familiarity with what has gone in other/similar cakes/works of fiction in the past: because (in genre fiction, anyway) you have at least some reader expectations to manage. If you haven’t been reading in your chosen genre, you really should be. ...Now, this doesn’t mean you have to do what other people working in the genre have done. Indeed, at all times you remain at liberty to “flip the punchcard” and do exactly the opposite of what everybody else has been doing, if that’s what suits you. But they’ve set out possible recipes for you, so (as a beginner at this work) it'd seem wise to examine those recipes and see what’s in them that might be useful for you. Once you’ve been doing this for a while, you don’t need to go looking, just as an experienced baker doesn’t need to run for the recipe book every time they want to make a cake.

Naturally you can substitute ingredients, add some or lose some, when you’re creating something new; just as you like—while always making sure you don’t throw away anything routinely required/expected in your genre. (Such as, for example, the Happily Ever After at the end of a genre romance.) But certain basics must be in place, things that make what you’re creating recognizably A Cake, as well as your own additions and embellishments.

In this case, that could be:

For a cake: flour, milk, eggs, butter, baking powder, cocoa, chocolate chips, vanilla extract, seasonings, a little bit of salt (because without that, even the sweetest cake tastes just a little insipid somehow)

For a novel: a protagonist/pairtagonist (is that a word? It is now…); an antagonist (not necessarily a character: an antagonistic or stymie-ing situation that keeps the antagonist from easily getting what they want/need will do just as well. This is where at least some of the interior drama will derive from); a change in interior or exterior conditions that sets events in motion; a “ticking clock” or similar construct that means the desired result must be achieved within a certain time or before certain conditions change or expire; various reversals or hiccups in the flow of the story that will inject a sense of realism (because when does anything ever go perfectly smoothly…?); a crisis point at which everything assembled against the protagonist rises up to be dealt with, and the protagonist rises up to meet the challenge and deal with it; and finally, a set of resolution events that (even if it doesn’t absolutely finish the story proper) brings about an end state that will leave you, and any theoretical reader, satisfied with the completion of the current story arc.

…Needless to say, this is an incredibly oversimplified take on the kind of strategizing needed when you’re creating the recipe for a novel that won’t simply collapse the minute you take it out of the oven. But starting simply is often best. The more you do this kind of work, the easier it gets.

Now: “How do you generate your ideas for those 10 things?”

There are a lot of possible answers to this, but the simplest is: Make them up out of nothing, as usual. :)

…This isn’t meant to sound like sass. You made up those first three or four things you came up with out of nothing, and now (because they’ve been there for a while, probably) they may well have started to acquire a kind of secret, temporally-based superiority in your mind—starting to feel somehow more valid than what needs to come next to fill in the gaps. This kind of creeping sense of validity-via-temporal-primacy is a commonplace when you’re in mid-process, and I invite you to ignore it.

Just insert those three or four things into your shopping list in (roughly) story-temporal order, and then spend some time thinking about what kinds of events could usefully come between / flow from them. Hints:

Events that could realistically have been caused by the ones you’ve got already, and could also realistically be seen as causal to later ones you’ve already established, are always useful. Ideally, you’re trying to establish a chain of events in which none of them look accidental, or coincidental (because readers are rightfully sensitive to plots that only work because all the characters are idiots, or keep having “lucky accidents”). What you’re working toward is an event flow that seems, when viewed in completion, inevitable: as if it couldn’t have happened any other way. You will almost certainly not achieve this easily, early on in your novel work, and maybe not at all. But it strikes me as a good thing to be striving for.

Events that badly screw things up for the main characters are also always useful. Heroes do not become heroes by having everything go their way. Their heroism is achieved and manifested by having things go to shit around them again and again and AGAIN, and nonetheless still finding their way through all that shit to do what needs to be done. The lines attributed to the Confucianist philosopher Meng-tse (sometimes translated from Japanese into English as “Mōshi”) are a touchstone in this regard:

When Heaven is about to confer a great office upon a man, it first exercises his mind with suffering and his sinews and bones with toil: it exposes him to poverty and confounds all his undertakings. Then it is seen if he is ready.

So put your protagonists through the wringer. This is the greatest service you can do them: showing who they are by showing what they're made of.

A variant on this theme: Spend a little time thinking, “What is the absolute worst thing that could happen to these characters in this story / in this world?” And when you’ve figured that out, stick it into one of those gaps as a Main Thing—ideally one between the story’s midpoint and its already-planned crisis, if you’ve got that in place—and then start thinking about how to best exploit it to show how terrific your characters can become if you kick them around a bit. (Addendum: you are allowed to have one Absolutely Terrific and Beautiful Thing happen to assist your characters in recovering from this awfulness. Because they deserve it; but also, all invented worlds [if you ask me] should have beautiful things in them—things to long for, things that make your reader wish they could live there. And that you find beautiful, and worth returning to. You are absolutely allowed to keep yourself entertained, and emotionally refreshed, while you’re creating.)

…Anyway, take your time about getting those gaps filled in. It may take a little while: laying down basic story structure is worth not rushing, if you can avoid it. Once you’ve got everything major in place, the secondary lists will follow more easily.

HTH!

*This is a hilarious oversimplification, but my job at the moment is not (as the saying goes) to explain the workings of the entire universe while standing on one foot. :)

[fatuismooches]

Love a dedicated fatui blog!<3 I would like to know what you think Dottore would be with a people pleaser s/o? Maybe because they have been neglected as a kid, and tend to ignore their own needs in hopes of pleasing others. Can be headcanon or fic, it’s all up to you<3

Dottore would be confused about why you insist on pleasing others so much. Most of the time it's not beneficial to you, rather the other party receives your time and energy, while you receive nothing. What are you thinking? Why do you run yourself ragged for the sake of others? Obviously, he finds it annoying to see others use you like that, but you seem to be unable to say no. Only accepting with a tired smile. He'd remain silent for a while, observing you and trying to reach a conclusion by himself before he confronts you.

In a way, he can understand a little bit, he never went so far as to try to please others deliberately, but he did want someone to accept him, to understand him. Perhaps you feel a similar way? Still, he does not believe you need the approval of those people. You are better than them. You don't need them. You should prioritize yourself over them. And you have him, do you not? Of course, this is easier said or done, considering how long this kind of behavior has been instilled in you. Despite how you will probably try to dodge his questions he will end up getting an answer out of you eventually. It's Dottore after all.

After you end up spilling your childhood to him, it makes a lot more sense to the scholar. Well, you two are more similar than he initially thought. Although he is not the best at comforting, he would hold your deflated, tired body while you cling to him. However, it makes him wonder how many times he asked you for something and you said yes merely to please him. While he does value your loyalty, he finds no pleasure in forcing you to do something. It's funny to think a man like him could care for another's feelings so much.

From then on Dottore will make sure a segment is by your side as much as possible. This means no one will dare to ask anything of you. And if anyone does, he will find out and make them rescind their request. No exceptions. A part of him wants to keep you in the lab with him for a while so you can catch up on taking care of yourself and not worrying about others for once. Many would say selfishness is a bad trait. But he feels no remorse in teaching you it. He will teach you that you always come first if he has to, regardless of the methods.

[cinnamonest]

Alright, we need to know. Who are top members of the "looking at women, who're minding their own business, and talking about how sad and concerned you are for them because 'with the way they are, they'll end up single and childless for the rest of their lives and no high value man would give them a chance," club? Like on a sclae of 1-10 how delusional would they become after they realize said woman doesn't give a shit?

Honestly one of my favorite tropes is the whole, “nooo what are you doing living your own life you're supposed to be someone's wife and having babies” thing. Like it has both benevolent aspects (the whole “you'll be happier this way” part) while also having malevolent aspects (the “you're a resource to be used and the resource is being wasted” part).

Like, even irl, there are some men who are like. Discombobulated. Baffled. At the suggestion that a woman can have other priorities in life. The sheer reeling disbelief when he sees a woman that's like 30+ with NO kids, NO husband. Unbelievable. It must be so awful for you, you must be so sad and desperate. Equally worrisome is that you might end up accepting some inferior, unsuitable guy that doesn't have the same Husbandly Quality™ of someone like himself, tragic…

But yes I’ve been thinking about this concept ever since the Diluc escape fic, and I know I’ve talked about him with that concept before, but consider CHILDE would be such a major candidate.

Childe is hopelessly drawn to you if you’re mean.

It’s honestly not healthy for his sake either, but it’s far worse to be on the receiving end. He can’t help it, it’s like waving meat in front of a hungry dog, an irresistible urge to have you.

You’re not exactly high rank, but not much of a subordinate, you’re more of an “other” category, you keep records and files and do a lot of scribe work for a division of units you’re assigned to. Unfortunately for you, higher-ups such as harbingers end up consulting you quite often for records and information… well, most of the time, they send someone else to do such a menial task for them, but he always comes in-person, waltzing in all cheerful and full of youthful energy — and loud, God. You wonder if parents these days have stopped teaching their kids about having an inside voice, because this kid certainly is unfamiliar with the concept.

You scowl, evident disgust on your face as you lazily sort through your records, not about to show any urgency for someone so annoying. You were kind of hoping to irritate him, even. But alas, he’s equally smiley and talkative when you hand him what he’s looking for.

Far too talkative. You’ve already handed him what he needs. Why is he still in here? Now he’s talking to you, asking you the dumbest questions about if you like working here and what you do and blah, blah. You didn’t ask for this. You force yourself to give answers, albeit blunt and short as possible, mostly consisting of yeah-s and sure-s, before the annoyance becomes too much and you ask through clenched teeth if he needs anything else or if he’s done here, an all-too-obvious hint to leave.

Thus marks the beginning of the bane of your existence, because unfortunately, by the will of some malicious higher power, he comes back. Regularly. Habitually. Eventually you start noticing that he isn’t even retrieving anything, half of the time, he’s coming in just to annoy you.

See, for him, it’s not just attraction, but a weird sort of pride thing. That initial coldness draws him in, because it presents a sort of challenge. He’s now overheard other people say the same thing, that you’re cold and mean to everyone.

Based on looks alone, he thinks, you’re old enough that you should be married. Maybe that’s why you’re so mean, you’re just bitter or something. Maybe you had bad luck and got hurt a bunch and now you’re all guarded. That’s actually kind of cute.

Naturally… well, naturally for him and whatever’s wrong with him, at least, it sparks an obsession. He likes chases, challenges. Things that are hard to get are that much more satisfying to obtain, you know? The feeling of having won, the feeling of being better than everyone else, knowing that he accomplished something other people can’t and now reaps the rewards, and the pride and ego boost that comes with it — that sort of thing is an intoxicating fuel, a motivator unlike anything else one could offer him. This does not combine well with the fact that he’s young and hot-blooded and in possession of a hair-triggered sexual aggression, not to mention a sense of pride for which the word ‘no’ doesn’t have any meaning.

It’s kind of sad though. Wasting your life away in some menial job, you’ll be so lonely and regretful.

You’re very lucky, then, that he takes pity on your plight. It will all work out.

Because he can fix you.

And he knows that that's just how you are — he's already composed multiple potential sad backstories that explain your behavior in a way that makes you seem cutely pitiable, that writes off your attitude as being ultimately due to being sensitive and afraid of vulnerability, very endearing — he's not deterred by you pushing him away.

In fact, he realizes, once you've opened up to him and he's forced you to expose the vulnerable side of yourself, you'll probably feel bad for all the times you were mean to him. You'll shuffle even closer (in the scene that plays out in his mind, see, you'll be in bed, naked, face buried against his chest, all clingy and needy) and quietly sheepishly mutter out apologies and ask him to forgive you.

Or maybe after a while, if he keeps being nice to you, you'll break down and cry and be more honest about how sad and lonely you are and how much you need him and then he'll be right there to hold you close and promise to be there for you, it'll be really sweet and will make him very happy. He's already planned out several lines to say that should elicit enjoyable reactions.

It will be so cute. It will feel so good. It’s just a matter of winning you over at this point.

Which, you see, proves to be the difficult part.

He’s getting there, he’s certain, you’re just a little more stubborn than he anticipated.

He’s already started trying to work his way there, during his regular visits. He’s already asked you if you’re married, watched the way your face turned all sour the moment the word came out and the way you rolled your eyes before you muttered a no. Ah. Sore spot, then, as expected.

And then asks if you have kids — because the first answer doesn't necessarily negate that possibility, and ‘jaded single mom with a bad ex' is one of the potential backstories he's theorized for you, so, it's worth asking. You still say no.

The ideal response, then, is—

That's too bad. You would make a good mother!

You narrow your eyes and glare like he's just said the most vile thing you've ever heard. But it's okay, it's cute that you’re so defensive (because you know he’s right and it’s what you really want).

It doesn't matter what you say, any words that come out of your mouth will be filtered through his delusions to match the reality he's already decided is the case.

You say you don't want to get married, this means you actually really do, you say you don't need a man, which means you actually really do and are aware of it and it bothers you, you say you're fine by yourself, which means you're very lonely, it's practically a cry for help.

He'll keep being nice, no matter how much you push back. He can tell it's just because you're sensitive. Maybe you think someone as young and charming as him wouldn't sincerely like you, and you're being defensive? That's probably it. Aw. That makes him feel good.

Poor thing. You're so defensive, so guarded. It's endearing, even if it's starting to get a little frustrating. But it will just take a little more work before he gets through to you, and then everything will work out perfectly… and then he’ll have a nice trophy for all his efforts, can savor the defeat and vulnerability you’ll show. You'll become so meek and submissive and it'll be just for him and no one else. It’ll be so nice. Just a little more time.

[gotham-daydreams]

how resistant would y/n be to them being brought back to the manor? would they try and escape again? and also; to what extent with their freedoms be taken away? will they still have any privacy at all?

Pretty resistant all things considered!

I did mention in another response to an ask, that how hard their resistance is does heavily depend on how the kidnapping itself goes, but for simplicity purposes, let's assume that it doesn't go very well and not only is the reader very awake- but very capable of fighting back.

Granted, in the same response I also said that Y/n has a higher chance of running away if they can help it, and should the opportunity present itself. So, again, for simplicity's sake let's say that while a slip up did happen- the Batfam was able to recover fast enough before Y/n could get away, and thus was able to successfully kidnap them. (Even if there was some difficulty.)

Y/n, in this scenario, is very prone to trying to escape- and their attempts can range from a variety of things depending on how desperate they get, and how long they're able to hold onto that hope of escaping.

An interesting factor to consider, however, is also the toll of how their failed attempts take on their mental health, and how much of their sanity they may lose- if any.

These attempts can range from your usual sneaking out, and trying to be as quiet as possible, to.... other ways that put their health more at risk. Even if it isn't necessarily "escaping", it is some for of it, yes?

Ah- but let's not go into detail about that.

Anyway! What kind of freedoms would be taken away?

I think it really depends? Kind of like my whole thing with the kidnapping, and how many variables play into that, along with how said variables can heavily affect how Y/n can react, if at all — this also does tie into that a bit.

I believe the extent that the reader's freedom's being taken away, and what limits they're willing to put up at the start, could and very well does depend on the situation leading to this moment.

Was the Batfam desperate? Did something tick them off? Did they capture Y/n because they just couldn't wait any longer, or was it because the Batfam believed their life was in such great danger that they needed to bring Y/n to the manor to protect them right now?

Depending on the answer to those questions, among a few other things, the restrictions can either start relatively tame or just be outright horrendous at the start. To which, I say "the start" since later behaviors and actions can always change these, but we'll get to that in a bit.

So! Since we're going with a situation that caused the Batfam to be a little sloopy in their kidnapping, but were quickly able to recover from ot since Y/n still got captured, let's say that they were a little desperate and just got antsy. Not being able to wait around for much longer, amd thus the kidnapping was impulse, but they managed regardless.

Considering that we're also talking about the reader from the "Not [ ]" series at the moment, I'd say that they would be a little loose, but not too loose on Y/n's restrictions. If you know what I mean?

They understand Y/n's feelings and anger, so they're willing to let a few things slide- and maybe even a one or two escape attempts depending on who catches the reader, and how the attempt was done. But not much else.

Some resistance here and there is fine, but if it gets too out of hand then they'll resport to punishments. Which is generally more freedoms being taken away, as none of them really want to hurt Y/n, however- manipulation and such should very much be expected later on, as they are pretty much willing to break the reader's mind and reconstruct it to their liking. But you didn't hear that from me.

As for privacy? Nonexistent, sorry!

Again, the Batfam feel as if they've spent enough time away from the reader, and so they will be around Y/n as much as they can. Individually or together, it doesn't matter, someone is hanging around somehow.

Usually, again, this would be something that could change depending on Y/n's behavior, but let's just say that they're pretty set on escaping.

The more Y/n tries to escape and the more dangerous said attempts become, the less they're left alone. Thus, the more freedoms are stripped from them.

No internet. No communication with the outside at all. No leaving the house. No going anywhere without anyone, at least not without someone going with Y/n and or telling someone about it. It could even get to a point where Y/n can't even go to the bathroom without someone at the door, or them basically not even having a room anymore. As no one trusts them to actually stay there, and so either regular sleepovers happen, or Y/n constantly goes from room to room. This may also happen because maybe Y/n was able to mess with the cameras and such, so now the surveillance is much more personal.

Not that the Batfam is necessarily complaining, but it does still hurt seeing the reader trying to escape so much despite its 'perks'.

They begin to look for other methods to snuff out Y/n's attempts at escaping before they can even start, and just other ways to show that this is their life now, and they're not leaving ever again. Y'know, the usual stuff.

However at some point they just really crack down on the punishment. Maybe it was a particular attempt, or the Batfam notices/realizing that they're punishment of taking away each amd every last right and freedom Y/n has slowly, isn't exactly hammering in the message, they resort to other means.

They begin to use isolation as a punishment. Not wanting to harm Y/n too much physically, as they do still have a need for them to have all of their body parts in tact for the most part. Seeing as the Batfam wants the reader to still be able to play music for them. So... if they can't break Y/n physically, they'll break them mentally.

The Batfam will make it so that the reader loves them, and care for them- and that Y/n is basically the closest they can be to the person they were before all the trauma. Before the neglect.

Even if in the end, Y/n is still a shell of themself, as long as the Batfam can hardly tell the difference, does it really matter? As long as everyone is happy, should they really care?

It hurts at first, of course, especially since Y/n tried to fight back so hard when they were first locked up in a bare guest room, and it only got harder with time, but at least they did eventually begin to see progress this time!

It's no secret that the Batfam is super manipulative when they want to be, and this moment does clearly show it.

Through the door they still talk sometimes, and perhaps it'd bring comfort at some point, that's the problem.

They leave Y/n alone, by themself, in a room where the only thing to do is to listen to their own thoughts- but now, also occasionally accompanied by one of them. They voice their thoughts and feelings, maybe even chastising Y/n for their behavior, and as much as the reader doesn't want to listen- there is nothing else to listen to. Nothing else to do.

Maybe they try to ignore it at first, who wouldn't? But with time, even that begins to fail them.

No matter how they cover their ears of create a loud enough noise to even block themself out, it's like the voices of the Batfam begin to slowly seep in. They shout too, forcing the reader to hear them at times, or purposefully playing noises in Y/n's room practically made to drive them absolutely mad until they finally listen. Until they give in- or at least hear that little voice of their's that they've been tryinf to sneak in.

And y'know what? It works.

Eventually, voices that Y/n could only associate with discomfort, pain, annoyance and cold began to make them feel warm and seen. So loved and cared for even if they never felt such things from the Batfam before.

They don't want it, this feeling. They hate it! They try to scratch it away as it seeps into their skin, and they hate the way they begin to perk up and brighten at the sound of any voice from beyond that damned door. Even going as far as to physically restrain themself from moving any closer, just so that they could hear the voice more clearly and feel more of that warmth-

But it works. Of course it does.

Tldr: Y/n would be pretty resilient and resistant. In this particular scenario they would try to escape quite a lot! And to ensure that all goes well, the Batfam is willing to take away every freedom they can, and maybe even some rights, if it means getting their desired outcome. The only thing really off the table is physical violence, but nobody said anything about using psychological torture as punishment.

I hope this answer your questions! If it didn't, I apologize as I am writing this at midnight so it may be a little all over the place (I'll edit it a bit in the morning). If you'd like me to clarify anything or have another question, feel free to send in another ask!

[yourlocallyneysimp]

Genshin Boys x Rapunzel!Reader

Characters: Kazuha, Scaramouche, Childe, Albedo, Tighnari, Mika, Bennett, Lyney

A/N: This comes from my first request so, @swivy123 I'm sorry if it's not what you asked for. 😭

Kazuha-

Kazuha thinks your hair is really pretty, but he does get a little worried though because your hair makes you easier to find than hide. He would (try) to braid your hair (even though he's not that skilled at it) so you could walk around more freely. He also even took you to Liyue so you could experience the Lantern Rite Festival for the first time since he knew you really wanted to see the lanterns! Overall, hes very nice and polite and even carries your hair when it starts to get annoying.

Scaramouche-

You piss him off. Well not you, but your hair. Your hair annoys him because he tripped over it while he was walking through a forest one time. He was pissed, but that quickly turned into confusion once he realized it was hair he tripped on. He followed where the hair led and he was brought to you. You annoy him a little but he still likes you. He just has a hate/love relationship with your hair. (He also finds it funny how you use a frying pan as a weapon)

Childe-

He thought the tower you were living in was abandoned so he decided he would explore inside so that he could maybe find some souvenirs for his siblings. Although... getting hit with a frying pan was not on his bucket list. You thought he was an intruder so you decided that you'll protect your home and face him yourself. Imagine the amount of confusion he had when he woke up tied to a chair. When he saw you for the first time he was quite amazed at how much hair you had! (Is this even possible??) He tries to gain your trust and explain that he thought that the tower was abandoned which eventually led to you hesitantly untying him. But you shouldn't have ever done that since he would never escape your side, he is interested in you more than ever!

Albedo-

Albedo thinks you are very nice and likes that you are also interested in the outside world. He's also very interested in your hair because is it even possible for hair to grow that long, like???? You would ask him lots of questions about his discoveries or experiments and he would gladly answer them. He's pretty happy that someone actually takes interest in his work.

Tighnari-

You worry him a lot since you like to wander into dangerous places and you use a literal frying pan as a weapon. He literally panicks whenever you just dissapppear on him but quickly calms down when he sees your hair leaving a trail. Thank the archons for your long hair because without it he would be a nervous wreck wondering where you are.

Mika-

Mika thinks you're really pretty which made him too nervous to go up to you. You were the first one to nervously strike up a conversation with him and it was a little awkward at first, but he slowly got used to you. He loves your hair and even carries it to make it easier for you to move around. You make him nervous though because danger always seems to follow you so even though Mika is not much of a fighter, he still does his best to protect you.

Bennett-

He's probably tripped over your hair more times that you can even count. You kinda feel bad since somehow it always seems to happen and he just brushes it off stating it's just his bad luck. You even considered cutting your hair so he could stop falling face first into the floor, but he quickly refused saying that you don't have to do all of that for his sake. You still feel bad though.

Lyney-

He finds you intriguing, he probably met you during an important event or festival in Fontaine. He was the first one to come up to you and ask you to dance with him. You hesitantly accepted and you eventually started to tell him a little more about yourself. During this, he was studying your features, he already loved everything about your features like your hair or eyes or anything really. You would make an interesting puppet for one of his upcoming performances.