#this line of dialogue just prompted two different ideas

[waterfallofspace]

Thank you to the lovely @onetrickponi for this request:

From a little ask I intend to work my way through using ~this list~ (I actually am writing 2 things for this one, hope that's alright <3) I went with D/azai for the first one, featuring C/huuya ofc. It takes a minute to get into the actual snz, but hopefully it's still enjoyable~ 2.1k words, Prompt #17, story under cut! 17. What did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?" (References to swearing, and mild violence, in case anyone doesn't like either of those!)

~~~~~~~

Walking into his office in the morning Chuuya has learned to expect a certain number of problems to be waiting for him. Being an executive in the Port Mafia means cleaning up a lot of messes. It also means handling a lot of issues so they don’t become messes. All that to say, he expects problems, just not… this one. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Aw Chuuuya, that’s no way to greet your pahhrtner!”

“Former. Now? You’re just a traitor.”

“Words hurt you know.”

“I should kill you on sight.” 

Dazai casts him a dark smile, letting the chair tilt as he leans back, eyes void of anything you could call ‘human’. It’s an intense look; emotionless and calculated. He has with ease a terror inducing quality that even Mori lacks. Something that leaves you feeling cold and itchy. Almost as if how calm you feel in his presence sets off every alarm in your brain. 

“Come now. We both know you hhhaave no intention of that.”

“Why you-” 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want? I mean- sneaking into the office of a Port Mafia executive? I must want something.” 

Considering punching a hole in the wall, Chuuya settles for a shaky sigh, fist clenching around his jacket as he drapes it over the desk. ‘If I killed him now I’d have to deal with Mori. Besides, I need him to leave here without alerting anyone else or I’ll get accused of aiding and abetting. It’s my office after all, and he’s sitting here like he fucking owns the place.’ 

“Fine. But only this once, you hear me? And get your feet off my desk, you bastard.” 

“There’s the Chuuya I know and love!”

“I have seven knives hidden within my reach.”

“What an interesting fact! My turn! I have a video of Chuuya snoring on my phone.” 

“Eh?! You- Ach. Just out with it. The sooner you tell me what you want the sooner you can leave. And get off my chair, would you?” 

A smirk spreads across Dazai’s face, a grimace appearing on Chuuya’s in response. With a noncommittal noise he vacates the chair, Chuuya quickly taking his place. ‘Better, but I won’t be able to relax till he’s gone.’ They pause for a minute, trading stares as Dazai’s hand twitches to his face. A single movement, but one that Chuuya decides not to ignore.

“Something wrong with you?”

“Manners, Chuuya! Even Mori has more tact. But since you ahhsk, yes actually. That happens to be why I’m here.”

Chuuya’s face pales, a shiver running down his spine as he attempts to scan Dazai’s form. ‘No obvious wounds, he doesn’t seem that pale so likely no blood loss… It shouldn’t be some sort of special ability malfunction, he’s carrying himself with too much confidence. But his breath has been shaking. I didn’t notice it before, maybe-’ Dazai tilts his head, letting a hand rub against his nose again. 

“Are you worried, partner? How kind of you~! I knew you cared!”  

“I- I do not! I just w- want you out of my office. That’s all.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Along with all the rest.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you want or not!?”

“Right! Nearly forgot. It’s a bit heh-! Scuse me. Bit embarrassing.” 

"Everything about you is embarrassing.”

The anticipated retort never comes. Instead, Dazai’s eyes shift to the wall, a slight haze coming over them as his hand hovers in front of his face. Chuuya finds himself unable to look away, mind running through possibilities. ‘Is he gonna faint? Maybe I ruled out blood loss too soon. No… not pale enough. Maybe it’s an enemy's special ability? How would that be embarrassing though…’

“Not again, guhh- I really thought I had it that time.”

The voice pulls Chuuya from his thoughts, eyes refocusing on the man standing in front of him aggressively scrubbing at his nose. It’s only now that Chuuya starts to piece it together. The watery quality of his eyes, the slight flush to his face, and finally the dampness surrounding his nose. ‘Are you fuckin-’ 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You broke into the Port Mafia because you’re sneezing?”

“Actually, no. But good try, you’re very c- huhh-! close. I broke into your office because I can’t sneeze.”

“Wha-” 

Dazai lifts his hand back to his nose, sniffling with a quality that makes Chuuya flinch. He pinches it lightly, eyes starting to unfocus again, before huffing out a sigh and drifting his focus back to Chuuya. In response, Chuuya huffs out a laugh. ‘Wish I could say this is the weirdest reason he’s ever had for coming to see me. Unfortunately, this is pretty standard Dazai.’

“It’s not nice to laugh at someone who’s suffering!”

“Why the hell would you break in here for a sneeze?”

“Weren’t you listening? It’s the lack of sneeze that’s brought me here.”

“You know what I meant, jackass.” 

“It’s not exactly a problem I’m eager to share with just anyone. Not ex- hahh-! guhh… not exactly the proudest moment of my life. I needed someone I trust.” 

Chuuya pinches the bridge of his nose to fight off the growing headache. ‘I always seem to get one when interacting with him.’ Weighing the pros and cons of killing him here and now, Chuuya lets another sigh out, a low growl nipping at its heels as he offers a response. 

“Don’t you have someone over at the agency? The tiger kid, or that ideals man.”

“Maybe, but I wanted you.” 

A warmth starts to spread over his cheeks before he can stop it, Chuuya roughly huffing to distract from it. Judging by the smile that appears on Dazai’s face, he was unsuccessful. ‘Ach. What does it matter anyways, he’s the one embarrassed here. I don’t even care! I should just throw him out on his ass.’ Despite the sentiment, Chuuya finds himself vocalizing the complete opposite.

“Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Aw, see? I knew Chuuya would hhhhelp me!”

“Ju- just shut up, bandage waste. D… did you h- have something in mind?”

“Actually, yes. You see, this tihihhh- tickle has been bothering me for quite some time. I attempted a few rehhmedies myself, but it seems to be ineffective- heHH-!” 

Another pause fills the room as Dazai’s breath catches, a tear fighting to free itself as his hand flutters in front of his face. After an entirely too awkward amount of time, Dazai finally sighs, rubbing his nose against his bandaged arm as a light cough spills out. Chuuya fills the silence that follows, wanting to end this experience as quickly as possible. 

“So?”

“So, I figured it haahhh… has to be someone else. I checked around your office for something effecti-”

“-You did what?”

“-tive, and landed on this feahhhther. Not sure why you even have this, but I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“I- I uh-”

The look that crosses Dazai’s face has Chuuya’s fists clenching again, his entire body begging him to knock it off the bastard's face. Instead he stands, ripping the feather from Dazai’s hands and pushing him against the wall. A breath is snagged from Dazai’s lungs at the force, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s with a dirty look.

“Someone’s bossy a- hahh-! all of a sudden-”

“S- shut up and close your eyes.”

“Close my…?”

“I’m not doing this with you looking at me l- like that.” 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does as he’s told. ‘For once.’ Chuuya grimaces, fighting the warmth that threatens to reignite against his cheeks as he brushes the feather against Dazai’s nose. Dazai’s breath catches as his head tilts back on its own. ‘This’ll be easier than I thought. Bastard really couldn’t do this himself?’

“heHH-! ehh… hihh-! hEP-! guhhhh…”

“What the- are you fighting it?”

“Nohhhh… Ihhehh-! It’s been l- heAH-! like this all da-ahhhy-! It’s been driving me in… insane- hEP-! Damn…”

“Shit Dazai, what did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?”

“I had to ho- heHP-! huhh… holdback for a meeting, and I thhhhink this is… is… heAH-! is payback.” 

Chuuya can’t help but laugh, prompting a watery glare from the tortured man in front of him. He pulls the feather away to reevaluate, Dazai moaning slightly as it’s removed, breath catching again- leading to nothing once more. ‘This isn’t working, I need a better plan…’

“Whatever it takes, right?”

“You have my phehh-! permission to do anything your little hhheart requires. As long as it gets results.” 

“Got it. Stay here, and don’t touch anything!”

With that, Chuuya brushes out of the room, heading straight for Mori’s office. ‘There’s something in here… I think he keeps it in this- there it is! This whole thing might end up being enjoyable after all.’ Grabbing the item, Chuuya returns to his office, surprised to find Dazai pressed against the wall where he left him, eyes still shut.  

“Ready?”

“Go fohhh… for it.”

Offering a tight nod in response, a grin starting to spread over his mouth, Chuuya holds up the cologne, spraying it right onto Dazai’s nose.  The effect is immediate, his eyes snapping open, staring right into Chuuya’s, before fluttering closed again, jerking as far away from Chuuya as he can manage.

“heH-! hAH’KXSH-ENXSHH’diue-! Oh thank go- AIYZSHH-hNNXSHh’iew-!”

“Christ, Dazai.”

“heHh… wait there… there’s… huhH-! eh’KZSHH’shiew-! dAHZZSHhh’uu-!”

“A- are you-” 

“hh- hah’ihZSHHh’diue-! hehh’knESZHh’oo-! hehh.. huhHH-! ihh’tnZSHhhieww-!” 

The third seems to surprise them both, Dazai managing to bring a hand up to scrub at his face, pinching his nose shut and prying his eyes open. Chuuya can’t help but wince at the ticklish look of his face, nose quivering, still hitching despite the iron grip he has placed over it. A desperate look flashes across his features as he ducks into his chest, fingers still glued to his nose being used to stifle.

“hH’GNXT-INDXXT-! tehhh… heh’inGT-aiNGT’shh-! ihHH-! hh- knnGT-eh’dNT’chh-!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t-”

“eh’kznngt-inndgt’chhh-! huhh-! hk’nxxt’chh-geh’dxxt’choo-! heH-! dnNXt’choo-ainGT’choo-!” 

“Seriously you moron that’s only gonna-”

“ihh’knnT’oo-! iNDXT’oo-! hahHHh… gehh- hehH-! hehH’KXXNT’shoo-! eh’dENXGT’shhoo-!”

Each breath increases the tickle, Dazai only seeming able to inhale when he’s building for the next sneeze. Before he can think it through, Chuuya finds himself prying his hands away, holding them together. Dazai opens his eyes again, desperation flooding them as he tries to break free.

“Ch- Chuuya.. I hhhaaaa… haavee to… guhhh-! gonna… heHh-!”

“J- just sneeze, okay? That’s why you came to me isn’t it? Besides, this is hard to watch.”

No time to fight Dazai gives one last effort to break free. It fails spectacularly, and instead he attempts to aim for the floor, only succeeding in reaching Chuuya’s chest. Chuuya growls at the display, but ultimately resigns himself to the outcome. ‘Technically it’s my own fault. Still, bastard’s probably doing this on purpose.’ 

“ahh’tezshhiew-knnezsshh’iew-! heHh… guhh- hiH-! aih’YIZSHHhh’oo-YIEZSHH’shhoo-!"

"Bl-"

"hahhh… hAHhh-! ah’gnZUSHHh’diew-eh’zzUSHHhh’diew-!”

“Bless you.”

“Th- thahhhnnk… hH’INCHh’oo-! knNCHHH’oo-!”

“Don’t waste your breath.” 

“See- heH-! Seems like you’re the sneeehhh… eh’tzsshh’oo-! tzzshhh’oo-! sneeze whisperer, Chu- choo… ahh’CHH’uuya-! heh’CHH’uuya-!” 

A blush spreads across Chuuya’s face as he aims a kick for Dazai’s stomach, just a little satisfied when the bastard grunts in response. ‘It wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage.’ Dazai attempts to laugh, the noise coming out strangled as the congestion seeps into his voice. 

“Something the matter?”

“I- I will throw you out the window, Dazai.” 

“Might be doing me a faahhh… again..? heH’KZSHhh’oo-! kEHSZHH’oo-! Scuse me. Might be doing me a favour. This is gonna laahhh… last all day.” 

“You asked for it.”

“Yehh- yes I did.”

Freeing himself from Chuuya’s grasp, Dazai starts to head for the door, pausing with a spin to face him once more. A look spreads across his face, one that steals Chuuya’s breath the way the sneezes had stolen Dazai’s. A look with real emotion laced in it. 

“I don’t regret it, you know. Coming to you. I made the right choice.”

Leaving no room for a response, Dazai gives a wave, before crushing his nose into his palm again as he exits the room. Chuuya pauses, seemingly frozen in place as his mind races through the interaction. Replaying every moment as if he’s watching a recording in his head. 

‘Smug bastard. Just wanted an excuse to break into the Port Mafia, I bet that’s it. He just wanted to prove that he could get into my office whenever he wanted. Picked the dumbest reason just to piss me off.’ 

It’s a lie, and he knows it. But just for now, it’s easier than the truth, so Chuuya decides to stick to it, ignoring the smile that starts to form. A few floors down as Dazai makes his escape, the same smile graces his features.

“It was nice to see you too, partner.” 

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[mcflymemes]

ANYONE BUT YOU (2023) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

you still live at 28 fuckboy lane?

there's a reason why you're alone. no one can trust you.

i still think about the night we spent together.

these last few days really made me realize how much i miss you.

that night at your place, no matter how it ended, it was still pretty amazing.

so... you gonna kiss me now?

you'll always be my rock bottom.

okay, nuzzle my neck. get in there.

we are not together. we were faking it the whole time.

we have to kick it up a notch. make it feel like we're in the ga-ga stage.

you know, i feel really bad about that.

did you catch him measuring his dick with a ruler app?

you scared the shit out of me.

we're getting pretty good at faking it.

it doesn't matter how we found out.

permission to put my left hand on your right buttock?

okay, not in circles. it's not a magic lamp.

are you not wearing underwear?

we do not inherit the earth. we just borrow it from our creatures.

i have a better idea. you just let me do everything.

thanks for being so cool about all of this.

you want a coffee? it's the best n the world.

there's only one bed, but we hung a shower curtain in the middle.

hi. where's your bathroom?

i could have done it myself, but whatever. thanks.

thanks for not stealing my coat.

is that really a two person job?

you would let me die?

they think i'm throwing my life away.

no, that was rude. i apologize to anyone that was listening.

i don't know. i'm not good at this, sorry.

i'm from a different generation.

i'm not talking about love. i'm talking about dick.

all that matters is that we're together.

that's not me anymore. i'm free now. i'm deprogrammed.

no way, that man does not have a heart.

well, that didn't take long.

if i never ask you for anything ever again, can you please just lay off of me this weekend?

let's just have a moment to calm ourselves.

no one cares. no one can see us.

we were on a break, asshole.

either way, someone's lying to someone.

i must have really gotten under your skin.

you used none of those terms properly.

i cannot believe i just said that out loud.

i'm sorry. my life is a disaster right now.

look at this place. it looks like every serial killer reenactment documentary.

no matter how broken something is, there's always a way to fix it.

this whole thing is so new to me.

i don't really like labels, but i like you a whole bunch.

so are you going to ask me out now?

so if we were getting attacked by giant spiders, you would not be able to protect us?

you two know each other?

i'm going to go grab a drink. door's that way if you're looking to sneak out. i know that's your thing.

i'm going to get a drink and toast to never seeing you again.

how crazy is it that we're on the same plane?

why do so many of us feel stuck?

you don't even play tennis.

we're fine if he just stays away from me.

you're such a romantic.

i was hoping you'd come. i wanted to message you, but i didn't know how you'd feel about hearing from me.

they're also a little worried how you're gonna react to all this.

you have a little something in your teeth.

we need to come up with a game plan.

you are so terrible at this.

it's harder than you think.

they know i would never go out with a guy like you.

we just suck face in front of everybody.

you're calling me a fuckboy like it's an insult? i own that shit.

let's just be affectionate. i know it's a foreign concept for you.

you were the one who said there's a thin line between love and hate.

i think it was more of a euphemism for crying alone.

i definitely didn't hate you.

last night was the first thing i haven't regretted in a long time.

i love the weird way you stick your hand down my pants.

[trashmouth-richie]

the boy is mine // ziggy’s version ♡

@carolmunson prompt

♡firstly, i’m so excited about this, for the unification this could have for all of us fandom wide— hopefully there are more ideas like this in the future 💕

tw: depictions of hard times, established relationship, blue collar (?) vibes, money troubles, but you’re in love so it’s a non issue. fluffy, illusions to smut but nothing mentioned.

1.3k

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer.

props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook.

dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order):- "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" - "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true."- "and you like that?"- "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

Birthdays.

Something rarely celebrated between the two of you. Even though you both agree every year would be different, every new year’s resolution—sworn to do it, but always falling short.

Until this year.

It wasn’t a pony or a working television, and still with the daily struggle of bills piling up and work slowing down— Eddie promised himself, your day would be special.

He dipped into the ‘broken window’ fund— started when some little shits tossed rocks at the “freak’s house”. It consisted of an empty pickle jar that lived in the same dark bottom cabinet holding the potatoes.

Just a few bucks, that’s all he would need until payday on friday.

The shopping basket was nearly pathetic looking as he scoured aisles for a special treat, realizing he had come up short when he needed an extra few bucks for gas.

Putting back the cake mix, the card, and a pack of twizzlers—Eddie left the store with a single can of vanilla frosting, the off brand kind.

He rushed home, hoping to still have enough time to beat you there before your shift ended at work.

Scrounging for the small notebook you got him for christmas, he flipped through the pages filled with past conversations about the pros and cons of leaving the trailer park, a forgotten list for groceries, and an even shorter list of bills that could be pushed back a few days.

He finally finds a clean sheet, clear of pen marks and gets to work. His hands flew with D&D esque inspired calligraphy, scrawling “happy birthday baby!” with a tiny jagged heart at the bottom with his initials.

A car door slams on creaky hinges and he knew you were home before even hearing your soft footsteps on the worn concrete— giving him only seconds to do a quick sniff of his pits and rake through his hair with his fingers— rings getting stuck along the way.

Your keys jingle on your finger as you lug your purse by its strap, nearly to the ground like you were walking a dog on a leash.

“There she is,”

The same cheesy charmer line he had greeted you with since you were teens meeting between classes by your locker, faces wedged almost as one to kiss as much as you could before being late. Hormones on fire.

Eddie ‘benjamin button’ Munson aged backwards, you were sure of it. Where you looked exhausted at any given hour, Eddie's puppy dog eyes grew bigger every day, not a single wrinkle on his cherub face.

“Hey babe,” you yawned with a hand covering your mouth, “did’y have a good day?”

His smile, all dimples and porcelain teeth stretched a mile wide along with his arms as you walked into them, pressing your cheek to the middle of his chest, arms slung lazy on his hips.

“Always a good day babe, never bad. And..someone, not sure who, has a birthday.”

Lifting your head his chin is dipped to you, “someone doesn’t like their birthday, Eddie— it’s a waste.”

You never had, it was never happy before Eddie— stemming from divorced parents fighting about which one should pick up the cake, and who was buying the gifts because ‘I did it last year’ which ultimately dissolved into you telling them not to worry about it because it was just another day.

“Aw don’t be like that,” Eddie frowns, “that’s not even true.”

You grumble into his shirt tossing your head further into him inhaling his scent. He kisses your hairline and strokes your back before working to remove your coat.

“Five years we’ve been together, it’s time we celebrate shit, sweetheart.”

Mumbling a drawn out ‘fiiine’ into him he tips your chin, with a curl of his forefinger, a little smirk on his lips.

“You’re really cute when you pout y’know it?”

“and you like that?”

His lips slot against yours, and you hum with content, “oh darlin’” he says with a fake southern drawl, “I love it.”

-

The tub was filled with the warmest temperature the water heater would allow— which wasn’t a lot, but still, it felt nice on your sore muscles from your shift at the same plant both Eddie and Wayne worked at, opposite shifts from you.

Eddie’s rings clacked on the plastic edge as he slid his long legs around yours into the water, sitting on the other end of the tub. He had helped you undress, hanging your coat on the back of a chair, giving you the beautiful homemade card that made tears spring to your eyes.

He followed behind you into the bathroom, running the water and putting the drain stopper into the drain before he ran back out to the kitchen returning with arms filled with stuff that he kept hidden from you until you were comfortably sitting in the cramped bathtub.

He plugged in an emerald strand of colorful christmas lights that you didn’t even know you had. It filled the cluttered countertop, weaving around the bar of soap and kitchen cup designated for holding your toothbrushes, lighting the bathroom in a cozy Christmas ambience… in April.

“We ran out of like, nice cups— is this okay?” He asked before pouring a can of Busch light into two red cups that were nabbed from Benny’s before it shut down.

Scrunching your face you move your arms from the depths of the water to reach out for his extended offering of warm beer, “when have we ever had nice cups?”

He laughed shrugging, “yeah, you’re right.”

Sitting square in front of you, long legs bent and wide open, Eddie holds up his cup in a cheers, “to you, my love, my sweet beautiful hotter than hell girl who for some reason fell for my charm, happy birthday.”

Clinking a his cup with yours you both smile before taking a swig of the cheap warm beer.

“mm, that’s nice.. what year?” you tease, never even having wine in your life.

He plays along like he always does, swirling the cup and putting the tip of his nose to the rim, “ah yes, a refined 1989 I believe— a good year for Busch I've heard.”

You both laugh until your sides ache. This is why you adored him, making a normal day special by just being him—corny, cheesy, poor— and you had never been happier.

“Oh, wait!” he exclaimed, reaching out of the tub, ribs stretching taunt against his skin, soap sliding down them.

He grabs a lighter from the counter and opens the tub of frosting. Brandishing a white waxed candle tucked behind his ear with the flair of a magician, he plants it in the center before lighting the wick and sitting down roughly in the tub, water splashing onto the floor.

The flame lit up his features, his tongue poked out in concentration, the yellow light filling his dark pudding eyes with a boyish glee, and then they met yours.

“Should I sing?”

You shake your head, happy tears stinging your eyes, “no, this is perfect,”

“Well make a wish.”

You close your eyes tight not knowing what to wish for because all you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you. Blowing out the candle you lean forward and kiss him square on the mouth, hard and deep.

The beer tipped into the tub and was long forgotten as your lips worked down his neck, wet strands of hair curled around, his arms pulling you in, making you sit on his naked lap, the frosting birthday cake sitting on the floor.

You kiss for awhile, your chest pressed into his, his hands squeezing your ass, the heel of his foot knocking the plug from the drain.

“If you don’t stop,” you mutter between kisses, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

Eddie smirks, dimples poking out, stroking your cheek thumb sweeping your swollen bit lip, “throw pillow is already on the bed, besides, I’m not afraid of a little trouble baby.”

[fairyhaos]

How To Fucking Write: a guide by fairyhaos

[masterlist]

this post details:

STARTING A STORY

PACING A STORY

hi gays and gals and welcome to "how to fucking write", a post (series) where i talk about how i brainstorm for writing, plan for writing, write the writing, and everything in between. nothing too serious here lmao, but i'm definitely planning on making at least a couple posts on this bc a) it's fun and b) i wanna help! so if you find this useful then pls lmk by reblogging + drop an ask if there are any specific things u want me to give my two cents on ^^

okok and now without further ado,,, let's look at the topics i'll talk about in today's post!

#1 - HOW TO START A STORY.

.. bullet point one : have an idea

the first big thing is that you need an idea. doesn't matter if you're a pantser and don't plan out your writing before you start. that's totally fine! but before you begin, you need at least an idea: maybe it's a vibe, a character personality, a specific journey you want the characters to go on. maybe it's a piece of dialogue. maybe it's the ending- the point you want to end up at after however many thousand words.

whatever it is, it's best to have some inspiration, some idea of what you wanna do. no point in writing if you don't know what you're writing, you know?

(of course, that brings up the issue of Having An Idea in the first place, but finding inspiration to write is a whole other can of worms we can open in another post.)

.. bullet point two : practice

okay, so now you have an idea. how do you put that idea to paper? how should you actually start your story?

it’s all to do with practice.

it’s the most annoying piece of advice in the world, but it helps so much. you just have to write lots and lots and lots, to find the way that works for you. whether you wanna start your stories with pretty scene descriptions, with dialogue, with dramatic one-liners. finding your voice, your style, what’s most comfortable for you, is really really important. and takes practice.

an example, though: for me, i prefer either a line of dialogue, or one-liners that a) help immediately establish a character’s personality or can b) introduce an interesting setting.

[chan + swingset] — one-liner example

[hoshi + silly] — dialogue example 

but of course, everyone’s style is different. so i’d recommend playing around! find a list of one-word prompts and just write a few that inspire you, writing the beginnings. it’s important, also, that you’re having fun, because if you’re already struggling with starting to write, it’ll be even harder if you’re doing it while feeling stressed.

.. bullet point three (mostly just for longer fics)

maybe you don’t find a style, in the end. maybe you’re comfortable with all of them, which is totally fine! but then you look at your writing, and you think, “oh… this isn’t as good as i thought.” 

and it makes you want to give up. what do you do, then? how do you carry on with your start?

just put words to paper. it doesn’t matter if the words are terrible, if you’re making up shit and using placeholders for description words or whatever. just carry on, get to a place you’re happy with, like the end of a scene, or maybe a dialogue exchange you really like.

because now, guess what? you’ve successfully created a first draft.

making first drafts is actually so important. seriously. first drafts allow you to fuck up, allow you to write terribly. they help you fumble and trip your way to the finish line (or at least a rest point) so that you can go back and do better.

even if your first draft is terrible, it’s helped you make your way to a point you’re happy with. now you have a vague idea of what you want, even if the description or characterisation or something is way off. because now, you can edit it, or even scrap it and use only a few words from that draft in your next one. or maybe, if you look back at it, maybe it’s even decent enough for you to use. 

whatever it is, when you first start writing that story, think of it as ‘The Worst Draft’. because it probably won’t be as good as you want it, and it’s okay. just write, with no fears of it being bad, because that’s literally fine. it’s not set in stone. the backspace button exists. after your first draft is made, make another. and another, and another, because i promise, after that first draft, it only gets better from there.

#2 - PACING A STORY.

.. bullet point one : adding things

pacing is always really tricky. however, i do think that slowing a story down is easier than speeding it up, so here we go,,,,

finding out the exact way to slow down a story really depends on what type of story you're writing, but there are a few all-round things you can do which can help pretty much any setting.

if it's a scene with loads of dialogue, and things feel like they're jumping to the end topic too quickly, add descriptions. your readers are blind, writers, and they depend on you to be able to see what's going on. are your characters having a conversation on the street? take a break to describe what they see. are they in a coffee shop? maybe someone comes in with a huge noise, or their coffee arrives at their table. are they hanging in midair with nothing around them? well, describe the actions of the character they're talking to, then.

example: (from my seoksoo fic bc it's the only long fic i'm working on rn)

by adding character descriptions, movement, thoughts, instantly everything seems to have slowed down. it thickens time, allowing you to move at a more leisurely pace.

if it's a scene full of action, you can do the exact same thing. maybe there's a high-tension moment and something significant happens. slow down time there, describe something small in great detail. talk about the thoughts they're having.

and even if it's just an ordinary scene, describing is important. the setting, the characters' actions, their thoughts. it's okay to write too much. then you can delete things which make things feel like they're moving too slowly.

.. bullet point two : delete

not gonna lie, finding out how to speed up the pacing of the story can often be really specifically tailored to the setting of the story.

with stories that have loads of action (spy, apocalypse, etc) i'd recommend adjusting sentence length. you'll want short, punchy sentences, without loads of commas and clauses, but you'll also want to experiment with having those short sentences gradually get longer. it helps with tension and suspense.

it has to be short. running fast. something to elevate fear. quick, but also desperate, before they then spill over each other, picking up pace, all of the thoughts blurring together and going faster, and faster, and faster, and then-

then the penny drops.

people use the metaphor of music a lot, and it really does work that way. it needs to ascend to its climax: gently, cautiously, before sprinting upwards and only describing things like the barest emotions (the fear they feel, the panic, anger, anything) before everything reaches its peak and comes crashing down in a flurry of action descriptions.

but of course, the easiest way to speed up something is to delete. delete swathes of setting description. delete unnecessary dialogue. delete an entire scene and rewrite with only the things you remember (which can help make sure you only have the essentials in your scene, btw. very helpful).

it might take a bit of adjusting, rewriting, moving things around, but ultimately, quickening the pace of the story depends on the way in which you write things. be concise, be dramatic, and don't dawdle.

... and that's it ! if anyone has anything else they want advice on (how to structure, how to write dialogue, how to plan etc) then just shoot me an ask, because i'd love to help however i can :)

tagging: @selenicives who asked for this in the first place hehe ^^

[flightlessangelwings]

His Strength

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count- 3.8k

Dialogue prompt- “ hey! get away from them! “ and “ don’t worry about me; are YOU okay? “ Action prompt- [ SACRIFICE ]: sender sacrifices themselves, either fatally or otherwise, in order to save the receiver’s life.

Warnings-s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fwb to lovers, protective!Din, bounty hunter reader, injury, brief violence, brief torture scene (not super descriptive and no needles or anything like that), light angst, happy ending, mutual pining, feelings, no use of y/n, ambiguous on where in the timeline it is but razor crest lives

Notes- We made it, this is the last of my Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023! I actually had a different idea at first, but after some personally tragedy, I wanted to write something a little more angtsy. Don't worry tho it's still a happy ending and no major character death! Thanks so much to those who have supported this year theme endeavor with me!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date!

~

When you first partnered with a Mandalorian bounty hunter in the guild, you never expected how much it would change your life. What started as a one time alliance for convenience turned into a partnership built on mutual respect for the other. And everything changed even more the day Mando came to you asking for help with a child he had taken in. He had told you what happened, and how he made the decision to save the child instead, and it awoke something within you that day. Even as he rescued the child from the Client, you stayed by his side and as the two of you traveled the galaxy, you felt the dynamic shift between you two.

It changed the Mandalorian that day too. From under the armor, he had always respected you, but seeing you with the child made him feel something he had never felt before. He found that his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking, and he found himself wondering what life would be like if you and the child could stay with him forever… as a family. 

Neither of you were sure when it happened. You were just partners one moment, and the next, became something more. There was never a whisper of it spoken out loud, though, just both of you knew something shifted. Even if it was simply for release, it changed everything between you two. He even murmured his real name to you in the throws of passion- a gift you treasured and kept safe in your heart. 

*

Sweat lined your brow as you writhed beneath the Mandalorian. His low grunts echoed from under his helmet while you bit your lip to stifle your moans. Din, as always, never took anything off, only freed his cock. You stayed mostly covered as well, something you wondered if he did to keep things feeling leveled, as if he didn’t want to feel like he was overpowering you. Only your bottoms came off, and even then they stayed around your ankles.

It started fast, heated, and fiery. The first time you and Din slept together was quick, as if you were both concerned with the moment running away from you. He just pushed your pants down enough and took you against the wall. And even with the rush, it was still a more intimate connection you had ever felt in your life. You couldn’t tell at the time, but Din felt the same way.

Over time, it moved from the wall to Din’s bunk, and from hot and hurried to slow and sensual. Din at times handled you with sure care that you wondered if he thought you would break. The way he caressed every inch of you made your heart flutter in your chest as you looked at him with a glazed over expression. Neither of you were sure when exactly it happened, but something changed as the two of you came together time and time again.

You felt it with every thrust of his cock. Though you never saw his face, you felt the emotions behind his movements and his touch. You looked into the darkness of his vizor, locking eyes with him behind it. A louder moan escaped your lips as he rocked into you again, filling you to the brim.

“Din…” you murmured as you ran your hands across his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he groaned in a low tone that went right to your core.

You whimpered at the care that lined his voice. Moving before you could second guess yourself, you let go of his broad shoulders and reached down for your own top. You grabbed and pulled it over yourself in one swift movement, exposing more of your body to Din.

He paused as his helmet nodded up and down as he soaked in the sight of your bare chest, “You’re beautiful,” he groaned as his hands wandered across your breasts. 

Mirroring your action, Din surprised you by quickly removing his gloves so that he could touch your bare skin. Both of you gasped when his large hand cupped your jaw first, then trailed down to your breast. He remained inside you yet stayed still as both of you froze in the moment. Din’s thumb brushing across your nipple was the only movement save for the way both your chests expanded with your heavy breaths.

A whimper escaped your lips as Din caressed your breast, gently pinching your nipple as he fondled you. He worshiped your body with his touch and you could hear the heavy breaths from under his helmet. Heat rose between the two of you as he kneaded your breasts.

Din murmured your name as his hand trailed up your chest and along your arms until he took your hand in his. Leaning forward, Din pressed his forehead against yours as he covered your body with his own and resumed his thrusts.

This time, you couldn’t hold back your moans. Between the way he pounded into you and the emotions that came with the intimacy of the moment, you couldn’t help the way you cried out. Din’s cock hit spots deep inside you that you never felt before, and it brought tears to your eyes.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he groaned, “Me too…”

His hand clasped around yours as he sped up his thrusts, rocking into you with abandon. You arched your back into him as you squeezed his hand right back, and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt your climax quickly approach. 

“Din… I’m…” was all you could get out before your orgasm hit you. Your entire body trembled under his beskar-clad one as you came hard on his cock. Your cries echoed in the small space as you felt Din hit your sweet spot over and over again, making you feel a pleasure unlike anything you ever experienced before.

Din growled your name as his hips became more erratic until he too hit his peak. He dropped down onto his elbows, all while never letting go of your hand as he felt wave after wave of pleasure crash through him as he spilled himself deep inside you.

Heavy breaths filled the small space between your bodies as Din rode out your orgasms together. With one final deep thrust, Din groaned as he stilled himself for a moment until he pulled out of you completely. You let out a soft whine at the loss as you felt your body pulse from the aftershocks of your powerful climax.

He gave your hand one last squeeze before he finally let go, and Din immediately grabbed your shirt so that you could cover yourself.

Mumbling a hushed “thanks,” you maneuvered yourself in the tiny space to dress yourself, slipping your shirt on before shimmying your pants back up. Vaguely, you felt Din’s gaze on you as he helped you move around on the cot. For a moment, you didn’t dare look at him. The emotions were too overwhelming after what happened. Something changed in the air between you two, but neither of you were sure how to address it.

That was when you noticed his hand still lingered on your body, holding you tightly. “Din…” you started in a whisper.

But you were interrupted when a coo from a distance made you both look up. Grugu babbled happily as he made his way outward the bunk and climbed in, settling himself in between you two.

You smiled brightly as you finally looked at Din, “We didn’t wake him did we?” you asked in embarrassment.

“I hope not,” he replied with a soft laugh in his tone, “I’m sure it’s fine,” he reassured you. 

You couldn’t help but giggle as the little child made himself comfortable between the two of you. Faintly, you heard his laughter with yours and it made your heart soar.

Din tilted his head affectionately, “Rest now,” he cradled your face, “We all need some sleep.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. Wiggling your way around where Grogu already made himself comfortable, you laid down on your side and exhaled deeply. Din did the same after you were settled and he placed himself so that he could wrap his arm around both you and the child, holding you both close, keeping you both safe.

“Goodnight,” you murmured before you drifted off. Surprisingly, it took you no time to fall asleep, perhaps because you were warm and comfortable… and safe.

The Mandalorian, however, laid awake for some time, just listening to you and Grugu sleep. Everything he could ever want in the galaxy was tucked safely in his arms, yet it all felt so far at the same time. He knew neither you nor the child were truly his, yet he felt like the three of you were already a family. If you only knew just how much you meant to him… 

*

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you mumbled.

Din glanced over at you, but said nothing. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he stepped in front of you. 

The alleyway felt like it closed in around you. Dim lights led the way as you, Din and Grogu tracked the fob and the bustle of the city faded into the distance. It was quiet, but not calming. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something felt wrong, and everything in you screamed to turn around.

Din's presence anchored you, though, and you stayed at his side as you carefully made your way toward where the fob guided you. With each step, it beeped louder until you all turned down one last alley that led to a small shack.

“Careful,” Din hissed under his breath to you.

You and Din each hovered your hands over your weapons, ready to strike. Din scanned the area, and when he found no movement, he nodded to you and opened the door slowly. You held your breath as the two of you pointed your blasters into the small space, ready for anything. However, as you inched closer, you noticed that the target laid still. Scrunching your brows, you reached a hand out to check, and with a sigh you turned back to Din, “He’s already dead.”

Din let out a soft grunt. You were right- something was off about this. But, before he could even reply, an explosion knocked both of you off balance. He shouted your name as he instinctively tried to reach for you, but you were knocked too far away from him.

A yelp escaped your throat as you found yourself thrown against the nearby wall. You groaned as your body ached, but you forced yourself up onto your elbows. Grogu’s pram was pushed next to you, and through the smoke in the distance where the front wall used to be, you saw numerous shadows appear. Din laid on the ground on the other side of the space, groaning as he too pushed himself back up.

Acting quickly, you shot up to your feet and grabbed onto the pram, “Get out of here, Grogu,” you told him and you gathered your strength, “Get out of here and get help,” you strained as you pushed the pram as hard as you could, sending it hurling out the window and into the darkness. You watched it disappear for a moment before you turned to your companion, “Din,” you breathed.

He looked over at you, but before he could even say your name, another figure appeared behind you and knocked you unconscious. Din yelled, both in fear and in anger, and attacked the enemies with everything he had, fighting until he too found his world completely black.

*

You felt the pain before you opened your eyes; your entire body ached. Faintly, you heard voices and clamoring around you, and it took you several seconds to blink your eyes open. When you did, you found yourself in a brightly lit room with several men around you. Gasping, you tried to move, but you found yourself strapped down- your wrists were bound at your sides and your ankles were tied at the end of the table you currently laid on.

“You joined us just in time,” a sinister voice spoke.

Snapping your head in the direction of the voice, you saw a tall man with a rod in his hands. The rod sparked at the end, and you knew immediately what it was for. You spat a curse at him as you struggled to get out of your binds, but that only amused him.

“She’s feisty,” he commented, “I see why you keep her around, Mando,” he moved aside to reveal Din behind him, also bound but in a different way.

The Mandalorian was on his knees, his wrists cuffed together in front of him, and several men strained to keep him in place. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could hear the snarl in his breathing.

“Maybe now you can tell us where the child is,” the man continued as he stepped towards you, the rod pointing right at you.

“Get away from her!” Din shouted, “Let her go!”

He ignored him, the rod hovering just above your skin, “Let’s hear how pretty you are when you scream,” he hissed.

“No!” Din struggled in vain as he tried to break free.

The searing pain from the rod against your skin made you scream before you could fight it. Pulse after pulse of electricity shot through your entire body, and it was the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. You were trapped, and there was nothing you or Din could do.

Your screams went right to Din’s chest, “Stop!” he shouted. Fueled by his rage at seeing you hurt, Din finally broke free of his captors and with a grunt, knocked them out. “It’s me you want. Leave her alone,” Din panted, “Don’t hurt her.”

Din smashed the binders that held his wrists together, shattering it, before he grabbed his small vibroblade that he kept hidden. The room turned into a frenzy as the other men attacked him, but he fought them off until he reached the leader, the one who hurt you.

Amused at the scene, the leader pulled out a blade of his own and countered Din's attack, “Is this… love, Mandalorian?” he asked as he parried Din's attack.

The Mandalorian just growled as rage consumed him. He went blade to blade with the leader a few times, but he soon made a mistake. Din glance over at you, still bound to the table with tears in your eyes. He hesitated for just a moment as the sight of you like that broke him, and that was when the leader stuck, stabbing Din right between the plates of his armor.

“Has a woman made you soft?” he teased in a low voice as he drove the blade deeper, "How sweet," he spat.

Your eyes went wide as your mouth opened to let out a scream, but nothing came out. Instead, all you could croak out was a hushed, "Din..."

Tears fell from your eyes as you wailed and thrashed in your binds, desperate to do something. Maniacal laughter filled the room as Din slumped down, the blade still in his body. You whimpered as you tried to fight through the pain that coursed through your body and free yourself, but it was no use. This was the end. And you didn’t even get to tell him…

Suddenly, the wall on the far side burst open in an explosion and dozens of Karga’s men flooded into the room. They fought off your captors in a heated fight. And through the flames and blaster fire, you saw the familiar outline of the child, who waddled over to you. It was the last thing you saw before you passed out from the pain. 

*

Din woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was getting stabbed, hearing you scream and then an explosion. He had no idea where he was, but he did notice that his hands weren’t bound anymore. And the pain had dulled to an ache in his side. But, more than his own injuries, he was more concerned with where you were. Thankfully for him, your voice was the next thing he heard.

“Din,” you gasped, “It’s alright, we’re ok,” you were right next to him.

Din laid back down with a groan as the pain suddenly intensified. But it didn’t matter, you were here, and you were ok. He whispered your name, “What happened?”

“Grogu found backup,” you sounded tired, “Karga and the others found us just in time.”

He groaned, “Grogu?! Where is he?”

“Shh,” you tried to calm him, knowing how much the kid meant to him, “He’s alright. He’s resting in the next room. It took a lot out of him… healing us…”

“Are you alright?” was his next question after a pause.

Your eyes went wide, “Don’t worry about me. Are you ok?”

Din cupped your face, “As long as you and the kid are alright…”

“Don’t say that,” tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. You let out a shaky breath before you added, “Din, you… You sacrificed yourself… For me…” your voice trembled. 

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up to sit. You mumbled incoherent concerns as you helped him up, and once Din was upright, he found himself almost eye level with you due to the height of the cot. Din let out a heavy sigh as his heart skipped a beat in his chest at the way you looked at him. Though he hated to see tears in your eyes, he noticed the care and concern that highlighted your features.

“Din…” you breathed as he cupped your face once more.

As he gently cradled your face in his hand, Din murmured, “Keeping you and Grogu safe,” he hissed slightly from the pain, “Is all that matters to me. You two are all that matter to me.” Din spoke in a sincere voice.

Fresh tears filled your eyes, but not ones of sadness. You longed to hear him say those words, and now that you heard them, the emotions became overwhelming. “I care about you too, Din,” you whispered as you leaned into his touch, feeling his thumb brush across your cheek, “You and the kid… You’re my family. My everything.”

Din let out a deep breath, “I trust you,” his tone was soft, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.

He slid his hand up your face to rest over your eyes. Your mouth dropped open as a sigh escaped your lips, but you said nothing and made no attempt to move. You put yourself completely in his hands, knowing you were safe in them. But, you gasped when you heard the hiss of his helmet, and felt the gentle breath from Din’s own lips.

Din leaned in and tenderly placed his lips over yours, using his free hand to keep his helmet covering the rest of his face. You both moaned softly into each other as you savored the feeling of your lips together for the first time. The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it held all the emotions the two of you held close to your hearts. Now that everything was out in the open, though, you and Din both felt like you could share this vulnerability with each other.

You tilted your head to the side as you placed your hands on Din’s armored chest and parted your lips in a silent invitation. Din eagerly took it and deepened the kiss by darting his tongue past your lips. He groaned into you and pushed his chest more into your body as the taste of you sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. A tear of his own slid down his face as he memorized the taste of you and the feeling of your face against his.

As much as neither of you wanted to break away, you needed air. Reluctantly, you both parted at the same time, sharing the air that you both inhaled. Din carefully pulled his helmet down and covered your eyes, taking a moment to admire the subtle features of your face as you kept your eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

You blinked your eyes open, and knew from the way he tilted his head to the side that he was admiring you. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you felt his eyes stare at you through the darkness of the visor. “Thank you,” you whispered, “For saving my life,” you slid your hand in his.

“You never have to thank me, mesh’la,” Din murmured as he squeezed your hand and moved his free one to cup the back of your head, “I’ll always protect you,” he continued in a low tone as he guided your head closer to his until your foreheads touched. Din knew his love for you and Grugu didn't make him weak, despite what the leader said. In fact, it made him stronger than ever, it drove him to fight harder to protect you both.

You let out another deep breath as your eyes closed and you cherished the moment. Being held by Din made you feel safe and warm, even with the cold armor he wore. You felt the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love, even through the beskar. “Let’s go see our kid,” you broke the silence with a smile in your tone.

Din let out a soft, amused huff that told you he was smiling too, “Yeah,” he murmured, “Let’s get our family back together.” 

[doomsdaybby]

finally posting my contribution to @carolmunson’s cutest writing challenge!

please please please join in if you can!! there’s no pressure, and I had such a good time with this. it made me all giggly and soft, which is something I haven’t experienced to this level whilst writing for a little while 🫶🏻

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer

props: a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook

dialogue prompts can be found in the original guidelines post linked up top!

word count: 3.5k (huh?!!? this ended up a lot longer than I anticipated)

content/warnings: female physical descriptions and she/her pronouns used for reader character throughout, original series eddie (no au), friends to lovers, questioning relationship (unestablished, that weird in between), first date, fluff on fluff on fluff, a little angsty at the start but we lighten up, cringe-worthy flirting that makes my heart flutter, first kiss (🥹!!!!), slightly suggestive (no smut), swearing.

The cool evening breeze sweeps at the hem of your pinafore dress, a fitted denim ensemble that hugs the fat of your hips and thighs, sitting snugly at your waist, paired with a pretty floral long-sleeve.

The trailer park can be spooky at this time of night, especially with a little chill in the air - you have always gotten the creeps standing out here too long. You tuck the two VHS tapes you’d brought along under your arm, a six-pack of Miller Lite beers grasped faithfully in one hand, the other free fingers fidgeting with some loose cotton strands at the end of your sleeve.

Now that you were here for a date, you surely couldn’t just knock twice and waltz in like you own the place, like you usually do. Jesus, your collar is fucking tight. You fumble with your shirt, forefinger raking back and forth over the threads, the thin material somehow not granting you enough precious airflow.

You had never been so nervous around Eddie. Never had you really needed to think about your outfit or your hair or even your goddamn makeup.

But now. Now, it was different. After a slip of the tongue amidst a heated argument over something that you couldn’t even place clearly anymore. One that erupted because Eddie had failed another math test, or another subject similar along those lines. Not caring about his education enough to actually scrape his high school diploma from the bottom of the barrel, one that would soon be a vacant void if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass.

“Why do you even care?!” he had yelled at you, actually fucking yelled. Eddie hated the way you looked at him, eyes laced with disappointment and an anger you didn’t mean; the downturn of your brows and a deep crease at the very top of the bridge of your nose. A place that he had wanted to litter with gentle kisses more times than he could count.

It had shocked him too, the sudden raise of his voice, an air of malice coating the words. Though it wasn’t aimed at you, not really. Eddie just couldn’t bear the idea of you, somebody he cares so much about, being yet another person that viewed him as such a failure.

It had just tumbled out, an admittance of pathetic besotted pining that had built to mountainous heights over the years. A mentos in a cola bottle, the whistle of a kettle on the stove at boiling point, you just couldn’t help it.

“Because I like you!” you had called back twice as loud, though the ferocity was near triple of Eddie’s.

“Like, really fucking like you, Eds” you admitted quieter that time, only able to steal quick glances at his astounded expression - a jarred sort of picture painted on his face, chocolate eyes wide and jaw loose at the hinges.

“You… you do?”

So here you stood one week later, on a chilly mid-March Saturday night, on the front step of Eddie Munson’s trailer - a person who you held near and dear as a friend since middle school and, at arm's length, a kindling flame, always believing that your infatuation was completely one-sided.

Therefore once your romantic desires turned out to be reciprocated, your heart was in your throat and your head spun dizzy in a dream-like state.

Another flatten of the front of your dress, a press of your middle finger to the tacky gloss of your lips, and you were knocking on the front door. Folding your arms over yourself was a grand task to keep yourself busy for a moment - fingers strangled by the plastic casing surrounding the alcohol and tapes almost slipping from under their secure hiding spot.

You start to pick clumsily at the skin just above the nook of your elbow whilst you wait for said date to answer the door. Of course he didn’t keep you waiting long, though it was foreign for him to have to answer the door to you. Eddie appears in five seconds flat, hair perfectly mussed and the waft of his aftershave - the surprisingly good kind, pine and amber - erupts millions of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

You feel like a dumbass kid, one disgustingly love-struck and naive. A feeling you aren’t overly familiar with, not to this degree. Of course you had your school girl crushes, fawning over your too large poster of Rick Springfield you had pinned up on proud display at the back of your bedroom door.

But with Eddie? It was totally unmarked territory, when you step meekly into his living room, uncharacteristically bashful, it sets alight that same adrenaline rush as if you were diving headfirst into shark infested waters. This was real life, your real life. He wasn’t a chart-topping celebrity you had ripped pages out of magazines for, Eddie was someone you had known only on platonic terms for nearly ten years.

“You look nice. Like, uh, really nice” Eddie compliments as he shuts the door.

“Y’made an effort for little ol’ me?” his grin stretches wide, a real pretty wide, a sort of grin that has never-ending smile lines rippling across his pink cheeks. Eddie matches your bashfulness, a shared tensisity that envelopes the air between you like thick black smoke accompanying the climbing licks of a fire.

You snort, such flattering remarks like this from him in this context was weird, but it felt so fucking good.

“You clean up pretty well yourself” your smile matches his, and it was true. Eddie did make an effort when it mattered; decked out in neat black jeans that unusually had no holes in the knees, the same makeshift handcuff belt, a faded white Van Halen t-shirt, completed with a dark olive green flannel that was cuffed to the elbows as the cherry on top.

The man was looking delicious, the same ripened fruit that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden, but you try not to stare too hard.

“I brought a couple movies,” you say, setting the beers atop the kitchen counter. “We’ve got ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ or one that Harrington said was pretty good, ‘The Breakfast Club’”.

You hold them both up to Eddie, who is smirking, a boyish expression that makes your stomach do backflips.

“Those are two wildly different options,” he snickers for a moment, a small pause before continuing with a mischievous bite, “And Harrington, huh?”.

Your brow raises warily, sensing a playful game of verbal tennis stirring up between you, the atmosphere electric. “I mean yeah, he does work there, Eds”.

“Aaahhh,” Eddie strings with an epitome of understanding, one you’re not certain that you’re following. “Now I know why you were almost a half hour late. Y’been chatting it up with other guys.”

“Don’t be like that,” you scold him lightly, “That’s not even true! Plus, do you really think I'd be here on a date with you if I had the hots for pretty boy?”.

Eddie takes pride of place at the end of the couch closest to you, hair enveloping his face as he crosses the living room.

“Oh? So he's a pretty boy now too?”.

You’re propped up against the kitchen counter, hip to the wooden cabinet, elbow leaning on the counter top. “You are the easiest person to get a rise out of, you know,” there was that smile again, a fond roll of your eyes in hand with the blooming cherry red at the apples of your cheeks.

Plus you’re prettier anyways, by a long shot.

“Hm. Will need to have a talk with Stevie-boy about trying to steal my girl”. Eddie notices the beaming display of pearly whites that earns him, one as radiant and scorching as the July afternoon sun.

‘My girl’.

It lights you ablaze from the inside out, the pound of your heart a booming bass drum in your ears, one vicious and overwhelming, and you suddenly become aware of every single vein and delicate capillary rushing with red hot blood.

“So… movie?” you’re holding up the chunky VHS tapes in either hand, insinuating pointedly to the macabre horror you were both certainly more inclined to, a jiggle of the dull clunk of plastic on plastic.

“Your choice, babe.” Eddie stretches an arm across the back of the couch, one leg swung up onto the well-worn cushion folded into a triangular shape. The space he had left for you was near disastrously tempting, able to fit perfectly cozy beside him, head crooked into the juncture of his neck.

Babe wasn’t new, but tonight it strung velvety smooth across his vocal cords with a much rosier lilt. Of course Eddie notices the bite at the inside of your cheek, the tightening at the corner of your mouth whilst you turn away from him. God, you don’t think that you’ll ever get used to this sort of giddiness.

“You got popcorn?” a wiggle of your brows in his direction and he’s giggling, a noise you hadn’t quite heard, breezy and flippant, overly juvenile but it was endearing.

“Actually,” Eddie jumps up from his spot on the couch, the shabby fabric already indented with a shadowed figure, remaining perfectly vacant until the owner returned.

“I thought that we could make chocolate chip cookies. You like cookies, right?” He pulls the multitude of ingredients from the cupboards and fridge, a stockpile threatening to topple from his arms. You watch him fondly, head propped up on the heels of your palms.

“I wrote the recipe down in this notebook. Debbie a couple doors down wouldn’t let me borrow her cookbook, said I couldn’t be trusted. Not sure if they’ll turn out any good but, yeah,” Eddie peers at you doe-eyes as he scratches the back of his head, fluffy locks exaggerated. He had washed his hair, it was always a dramatic transformation when he did. You were special.

“You made all this effort for little ol’ me?” you perk up, eyes swimming crystalline, brimming with the kind of tenderness only you could omit. Eddie chuckles, flipping open the notebook to decipher his rushed scrawling decorating the lines in smudged black ink.

So you did bake cookies together, a welcome ease to the tautness that strung tight in the air. You could get used to this, pottering around the kitchen, knowing Eddie on this entirely new plane of existence. You bump hips and snicker like kindergarteners, swiping off stray puffs of flour that somehow managed to settle under his eyes, allowing your thumbs to linger there for some selfish moments too long.

“I ran out of like, the nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie hands you the now chiller beer on ice once your baked goods sat safe and sound on the oven rack, a rather ghastly looking E.T. printed onto the cool glass. The picture was chipped and scraped in parts, appearing crummy considering the movie was still fairly new, though you didn’t mind.

You survey the glass up at your nose, rotating your wrist clockwise and opposite, lips form a downturn when you realise that the poor friendly alien had been decapitated without the tender loving care it obviously needed.

“It’s perfect”, you exhale a brief laugh lightheartedly, patting the cushion beside you, and Eddie spared not a moment more before he dived onto the couch with a similarly shabby looking glass in hand, though this one was embellished with a flaking Lord of the Rings design.

Now you were lounging together, taking up that place beside Eddie you had peered at so ardently earlier in the night, his hair brushing your cheek and the trailer enveloped in a cushy blanket of navy, apart from the blaring flickering white of the television screen.

Your head rests against his collarbone, his own tilted downwards so that his jawline was cushioned by your crown. This kind of more intimate contact came with a natural ease that neither of you had expected. The longer the clock ticked by, spending time together like this went from the sensation of that first crisp splash into the deep end of the pool that froze you to the bone, slowly, to the comfortable warming lull of floating down the lazy river.

You could float down the lazy river hand in hand with Eddie for the rest of eternity.

You weren’t sure how long you both enjoyed each other's company, the closeness, the minor skin to skin contact - long enough to empty your first cups of beer. But the awful smell of something burning soon seeped in from the direction of your precious cookies in the oven.

Eddie’s head shoots up when yours does, two noses sniffing up at the air. Eddie darts for the kitchen, and low and behold, behind the dirtied glass of the door and swaddled in smoke, were some very cremated looking cookies.

“You didn’t set a timer?” you questioned him, following close to his heels as he allows the smoke to billow free. The kitchen area quickly enfolds with the smog, stinging your eyes and catching at the backs of your throats. It was only a matter of time before the noise of the movie was drowned out by the alarming smoke detector.

“You said you would!” Eddie asserts, dumping the blackened cookies into the trash bearing an extremely puppy-like look on his face as you’re fanning the detector with a dish towel.

He sets the now empty tray back on the counter, winces at the high pitched ringing whilst pressing his finger to close off one ear. With another few bats of the rag, the alarm finally shuts off, and Eddie stands hand on hip just staring at you.

You shrug your shoulders, a pitying purse of your lips when the boy's face falls, brows pinching ever so faintly. You could kiss away every sad face he ever pulled.

“You have any vanilla frosting?” you ask lightly, shuffling through the cabinets only to find a couple tins of canned soup and a box of half eaten cheeze-its. Eddie observes the ingredients you had packed neatly away next to the sink, unfortunately not enough remained to make another batch.

“I don’t know where you think you are but I can assure you that I don’t,” his voice is sterner than he intends, crossing his arms, pissed off at himself that he had messed up what he wanted to be a perfect first date.

“Sad,” you respond dryly through a suck of the teeth, tilting your head back and towards him, almost swinging from the handles of the cabinets. “I could eat that shit with a spoon”.

Eddie grimaces, “and you… like that?”.

You mirror his expression, glossy lips stretching into an open-mouthed half smirk, arms folded and shoulders slumped forwards, turning full bodied to step gradually into his personal space. You have to crane your neck up some to meet his eyes, ones as dark as a piping hot shot of espresso.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you assure him when his spread fingers skate lightly along his clothed ribs, a self-soothing action you were well accustomed to, one that shatters your heart a little. “The grocery store might still be open, we can go get some ice cream”.

You run your own fingers along the tops of his arms, brushing beneath the cuff of his sleeves. Your touch was soft, delicate, fingertips glacial compared to the flush of his skin. Eddie Munson was on fire.

“Hey…” You press the palm of your hand to his cheek, stippled a carnation coloured pink due to the light buzz of alcohol, plus the fact that you were touching him so tenderly had his pulse point racing. It was an innate response, to reach up and press the plush of your lips to his cheek, barely an inch or two from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m having a really good time with you, okay?”.

“Okay…” Eddie murmurs back, a low melodious noise as one large fervent hand closes over the one you held to his face. You think that he is about to return the favour, maybe draw you into another one of many tight hugs you had shared before.

Except by the way Eddie tugs at your sleeve behind your elbow, his arms unraveling to welcome you chest to chest, you swallow over a dry throat in the moments it takes you to catch up.

Eddie’s lips are soft, you already suspected that by the pouts you were a victim to over the years, fleeting thoughts of what they would feel like pressed to yours.

His body invades yours, the kitchen surrounding you bleeding into a shadowy blur, bleeding hazes of the movie scenes bursting into crimson and neutral coloured supernovas. Your hands are buried in his shaggy brown locks before you could even register your movements, pinching at his roots at the nape of his neck.

It was desperate. It was downright addicting, the way he tasted. His lips tacky with your glassy strawberry flavoured gloss, smearing to the corners with every open mouthed part. It was a shot of heroine in your veins and the highest of highs Eddie could never dream of reaching, a hit like no other.

The ice wasn’t just broken, the entire frozen lake was smashed to smithereens beneath your feet. Though you cut it short before anything can get too hot and heavy despite the sting it spikes right at the center of your heart.

“For the record…” he interjects, a tiny whisp of a kiss pressed to the end of your nose, “I think you’re sweet enough. You don’t need any frosting” Eddie smirks when you part, tone less cloudy and more challenging, that lost puppy-dog expression replaced by a playful and troublemaking smugness.

Your lips seal together in a tight line, despite his atrocious attempt at some romantic banter, neither of you could keep it in for very long, and you both burst out in reams of laughter.

You push him away at the chest, though your hands certainly linger there, basking in the physical contact that you now craved more than ever. “Never say that to me again! Come on, loser. We have a movie to finish”.

Your attention no longer settles on the teens in peril before you, the guts and gore no longer piquing any iota of interest. Eddie’s hands were all over you, though not in a sinful sense. It was suggestive, sure.

The tap tap tap of his fingers at the inside of your thigh, an absentminded tick to distract Eddie’s racing mind. His nails skimming the tender ticklish flesh at the curve of your neck, catching the thrumming artery and the muted hitch of your breath, up behind the back of your ear and down to brush at your collarbone beneath your shirt.

You’re turned into him now, a casual position where you could both hide behind the throw pillow and giggle through a particular jumpscare.

“Stop making me nervous” you mutter, his grin lengthening twice as wide when he notices that you’re smiling too.

“I'm making you nervous?” he nuzzles his nose under your cheekbone, pressing further into you to trap you at the corner of the couch, one hand grasps at your shoulder whilst the other strokes small feathery circles just above your knee.

“Eddie!” you exclaim, sitting up and away a fraction from the warmth of his side, grabbing the throw pillow within your reach to swat at his chest.

“Baby”.

Your eyes light up, a startle shaking in your chest, releasing a whisper of a gasp you didn’t mean to. Eddie tilts his head to the side, closing the gap between you a little more, eyes heavy lidded and they twinkle with the reflection of the screen across the room.

His voice is low, muttering to you as if he’s sharing a secret. “I can call you that? baby?”.

“If- if you don’t stop that right now, Munson, we’re gonna have a problem”. Christ, he’s making you fucking tremble.

“Oof, and we’re back to last name basis,” Eddie feigns offense, palm to his sternum in a false wound of his ego. Though he’s impossibly close now, lips meer inches from meeting for a second time, and you can almost fucking taste him again.

“My girl seems to work pretty well on you,” his breath skims the bridge of your nose, cheap beer and spearmint.

“If you’re trying to make this go somewhere that you shouldn’t be…”

Eddie inhales a dramatic breath, clutching at his shirt. “How dare you suggest such a thing! I would never dream of taking advantage of such a sweet thing as yourself. I am a gentleman!” he proclaims, all gun but no smoking barrel.

“You’re talking out of your ass, Eds” you’re in stitches, a saccharine candy-coated chortle that knocks the wind from the space between your ribs, comedic horror plastered all over his face.

Then you’re pulling him in by the collar before he can utter another word.

now it’s time for me to read the whole freaking masterlist!!! 🫶🏻 let me know if you enjoyed!

[pandorasword]

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

CHAERI'S MASTERLIST

PTD On Stage in LA | Day 3

❒ genre: Slice of life

❒ words: 972

❒ summary: In which Chaeri uses Tae's beauty to her benefit

❒ prompts requested from the dialogue prompts game: “Wow, I really can’t speak, huh? Must be because of how pretty you look”

She was never good with words. She preferred facts: solid, reliable, hard to misunderstand. Words, on the other hand, always seemed elusive, ungraspable, especially when she had to use them in English. The situation worsened drastically when she found herself in front of thousands of people, right after singing for two hours non-stop. What was so difficult about a simple 'thank you'? For her, it was a real mystery. In fact, she didn’t believe a speech was necessary to express the emotion she felt every time. Hearing her songs sung by so many voices, with different accents, but with the same passion she put into them… she was sure it was evident during her performances how much she appreciated and was grateful for everything.

But it should be considered that those who cause their own misfortune should weep for themselves. She knew that day would come. She had all those years of experience and a highly competent team to ignore the inevitability of that moment. She could have taken the time to prepare a few sentences in English, memorize the pronunciation, and say them on stage. Instead, look at that, she had done nothing and couldn’t even remember why

In just a few seconds, all the times she had literally fled the room when she saw the English coach enter came back to her. It was almost like a scene from a cartoon: he came in one door and she scurried out the other, as if her only purpose in life was to avoid that conversation.

She had to refrain from slapping her forehead for being so stupid and irresponsible. She was still on stage, under the gaze of thousands of people.

Tae had just finished his speech. His English was insecure, his pronunciation questionable, but at least he had said something.

That evening, he stood out among the other seven, entirely dressed in red with a mask on his face, he had fun dancing and singing in a costume inspired by the Squid Game series, which had conquered the world in record time. And the crowd was ecstatic. A true show genius, born to capture attention: that's who Kim Taehyung was.

A shiver ran down her sweaty back, a testament to the hours spent jumping and running, reproducing the choreographies she knew by heart for that performance. 

It was her turn to speak.

With an uncertain gesture, she brought the microphone to her lips. Embarrassed, with no idea what to say or how to formulate a coherent speech, she searched the most remote areas of her brain for a foothold, a memory, or anything that could help her find the right words.

Then, suddenly, the screams of the crowd became so loud that they overwhelmed even her chaotic thoughts. Behind her, on the huge screen, appeared Taehyung who had removed his mask. 

And, damn, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

At that moment, a fleeting memory from a few days before came back to her: she remembered Namjoon, visibly irritated, trying to watch an episode of Friends. The younger members of the group were making noise around him, forcing him to restart the same part of the episode several times because he couldn't hear the lines.

Yes, that line she had heard repeated at least five times was perfect, and luckily, it had stuck in her mind.

She turned towards Taehyung, just a few meters away from her. The blue lenses of his eyes shone under the reflection of the multicolored stage lights, accentuated by the glows of the armybombs not far from them.

“Wow, I really can’t speak, huh? Must be because of how pretty you look”

The crowd roared in approval, shouted for the interaction, clapped for the way the boy's cheeks turned red, almost as red as his costume, because of the unexpected compliment.

The rest of the members burst into laughter, teasing Taehyung, while she realized that the attention from her speech had successfully been diverted elsewhere.

What a perfect end, she would have shaken her own hand in congratulations.

Later, in the backstage

“Chaeri-yaaaaa, you made me blush like crazy out there. Did everyone notice?” said Tae, walking beside Chaeri, an arm around her shoulders and almost all his weight leaning on her, partly from the exhaustion of the evening, partly because he loved to tease her.

"Every single person here saw how red you got" Jimin replied with an amused smile before the girl could, taking the perfect opportunity to tease his group mate when he was usually the butt of the jokes.

"Aish" Tae sighed theatrically, faking a look of devastation "my reputation as a tough guy is ruined because of you, Chaeri-ya."

Chaeri raised an eyebrow. “When have you ever had a tough guy reputation?” she said with a playful tone

"Hey, you" a sarcastic, accusatory tone came from Namjoon as he approached the trio, who were dragging their feet, destroyed by now, along the floor, hoping to reach a place where they could sleep for hours. Many hours.

"Don't think I didn't realize you did it to avoid the speech you were supposed to prepare for tonight" Namjoon looked at her with a look that said it all, the look of someone who raised you and knows all your little tricks. 

"Oops?" she looked at him, softening her eyes and curling her lips a bit to look more innocent - which she wasn't - and more forgivable - her behavior was absolutely unforgivable -. 

"So you didn't think for real that I was so handsome to leave you speechless?" Tae had pulled away from her half hug to look her in the eyes, his tone high-pitched.

"If it makes you feel better, I really think you're the prettiest of us all" 

"Ha! Did you hear that, Hyung? I really am the prettiest"

taglist: @alixnsuperstxr | @bts-dream | @enchantingbrowneyedgirl | @ycuvi | @cosmicwintr

[rinbylin]

top 5 dihua moments

HELLO ohhh goddd if i really really really have to pick... I'LL TRY (in tears)

in chronological order of the episodes:

(1) “你这个人最大的弱点就是喜欢当英雄。一个剑客不该有弱点。” your greatest weakness is that you like being a hero. a swordsman should be without weaknesses. (ep 1)

i'm as in love with the entire donghai scene as much as the next person but this dialogue is particularly special to me. so it was the first one i pinned down for this list. no hesitation. :)

it's a cornerstone of dihua's relationship; the thesis of lxy/llh's and their joint narrative. it prompts the deconstruction of the staple wuxia ideas of 侠 xia and heroism - which is what i really love lhl for. and dfs being the one to deliver this incredibly crucial and significant line is 10/10. he knew lxy even better than lxy did. he is the bearer and catalyst of lhl's story, lxy/llh's story.

"your greatest weakness is that you like being a hero. a swordsman should be without weaknesses." so what does it even mean to be a hero. is it more important to be a hero than being human. and i will become human. i am human and always have been. and i have weaknesses - i cannot win against fate, i am dying. but what ever is even wrong with being weak? being human is to have weaknesses. so i guess it's no wonder for the narrative to come in a full circle with dfs coming in possession of a weakness and be trapped in it. no longer the killer of di fortress. he's just a human being.

and llh bringing this up again in ep 11 feels to me that he had been carrying these words with him over the past 10 years. bicha and the battle have transformed him physically. but i like to think that dfs's words had an important role to play in an even deeper level of change.

all it took was this one scene to sell to me that this would probably be the kind of narrative i love.

(2) reunion in the woods (ep 8)

it's just so fucking good like literally every dihua scene. who doesn't love a good post-divorce first meeting scene. there's just a lot to chew on. most of all, llh just had to keep reminding dfs how well he knew dfs. we know the moon has always been this bright, alright. AND they were threatening each other. very sexy of them.

(3) whatever the heck was going between them in cailianzhuang arc (ep 11)

truly nothing brings out old married couple + parents vibes better than an inquisitive boy accusing you two of being up to something secretive behind his back. both their guilty expressions. :3 also dfs being the first person huahua goes to when he doesn't want to be alone. huahua being exceptionally chatty around dfs and dfs has no problem entertaining him. :3 they're totally on the same wavelength without having to say anything to each other and this arc brings it out so well.

(4) 腊月二十七 donghai anniversary wedding night (ep 38)

this is the last one i came up for the list after fighting a whole war in my mind over which 5 of the 100000 beloved scenes to pick. hate being predictable but. you just HAVE to give it to it. how do you NOT pick this for a top 5. all the 10 million other top 5 dihua scenes just had to make space for the anniversary scene. :'(

if i had to be even more specific, i think the scene of them in bed most likely takes the cake for me. llh literally saved dfs's life and helped him to become the stronger person he has always wanted to be. and perhaps no other moment exhibits the complementary yin and yang nature of their powers/energies in a more illustrative and palpable way. undershirts in bed just hits different from being fully clothed and one person literally having to keep the other person alive by touch...and this time it's llh for dfs despite the whole time it's dfs who was dedicated to keep llh alive. they have no lack of scenes that exhibit how in sync they are intellectually, and this is peak physical intimacy and tenderness, added with a brush with death/mortality yeah...

(5) llh/lxy's farewell to dfs (ep 40)

playing cheat here by combining two different moments :) but they are essentially connected. llh/lxy had to leave. and since it really had to be that way, i'm glad dfs was on his mind until the very end. what more can one ask for. there is really nothing more dear and tender in the world to be thought of

-

tl;dr: /blows kisses to every dihua moment

[misc-obeyme]

Can I see "You're not alone. You never were." with Satan please?

Hello there, anon!

Okay, this was the first one I've done, so hopefully it turned out okay. It was like a little puzzle trying to figure out how to fit in the line of dialogue! Anyway, it's also kinda long because I have decided not to give myself a word limit... not sure if that was a good idea or not lol.

Due to the nature of this particular prompt, this one turned out a little angsty in the middle, but it ends with fluff.

Anyway, thank you for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

GN!MC x Satan with prompt "You're not alone. You never were."

Warnings: hurt/comfort, some angst

From the very beginning, Satan was paying attention to you. When you showed up that day at RAD, he hadn't been sure what to expect. A human exchange student? One that didn't know anything about the Devildom or magic prior to their arrival? He thought you would be weak or stupid or both.

You might have been a little scared to find yourself in such an unusual place, but you surprised him with the way you handled yourself. As time passed, you continued to catch him off guard with how quickly you learned, how easily you adapted, how you stayed strong and confident through everything.

Satan was always observing you, noticing the little things that his brothers might have missed. The way you shifted your weight when you were nervous. The little treats you sometimes snuck from the kitchen in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep. How you always scrunched up your nose when you were dealing with a particularly difficult homework assignment.

There were so many things that Satan wanted to say to you and found for once he didn't have the words. What could he say to someone like you? A human who not only made pacts with the seven demon lords, but also became part of their family? Someone who was so impressive with their magical skill that Solomon himself had taken them on as his apprentice? A person who didn't just fit in with angels and demons and sorcerers, but was respected by them, too.

And then there would be times when Satan would remember that you were only human. He might catch you getting frustrated over a spell that you couldn't get right. He might see you suppress a wince when someone was rude to you. He might hear you swear under your breath when you made a mistake.

These things didn't make him think any less of you. They served as reminders that despite everything, you needed help sometimes, too.

It was in these moments that Satan found himself able to distract you. He went out of his way to cheer you up, bringing you to a cat cafe or giving you a particularly good book about something that he knew you were interested in.

Every time he did this, you would smile at him, even if you were in a bad mood, and the way your eyes went soft and fond made his heart melt.

You looked at him as though just seeing his face made things a little easier for you.

For a while, Satan was content to offer you these small comforts when it seemed as though you needed them. He wondered sometimes if you would ever seek him out for comfort on your own. If you noticed the way he was always there to lift your spirits when you were down.

There were several days when you seemed to be struggling, overwhelmed with all of the responsibilities that you had accumulated. Not only did you have all of his brothers to deal with, but you were now also a sorcerer and a student council member. You were studying with Solomon and doing student council work on top of your RAD studies.

Satan could see that it was starting to get to you. There were dark circles beneath your eyes and an almost vacant expression on your face. You moved through each day as though you were doing it only by memory.

One night you sat at dinner, eating woodenly, participating in the conversation with only one or two word sentences. Satan wasn't sure if the others had picked up on your mood, but if they had they weren't acting differently because of it.

After dinner, you went straight to your room, closing the door behind you without saying anything to anyone. Everyone else dispersed for the evening.

Satan paced in his own room for nearly half an hour before he decided to be direct with you. Normally, he would bring you something he knew you liked or maybe ask you to go somewhere nice with him. But it was different this time. You were hurting in a way he had never seen before. And it made him angry.

Satan left his room, striding purposefully down the hall to your door. He tamped down on that anger and knocked.

You opened the door for him and the sight of you standing there with your hollow eyes made him feel completely shattered.

"MC," he said. "Can I come in?"

You shrugged and moved aside.

Satan entered your room, closing the door behind him.

You looked at him blandly. "Is there a problem?"

Satan felt a burning within him and he fought to keep it from bursting out. "Yes. The problem is you."

You blinked and then frowned, the most expression he'd seen from you all day. "Me? What did I do?"

"Do you think I haven't noticed?" Satan asked. "You aren't sleeping. You're barely making it through the day. You're distant with everyone and there's this… emptiness in your eyes."

You stared at him for a moment in surprise before the frown returned. "I have too much work to do to worry about anything else. So if you only came here to get on my case about sleeping or my attitude, just leave."

Satan felt his anger spike and though he tried to stop himself, he couldn't. "You think I'm here to scold you? MC, I'm worried about you."

You threw up your hands. "And on top of everything else I have to do, you want me to fix that, too? I'm always the one who has to take care of everything because you all rely on me so much! Every day is full of something that needs my attention and it feels like everyone just expects me to do everything like it's no problem! Like I'm the only one who can! So I just keep going and going and even though I'm surrounded by people, I still feel so alone!"

Your voice broke on the last word and you realized you had been unloading, almost yelling. You covered your mouth and turned away from Satan.

Satan put his hands on your arms. He felt you shaking beneath his touch. "You're not alone. You never were."

Gently, Satan turned you around to face him. He took the hand that was covering your mouth in one of his, then used his other hand to lift your chin.

"I've always been here, MC," he said. "Since the very beginning, I've been looking out for you. I'm here because I want to help you. Won't you let me?"

Satan watched as your eyes filled with tears. The feeling roiling through his chest was unpleasant, but for once it wasn't anger.

To Satan's complete relief, you suddenly tumbled into him, pressing your face to his chest and wrapping your arms around him. He carefully held you in his embrace, pressing his cheek to your head.

The two of you stayed that way for some time before you took in a shaky breath and said, "I'm sorry, Satan."

Satan kissed your forehead. "It's all right. Just let me help you."

You pulled away a little to look at him. The remnants of shiny trails of tears were visible on your cheeks, though you were no longer crying. "You already have."

There was a light in your eyes again, one Satan hadn't seen in some time. You surprised him by kissing him, the warmth of your lips creating a heat in his heart that was unlike anything anger had ever sparked in him.

1,000 Followers Event | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[transmutationisms]

caden caden caden i am SO EXCITED to hear your thoughts for this episode. consider this ask an open prompt to say literally anything at all about it whatsoever <3

ok here goes. this was the payoff of an idea the show has been exploring for nearly four seasons now: that spectacle and showmanship can become reality, or more to the point, there is no essential difference between the two in the first place. politics is a particularly effective, and off-putting, demonstration of this process: the whole episode is driven by the tension between the created narrative and the material events, and through waystar's machinations, the dichotomy between the two can finally be totally collapsed and the country brought into line with atn's story of a mencken victory.

this is genuine, if genuinely repulsive, performative speech: a discursive practice that enacts or produces what it names. very few people are empowered such that they are capable of performative speech: presidents, lawmakers, judges, &c are the classic examples. and, in a world in which politics is not just a show but a profitable one, a company like atn can also join this list. this is not the first time we've seen atn use language to alter reality (for example, logan ultimately evaded the cruises scandal largely by pressuring the president through the manufacture of bad press) but it's a new height of brazenness for the siblings. what the show suggests is that the electoral process—the voting, the polls, the campaigning—is theatre, and what appears at first to be theatre—the television cameras, the graphics, the anchors touching up their makeup—is the speech that actually makes events happen, functioning of course as a mouthpiece for possibly the most powerful family in america.

succession has always been interested in the power of speech and the significance of language—"words are just complicated airflow" is from the second episode. the way characters talk is frequently bullshit, like tom and greg making up corporate-speak jargon in 'argestes' or kendall promising eternal life in 'living+'. they use profanity and metaphor to talk around their feelings, or as games in which the object is to assert dominance and the specific argument at hand barely matters. so much of the dialogue is 'meaningless' on the lowest level. yet, bolstered by a family dynasty and uttered by an anchor on an atn camera, words become not just meaningful but actually constitutive of reality. what kendall didn't understand in episode 2, and what logan understood instinctually but probably never in so many words, is that what constrains the reality-making capacity of speech is not some impotence inherent to language itself, but the social power structures its speakers exist in. speech in the hands of the powerful is itself also a technology of power.

ultimately this sort of tension between speech and event, or spectacle and reality, is why the show has always depended on the roys being a media family specifically. the commentary here is not just on a vague or generalised definition of capitalism, or on the effect of profit motives on politics. succession is specifically interested in how a corporation like waystar becomes successful by capitalising on the total spectacularisation of life, and how waystar can then use its position to create spectacle that is constitutive of a new reality without needing to be reflective of a preexisting one. it's a kind of frankenstein's monster: a beast raised by electricity whose powers far exceed what it was meant to be endowed with. this is why, as much as logan disdained certain cultural products and media (plays, music), he always valued the atn mouthpiece. what the siblings produced in this episode, and what logan valued atn for being able to produce, was not 'news' in the sense of being a reporting on reality, but 'truth' in the sense that the company simply willed it into reality instead.

[byoldervine]

What To Do When Losing Your Flow Mid-Writing Session

Make A Deal:

1. Set a timer. Write for five or ten more minutes

2. Cross the finish line. Finish the paragraph you’re on, or write one more

3. Musical statues. If you write while listening to music, keep writing until you finish the song you’re on, or until the one after that is finished

The intention behind these deals is similar to getting a child to try new foods; you tell them that if they can eat just one or two more bites, and they still don’t like it, they don’t have to eat any more. You can do similar with your writing, but it only works long-term if you actually allow yourself to stop after you’ve met the criteria to do so

Regaining Inspiration:

1. Come back later. Set the writing aside and do something else. Get food or a drink, take a shower, take a walk, cuddle your pet, whatever eases your brain from writing mode to chill mode. Ideally something simple and repetitive that you don’t have to think much about

2. Read something. Maybe a book that inspires you, or a transcript of a movie you like, or anything else like that. I’d encourage you to only read your own writing if you’re working on getting ideas for how to continue; you won’t snap out of editor mode even if you’re just trying to chill

3. Rediscover your passion. Remind yourself what inspired you to write in the first place. Was it this one particular scene that stuck in your mind? Was it a few lines of dialogue? Was it the general plot? A romance? A plot twist? Even just a vibe? Go back to whatever it was that initially inspired your project. With any luck, you’ll catch your second wind

If All Else Fails:

1. Redirect your focus. If you don’t have any further inspiration or motivation for writing, is there anything else you can do for the project? If you’re in the mood to draw, make character designs or background designs or doodle a scene. If you’re in the mood to sing or listen to music, come up with more songs that fit your characters or the scene you were stuck on. If you’re in the mood to eat or cook or bake, get food that a character would like

2. Turn to the internet. I made an entirely new Pinterest account purely for Byoldervine that I like to look through and add to when I’m after inspiration. Aside from that, you can also look at the writing communities all over social media and find new conversations or prompts to try. Which leads me to the final point

3. Write outside of your official project. If your current project isn’t going to plan but you still want to write something, you don’t have to work on your current draft. You can write a different scene from your work to use as a first draft later, you can write a one-shot that won’t be in the project but abides by canon, you can write a one-shot that is basically throwing your characters into an AU, you can write something entirely separate from your project altogether, etc. anything you like, just go ahead and do it; don’t deny yourself fun just because it won’t be in the finished product

[rxqueenotd]

I teased (very briefly) that I would be writing a fic from the POV of one of Daniel Molloy’s daughters. Basically that has consisted of me throwing random dialogue and ideas into word docs and vomiting them at @nyheartbreak every other day. I’m going to slap some teasers below and just put out some feelers and hope that maybe this catches some traction:

"What... exactly are you doing?" Naomi asked, her steps echoing on the apartment floor as she tried to contain the nervous energy bubbling within her. Fingernails grazed her teeth, a physical manifestation of the apprehension she felt, while her father's voice continued on the other end of the call.

"Open the files. I emailed them to you a few days ago," he explained with a sense of urgency. "Listen to them and find the plot holes. You're a pro at that," he added. "Spotting plot holes."

"And you excel at creating them," she retorted smugly. "Last time we spoke, you dropped the Parkinson's bomb, and now you're gallivanting halfway across the world during a global pandemic."

A heavy sigh emanated from the other end of the call. "Listen, kid, I'm fine. I'm getting treatment here," he reassured her, his attempts falling slightly short. "Just give the files a listen. I know work's been iffy with this pandemic."

She scoffed. "I'm freelancing," she stated, with a brief pause before adding, "And planning your funeral for when you inevitably disregard more health protocols and kick the bucket."

"Like I said," he reiterated, "I'm fine. I'm invincible."

"Can you at least time it for fall?" she quipped. "I have this stunning Chanel dress perfect for a funeral—it screams autumn elegance."

"Listen to the files, Naomi," his tone turned serious. "You'll thank me."

"Sure, sure," she agreed, acknowledging her lack of better options. "I'll listen tonight and share my thoughts this weekend."

"Thanks, kid," he lingered on the line a moment longer before ending the call.

"You're welcome," Naomi muttered to herself, retrieving her laptop from its designated spot on the kitchen counter.

____________________________________________

Another snippet:

"By the way, he did read my diary," Naomi announced casually, glancing over at Louis and Armand, who were nestled together on the loveseat, both tilting their heads at her spontaneous confession.

"One of you brought it up before," she gestured with her hand, "I forget who, but someone made the comparison between reading Claudia's diaries and my dad reading mine."

"I paid for that big time," Daniel interjected, rolling his eyes and adjusting his glasses.

"On October twenty-seventh, nineteen thirty-two, I quote, 'What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not,'" Naomi recited with precision. "I have a good memory."

"If you swap 'vampire' and 'monster' for 'transient father,' mine and Claudia's entries aren't much different," Naomi chuckled. "Except I left mine out on purpose for him to read."

"And you're admitting this because?" Armand inquired, leaning forward with folded hands resting on his knees.

"Because you seem to draw comparisons almost as threats," Naomi observed, her gaze lingering on his impeccably chiseled face, pondering what he might be concealing. "Bringing up Alice, my sister, Paris, the proposal, and whatever else you can extract from his addled brain," she motioned towards Daniel, who smirked back at Armand. "To me, that's a defense mechanism, especially considering that this interview is between my dad and Louis exclusively."

"And yet," Armand waved his hand gracefully, "here you are."

Naomi grinned at him. "And here you are."

Daniel cleared his throat as Naomi leaned back, finally easing into her seat.

"Let's move on," Daniel suggested, prompting Louis to release a soft chuckle, gazing at Naomi as if he were beholding Claudia once more, reincarnated, and giving Armand hell all over again.

____________________________________________

Thoughts? Opinions? Comments?

[iridescentxstars]

｡˚ ꕥ 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐱𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬' 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒

Kinky season is coming and I thought I'd get a head start. From today until the end of September, I'll be taking kinktober requests while also working on some other fics that I hope to have done and ready soon (yes, the wolf fic is at the top of the list) This event is split into two different types: typical NSFW and dark, spooky NSFW because as someone kept making a point of, it's kinkTOBER and lines up with spooky season and I should have fun with that.

Idols allowed: Jongin, Bangchan, Minho, San, Seonghwa, Juyeon, Sangyeon and Irene

RULES:

Must have all qualifying factors to the prompt otherwise it will be deleted.

Drabbles made that are on the darker side will be tagged and properly trigger warned. Do not read them if you are uncomfortable. Every post will state everything used.

Always take care of yourself and be aware of what you read. This is all for fun and is not designed to upset anyone. Nothing written is believed to be how someone may behave and is all fictional.

Try to be original and fun. If a kink/prompt has been picked too many times, I will not do it

If you don't like a particular prompt/kink, feel free to ignore it, do not send snarky remarks to belittle what someone may enjoy

Some will very clearly work well together, some will not, while I do like a challenge, please be mindful about how it would work as I only have around 500 words to make it make sense

Please do not make the prompt too restrictive. These are meant to be drabbles and there needs to be creative freedom

Format: Must contain the following: Idol, AU, trope/dialogue/prompt, kink

You can have a trope OR a dialogue OR a prompt OR all of it. Mix and match. Requests that spark inspiration might get a longer piece written. You can choose up to 3 kinks but only 1-2 AU, tropes and prompts/dialogue to keep it easy!

All these prompts have been either thought about or found on other accounts because sometimes it's hard to remember or think about different ideas. The darker/spooky choices are coloured red to separate them from the safer choices.

Note: They can be interchangeable in the right circumstances. Mafia can be considered dark or maybe having a werewolf boyfriend is softer than we think.

AU: (some found here)

Roommates!AU

Mafia!AU

Werewolf!AU

Vampire!AU

College!AU

Angel!AU

Demon!AU

Hunter!AU

Co-Workers!AU

Friends With Benefits!AU

Superhero/Villain!AU

Yandere!AU

Monster!AU (specify what kind)

Killer!AU

Circus!AU

Stalker!AU

Mythology!AU (specify what kind/who)

Hybrid!AU

CEO!AU

Alien!AU

You Choose (will allow 3 max of this)

Tropes: (found here)

Enemies to lovers

Fake Dating/Marriage

Only one bed

Love potion

Kissing as a distraction

Jealousy

Blind Date

Taking care of them

Forbidden Love

Confessions

You Choose (will allow 3 max of this)

Dialogue/Prompt: (some found here)

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

“I could make you feel better.”

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.”

“Come on, you have to work for it.”

“We won’t be missed for a couple hours, we should take advantage of that.”

“Hmm, is that a threat or a promise?”

“Let’s commit some sins.”

“Jealousy is not a word I’m familiar with.

“This is your work place, leave the boyfriend at home next time.”

“This seems like such a bad decision, but I just can’t help it.”

"You'll scream? Oh, baby, I really hope you do~."

You've been hearing noises for a while now, shuffling under your bed in the wee hours of the night. Most people would be scared to check whether it's their cat or not but you? You decide to lure the monster out by having a little fun.

There are no such things as monsters in your closet, that's what's always been told to you but how do they explain the eyes that watch you as you touch yourself? Or why you can't seem to stop doing it?

Everyone has a pet, a cute kitty cat or a puppy dog but you? Well, you have something that can't be found in a pet store... or... on this earth, actually.

A new haunted house has opened up and everyone is dying to go! You are scared, you won't deny that but what do you find scarier? The house and all its horror or the fact that being chased turns you on?

They told you that they would kill for you but you didn't think that they were serious... or did you?

You always joked with your extremely hot best friend that you would flirt and fuck your kidnapper because you read a lot of dark romance. So, they decided to make that dream a reality. Oh no, whatever will you do to gain your freedom?

Two words: Masked Men

You go to a party with your friends on Halloween and spot a handsome guy, walking around, shirtless, covered in fake blood with a mask on. Little did you know that it isn't quite a costume...

The dare was to enter the creepy, abandoned, possibly haunted asylum... not make out in it.

You Choose (will allow 3 max of this)

Kinks:

Oral

Toys

Knotting

Primal Play/Predator/Prey

Bondage

Praise/Worship

Degradation

Orgasm Control/Edging

Roleplay

Breeding/Creampie

Knife play

Blood play

Fear play

Dom/Sub

Impact Play

Overstimulation

Public

Dacryphilia

Free use (established/consensual)

Breath Play/Choking

Somnophilia

Owner/Pet

Voyeurism/Exbitionism

Photo/Video

Sensory Deprivation

Size Difference

Age Gap

You Choose (will allow 3 max of this)

I won't be putting the pressure on myself to do one a day as I do also work and everything else BUT I will try to do them every few days so there is no limit on what can be sent in as I'll go through and post like 1-5 at a time when I'm online and writing!

[yeehawpim]

hi first of all i love your webcomic and cant believe it's only a month old?? it hits DEEP in the emotions the way id expect to see something that's been going on for Years and Years!! i love it and hope to see it become a classic. Anyways, i saw you opened comms and was curious, as someone who's never commissioned an entire comic from somebody. say if somebody were to comm an oc thing rather than fandom— are they the ones that have to provide a script/layout template? or do you come up with the concept from a prompt (or writing sample i guess maybe??) and work from there? thank you in advance for answering and i hope you have a good day!

Thank you so much!! I think I was drawing those two kids for a month or so before I got the website up? 🤔 haha this is why there are so many entries for October b/c I uploaded those all at once

Some earlier ones are ideas I've been thinking of for months but couldn't figure out which characters to put them, and the two kids kinda naturally developed once I said fuck it and just drew the idea. I'm so happy people connect with them!!

I'm new to commissions too tbh, sorry this wasn't very clear!

Scripts in comics come in a bunch of different forms, but I would only expect lines of dialogue for an oc comic. If you want you could also give me the setting for instance, but smth like this:

A: hello?

B: hey what's up

A: I need your help can you come over here?

B: eeugh I can't I'm buying clothes

A: alright well hurry up and come over here

B: I can't find em

I would also accept prompts if it were fan content that I know, but in the case of an oc I imagine you'd know your characters better than me 👍

thank you for your question!

Edit: I would draw OCs doing the soup store bit this is a threat

[lesharl-eclair]

ferwis fic recs

rarepair for the ages.

this is a list of *the* literature to read if you are even vaguely intrigued by their differently flavoured toxicity :)

all fics below the cut; if you enjoyed these fics, please show the authors comment and kudo love; should you be the author of a fic that's here, and don't want to be here, please reach out to me and your wish is my command :)

Amen by sirius (M, 9.1k)

Spygate. Reimagined. With sex.

& (Amen) by sirius (M, 6.6k)

Retirement. Reimagined. With sex.

OK so this is basically what i think about every waking hour. every single minute. Amen was written 2 0 1 5 and it's so damn incredible i have only found a few other pieces that match it in terms of voicing and structure and literary genius. the toxicity is left to ferment and it is gorgeous. literally ahead of its time. look:

"Old Testament, he thinks. Fernando is an Old Testament God, piled high with fury and jealousy and fire and brimstone and needing someone to beg mercy just so that he can refuse them. 

A god so good that there's nobody else you'd need to worship."

THIS IN 2015. so so so incredible.

the sequel (?) is even richer, more nuanced, more developed. lewis and loyalty and fernando and lots and lots of questioning. the author has the voices down to a tee in both pieces and the dialogue especially is mindblowing. i come back to this so often because it's their story, and it's told so richly and lavishly.

***

In Search of the Traveling Nude by Anonymous (M, 4.5k)

Fernando didn't like sharing. He was not going to let a nude of Lewis get out of his grasp when he'd spent millions on the first three. If that means threatening someone and traveling for most of his winter break in search of it, so be it. Unfortunately for him, Lewis's final nude has to go through many people before he can finally get it.

kinkmeme prompt fill. possessive fernando alonso is a story for the ages. look:

"Fernando was a selfish man. He didn’t like others having what was his.

And Lewis, inexplicably – even if Lewis didn’t know himself – was his."

it's not a stretch to imagine this premise, every single detail is so well-imagined and the people nando meets (?!), all the nuances in dynamics etc are handled with so much love and care. valtteri and seb is just perfection. lewis is also the most oblivious person to walk planet earth and i am living for it.

***

The Thirst Trap Curse by @seafoampearlygirl (no warnings, 1.9k)

Fernando realises the power of thirst traps in vanquishing his enemies, but the magic doesn't work quite the way he planned.

this fic is so so dear to me because it hooked me on nando fics. this verges on crackfic (actually it is, what am i talking about) and it is delightful. a tasty, unhinged little morsel. the title does the talking here i think!! but i just want to say that every single scene is so unexpectedly rich. there's so much packed into so little, so you get pleasant little surprises at every turn. also look at this dialogue. lOOK.

"Lewis was silent for a moment. Then he said 'How many thirst traps are we talking?'

'Thirty-five.'

'THIRTY-FIVE??' Lewis turned to Fernando, outraged. Fernando was impassive. "Man, I only have two nipples. They're not that exciting."

'They could be. I have some ideas.'"

***

it's more than i can bear: this interminable want, turning and turning. by Anonymous (m, 2k)

George laughs. It's an ugly sound. When Fernando looks over, his eyes are dry. “Were,” he says. “You were the exception.”

kinkmeme prompt fill. we close off this list with a fic that gives me chills every single time i read it. it's not even ferwis. just ferwis as a concept, and yet. i literally don't know how to coherently respond to this still. the last line still makes me fall apart every time i read it.

fernando and george, and the concept of lewis. and mind games. so much within 2k words that it's devastating to read.

***

enjoy ;)