#anyways i should write a fanfic not pour this into tags

[aslyran]

Visions

#i have so much love for botw link #he remembers nothing but the weight of the sword #he is willing to take in incredible amounts of pain and responsibility just to understand himself and his previous life a bit better #its not as if he’s not responsible and courageous #but this iteration of link has lost so much-even before the game it seems taking his destiny has made him quiet #dunno remember who was it who wrote #‘the sword became a needle snd with the thread of destiny; it sew his lips’ #but apart from the desesperation of looking for a trace of himself in all things #he is also guilty and scared of what his past holds #anyways i should write a fanfic not pour this into tags #botw #breath of the wild #link #legend of zelda #master sword #animation #procreate dreams #link botw

[im-not-samantha-im-samanta]

Request by: @jellibean2018

Hello, Jelli! About two months ago you sent in a request, however my tumbl did me dirty, and I ended up with your ask, and the entire fic deleted! (Though, much to my relief, I found screenshots of the fic in a chat with my friend who was reviewing it. Thank god).

So, I have to tag you, and remind you what you wanted.

From what I remember, you wanted a fic with a female sinner Reader who was once a victim of Alastor's, and the two ending up meeting again in hell. You also wanted an unsettling vibe with Alastor reveling in the memory of killing Reader.

I also want to add that I apologize for how long you had to wait for this fic to be done. I haven't been doing well with fics lately, so this was a struggle. And my mental health started going shit too which is why I stopped posting for so long...

Anyways, I really started to struggle with writing fics, so I ended up experimenting with this one - it's kind of written with huge metaphor kind of style? Hope that's okay with you...

Anyways, hope you'll enjoy reading this at least a little, and I once again apologize.

_

🎙️// The sweet history we share... //🎙️

{Alastor x female!Reader}

___________________________________________

Type: Fanfic

Settings: Not specified

Genre: Unsettling? Can't tell if it actually gives that vibe though,

!TRIGGER WARNING!: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, violence, blood, saliva, dead bodies, Alastor revels in the memory of killing Reader, possible yandere vibes? Alastor sees Reader as nothing but a meal, but he puts her on a pedestal - that's probably some kind of fucked up attachment that surely has a name? I'd say the vibe is quite unsettling, but I can't say that for sure, Angel indirectly suggests the use of drugs and hints at sex related activities (but it's just a single line), and that's probably all?

Sidenote: Reader is written as a female just as requested,

Sidenote: I have no idea if I wrote Alastor well... but it feels like I really made him ooc as fuck and ruined the whole request,

Sidenote: Rereading this I think everyone is ooc as fuck even if they have minimum dialogue,

_

That should be all,

Hope you'll enjoy,

___________________________________________

Ah, nostalgia. Ah that sweet nostalgia. And that embrace of her.

She comes in unannounced, an unexpected guest. But oh is she welcome.

And oh so welcome are those treats she brings to the table.

She easily settles in, making herself at home. And into a cup, a bunch of memories she pours.

And that demon, the radio demon as he's called - he drinks from that cup greedily.

And like a man dying of thirst, he can't help but ask for another cup to be poured.

His senses feel high, his body tingling. A feeling of addiction is what fills him.

And he can't get enough of those sweet memories, so, he downs one cup after the other.

But with each greedy little sip, the thirst only grows and grows - he's not had his fill still.

So, the demon goes on and on, tasting one memory after the other.

And his mouth waters a big deal the more he can taste, and he savours each and every one.

Ah, and he can't tell which one of the sips of memories he enjoys the most, which one is the most saliva inducing one.

Is it maybe the giddy old memory of how he followed you through the town?

With you completely unaware? Naively trusting those poorly enlightened streets?

Trusting that a bit of weak light will keep you safe?

Or perhaps it could be the sweet memory of the thrilling chase through the forest?

That one forest where thousands of dead bodies laid buried deep in the ground?

Those dead bodies in whose footsteps you followed suit?

Oh! And what about that memory of how you so desperately tried to navigate around and hide, escape his clutches?

Even if he could hear your sharp breaths as clear as the day?

Oh! Or maybe his favourite one could be the moment of when he tackled you down?

Pinning your body under his, finally cutting the chase so the real fun can begin?

And that beautiful moment of how you hopelessly dug your nails into his skin til blood trailed down his arms?

That one beautiful moment engraved into his head of how you desperately clawed at those lanky hands of his?

His hands that trailed, squeezed and pinched at your body, feeling you up like a winning prize, like a fine piece of venison?

Ah, it was so hard to pick which one was the most treasured one!

Hell, it could even be the simple memory of the melodious sounds of your cries.

That melodious, angelic sound of your pleading, whimpering, sobbing and screaming.

Especially those sounds you made when he bit down onto your flesh.

Oh, and that taste that hit his taste buds back then...

He still remembers it like it was yesterday.

And his tongue still tingles, and saliva still floods his mouth every time he thinks of just how tasty you were back then.

And now his mouth waters as he silently wonders... would you still have such taste even now?

Or did becoming a demon change the sweet, addictive flavour of your fragile flesh and thick blood?

Oh, how his senses urge him - beg him - to just grab you and take at least one single little bite...

I'd be really easy too, now that you're a part of the hotel staff.

Silly little you, you didn't flee when you were faced with the fact that he - the one who took your life - also works for the hell's princess now.

You didn't take the more than gracious chance to turn on your trail, run and never return while you still could.

No, you are too stubborn, and you insist on staying, even despite how frightening seeing him on the daily is for you.

Silly little you! Don't you realize how easily he could snatch you away and repeat history?

All it would take is a single moment of when you're alone and-

Ah, but he can't do that - at least not yet...

Where would be the fun in that?

It sure would be a shame to end your lovely reunion this fast and early on, no?

Not to mention the odd, messed up attachment the deer demon feels towards you...

Now, not to be mistaken! What he feels isn't the usual attachment one would think of!

It definitely isn't the good or healthy kind either...

So, we shall not be mistaken, let's not get our hopes up and think he cares - for he doesn't.

You mean nothing to him - at least as far as it comes to you as a person.

Your value could be most likely compared to something of a sentimental value, a plaything at best if you will.

Still, no matter what you are to him - you are by far his most favourite one at that.

That's what can be said for a fact.

And for reasons beyond us and even Alastor, those memories he shares with you are put on a pedestal - put way above the rest.

There were so many faces that twisted in fear, so many names he kept tabs on, so many tastes he's tried, and so many lives he's taken.

But very vast portion of them is long forgotten, not really standing out all that much.

Nor holding any real value. Barely any of them mattered...

But you, on the other hand - oh, he could never forget about that one lovely night you shared...

And even when more victims - more faces, more names, more tastes - came, they couldn't compare.

No, they never could.

Those memories of you and your taste were always stuck in the back of the radio demon's head no matter what new person was on the menu - what new dish was on his plate...

So, one can only imagine just what he feels now that you're back within his grasp.

Oh, not even his wildest fantasies could've come up with or prepare him for such sweet moment!

This was like a gift from the Devil himself!

Yes, a gift - one that Alastor would make sure to cherish greatly...

Ah yes, he would cherish you so.

He'd take his time unwrapping you like the perfect little gift that you are - he would savour you.

And only when he'd get tired of messing with you, only then he'd get to the real deal.

Oh, and when he'll finally do, it'll be like a starving man plunging onto bread crumbs!

It'll be such a beautiful, satisfactorily moment - Alastor can almost feel himself drooling at the mere thought of the moment.

Oh, how he just can't wait for the very moment!

The moment is so close, and yet so far - and every little glance your way is like a test.

A test of how long he can resist the temptation.

Every little move you make, every little noise that leaves you, every little expression your face twists into.

Oh, he can barely hold himself back!

His body feels so restless, and his thoughts are all over the place.

And no matter how much he reminds himself to be patient, to not cut straight to the chase just yet.

He still can barely keep himself in check.

His thoughts are going to dangerous places, and your familiar, sweet scent teases his nose.

Oh, and you're so within reach too!

It'd really just take a single little moment and-

"Geez, that perv's still at it?".

Oh, that's right.

He's almost forgotten about those curious eyes watching him from afar.

Watching, and trying to see inside his head...

But judging by the response Vaggie's hateful comment receives, it seems she's the only one to see right through him.

The only one to see the real danger behind that wide smile he always wears...

"Ya-uh! His eyes have not left her ever since she's joined the hotel staff!".

Ah, Charlie. Dear, sweet Charlie - now she's something else.

She's completely different from her girlfriend - she's quite naively trusting and optimistic.

Fully believing that there's a piece of good in everyone.

And hence not being concerned for your safety when the deer demon started to show an interest in you.

Ah, that sweet, silly little thing.

Caught up in trying to see only the best in people and their intentions...

It's amusing - and truly adorable.

And oh, does it play into Alastor's favour oh so well...

"Okay, that's like so sick and totally-".

Oh, Vaggie - she tries, she really tried to warn the others.

Make them see Alastor for what he truly is.

But aside from Husk, nobody really listens to Vaggie's concerns.

No, she's not all that listened to when she voices her opinions on the deer demon.

Not even when she expresses her concerns for how the latter constantly follows your every single step no matter the time of the day, no matter where you go...

And to think she has quite enough of a say in things as the hotel's manager, as well as the princess' girlfriend!

Oh, that poor little thing - it must be such an awful feeling.

How humorous!

And oh, how unfortunate...

"Ah! Do you think he's-?".

Niffty is completely on board with Charlie.

Similarly to the princess - she too doesn't see the real harm in Alastor's advances towards you.

Seeing his behaviour as nothing other than subtle romantic gestures.

The little demoness' version of romance sure is rather twisted...

And yet, it's still quite surprising Niffty doesn't see the harm in things.

After all, she herself knows Alastor just as well as Husk does...

"Yeah! Strawberry pimp totally got the hots for that one!".

Angel was caught up in the spiderweb of romanticizing the same thing as well.

Just like Charlie and Niffty, he couldn't see the truth...

"What? No! Are you all crazy?! That's not the case at all! How can you all not see that?!".

Oh, Vaggie - again and again, she really tries and tries.

But the result is always the same - nobody pays her warnings or concerns any thought.

And yet she still keeps on going.

What a miserable little thing she is.

"Oh my- I have like the best idea!".

Not even Charlie notices how Vaggie nearly begs for them all to see things from her point of view.

None of them can see things for what they really are.

Alastor's got them all right where he wants them.

Without even having to try much...

"We should totally get the two to have some alone time!".

Charlie is quick to naively play into the radio demon's games.

Without even knowing she's doing that.

She can't see this all is exactly what the deer demon wants...

And neither can Angel or Niffty.

Aw, those naive little fools...

"Yes! We should- like- create some really romantic atmosphere and leave them to it!".

Niffty follows through in Charlie's steps.

She too plays right into what Alastor wants.

Though whether or not she's aware of it is up for a debate...

"We should lock 'em up in a closet together or somethin', or even give them a little... somethin'... to just... ya know, set just the right mood in.".

And angel is quick to fall for Alastor's games too...

Ah, those silly fools...

Unaware they're making all this much easier than it should've been.

They're sealing your doom - the inevitable end you're ought to meet at his clutches.

They're making this all too easy...

They're shoving the little mouse right into the lion's den.

What unfortunate silly fools.

And what an unfortunate little you.

Your friends are serving you to him on a silver platter.

All of them - or nearly all of them - thinking they're doing you a favour.

Thinking they're simply helping a mere fool in love gain the heart of his love interest.

When in reality, they're actually helping a starving predator get closer to his chosen prey...

It was rather humorous - a good source of entertainment for sure.

So, Alastor would humour the group.

He'd indulge in their schemes of trying to set you up with him.

He'd gladly play along and lead them to think he's interested in you.

Well, interested in you they way they think he is, not the way he actually is...

No, they can't know what he actually wants from you.

They won't know.

He'll make sure of it.

They won't know until the very last moment, until the deed's already done.

Or, he'll lead them to think your disappearance has nothing to do with him.

After all, the sudden disappearance of a poor little sinner like you would be nothing new in hell.

You'd just be added to the endlessly growing numbers of hell inhabitants going missing.

Your disappearance would be just a part of the mere statistics.

Well, he'll see.

All depends on which option would prove to bring more benefit.

As well as which one would prove to be more entertaining.

That's what, to the deer demon, matters the most at the end of the day.

For now, he'll just go with the flow and let the situation progress by itself.

With the occasional shove to the right direction, of course.

But it doesn't seem like he needs to wait for that long for everything to be set in motion...

"Hey, Al, you got a minute?".

Yeah, he really doesn't need to wait for that long...

___________________________________________

#hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor pilot x reader #hazbin hotel pilot x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor imagines #im not samantha im samanta requests #im not samantha im samanta ask #im not samantha im samanta works #frenklinesamuelsrequests #frenklinesamuelsask #frenklinesamuelsworks

[each-uisge-and-glashtyn]

Fic Author Self-Rec Chain

Got tagged by @hotsuqueen to self-rec my top 5 favorite fics I've written. Let's see...

This one and the next one have got to be tied for my absolute favorites. Yes I reread my own fics and 90% of the time its one of these two. The Frog Prince is my only "long" fic, and it's a P5 shukita retelling of my favorite fairy tale: The Frog Princess. No, not the Disney one, the Russian folk one with Vasilisa the Wise/Beautiful. I poured every bit of my love of the characters, the folk tale, and the arts depicted into it, and I think it shows.

My other favorite, To Paint a Dream, is just as full of emotion to me, but much much darker. D.N. Angel and (presumably) one-sided satodai, it's focused on Satoshi's emotional fallout after a job goes horribly wrong. Pay attention to the tags on this one, please! Spoiler: he does not deal well, and that's the point of the fic. It does have a happy-ish ending though! And is the only fic of mine that I regularly debate commissioning art for (if anyone wants to illustrate the paintings at the end hmu 👀👀👀💰💰💰).

Breaking Locks and Stealing Hearts I think is still somehow one of my favorites, despite it being the very first fic I wrote and imo obvious for it. I'm just so fond of it for breaking the ice for the next 50+ fics! P5 shuake clinic shenanigans that plays with the idea of what if Akechi was closer to shattering and just needed a good spicy push to do so.

Baby Shark Rescue is the newest on the list, and I don't think I was more delighted to be writing a fic ever than I was this one. Every single word is just gleeful sandboxing with some of @hotsuqueen's AUs and bullying my favorite characters. P5/Devil Survivor 2 smashup, set more in P5 than DeSu2, where Yamato's family are yakuza to rule all yakuza, Iwai is a distant cousin, and there are some familial differences in thought about how children should be taught and treated. Featuring child Yamato being a brat! And beloved anyway. The only fanfic of mine I've made art for!

The Devil Within was also delightfully fun to write, inspired by this post by @ belfire. Devil Survivor kazunao in which Naoya might have forgotten to mention Kazuya would need to consume magnetite after becoming King of Bel, and then he helps Kazuya make up the difference. It was very much fun leaning into the base and messy as they went for it, as well as patching up game lore to make it work.

So that's my five! I'm supposed to tag 5 people now, but I hate putting people on the spot for things like this... So, please consider yourself tagged if you wish to be! If you send me a message, I'll even put you in here To Be Official.

#my fic #my writing #persona 5 #d.n.angel #devil survivor

[sunaddicted]

@gottaread2 thank you for the tag! This is going to be fun because I write long ass sentences 😬

Rules: share the first line of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!

1. Gotham Blues (Nygmobblepot) - To say that Edward didn't remember the last time he had left Gotham would have been a lie; he didn't think there was anything in the whole universe that could make him forget watching the city disappear from sight, further and further away, swallowed by thick clouds as his plane climbed up in the sky, taking him all the way across the Atlantic where he alone would be privy to his ghosts and memories.

2. Cannibalized Hearts (Justice Lords Superbat) - In hindsight, Bruce should have known that the game he had been playing was one that he couldn't win; no matter how smart, how stealthy, how organized he was, in no universe he could have managed to aide the resistance when he was surrounded by super-powered beings that already kept him under tight surveillance, suspicious of his every move, well-aware that his heart just wasn't in the new Regime.

3. Valentine's Date Night (Superbat) - Bruce never had anything against Valentine's Day.

4. Curiosity (00Silva) - “So, who’s the new kid?”

5. Sweeter (Q&Silva) - “I’m telling you only one more time-”

6. Affinity (00Silva) - "Bond"

7. Dancing in Circles (00q) - Q didn't even raise his eyes from the monitor he was looking at when he heard the heavy noise of a package landing on his desk "Good morning to you too"

8. Of Scales and Feathers (Nygmobblepot) - Edward blinked slowly at the tank in front of him, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of his gun and the other deliberately moving in front of the glass, trying to track its inhabitant's movements: it seemed lethargic enough - or maybe just disinterested in Edward, as long as he didn't reach inside of its enclosure.

9. Karaoke Nights (Nygmobblepot) - When Oswald had opened the Lounge, he had never imagined he would have to suffer through karaoke nights; they were the kind of tacky and cheap entertainment that didn't belong in a place as exclusive as his club, when rich Gothamites eagerly paid for watered-down and overpriced drinks just for the pleasure of rubbing shoulders with Gotham's Rogues.

10. Deluge (Nygmobblepot) - The rain wasn't exactly a stranger to Gotham but Oswald could barely remember the last time it had poured for so long - or better, he did remember but he had no desire to reminisce so, he just closed down the Iceberg Lounge when it became evident that not even Gothamites were willing to go out in such bad weather just for a drink, sent his employees home and went back to the manor, offering his driver a room for the night when the crack of thunder welcomed them to the Palisades: finding good and discrete drivers who could also handle themselves decently in a gun fight was a hassle and Oswald had no intentions of losing his when he had more than enough space to host him.

Tagging (no pressure!): @gwylliondream @irisbleufic @acapelladitty @spiritofcamelot @thegreenfairy13 @pamdizzle @gemenice @happygoloony @solarmorrigan @themuller13

#my writing #my fic #gotham #dc comics #james bond 007 #nygmobblepot #superbat #00q #00silva #qsilva

[thatgirlwithasquid]

First Line of Ten Fics Game!

Rules: Share the first line of 10 of your most recent fanfics, and tag 10 (or however many!) people! If you have written less than 10 fics, don’t worry! You can participate anyways! All works are valid!

Tagged by @hargrove-mayfields so ty xx

untitled cunningway short (432 words || cunningway)

' ' A patch of sunlight had poured through the cloudy glass of Chrissy’s apothecary. ' '

2. Blondies, Brownies, and Kitchen Catastrophes (4,595 words || cunningway)

' ' Chrissy has flour all down the front of her jumpsuit, across the kitchen counter and in her bangs when she finally decides to call in reinforcements. ' '

3. Harry Prince and the Philosopher's Stone (WIP || severitus)

' ' The name means nothing to him at first. ' '

4. Red Strings Tether Secret Hearts ( 851 words || cunningway)

' ' Writing when your soulmate keeps tugging on your soul-string is no simple affair. ' '

5. Pink Cheeks, Aching Wrist (1,926 words || cunningway)

' ' The first time Chrissy broke a bone she was twelve. ' '

6. to taste, as you would a galaxy (WIP || byergrove)

' ' It’s late when he hears it - the sliding of his window in the dead of night. ' '

7. I've been there for a while (1,004 words || harringrove)

' ' “I dunno, Harrington,” Billy huffed from beside him, where Steve sprawled on his back on the floor. ' '

8. Princess (426 words || cunningway)

' ' “Do you think soulmates are the same in every universe?” ' '

9. Bone and Black Vein (304 words || POV heather)

' ' Heather’s not the same as she was. ' '

10. The Cat Curse (612 words || cunningway)

' ' The weight atop Chrissy’s legs shifts and squirms in its spot, letting out little huffs of distaste at the current situation. ' '

I have apparently written a bunch of little oneshots, lol. I really should get back to working on my multi-chapter fics.

Tagging: @intothedysphoria @onstrangerthighs @bigdumbbambieyes @kittyphoenix12-xx (but no pressure! you just happen to be the people off the top of my head who I know has written fanfic lol)

#tag game

[wizard-finix]

Fic in Review 2022

was tagged by @ragecndybars, thank you!!

Total Number of Completed Stories: 

I completed two oneshots this year!

Total Word Count:

After some math, I have apparently posted over 52k words on ao3 this year… which is a whole lot more than I expected

Fandoms Written In:

Persona 3-5, and (to my surprise) Spy X Family!

Looking back did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expect:

I’d say more? Most of it got poured into Stygian Ringlet, though, since that’s my main fic and it’s a longfic.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?:

Stygian Ringlet is probably the obvious one, haha. I can’t help loving my boys

Did you take any writing risks this year?:

The P3/Spy X Family crossover was an unexpected surprise, but it was really fun to write for! The crossover spawned in the Marigolds discord, and boy was it fun to brainstorm ideas for Persona characters that could appear. I especially had fun with Shinjiro’s moments. I was actually working on another oneshot after Strangers Are Just Friends You Havent Met!

Do you have any fanfic goals for the New Year?:

Trying to hammer out more of True Crime Special on the Midnight Channel, aka my IT Akiren fic. I feel like it should have a bit more groundwork planned out to do it justice, but it may end up being relatively short anyway. Who knows! :)

Best story of the year:

Outside of my main fic, I was really proud of how Red Strings and Frogged Stitches came out! It always bothered me how Yosuke would treat Kanji throughout P4 (especially since Yosuke heavily reads like he’s gay and in denial about it), and I was really in the mood for a fic where Yosuke finally apologizes and they talk things out between them in a way that does them both justice. Of course, after months of them being at odds, it would take more time than just one night and a talk, but it’s a first step in the right direction.

Most popular story of the year:

Ddefinitely Stygian Ringlet haha

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Red Strings and Frogged Stitches; not too surprising since it’s a P4-only oneshot and centered purely around Kanji and Yosuke

Most fun story to write:

I have a lot of fun writing Stygian Ringlet (because I love my boys), but I also had a lot of fun writing Shinjiro in the P3/Spy Fam AU!

Story with the sexiest moment:

You’ll never get one from me lmao :^)

Sweetest story:

It’s a hard pick between Red Strings and Frogged Stitches (which I explained above) and Strangers Are Just Friends You Haven’t Met (because Shinji reuniting with Koromaru and Minato and meeting Anya is cute as hell)

“Holy crap that’s wrong even for you!” story:

Ehhh none really? (Unless you count the cliffhanger I did for ch. 11 of Stygian Ringlet lmao)

Hardest story to write:

True Crime Special is giving me some difficulty, but starting new multi-chapter fics are always a little rough while you try to find your groove.

Biggest disappointment:

Idk… I guess that I haven’t written more of my other fics? I tend to focus on the main one, but I’m really determined to see that one through. I do want to write more P3/Spy Fam oneshots, though.

Biggest surprise:

Stygian Ringlet’s popularity. Like, holy shit.

I Tag:

uhhhh I tag @mmmn-thristy-for-vinegar and @queen-ofsunflowers for this!! BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TO youre not obligated to

happy new year!!

#tagged #cici speaks

[cookinguptales]

thegeekyartist said:

"There's value in joy, even if it's mine."

OH I love this, I'm holding it close to my chest. I can sympathize so hard 🥲 My main creative practice/job is fine art, and sometimes if I make work that isn't for sale/print apps/museum apps it feels like I'm wasting precious time. But we're allowed to just do things for fun!! We can do things with the only purpose being to have the experience!

I wish you all the luck in your NYRs! I'm always happy to see your posts/stories/tags etc! I hope you have a great year!

-------------

It's a thing that's hard to for me internalize, but I'm doing my best! My joy is a worthwhile goal all on its own! Everything I do doesn't have to be in the service of others! My happiness is enough!

And ohhhh, I definitely feel you. Like... in addition to everything I already said, I've always kind of gone back and forth on my writing. My mother writes professionally now, something that was hard to get used to, and I always specifically avoided writing professionally just because I saw the way that it stressed her out. I wanted writing to be my one good thing, an outlet that was not attached to my livelihood, and for the most part, I've stuck to that.

That said, I always kind of wondered if I was being foolish or selfish to look at it that way, and whether I should consider writing for pay... But I kind of dismissed that as like "oh, who would pay me to write, anyway?"

Then I won that writing competition last year and I mean... They paid me quite a bit to write, when it comes down to it. And they wanted to pay me to keep writing. Which kind of put me in a tough spot.

So now I always have this kind of struggle because... Now I know I can be paid for my writing. People's lives were made better by my writing. People from marginalized groups sent me messages telling me that they felt seen.

But people wanted me to write about a stressful topic and I would have been monetizing my own trauma. Moreover, I got some harassment after I won the contest and it was like... is this a thing that I should develop a thicker skin for? Is this a life that I'm cut out for?

In the end, I got sick. We're still not sure what got me so sick, but... I got really sick. Then around the time that I started feeling better, I also got into wwdits fandom. And, well, according to AO3 I wrote over 250k words of fanfic this year.

Should I have poured that effort into writing nonfiction professionally? Maybe. I honestly don't know. People wanted me to. But I've gotten a lot of happiness out of just writing two idiots falling in love in a bunch of different ways, and I like to believe that's brought happiness to others as well. Maybe that's enough...?

But it sure doesn't pay for that accessible bathroom...

Sigh. I don't know. This is a lot of words to say... I feel you. I always feel like maybe I should be monetizing my creative pursuits, like that would be the responsible thing to do. But it's not like I don't have a full-time job that pays me fairly well. It's not like I have to monetize the things that bring me joy.

I often joke, like, oh if only people would just pay me to sit around and write my silly little stories all day. But maybe that would ruin it. Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would make me feel less guilty about sitting around and writing my silly little stories all day. I guess there's really no way to know.

in the meantime, I guess I'll just keep... writing words about vampires...

Ah, I got off topic again. Thank you, and I hope your next year goes however you'd like it to as well. 💜

#replies

[thelaundrybitch]

Little Blue Hearts - Chapter 1

Hello, my Lovelies!

After weeks of intense writing, I think I am ready to start posting my TMNT fanfic.

Please note that this fanfic is:

18+ content - for mature audiences only

This is a story about our TMNT boys, all grown up. They are in their mid-late thirties and still looking for love. There will be love, lust, friendship, brotherly bonding, humor, anxiety, heartbreak, and some hot 'n' heavy fun.

And seeing as how I already have 21 chapters written, I will update weekly. Maybe a little sooner because I'm impatient 😂

As soon as I figure out how you other amazing writers create that hyperlink page, I will get one up and running, so all my work will be together.

A shout out to my girl @leosgirl82 for being my right-hand woman and proofreader - Thanks for being you 😘

Also, I should probably warn you that I highly enjoy my cliffhangers *wiggles eyebrows*

Until then, hang on, strap in, and welcome to my emotional rollercoaster...

*if you would like me to tag you in the following chapters, please let me know*

And as always, if you enjoy my work - Reblog, please!

@mysticboombox @roxosupreme @turtle-babe83 @chicchanmooshy

Little Blue Hearts cover art by the lovely @leosgirl82

Impromptu Vacation

It was Wednesday. Ugh. Inventory day at work. One of the joys of working as the night manager at a hotel was you got all the shit jobs that no one else wanted to do. The day shift claimed to be busy with guests and daily chores, while the night shift got to deal with everything else.

My bedroom was pitch black. It more resembled a cave since I'd hung the black-out curtains.

I picked up my phone that was currently face down, so as not to wake me up when a notification popped up.

A missed call? Please don't be work needing me to come in early.

I swiped the notification away to find it was 3:07 pm. Work starts at eight, and I still needed to put my uniforms in the dryer.

"Well, there's no time like the present," I grumble as I roll out of bed.

I walk to the kitchen, hissing a string of curses at the afternoon autumn sunlight as it poured in through my apartment windows. Thankfully I live alone. The only one who was ever able to put up with my cranky, nocturnal ass was my cousin Ashley. She moved to New York last year to take an amazing job as head nurse in a hospital in Manhattan.

"God, I miss her," I say to the fridge as I open the door.

'Breakfast' comes in the form of a replacement meal shake. Vanilla birthday cake, and it's absolutely delicious.

I take my shake with me to the bathroom - where my washer and dryer reside - so that I can put my uniforms in the dryer.

I feel my phone buzz in my pajama shorts pocket.

"Oh, shit, I forgot! I have a message!"

I plop the phone on the counter beside me and put it on speakerphone so that I can move my wet uniforms into the dryer.

"You have one new voice message... Beep..."

"Hey, it's Ashley. I miss you. Like a lot. My application was finally accepted for that place I wanted, and I was kinda hoping you could find time this week to come see it. It would mean a lot to me. Boy, do I have some crazy shit to tell you about. ANYWAY. Call me back. Soon. I love you."

"Huh."

She sounded concerned. Not her usual happy, peppy self.

I call her back immediately after I erase the message.

"HEY!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and yank the phone away from my ear as she deafens me with her excitement.

"Hi! I got your message. Is everything ok?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm just feeling a little anxious about this new place. I need some of your bravado."

"Haha. You're a real riot, you know that?"

"No! Seriously! You're level headed, bold, and fascinatingly intimidating."

"In other words, I'm an asshole."

"Don't say that!"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. I am a self-proclaimed Mass-hole, you know. You have it in you somewhere too. Under all that sugary sweetness, you project 24/7. I have faith. We did grow up in Massachusetts, after all."

"No, I'm pretty sure I missed out on that gene. Anyway, I need you to come see my place before I sign for it. I was sort of hoping you could use some of that bravado and help me talk the landlord into adding some utilities in with the rent."

"How much is the rent?"

"$3500"

I choke on the huge mouthful of shake I just swallowed.

"What the shit Ashley?! The F they paying you at that hospital for you to afford that?"

She giggles. "Enough. But seriously, could you do me a solid and come see me this week?"

I don't even have to check my calendar to know I have no life besides work.

"Yeah. When do you want me there, and for how long?"

"Any chance you can get here like, tomorrow night?"

In my mind, I can see her face in a hopeful grimacing grin.

"...."

"Please? I miss you!"

I chuckle and shake my head. "I think so. I'll go into work early and talk to HR. Then I need to bust out my inventory reports. Once I'm done, I'll pack a bag and get my rear over there."

"OHMYGODTHANKYOUILOVEYOUSOMUCH!"

I laugh, "Was that even English? I'll call you when I'm done at work."

"Yay!" *Squeals*

"Talk to you soon, love you, bye!"

"Loveyoutoobyyeeee!"

I hang up the phone and shake my head with a smile.

I head to work as soon as my uniform is dried and go straight to HR. I tell them some line of bull about needing to take immediate time off to help a family member who is in dire need of my presence to assist them, and I need to leave ASAP.

I get an automatic approval for seven days worth of vacation, along with blessings that everything goes well. The HR director also tells me that if I need more time, just call or email her and she'll approve it.

I guess that's a plus to living for your job and never asking for time off.

I fly through my inventory and print out all the reports, leaving them on my boss's desk with a note telling her about my impromptu vacation.

I log off my computer and clear my workstation, knowing how much my boss hates our desks being messy, and then head out through security to my car.

"Early day?" Asks the security officer at the desk as I hand him my work keys.

"Yeah. Family thing. I'll be gone for about a week or so."

"Stay safe. I'll try not to let them burn the place down," he says with a chuckle.

"Thanks, that's really comforting," I smirk back at him. "See you in about week, Gabe."

"Make sure you come back, ya? We kinda like you around here."

"Don't worry. And thanks, I appreciate that."

I get home around 11 pm and pack a sizable bag of clothing and necessities. I try to think about everything I could possibly need for her to drag me around for a week.

It is New York, after all.

I decide to text her.

Me: Hey, you up?

CrAshley: I am!

Me: I'm done at work, and I've packed a decent bag. I'm not sure what you're gonna wanna do with me, though 😂

CrAshley: oOoOO! How long do I get you for? The weekend?

Me: Girl, you have me for TWO weekends. And all the days in between 🥳

CrAshley: 👀🤯🎉🙌🥂🍾💕 did you seriously take that much time off?

Me: Hell yeah, I did. It's not every day my bravado gets called upon 💪🦸

CrAshley: 😂😂😂

Me: But seriously, what should I bring?

CrAshley: a couple of nice outfits. Probably mostly things that are comfortable, though.

CrAshley: and that look presentable.

Me: what are you saying? I'm a complete fashionista 😲

CrAshley: Bitch, please 🙄 I'll be shocked if you show up with something OTHER than a work uniform 😂

Me: Ah yes, I see that your inner Masshole is already emerging.

CrAshley: 😬😂😘

Me: alright. I'll show you 😎

Me: oh, I need an address

CrAshley: oh! I'm going to have you meet me at work. I'm working a double.

Me: gotta pay for that expensive apartment after all.

CrAshley: 😂 don't hate

I get the hospital's address, and we set a meeting place at her work, and I set off for my three-hour drive to Manhattan from Massachusetts.

"Alexa, I don't care what anyone says. I think you're the best."

"Thank you. I think you're swell, too."

"Alexa, play me some Ed Sheeran."

"Here are top songs by Ed Sheeran on Amazon Music."

Ed fills my SUV with his songs of love, loss, and fun. I play him for all three hours of driving, singing to my heart's content, happy to finally be on vacation and going to see my favorite relative.

By the time I pull into the hospital's parking structure, it's almost 4:30 am.

I park and take out my phone.

Me: I'm heeerrrrreee... MWAHAHAHAHA!

CrAshley: 🥳 excellent. I actually get off in 20 mins. You can come in, or I can meet you out at your car.

Me: Excellent! I'll wait here. Maybe take a snooze.

CrAshley: alright. Just keep your doors locked. This is New York. You don't know what's out in the dark of the morning.

Me: Not a good place to use my bravado?

CrAshley: you're a riot 🙄

CrAshley: I'll be there soon.

Against her warnings, I decided to get out of my vehicle and stretch a bit. I'm parked at the very top of the parking structure, so I'm not real concerned about predators. It's fairly quiet for being a big city. The sun is just starting to peek its early morning glow on the horizon. I look around the skyline as I turn slowly, appreciating the outline of the giant buildings.

*smack* "What the hell was that?! What were you thinking? Do you know what would've happened if your little stunt didn't go well?!"

I hear a man's voice reprimanding someone else.

"Ow, man! There's no need to hit me! Geez..."

Because I'm nosey and have no appreciation for self-preservation, I walk slowly towards the angry voice, straining my eyes to see if I can catch a glimpse of the drama.

"He's right. We don't stray from the plan unless everyone knows about it. You could've been seriously injured. Or killed."

"But I waaasn't..." the second voice taunts.

Another voice pipes in.

"That's not the point! Not only that, but you lost your radio in the process! What if someone finds it before we do?! There's technology in our radios that will raise some serious questions!"

I continue to walk quietly towards what sound to be four different voices.

"Calm down. We'll get it back. Look. Just because you have a girlfriend now..."

"The world's most beautiful and kind female to ever be put on this Earth!"

I roll my eyes and suppress a giggle.

"Chill, and listen. Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn't all of a sudden make you invincible. And you don't have anything to prove. I'm sure she doesn't want to have to patch you up..."

My foot kicks a stone towards the voices, and I cringe.

"What was that?" The first voice whispers.

"I don't know, but we need to get out of here. We have a big night ahead of us, according to his girlfriend," another whispers.

Then there's nothing. I'm left alone in silence.

My phone starts to buzz in my hand. It's Ashley.

"Hey! Where are you parked?!"

"Top floor of the parking structure."

"Excellent! Be there in a sec!"

I walk back over to my car and stand up against my driver's side door. Ashley comes bounding from the elevators and slams her arms around me like she's a sumo wrestler.

"Holy hello," I gasp, winded by her violent embrace, as I return her affections.

"You ready for the most amazing and mind-blowing vacation of your life?!"

I look at her child-like grin, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

And boy, was that an understatement. I didn't know it yet, but I was about to have my whole world completely rocked.

Little Blue Hearts Master list Here

#little blue hearts #thelaundrybitch #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leo #tmnt leonardo #bayverse leo #bayverse leonardo #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #bayverse raph #bayverse raphael #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #bayverse donnie #bayverse donatello #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #bayverse mikey #bayverse michelangelo #tmnt aged up

[theteasetwrites]

My stance on the spin-off/Caryl/Norman Reedus/Melissa McBride/AMC drama in the TWD fan base rn:

Disclaimer: I know no one asked, but I feel like since I’m marginally involved in the TWD fandom on here I should put in my two cents for posterity. This will probably be the only thing I say about it because I don’t want to flood my dash and also because I don’t want to get eaten alive, tho I know my followers probably won’t do that because they’re all rational people. Unless someone sends an ask or a reply this is all I’m sayin’. Also this is all just my perspective, and opinions are like assholes, as we say. Potentially controversial opinions below the cut.

It’s just a show. They’re just characters. Played by real people.

If people are that upset about Caryl probably not being canon (because let’s be real, that’s what they’re upset about; they just want to see Caryl become a thing, and it’s mostly Carylers who are upset), write/read fanfiction. Pour your energy into creativity instead of harassing actors or producers or whatever because all that’s gonna do is make people not want to invest in TWD anymore at all.

And no, I’m not a Norman simp. I don’t worship the ground he walks on. He’s a human being/public figure who I don’t know and will never, ever know. I don’t want to marry him or whatever tf people are saying about people who are condemning the actions of certain aggressive Carylers. I simply think it’s incredibly weird and pathetic to attack any of the real life people involved in the show or to spew weird conspiracy theories since we don’t know them. We don’t work on the show and we don’t know shit.

If you’re causing drama over Melissa’s decision to exit the spin-off (the circumstances of which we do not know, plain and simple), then you are actively creating a toxic, unenjoyable space in a community of fans who are just into zombies and shit. It’s not that deep. Stop making it deep, please. Yeah, it sucks if you were looking forward to the spin-off with Daryl and Carol (I was, too), but at the end of the day, it’s fiction. Write your own stuff and you may be surprised at the world you create beyond the limits of the show. This is why fanfic exists. Does it suck? Yeah, but keep it to yourself if you’re that pressed about it. Caryl isn’t happening in canon, hasn’t been happening for a long time. Sorry to say that, but most ships aren’t canon, and that’s literally just how it is.

Genuinely sorry to the non-toxic, non-extremist people who shipped Caryl, but I’m sure they realized that it wasn’t happening anyway, and probably just move on with their lives like normal people. Those of you who are being aggressive about it, shame on you.

I’m not tagging this as caryl because I would prefer my life not to end prematurely. Thanks for reading if you did. Have a nice day and be respectful.

#the walking dead #twd

[the-girl-who-cried-wolf]

Fix You - C.B.

Why Don't We fanfic

I've been listening to Fix You (by Coldplay, but there's also a good cover by Heart & Colours) a lot recently, and it fitted a scene I had in my mind so I had to write it. I've been feeling pretty burnt out when it comes to creativity recently, and wanted to make something to try and shake that off. (Hopefully I'll get to writing some more Hartford chapters soon, but for now here's a oneshot <3)

Background: we all get down sometimes, but at least Corbyn has you

Warnings: sad angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

The drone of the TV was almost lulling you to sleep as you sat in bed, scrolling through your phone and waiting for Corbyn to get home. He had messaged you earlier saying that he would be late getting home tonight, which you normally wouldn’t mind but you had seen the bags under his eyes this morning, and knew that all the hard work at the studio was starting to wear on him. All the sleepless nights and energy that he poured into his work was ever so slowly dimming the light in his eyes, and you hated it.

So you wanted to be there for him. And you knew that no one should have to bear it alone.

Just as the clock ticked over to 11pm, you heard the click of the front door. Keys were quietly dropped on the kitchen bench and a few moments later, Corbyn appeared in the door way. “Hey. You’re still up?”

“Yeah,” your hand reached for the remote to turn the TV down as Corbyn sat on the other side of the bed kicked off his shoes. “I thought I’d wait for you.”

A smile ghosted over his lips then disappeared as he stood and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up everywhere. “Thanks, y/n.” He walked around the bed and dropped a kiss on your head, then went to the ensuite adjoining your shared bedroom. “I think I’ll have a shower before bed.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. All you could think of was how tired he looked, the smudges of purple under his eyes darkening and his mouth so used to not smiling. You were worried for him.

A moment later the water started running in the shower, a loud patter sounding close by as he hadn’t bothered to shut the door to the ensuite. You tossed the blankets off you and padded across the carpet to the door.

“Hey Corbs, can I get anything for you? A drink or..” steam was already flowing out of the open shower in the corner, so you could only just him see as he tipped his head back into the water, then shook it off and looked back at you.

“A hug?”

He said it quietly, but you still heard him clearly. Taking another step into the bathroom, you nodded towards him. “Mind if I join?” he shook his head in response, dipping his face back under the water as you tossed your clothes off to the side and stepped into the billowing steam.

The hot water sprayed over you both, making your hair stick to your face as you pushed it away. The water flowed over Corbyn face too, head titled back as it washed over his closed eyes. Your worry was growing, a ball in your chest that was getting tighter and tighter. The spray of the water was the only noise as you reached out a hand to hold his face, and his eyes opened as he leant forward at your touch.

“You ok Corbs?”

Words escaped him as he stared back at you, a ghost in a body too heavy for him. So he didn’t even try to express himself through sound. Instead, he gently pressed his lips onto yours and his arms wrapped around you, holding you close to feel your warmth, finding comfort in the feeling of your skin against his. You softly kissed him back as you ran your hands up his bare chest, feeling his heart beat under the flow of hot water.

Eventually you broke away and Corbyn dropped his hands from your waist. You could see the exhaustion through every moment as your hand cupped his face again, tears beginning to prickle in your eyes.

He smoothed a stray piece of hair from your cheek then he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired, but I- I know it’s more than that.” He gently grabbed your hand and guided it to his chest, pressing your palm right over his heart. “It hurts, here. Like I’m just… running out.”

His ocean eyes overwhelmed you and you could see his tears about to fall, sorrows and apologies swirling in them like a dark sea. You could see all the waves crashing over him and dragging him down, so you reached out your hand to try and stop the hurt.

“Come here, love.” Your hand held the back of his neck, gently pulling him down so his head rested on your shoulder. Normally it would be the other way around, but he was beyond feeling any kind of shame at showing weakness to you. You knew him too well for him to hide it anyway.

His cried silently as you stroked his head, slowly rubbing circles over his back as you whispered in his ear, “it’s okay Corbs, It’s okay. I’ve got you.” You could feel your own tears flowing down your face as you held him, a picture of a broken spirit.

When his shoulders stopped shaking he lifted himself up, supporting himself with his hands pushing on the wall either side of your head. Words were beyond you both now. Instead you pushed your hands through his hair, making sure it was all wet before you grabbed his bottle of shampoo and squeezed a bit onto your palm.

His eyes closed and a shaky breath escaped his lips as your finger tangled in his hair, trying to wash away his pain. Then in the silence of the shower, with the water running over you, you began to sing. You knew you weren’t the best of singers, but Corbyn always said you sounded like an angel to him. So you sang.

When you try your best, but you don't succeed When you get what you want but not what you need When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep Stuck in reverse

The sound of your voice bounced around you both, echoing through the bathroom. Corbyn squeezed his eyes shut as you kept singing and your hands still massaged the shampoo through his head in soothing motions.

And the tears come streaming down your face When you lose something, you can't replace When you love someone, but it goes to waste Could it be worse?

You finished washing his hair so you gently pushed his head under the water with a hand on his shoulder. The water sprayed over you both as he took over, running his hands through his hair to rinse the bubbles out. You took a moment to admire your boyfriend in the dim light, the water rushing over his strong arms and chiseled abs. A small smile crossed flitted across your lips as you looked up at him, and he almost smiled back when he finished rinsing and looked back at you.

Then when you started to sing again, he joined in.

Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you

Your voice blended perfectly together, the echo of it sounding around you both when you stopped.

For a moment you both just stood in the silence, letting the water wash over your bodies as you watched each other. You couldn’t help yourself as a smile took over your face and you reached up to kiss him. Hearing him sing… it always made you happy, but this was different. Because he was singing through a storm.

You parted for a moment so you could speak. “You’re so strong, Corbyn.” You mumbled onto his lips. “I love you.”

This time you could feel the little smile growing on his lips. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you thought <3 [masterlist]

Tagging some friends! @hiya-its-amber @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @jonahlovescoffee @stonecoldinlaley @chilling-seavey @johermione

#corbyn besson #why don't we #my writing #fan fic #corbyn besson x reader

[galactic-pirates]

SANCTUARY APPRECIATION WEEK

Day Five (Historical Adventures) Fanfic Style

I currently have 4 posted fanfics that are set in the past but only Gentlemen of Blood really qualifies for the ‘adventure’ tag. Choosing Fate is an arranged marriage AU pre-canon in the 1870′s. It takes little effort to watch a man carry a load is a technically canon-compliant oneshot post Ripper-reveal and The Tragic Tail is about Helen’s ill-fated trip on the Titanic.

So Gentlemen of Blood! Summary:

In 1909 the Prime Minister called a meeting of The Five. Adam Worth had become a real problem. In true Moriarty style his danger came not just from his mind, but from his insidious organisation. James Watson scoffed at the Prime Minister’s paranoia, right up until the moment he was shot by one of his own security men. When you hear “they have people everywhere” you expect it to be hyperbole, you don’t expect someone to be working for them inside the bloody room. Now the Five have to stop Worth before he can enact his plan to destroy London. However, Worth’s Jekyll and Hyde nature raises some questions about an old mystery... Whitechapel.

All the stories are James/John/Helen obviously, I mean it’s me haha. Anyway, writing the 19th century involves an awful lot of googling “did they have...” or “what did they call...” or “when was this invented...” AND word choices and phrases too. Language evolves over time so a lot of searching for word origins. I probably don’t get it completely right but I like to try.

Something else I try and think about is the passage of time. I had Helen reflect on this a bit in The Tragic Tail. She noted that the Titanic had been her first major disaster involving a huge loss of life. The memory still has the power to shake her a century later because it was the first. She made decisions then and reacted to it, in a way that she wouldn’t have after living through the two world wars. 19th century Helen is obviously still Helen but she’s less experienced and I try and weave that in.

That’s current fics. Now are there any WIP’s in the works...

From a purely historical standpoint yes. I’m currently finishing up writing Time Will Tell, which is a soulmate AU mostly set in 1887-1889. But again that doesn’t really qualify for the ‘adventure’ tag. Now what might is (should I ever write it) an idea on the list for another Sanctuary/Warehouse 13 crossover. Obviously as this fic is still in the ‘idea’ stage, this is just a working summary:

The Warehouse explodes, Pandora’s box is open and the world has lost hope. Riots and wars erupt around the globe as tensions rise. The Sanctuary is barely keeping up and then the abnormal uprising begins. Thousands of abnormals pour out of Hollow Earth. It is the end times... and then John Druitt appears at Old City. He warns that Adam Worth is constructing a time machine intending to change the past. The world in his image? Helen Magnus can’t allow that, no matter how bleak this future has become.

Strange readings dispatch Myka Bering to the Hollow Earth tunnels and she follows Helen through the portal to 1898 - to a world that still has its hope. Myka knows the future is lost. Pandora’s box is open, that isn’t something that can be fought through and changed, it’s the end of all things. There are parts of Helen’s past she’s desperate to change, but her principles say that she came back to stop Adam Worth from changing history. If she does alter the past, that makes her as bad as him, but if the future is already doomed... 

No guarantee this will ever be a thing. I have 9 fics on my ‘idea’ list at the moment. Plot bunnies spawn faster than I can write them. I think it would be fun though. I didn’t manage to get Helen and HG Wells working together in the Odyssey: Future’s Legacy crossover, and that’s a scene I want badly so Helen and HG having adventures at Warehouse 12 does call to me.

Happy Sanctuary Appreciation Week! :)

#sanctuary #sanctuary fanfic #sanctuaryappreciationweek #sam talks writing

[writcraft]

TLC Tuesday

I love @the-starryknight's fab TLC Tuesdays and I was tagged by both @teacup-tai and Starry to answer What is one piece of yours that you would use to introduce someone to your work? thank you both for the tag.

I have to say Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho). The fic, the playlist, the themes, the setting, everything about it really would make it the one I would choose. I poured my heart into that story and I think it represents a lot of the dynamics and content I gravitate towards as a writer. I have little bits I would change now if I could, but at the time I was writing it the story just flowed and it was exactly the story I wanted to write and put out into the world.

I know this question is about introducing a willing participant (ha) to my fanfic, but I do have a nice story connected to the broader Little Compton Street series which is on topic for this question, so it's below the cut if you want to read.

As a rule for all kinds of reasons I am leery about sharing fic with non-fandom friends. If you're not in a fandom and reading fic or viewing art, fanvids and so on, then I think it can be really difficult to get what's going on in these spaces.

Anyway, despite all that, when I was starting out in fandom I was dead excited by it all. I had those brand new fandom feels and I was so, so into it and loved that I was writing stories!!! That were getting comments!!! I had always wanted to write fiction and I couldn't help but share that experience of posting and publishing stories with friends.

I ended up sharing a couple of fics with a few friends that expressed interest and I know I am very privileged to have felt safe doing that in the first place. Nevertheless, the response was...lukewarm to say the least. One friend told me I should be "very careful" writing "that sort of material" and another said I should be ashamed of writing explicit content because "it's not exactly the sort of writing you can show people." I'm over that now, having frequently shown multiple fandoms my writing and being very proud of it indeed, actually, but it definitely hurt at the time.

After that I made a rule to myself not to share fics with anyone outside of fandom and I stuck to it for years. When friends asked I just said if they really wanted to read HP fic I could recommend great places to start and left it at that. One of my closest friends is a big fan of HP but not in fandom and we kept coming back to the topic of fic and in the end I shared Play Me Like A Love Song with them, which is part of the Little Compton Street series.

When I last met up with that friend for drinks, they gave me a gift. I opened it and it was one of those old wooden tobacco pipes, like Will smokes in canon and in the fic. We took photos with it, laughed, chatted about how we wished we could go for a drink with Min and Will on Little Compton Street and ended up in this long, fabulous discussion about gender, coming out, queer community and creative passions and it was GLORIOUS.

I'm still wary about sharing fic with non-fandom people for personal reasons, professional reasons and so on, but the Little Compton Street series will always have this special place in my heart. It reminds me of London, it reminds me of this wonderful night with my friend, it's where I would suggest someone start if they wanted an intro into what my fic is all about and it erased those lingering, awkward feels from my early fandom days when I shared stories with folks I probably shouldn't have done.

#tlc tuesday

[edie-k]

Here‘s my drabble for the HPRomione Discord fanfic tag. Thanks to @zurisenchantedquill for tagging me. My prompt was fireworks - literal and figurative.

My head - let’s write spicy figurative fireworks! You’ve wanted to stretch those muscles!

My heart - uh…. we’re going to write a fight.

I am tagging @bluegreenandpurple next. Your prompt is revenge

Title: Tense

Rating: PG-13 (Ron and I can’t go too long without using the f word)

Pairing: Romione

Disclaimer: Not my characters

Quick head canon note: I believe that Ron isn’t completely aware of his actions when under veela influence.

Takes place the summer before HBP.

Ron stepped out of the house and rubbed his face wearily.

Everything was so fucking tense right now.

He had certainly gotten used to a high level of tension in the year since Voldemort had returned and it was obviously warranted. But today, there was a completely new kind of tension and it made no sense.

The week had started off well. Hermione had arrived four days ago. Ginny, of course, had to insert herself in their business constantly but the first night, Hermione had suggested the two of them take a walk around the edge of the property after dinner and they’d repeated it every night. With the shop opening, Fred and George had been scarcely around to subject him to their normal torment. And Bill had written to say that he’d be arriving today to stay for the summer and it was always great to have his older brother around.

But that was where the trouble started.

Bill hadn’t arrived alone. He hadn’t mentioned that his girlfriend, Fleur Delacour, would be in tow. Ron had no issue with Fleur except it was considered polite to give a fucking warning when you bring a veela around so a bloke can have a chance to try to not make a fool of himself.

And then, with Fleur standing next to him with a beatific smile on her face, Bill announced she wasn’t his girlfriend - she was his fiancée.

Ron had always assumed his mum would go mad with excitement at the first of her children to marry and the fact that it was her golden boy should have made it even more unbearable. Instead Bill’s announcement was met with confusion by he and the twins (while he caught all the grief from his sister, Fred and George certainly weren’t immune to veela charms), a nervous smile from his dad, and stony silence from his mum and Ginny.

Fleur’s smile dropped and Bill frowned.

“Well,” said Dad, standing up and breaking the silence. “Certainly something to celebrate!” He pulled his eldest son into a hug before repeating the action with Fleur.

Ron felt his mind clear a bit and shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Congratulations,” he said, stepping forward to pat his brother on the back and grin. The twins seemed to come back to themselves as well and enthusiastically shook Bill’s hand.

“And, uh,” Ron turned to Fleur. “Welcome to the family.” He tried to make his voice warm and mature but he was sure he sounded like a total git. To make matters worse, he awkwardly raised his arms but didn’t actually move to touch her. Ron was sure he looked like an idiot.

Fleur, however, seemed to appreciate his gesture. She gave him a small smile and quietly said “Thank you.” She then pushed herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

His brain was starting to feel a touch fuzzy until he suddenly heard a tongue cluck behind him. He whirled around - Mum and Ginny were now both glaring at Dad for some reason. Hermione however, was looking at Fleur with absolute disdain. He shot a quizzical look at her but she pointedly ignored him.

Dad was staring back at Mum and Ginny. “This is something to celebrate,” he repeated in an unusually stern tone.

“Of course,” replied Mum tersely. Ron watched his mum inhale sharply and force a smile onto her face. “Oh, my boy is getting married!” She pushed Fred aside to embrace Bill and her words almost sounded genuine.

At his father’s insistence, they had a full feast for dinner. Dad had even popped out and returned with three bottles of champagne. He had poured Ron, Hermione, and Ginny each a generous glass as Mum looked on disapprovingly. But despite Dad’s best efforts, the meal had been uncomfortable. Delicious but uncomfortable. And Hermione had skipped pudding and excused herself from the table, breaking what he already considered their after dinner tradition. Ron hadn’t seen her since. He’d gone to the sitting room to play a couple of games of chess with Bill but as darkness was setting, he felt the need to escape the uneasiness that existed in the room and a pull to see Hermione.

As he glanced around the garden, he spotted her on the far end, sitting on the bench with a book.

“Hey,” he greeted, approaching her slowly.

Hermione glanced up from the tome and grunted in acknowledgement. Ron bristled at her reaction.

“You stood me up,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light. He was still unsure as to what had brought on this mood.

“You seemed busy,” she responded curtly.

He shrugged. “I wanted cake. And Bill was asking about the Quidditch Cup match.”

Hermione snorted and closed her book before setting it next to her. “Oh, it was Bill you were sharing your heroics with.”

“Yes,” he said, confused. “They weren’t exactly heroics either.”

“Right. And Bill is the one you found so interesting. Not his fiancée, whose lap you practically crawled into.”

Ron ignored that comment. He thought he was doing quite an admirable job of treating Fleur normally. “Do you have a problem with Fleur?” he asked.

“Do I have a problem with Fleur,” she repeated, a bit shrilly.

“Er, yeah? It just seems like you do.”

“She’s being awful! Snide comments about absolutely everything.”

“She’s to be my sister in law! And Mum and Ginny are being awful to her! I just think we all should make an effort.”

“Yes, that’s you. The welcoming committee,” she rolled her eyes.

“Again, she’s going to be part of the family,” he insisted.

“It doesn’t bother you that it’s happening so quickly? You’re always so suspicious of new people. They just met.”

“It’s been a year. And I reckon I trust Bill,” he said, shrugging.

“I know he’s your brother and you think a lot of him but he’s just a person like the rest of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The whole lot of you. Falling all over yourselves because a beautiful woman enters the room or looks at you or kisses your cheek,” Hermione sneered.

“Hang on,” Ron stopped, his blood suddenly running cold. “Are you jealous of Fleur?”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, looking a bit panicked.

“Are you - do you have a thing for my brother?”

“What?!” Hermione shrieked.

“Well, you seem to have a thing for people that are way too old for you. Lockhart, Krum, and now…”

“Are you being serious?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You must be jealous of Fleur over Bill.”

Hermione let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not jealous of Fleur because of Bill.”

Ron froze. He replayed her answer in his mind. He wasn’t at his sharpest due to the after effects of veela powers and champagne but he was sure that she hadn’t denied that she was jealous; it just didn’t have to do with Bill. Did that mean… what did that mean?

“What does that mean?” he asked her. Their eyes locked and Hermione bit her lip nervously.

Wheeeeee - BANG!

Ron turned sharply and looked up to the sky to see three pink rockets bursting overhead.

“There’s your proper celebration, Dad!” shouted Fred gleefully. George whooped and pumped a fist in the air.

While Ron and Hermione had argued, Fred and George apparently tapped into their firework stock, which was bringing the rest of the family outside.

“Boys! Be careful! Ginny!” Mum yelled, as his sister squeezed by and ran toward the twins. She tutted and followed Ginny, his dad close behind. An orange Catherine wheel appeared above their moving forms.

Bill and Fleur, holding hands paused at the door and looked up.

“They are lovely although the display in Marseille for Bastille Day simply cannot be outdone,” Fleur declared. “The city is not without its problems but -” Bill laughed and pulled her along, trailing after his parents.

Ron glanced back at Hermione, who was scowling. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“You’ve been to Marseille with your parents, right? Cause your mum’s a fan of that one poet from there. Are the fireworks there better?”

She looked at him and for a moment, she seemed speechless, which made no sense. It wasn’t a particularly challenging question. “Uh, yes, I have been there but not for Bastille Day. I wouldn’t have seen any wizarding fireworks anyway of course but I have a hard time believing that anyone can outdo your brothers.”

BOOM! Sparks in the form of a large green fire breathing dragon lit up the sky.

“Fred and George are quite unbeatable when it comes to explosions,” Ron agreed.

Hermione smiled at him and moved her book back onto her lap, gesturing for him to sit. Ron didn’t quite understand what he did to change her attitude but he thought it best not to push. He plopped down next to her and his bare calf brushed up against hers, sending a shiver up his spine. She didn’t move her leg away.

They sat side by side, Hermione watching the fireworks, Ron watching Hermione.

#romione #ron x hermione #romione fanfic #ron weasley #ron and hermione #hermione granger #hp fanfic

[scaramxccia]

“as i was saying” “here i am, in love and upset” “post limit shackles” - hira 2k22

does it help if i say u could absolutely pull kaeya. like if i ask myself who from genshin u could pull, it would be kaeya. does that help or make it worse-

also ty brb let me just cry under my quilt bc that was really nice of u to say and ngl i didn’t even think you’d see it let alone READ IT bc we don’t talk abt writing and fanfic too much . i just reblogged it bc i was like i should probably do that before the evening

ANYWAYS “the way that made me feel wasn’t legal” is all i got out of that pls don’t sue me im very small and have no money so u can imagine the kind of stress im under

ZJDKAKZ THE QUOTZSW,,,,,, CRIES

pls i desperately desire kaeya now. not just his titties but him as a person. it's not carnal anymore (it never was but let's forget abt that for a sec) it's. spiritual. i have ascended. grabby hands. pls

ALSO IT'S FUNNY BC WHEN I DO THE SHIP ME GAMES LOTS OF PPL GIVE ME KAEYA AND I STILL DON'T SEE IT LIKE. HOW. but i appreciate it deeply

zbdjajs PLS I SAW IT I JUMPED UP AND DOWN AND CLICKED AND READ AND. poured my soul in the tags like a simp, which i am, only to get cockblocked by tumblr and lose everything i wrote

hatred and malice

hara please you know i would let you do so much illegal stuff to me (sfw) without ever pressing charges. wreck my soul it's yours

#{♾️} hara!

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Grey Eyes

This is in response to a prompt I received:

camryn-bria I have a Linzin headcanon that there is a secret (airbending) child.  Could you write a one-shot of Tenzin finding out Lin is pregnant after breaking up with her.

I’ll probably put in a better summary, tags or notes later on. But hope you enjoy this 😊 

(So I had too much fun (maybe) with this and it ended up being a two-parter rather than a one-shot, hope this is okay)

Lin/Tenzin pre-canon fanfic | 1 of 2

 Legend of Korra

---

Despite what the public thought, Chief Toph Beifong was not a heartless person.

While truly a strong woman, it did not mean she did not have emotions. Family and friends played a huge role in occupying a space in her heart.

Family.

It was precisely because of family why she was pacing in front of the doctor’s examination room.

Toph closed her eyes in worry.

Of her two daughters, Lin was the one most like her.

Her youngest daughter, Suyin, at her current state, probably was who her own mother wanted her to be.

Initially scoffed at and at the brink of being of being disrespected, Toph Beifong later on was reputed to be one of the toughest police chiefs that the region has even had.

She had welcomed her daughter during her second year as a police chief of Republic City. The father, unfortunately, passed.

Lin’s father was Toph’s fellow detective. Toph had just given birth to her and was out of the force when Kanto responded to a call. He was hit and he died.

Since then, Toph promised herself that it would simply not do to miss time at work.

The first few months of raising Lin were particularly difficult. She had then elected to live near her married friends, Aang and Katara.

Toph took it hard – spent time away from Lin for the next months and sent her to Air Temple Island. She eventually got back to her senses, realizing her daughter needed her and had reached back to take care of Lin.

Lin always wanted to be like her mother and the father she barely met. Suyin, on the other hand, well, that was another story.

“Mom.”

Toph’s reverie was interrupted by the soft voice of her eldest child.

“Oh, Lin.”

In Lin’s hand was an ultrasound photo of a child, Lin took her mother’s hand and read out to her the notes on the photo.

Indeed, Lin was the child most like her mother.

 ---

What was he doing here? He has some nerve.

“Aunt Toph?

She tried to ignore the tall bald man in her office.

“Aunt Toph?”

Persistent little bugger, eh?

“That’s Chief Beifong to you.” She felt him squirm and fidget. “The citizens desk is on the other floor. Or have you gotten lost?”

“I, uh, no. I actually wanted to see Lin.”

“Captain Beifong, you mean.”

She felt him flinch. Good.

“I -.”

“Don’t you worry your bald head about it, Master Tenzin.” Aspersion dripping with every word. “Captain Beifong is away on suspension. She won’t be bothering you any time soon.”

“But – no! I didn’t come here to complain or file charges.” Toph could here the shock at Tenzin’s voice. “You didn’t have to – she didn’t need to be suspended!”

Chief Beifong ignored him. “Captain Beifong caused destruction to property – Air Temple Island’s reconstruction will be done soonest – and basically threatened you, a government official. She would have received worse.”

“But -.”

“Is there anything else, Councilman?”

“Uhm, no. I’ll just drop by Lin’s.”

“She not there,” Toph felt the airbender pause at her door. “She’s suspended until further notice; and she been sent away from Republic City.”

 ---

At least that was what the press was informed, to explain away the disappearance of a prominent person

But internally, with the higher ups in the Republic City Police Department, they knew differently. They were told that she was out undercover and they better not try to make contact – or there will be consequences.

Toph was proud of her daughter’s strategy. She had been an absentee mother in the past years. She wanted to make up for it by supporting Lin’s decisions.

Even if it meant no contact with her in the next months.

 ---

Lin found herself in a remote Earth Kingdom town which used to be a Fire Nation colony. She had come to this place years ago in a recon mission and had known that there were a good mix of nations, making it easy to blend in.

Her current mission was not anything dangerous – just another reconnaissance mission to look into whether there was some truth to the formation of a new organization similar to the New Ozai Society, who would seek to undermine the United Republic.

As someone fresh out of her 20s, Lin thought she was (or she should be) fit enough for the job at the local bar. Thankfully, she was able to convince the barkeep to hire her even after telling him of her predicament (she wondered if maybe the man really just needed help so badly). She also figured it was a good place to get in with the locals and, well, the local gossip.

Lin opted to keep her first name (common as it was anyway), rented a small apartment unit walking distance from the city center, and now, had landed a job  (that hopefully placed her in a good spot to fulfill her mission) which paid adequate wages.

She felt she was prepared to start anew – a new job, a new mission, and a baby on the way.

 ---

Tenzin huffed as he consulted his map.

He had gone to Gaoling, to the Beifong ancestral home (that was were Suyin was sent there before anyway. But Lin wasn’t there.

He even went out of his way and chanced a visit to Zaofu.

Su was surprised to see him and, no, she has not seen or talked to her sister in years.

Instead, the airbender got a slap for his efforts (“You idiot! You broke my sister’s heart!” “You weren’t even talking to her! You don’t know what’s with her.” “I knew enough to know that she loves you!”).

He tossed the map aside. He was stumped; he didn’t know where else to look for Lin.

He did not even notice his mother, watching from the doorway of his study, looking at him with concern.

 ---

“Hey, get away from him!”

“Eh! And what’re you gunn’ do ‘bout that lady?”

“I’ll show you!”

“What the -!”

“Scram!”

“Alright, we’re going – we’re going!”

The earthbender turned to the young man on the ground (maybe late teens or early twenties in age, she guessed) who was of Water Tribe ethnicity. “Hey kid, are you okay?”

“I’m fine – didn’t need your help.” The man grumbled, standing up and dusting himself.

“Right.” The woman stated, obviously not believing it as she had just walked across the scene of several benders pulling up by his collar, whether they were mugging him or not, she did not wait to find out before launching some rocks from the road at the thieves. “Of course, you didn’t need help. You had it all in control, didn’t you?” She deadpanned.

The man rolled his eyes. “A truth seer, aren’t you?”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe.”

“No – I don’t think so.” The water tribe man shook his head. “Thanks though.”

The earthbender extended to shake his hand.

“Lin.”

He clasped it with his own.

“Noatak.”

 ----

Months passed and Tenzin had not lost hope in finding Lin, but he had to admit that the hope was fast dwindling.

Twice Chief Beifong had said that Captain Beifong’s whereabouts were none of his business and that she will put his sorry ass in jail if he pried once more.

Neither Chief Beifong or anyone from his family shared any input to the media as to his relationship status. The disappearance of Lin Beifong and the sudden reconstruction of some of the pavilions at Air Temple Island made up much of the chatter and gossip though.

His cheerless disposition just about confirmed everything anyway.

 ---

Meanwhile, in the Earth Kingdom, Lin finally gathered enough courage to send out a letter to Tenzin. She had used a post office’s box from two towns away to ensure that he would not be led directly to her should he decide to respond.

After contemplating on the matter for the past months, and after finally admitting to herself, she decided to give Tenzin the option to be a father to their child.

It was the least she could do. She did not want her (their) child to grow up without a father if he was willing to be there. She knew, she grew up with, the alternative to that.

We may no longer be together, but it does not change the fact that this child is yours as well. I’m giving you this chance – to either declare this child as your own or to simply ignore and disregard this. I am fully capable of raising this child as my own so I am open to giving you an out.

Well then, so the proverbial ball was in the airbender’s court.

Gently, placing a hand on her now visible pregnant belly, Lin knew the waiting game has started.

 ---

In an ill-conceived attempt to raise his spirits, the Air Acolytes of Air Temple Island saw it fit to host a birthday celebration for him. His mother had given it a go signal as she was also at her wits’ end to help bolster his mood. Even the passing of her husband (his father) did not seem to have dragged him down this way.

What Katara did not know, however, was that the press had somewhat managed to get in with the festivities as well.

The papers for the next few days ran a feature on the last airbender’s birthday celebration. They also printed a picture of him with just about any single female he talked to during the party.

This was followed by a steady stream of letters and messages poured into Air Temple Island as well as into Tenzin’s office at city hall.

The first few letters, Tenzin had deigned to read.

But after the seventeenth letter, the airbender, with a furious blush on his skin, went to the kitchen where his mother was calmly instructing an acolyte for tonight’s dinner.

“Mother!”

Katara dismissed the acolyte before turning to her son. “What is it?” She held out her hand to take one of the letters that Tenzin was waving at her.

The waterbender briefly went through the letter. It appeared that –

“They have been sending me propositions!” Tenzin exasperatedly explained, showing the envelopes with addresses coming from different parts of the world. “Ever since the broadsheets and tabloids have been putting in these features about me being single.” He continued to pace in the kitchen while Katara went through the other letters. The content was fairly similar – a Fire Nation noble offering his daughter in marriage, an Air Acoylte from the Eastern Temple sharing her daughter’s knowledge of all things Air Nomad culture, an Earth Kingdom merchant living in the upper ring boasting of his niece… “I’m not interested in any of these, Mother. I just – I just -.” He took a deep breath. “I need to find Lin. It’s only been Lin.”

Katara could believe that.

“I know – Mother, if letters come to the island for me, please send it to my office. I’ll have my secretary handle them.”

And with that, Tenzin swept away, leaving Katara to only wonder and hope that whatever he thought of would truly help him out.

 ---

I see.

So he has made his choice.

Lin gripped tightly the letter she received in response to the one she had sent.

She tried but there was nothing she owed him now.

The earthbender then tossed the letter into her drawer, to be hidden from prying eyes, to try and forget its existence.

 Thank you for your interest but I already have a life partner.

I would like to request for your respect in this avenue and refrain from sending any more letters in this similar vein.

Respectfully yours,

Tenzin

 ---

Noatak knocked on the door one more time.

Lin was nearing her due date and the barkeep had place a notice for a reliever, a substitute while Lin was out.

The Water Tribe man took the opportunity – he had been juggling different jobs in town anyway so what’s one more?

Lin had been showing the ropes to him the past few days and was always ever so prompt so that they have enough time before opening.

This was why he stood at her front door now. The earthbender failed to show up at their regular time and so he worried.

“Lin? Are you there?”

There was no answer.

Something felt very wrong.

He looked to the left and looked to the right. No one was around and so putting his entire weight on it, he hit his shoulder against the door several times until it gave way.

“LIN!”

To his shock and horror, the pregnant lady slumped unconscious at her living room, blood surrounding her at the floor.

Noatak hurried to her, feeling her pulse and closing his eyes.

He had been hiding a secret for so long, no one knew in this new life he had been living. As far as they knew, he was a non-bender – no one had paused to ask, except this woman who had asked him and had graciously not pried further when he said he did not want to talk about his past. He knew she was trying to start a new life, but he wasn’t sure why. She respected him enough as well to leave him to his privacy.

That day when the muggers had almost done him in, he thought that would have been the end of it, revenge be damned. To his surprise, someone did intervene for him.

Enough reminiscing for now though, because now, this woman needed him.

Taking a deep breath, Noatak reached forward his arms, allowing him to feel the push and pull from the two lives in front of him, not in the way his father wanted him to but to save these lives.

 ---

Tenzin was absentmindedly tapping his pen on today’s agenda in the council meeting.

The monotony of his responsibilities to the city barely weighed on him now.

It was the same old routine at the council.

His interest was peaked when the doors opened and a man, who he recognized as Chief Beifong’s trusted secretary, hurried over to the Chief of Police’s side, whispering quickly.

Toph Beifong suddenly stood up, muttering her excuses to the rest of the attendees of the council meeting and left (something about an urgent matter regarding one of her subordinates’ mission?).

 ---

“Chief, it would appear that the Captain has now given birth to a daughter.”

“What! I need to get to her.”

“Unfortunately, protocols still state that no contact be made -.”

“But I’m her mother.”

“Please, Chief Beifong, Captain Beifong explicitly indicated that in her report as well. Everything is okay and not to let you go to her as it would impact her cover.”

Nonetheless, this did not stop Toph Beifong from instructing her secretary to send off a large box of baby things to a remote town in the Earth Kingdom.

 ---

The last airbender quickly made his way out of the restaurant where that farce of a stilted family dinner (that his mother insisted on) was still on-going.

It had been uncomfortable enough when Chief Beifong arrived, nary a word towards him but quite civil with his mother and their visitors. At some point during the meal, the Fire Lord started to pass around photographs of his teenaged grandson and even Chief Beifong was obliged to share photos of her own grandchildren.

Tenzin tried to ignore the longing gaze his mother had on the photographs.

He met the eyes of his brother, who coincidentally was stationed this week near Republic City, who in turn shrugged back at him.

Yeah, that’s not happening. Unless someone comes forward to speak up about the fruits of Bumi having sown his wild oats, their mother would need to wait a little longer to have her own grandchild.

“And who might this be?” His mother brought up a photo of a baby.

“Did Su have another child?” Fire Lord Zuko peered at the small plastic booklet that Toph had fished from her uniform’s pocket.

“Eh?” Toph reached out to get it back, fingers running through the little indentions at the edge, helping her identify the labels on the photos.

Tenzin did not miss the quick panic that showed on the metalbender’s face before it was back to her inscrutable expression.

“It’s an old photo of one of her boys.” She promptly placed the booklet of photos back into her pocket. “I must have taken it by accident.”

As the rest went about their meal, Tenzin could not help but revert to the photograph of the baby. The baby appeared to be a couple of months old and…there was something that was niggling the back of his head about the child.

Conversation went to work, the new policies in the United Forces, the statue of Fire Lord Zuko in Republic City… They were all pleasantries that Tenzin did not want to talk about.

As soon as it was acceptable, he had excused himself from dinner, citing an urgent deliverable from city hall. No one tried to stop him and everyone took it at face value. He had, after all, buried himself into work in the past months in between trying to look for Lin. The airbender simply did not believe anymore that she was merely suspended from the Force after being absent for more than a year now.

Tenzin thought that Suyin Beifong, by now, would have an idea as to her sister’s whereabouts. Recalling their last interaction, however, he rubbed his cheek gingerly in recollection, he felt he needed to soften her up first.

Coming from that awkward dinner conversation, he had an idea.

Her children!

 And that was how the airbender found himself at the nearest open store that catered to mothers that carried items (food, clothes, furniture, you name it) for their children.

Tenzin had a vague recollection on how old Su’s children were. He was unsure, though, as to what do kids at those age need or want. He figured that the store’s clerk would know and headed to the store’s counter, waiting until the clerk finished assisting two ladies in selecting the best bassinet that the store offers.

The airbender leaned on the glass counter, tapping absentmindedly as he was wont to do when waiting --- when he saw a brown box just behind the counter hidden from view of the common customer (it just so happened he was tall and nosy enough to see it). There was a small sticky note that caught his attention:

Monthly order of Chief Beifong.

Why on earth would Aunt Toph have a monthly order at this place when her own children have long since grown up?

Tenzin twisted his neck to peer at the label of the box, to check the address, thinking that maybe it was headed to Zaofu for Suyin and her kids.

To his confusion, it was to a place within the Earth Kingdom.

Tenzin froze.

What if…it was to another daughter and grandchild?

The photograph!

He now realized what bothered him – the baby in the photo was relatively fair-skinned and he was sure both of Su and Baatar’s children were tanned. Su was also not pregnant back when he last saw her so it could not have been a new Zaofu Beifong baby.

Toph Beifong would be hard-pressed to care about children or babies unless they were related to her.

This left Tenzin with only one plausible explanation.

 The airbender then left the store, hurriedly making plans to get to the Earth Kingdom by the next day.

 ----

And there she was – as radiant as the last time he saw her (never mind that it was in the middle of the unleashing of her powerful fury upon his childhood home).

With a pang, Tenzin saw Lin Beifong carrying a baby, accompanied by a tall (and very young, Tenzin thought unpleasantly) man who appeared to be of Water Tribe descent. The two were engrossed in conversation that they missed the airbender who had been staring after them.

Tenzin had arrived at the town square and was about to head to the address he had committed to memory when he saw Lin. He was about to approach her when the Water Tribe man intercepted her. The airbender noted the familiarity with which the two interacted (it felt like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs). The man offered to take what Tenzin assumed to be a baby bag and Lin had easily acquiesced.

He surreptitiously followed Lin, unsure where they were going but not wanting to take the risk of losing sight of the earthbender he had been searching for quite some time now.

As he watched every exchange of the two, Tenzin could not help but feel at a loss. He had tried to think of every possible scenario, of what he would say, what he would do once he found Lin.

But none of the scenarios he imagined prepared him for the reality.

He never did imagine finding Lin as a mother.

He never did imagine finding Lin with a partner.

And she looked – content.

Tenzin felt a pit form at the bottom of his stomach. Could he – should he – possibly ruin this with his appearance?

Call him selfish but…he’ll try just one last time. If there was an inkling, of the slightest chance of a future with Lin --- he’ll gamble it.

For himself. For Lin.

 ---

“Jinora, sweetheart, be a good girl for Noatak first, please? Mama needs to work for a bit.”

The eight-month-old child burrowed herself further into her mother’s arms but nodded nonetheless. “Good girl.” Lin gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead as the younger man hoisted the child, anchoring her to his hip.

Lin had gone back to work on a part-time basis, but more on the management side of the bar (accounting, menu planning, etc) rather than being actually behind the counter, serving the customers like before. The barkeep was pleased with Noatak’s performance during Lin’s maternity leave that he had decided to hire him full-time.

They would usually come to the bar before opening hours, Lin to check on the previous night’s accounting and Noatak with preparing with the rest of the crew.

Lin was scheduled to start with the local bookstore soon on her off-days from the bar.

Today, it was accounting morning at the bar. She would usually be able to have an hour or two of continuous work while the crew would take turns looking after her daughter if she were awake. If not, Jinora would be placed on her sling and Lin could still comfortably work.

Getting out several folders and her writing implements, Lin pulled out a chair near the window, preferring the natural light while working.

She managed to work for around ten minutes when a shadow fell on her work; before she could even raise her head to address who or what was blocking her light, she turned her head to the inner part of the bar as she heard her name being called.

“Liiiin!”

 ---

When he saw the Water Tribe man leave Lin with the child, Tenzin saw his chance.

He took some time to deliberate though; he observed her quietly, soaking in his view of the woman he had let go (and would be claiming back, if she would have him).

He took a bracing breath and entered the bar.

“Lin!”

Lin would look up at him. “Tenzin! What are you doing here?”

He would kneel – “I’m so sorry Lin, I know you have a child, I’ll love her like she were my own – I promise to treat you better than Mr Water Tribe there. Please Lin Beifong please – I regret letting you go, if you’ll have me, I’ll want to spend the rest of my life proving my devotion to you. Please- Lin please.”

Then Lin would get up, maybe give him a slap harder than what Su gave him then give him a hug before making him work for it.

Before he could even say a single word to put his imagined scenario into action, another voice (that he was starting to dislike) rang out.

“Liiiin!”

“Yes, Noatak?” Lin stood up quickly to address the young man, who was carrying a giggling baby at arm’s length. “What is it? How is Jinora?”

Tenzin felt his heart skip a beat, that Lin named her daughter one of the names he wanted for their daughter… well, he was not sure how he felt about it. Maybe he will explore it a little bit more when he was alone but for now…

“I know I helped bring her into this world –,”

Tenzin blinked at the sudden hurt he felt at his chest at this.

“But please, Lin – take your evil spawn away from me.” Noatak thrusted the still giggling child dramatically back at her mother, half kidding and half exasperated. “You know how much time it takes me each more to fix my hair. Then this little girl here,” He tickles her side and Jinora squeals with laughter. “Decides to blow a gust of air to my face – imagine that!”

The airbender heard this and froze.

“I know you said this brat (“My daughter isn’t a brat!”) is part-Water Tribe,” He gestured to his now unkempt hair. “But I don’t think this is a sign of respecting her culture?”

“My daughter is acting fine.”  Jinora kicked her chubby legs as though to prove a point, disturbing the dust on the floor. “And we did discuss this – no training until she’s older. I want her to have a normal childhood.”

“Ok then,” Noatak waved his hand and nodded, obviously agreeing. “Anyway, I’m in charge of family meal today so I better start prepping.” With one last tickle at the baby’s side, he left and headed to the kitchen.

Lin shook her head and called after him “I’ll pack up and get back to the books later!” It would seem her daughter was in a mood today.

Speaking of meals…

Jinora had been tugging at her chest. “Feeding time is it?”

 Tenzin watched Lin smile softly at the baby, a smile he saw rarely, a smile that he only saw between the dark of the night and daybreak, in between sleep and wakefulness as they laid in bed together.

He cleared his throat to remove a lump that was forming, a signal of impending tears.

Lin had forgotten about the newcomer as she angled the baby go position her for feeding when she heard someone clear their throat.

“I’m sorry, how can I help –,” Her eyes met familiar grey ones. “You.”

 ---

There was a lot to take in.

The Earth Kingdom.

Lin.

The Water Tribe man (Noatak, he spat.)

Lin.

The baby.

The airbending baby.

Jinora.

There was no doubt on whose child Lin was carrying.

Tenzin pushed forward at the surprised earthbender to take them (her and their daughter!) into his arms.

----

Note: This is part one of two --- ooor we could end it there? 🤷🏼‍♀️ Let me know!

(how do you tag people anyway?? @camryn-bria

---

2 of 2 here.

#linzin #linzin fanfic #lin beifong #tenzin #legend of korra #lok fanfic #prompt #camryn-bria #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina completed

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xxi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xxi: what went we

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 15.3k

Rating: Explicit: sexual content ahead.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, some slight gore/blood (it's very mild), the aforementioned sexually explicit content.

Notes: Hi guys. I don't really know where to begin this post, because I am incredibly emotional. It feels so very fitting and special to me that I am bringing in the last chapter of Ancient Names just as 2021 rolls in, and so yes, I AM crying, yes, this WILL be an exceptionally sappy notes section, and yes, this is going to be all about you!

There are so many people that are in part responsible for this fic actually getting finished and put out where the world can see it. @empirics, whose unending support even when she doesn't even GO here and cheerleading me through writing sprints; @lilwritingraven, who is so sweet, so supportive, so incredible and just an overall gigantic sweetheart; @faithchel, whose tags are incredible and always just give me LIFE, I love that our girls be out here really feral like that; @shallow-gravy, who not only lends me her eyeballs but also lets me complain and whine, send her memes nonstop, and participates in my very elaborate fantasies of Elliot and Diana living out their lives as dog moms on a farm (and sometimes in our unholy OT3); @baeogorath, also an eyeball-lender, also incredibly sweet, ALSO lets me send them memes, and does so good in talking me down from my adrenaline anxiety pre-posting and post-posting, was the first person to welcome me into this fandom and is also just a dear, dear friend who happens to be incredibly talented. And, of course, @starcrier. As always, this would have never ever ever been possible without you, not even a little bit, not even at all. From the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you, and the people who have left kudos, have left comments: thank you thank you thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Here is ALL my love, just for you!

The emotional journey of writing this fic has been an incredible one. And a taxing one. Elliot is a character near and dear to my heart for many reasons; I pour so much of my heart into her, so when I hear people say that they love her, and love this journey, and love these things that I've created and written, I mean it when I say that it makes my whole entire day. It means so much to me. Thank you.

In the essence of time, I will not go through all of the feelings that are in my brain right now because there are SO many and I am already crying lol. Please just know you have made the experience of joining a new fandom, and writing in it, so incredible!

There is going to be an epilogue following this chapter, and then I'm going to take a short break and start in on a sequel fic, tentatively titled Witching Hour. Please feel free to hang out/chat w me/plague me with your thoughts at any time of the day; I would love to visit with all of y’all!

John was lying to her.

Or, at the very least, he was withholding information from her, which was just about as bad as lying, Elliot thought. She didn’t know what exactly he wasn’t forthcoming about—but did it matter, at this point? She could tell he was lying; he’d been all kinds of ready to leave and go and get out of Hope County, and now he was scrounging up some kind of ass-pull reason for them to stay. So did it matter? Did the distinction count?

Yes, she thought absently, as John’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles along the small of her back. Yes, I have to know what he’s lying to me about.

“Good morning,” John murmured against her neck. “How did you sleep?”

It had been three days since her baptism-gone-awry, three days of Burke occupying the bunkhouse she had been in while she had wordlessly moved into John’s space, three days of avoiding eye contact with the marshal and deferring questions about him. I don’t know, I really only knew him for a day, she’d say when John asked, or does it matter if I told him? He wouldn’t get it, the unspoken words being ‘not like you do’. She hoped, anyway.

Three days of trying to figure out what it was John wasn’t telling her.

“Like shit,” she replied tiredly as his mouth trailed along the curve of her shoulderblade. The pressure of his fingers against her sternum had her rolling onto her back to look up at him; his gaze swept over the exposed skin.

“Bruising’s clearing up,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep. But he didn’t elaborate; he didn’t say, should we reveal your sin today, my love? the way that she thought he would try. It felt as though the gears in her head were still sluggishly turning, trying to piece together the entire picture of what was going on, a picture that she felt like John didn’t want her to see.

She knew exactly how it would go if she asked. What’s the game? she’d say, and John would look at her with those eyes, and lean in to kiss her, and he’d say, no game, hellcat, and she’d have to believe him because she didn’t have any empirical evidence that he was lying to her. Just a feeling, deep in her gut, twisting and wrenching.

It made it worse to know that John was looking at her with adoration.

Trailing a lazy circle below her collarbone with his fingertips, John asked, “Do you want to do it today?” and she stifled a sigh.

“I don’t know yet, about staying,” she replied, even though she did know: she wouldn’t. She would die before she crawled into a stupid fucking bunker at the behest of Joseph Seed. “I want to wait.”

John’s eyes flickered a little at her words, but he nodded. Elliot reached up, catching her hand with his and skimming the pads of her thumbs along his palm. The words sat there on the tip of her tongue: what aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you just tell me? Haven’t we been through enough, the two of us?

“Your heartline,” Elliot said instead, forcing her voice into playfulness because she couldn’t stop thinking about how Burke had told her to carry on as she had been. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“No,” he answered amusedly, letting her nail skim along the curve of the line on his palm. “Are you an expert in palmistry?”

“My mama used to entertain tarot cards and palm readers with her ladies,” she replied. “So I listened in a lot. I suppose it isn’t very Godly to have your palm read.”

“It isn’t.” John’s eyes glittered. “But go ahead and tell me what mine says.”

She shifted a little against the pillows. On the floor by her side of the bed, Boomer let out a long, suffering sigh—like he was tired of listening to this flirtation already. For a small second in time, that feeling of peace swept over her, and she let herself bask in it. Elliot thought that she deserved that much at least.

“Your heartline shows your personality, and your quality of love,” she explained, skimming her finger along his heartline. “Yours comes all the way over, see? All the way across your palm.”

“Is that good?”

“Very,” Elliot said somberly. “It shows you have an abundance of love, and high expectations.”

John worked his jaw a little, clearly trying not to smile like he was proud of himself—like he had any control over the lines of his palm and how they worked. “I could have told you that.”

“And it curves upward,” she continued. “Which means you have great verbal dexterity.”

“I could have also told you that.”

“Undoubtedly,” she deadpanned. “Are you going to let me finish my reading?”

He flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Please,” he said, “continue.”

Elliot clicked her tongue, turning her attention back to his hand. Inspecting for a moment, she said, “You have a upward split here, you see? That means you’re willing to sacrifice a lot for love.”

John rumbled his agreement at the statement and leaned down, kissing her shoulder.

“And these little forks here,” she added, pressing her thumb against them, “indicates a dispute on marriage.” Her eyes lifted to his, playful. “Are you intending on marrying, John? Palm says that’s a bad idea.”

For a second, John stared at her—his eyes fluttered, and he looked like he was collecting himself. Elliot sat up a little, frowning, but when she did it seemed to trigger whatever it was that was needed for him to come back to being present. Interlacing their fingers together, he pulled her forward and kissed her; and kissed her, and kissed her, until her lungs ached and she thought she was getting dizzy from not being able to take a full breath. His free hand slid down between her legs; when her lips parted to allow her to whimper, John’s teeth caught her lower lip with bruising force.

Already, heat was pooling in the pit of her stomach. Already, she could feel those telltale signs of desire, the way that John inspired it in her with just a few simple gestures.

“Want you,” John said against her mouth, guiding her onto him, settling her on his lap. Something was wrong, something she’d said had struck a strange nerve in him; but undeniably, it felt good, that his hands were trembling whenever his grip on her lessened a little. It felt good, because it felt like he needed her.

“Reading my palm is a cute trick, but—”

“How badly?” Elliot asked, before she could stop herself. John’s eyes, dark with want, raked over her as the sheets bunched at her hips. When she rocked her hips against his inquisitively, a low, strangled noise came out of him. “How badly do you want me?”

“You’re—in a mood,” John managed out. He opened his mouth to keep talking—something insufferable, Elliot was sure—but as he did, she adjusted and sank down against him, drawing out of him a low, vicious moan. His fingers dug into her hips and he hissed, “Wicked thing.”

She slid him out of her, and he groaned, miserable.

“How badly?” she asked again, less cloying this time. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that wound up in her, hot and humid, when John let her do this—let her take, let her sink her nails and her teeth into him wherever and however she wanted. Like he knew exactly what it was she needed and didn’t mind giving it to her.

Liar, something inside of her said, he’s a fucking liar, there’s something he isn’t telling us, but then John looked at her and said, “So badly, more than anything, Elliot,” and her chest tightened.

Her fingers found his shoulder and she tugged him up into a sitting position. Her mouth found his; she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled just as their hips slotted together and she sighed his name in a hitching breath. The delicious burn was almost enough to fizz her focus out of existence—with so little sleep on her agenda, it was hard enough, but then she canted her hips wantingly and sparks of red-hot pleasure went racing up her spine.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” John ground out, burying his face against her neck. “Can’t believe you’re mine, El—can’t—after all of this—”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered at his words, the uneasy sprint of happiness making her stomach churn. Something else, though, wrenched around the cavity of her chest—those words. Can’t believe you’re mine.

“John,” she managed out, breathless, “I—”

“—and I’m yours.” John kissed her and guided her hips down against him until she was moaning unsteadily. “Fuck, yes, I’m—all yours, baby, just take w-what you—need from me, give you anything, anything—”

I’m all yours, he said, in the same breath as can’t believe you’re mine, and it shouldn’t have but it felt different: in that moment, having John buried into her up to the hilt and digging his fingers into her skin and sighing her name, it shouldn’t have felt different, but it did. It did, because they belonged to each other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, on his shoulder. She thought, he’s a liar, and she thought, I’m so afraid of losing him, too, and she thought, we belong to each other.

“Please,” Elliot moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for; to finish, to hear him say it again, to hear him say more, to tell her the complete and absolute truth? Did it matter, anymore?

It does matter. The distinction matters.

So she said, “You’re mine,” and she kissed him, and she said it again, and again, like a prayer; until John was saying it back, feverish and panting the delicious words against her skin, I’m yours, I’m yours, all yours.

Wicked, and wretched, and maybe a liar, but all hers.

Later, tangled together in bed, John pulled her flush against him and said against her skin, “Don’t you want it, too?”

“I do,” Elliot murmured, knowing that he was talking about the Wrath he was going to put into her skin. “There’s just... A lot after that, to think about. And I know you’ll want an answer right away—”

“Is it that hard?” he asked. “To make a decision about staying or leaving?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

John frowned. “I just—”

“You just want me to say yes to whatever it is you want,” Elliot snapped. “I’d like to remind you that you told me we’d go as soon as this was done.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, Elliot. I’m just—”

And then he paused, like something wanted to come out of him that he didn’t want to say, like he’d caught himself before he’d make a fool of himself. All this time, and Elliot thought she’d never see John vulnerable, not really in the way that she wanted—he’d seen her crying and broken and grieving, and she’d seen him in intimate glimpses, but not completely.

“You’re just what?” she asked, brows pulling together.

John’s fingers traced along her sternum, spelling out WRATH, much like he had done that evening at her mother’s house.

“They’re my family,” he said after a moment. “He gave me everything.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. “I know.”

“That includes you, too.” John leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “He brought me you. I know you don’t believe, hellcat, but if nothing happens then what did we lose? Nothing. I just get to keep my family.”

Her lashes fluttered, exhaustion seeping over her bones again. It was late into the morning, but already she wanted to close her eyes.

“I told you before,” she whispered. “I told you. You can’t have both. You can’t put one foot in both worlds, John.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He ducked his head against her neck and kissed there, and she thought about what he’d said that night in the bar.

Outside of my loyalty to Joseph, there’s you, and I want both.

I want you too, Elliot.

We can have a place to belong.

She thought about Jerome’s voice over the radio. You don’t have to Atlas this thing, deputy.

She thought about Joey, holding her tight. I never doubted you’d be able to get me.

She thought about how, at twenty-five, she had to bury her best friend in the fucking ground.

John was lying to her about something. He wasn’t telling her everything, and maybe she had always known that it would be like this, between them: maybe, down in the marrow of her bones, she had always known they would end up at odds with each other, John trapped between two worlds that he wanted and neither side willing to budge.

Something has to be done, she thought tiredly, as John’s fingers smoothed along her hip, and I’m going to have to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’ve gotta get them out of here, Rook.”

Burke’s words stayed there, lingering in the air between them. It was late in the afternoon, and John was with his brothers and Faith in the chapel, and she’d ducked into Burke’s bunkhouse between guard shifts to grab a quick word with him. As soon as she told him that John had been pushing to get her sin revealed sooner than the original week he’d told her, Burke’s frown had deepened.

“They’re planning on getting it over with and getting the fuck out,” he said, pacing the tiny bunkhouse room. “There’s no way I’m getting to that radio with them all here. They think the world’s going to end, and that they need to be in their bunkers to survive it. If they get locked in there, Elliot, then—”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get them all out of here,” she replied irritably. “You do realize that I’m only—John’s the only—”

Burke waved his hand to stop her from elaborating. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss the nature of her relationship with John beyond what the base information: they had indulged in a physical relationship, and an emotional one, and now Elliot’s priorities included him. As best they could.

“He wants to do the… Ceremony,” Elliot continued, mouth twisting around the only word she could think to say without making it macabre, “soon. And I just think that if I push it all the way out, then it’ll stir up suspicion, after I told him I wanted to—”

“What if you didn’t?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“What if you didn’t push it out?” Burke continued, slowly, pitching his voice quieter and more urgent when he noticed movement outside. “What if you asked for it to be done sooner? But just—somewhere else? Not here? Make up something about how you don’t have good memories here, and…”

“And ask for his family to be there,” Elliot finished, “so that they have to leave you here?”

Burke nodded. His gaze darted to the window again, and she knew that they were running out of time. “You’ll still be guarded.”

“I can handle a few of these fuckers,” he replied, waving his hand. “Most of them are scattered out, getting supplies. I hear them complaining about it outside all the time. I’ll get that radio, see if I can hear any chatter, and tell them where to find you. ”

I need more time, she thought, but she knew that she wouldn’t get it. Not now. Her deadline had been set for her—by Joseph, by John, and even a little bit by Burke. She was this close to being done, to being—

Free.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, yes, I can do that. I’ll ask them to take me to the ranch, and—I can do that.”

“I know,” Burke said, and he had never sounded more confident; he planted his hands on her shoulders and looked at her, the clarity having returned from his Bliss-induced high. He hesitated, and then said, “The ceremony—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want you to know,” he plunged on, “it doesn’t matter, but I want you to know that you aren’t… That isn’t all of who you are.” His hands squeezed shoulders, the pressure welcoming and comforting and nauseating all at once. How strange, that kindness sickened her, now. “Wrath.”

Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. “I should go,” she said, because Burke still didn’t know what she’d done to Kian, still didn’t know the full extent of her body count or the way she’d felt when she killed a man. How it felt good, now—satisfying, an instant hit of dopamine centered around control.

“The back window,” Burke said, gesturing. “So the guards don’t wonder.”

“It’s all very exciting,” Elliot added. She tried for lightness, pushing the window up. “Subterfuge.”

“Just try not to say that where anyone can hear you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’ve nearly collected the last of the supplies,” Joseph said, pacing absently back and forth. “How long do you think, Jacob?”

“A day, at most,” the redhead replied. “They’re working quickly, without all of these interruptions.” Jacob paused, and then turned his gaze at John. His mouth twisted for a moment, and John could tell his older brother was trying not to smile when he continued, “What’s your timeline, John?”

“The same,” John replied tightly.

“A day at most?”

“No, the same as before,” he clarified, even though he knew Jacob was doing it on purpose. “You gave me a timeline and that’s what I’m working with.”

“It’s just, you sounded very confident about your ability to wrangle the deputy,” his eldest brother continued, “and you’ve always been an overachiever.”

Joseph was looking at him expectantly. John knew that they wanted him to say that Elliot had insisted on doing it sooner, that she’d fully acquiesced to staying with him, that he had fully convinced her, down to every molecule of her being, that what they were doing was right and just and undeniably truthful.

But he hadn’t. Their conversation this morning only proved that more to him. You can’t have both, she’d said, like she still thought of herself as a separate entity from him, from his family. But she wasn’t; where else would she find people who would accept her, unconditionally?

Well, mostly unconditionally. There was one condition: believing. The most difficult one for her, he thought.

“I can spend more time with her,” Faith supplied, helpfully. “Maybe she’s tired of being around you boys all the time. You can be...” Her gaze flickered, and she tilted her chin a little, smiling. “A little heavy-handed. It’s possible that a lighter touch is necessary to bring the deputy around.”

“First, you should stop calling her that,” John pointed out, and he felt a little more than petulant saying it. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Elliot was naturally inclined to open up to Faith more easily, and he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it did still bother him, sitting right in the back of his mind. Always away but never forgotten. “Continuing to refer to her as “the deputy” is only going to further cement her ties to her past life.”

“Well,” Jacob demurred, “we can’t all call her baby, can we, John?”

“If you have a problem with me enjoying the marital bed,” John bit out, “then I think perhaps you spend some time reflecting inwardly on why that’s such a—”

The door to the chapel creaked as it was pushed open. Swallowing back his words quickly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see Elliot, hesitating in the doorway. Boomer lingered just behind her, sat at the bottom of the stairs, ever obedient.

“I can come back,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Not at all,” Joseph replied, before John could tell her maybe that would be best. “Please, come in.”

She did, letting the door swing shut behind her, and moved tentatively toward the front. He wondered how it felt for her—coming in here, with all of them looking at her, much the same way she had the day that set the events in motion that brought her back to them.

John wondered, too, if Joseph had known this all along; if the things that he heard and saw had shown him that Elliot would always come back here, to them. Our deputy, he’d always said, without fail.

“I want to do it,” Elliot said, as she approached. “Soon. As soon as possible.”

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before John said, “That’s great, Elliot. We can get started with—”

“But I don’t want to do it here,” she interrupted, bringing John’s mouth to a full stop.

“More fucking demands,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joseph said, watching her curiously. The way they had been, he was the closest to Elliot, with a table separating her from John. His fingers itched. “If you’re worried about the safety of it, I am sure John is more than equipped to—”

“This is supposed to be cleansing, isn’t it?” Elliot asked. “Regardless of how you feel, Joey’s body was put on display here. I don’t want this to be the place where I...”

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted elsewhere, mouth pressing into a thin line. John said, “I don’t think going somewhere else would be a problem. Where did you have in mind?”

“The ranch,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Feels fitting.”

As John stifled a smile, Joseph said, “Well, we’ll need to clear out the bodies, but I’m sure that can be done.”

“That’s manpower,” Jacob protested.

“You were just talking about how quickly they were getting things done,” John replied. “Weren’t you? Ahead of schedule. Over-achieving, I think.”

Jacob’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click and grind of his molars, and for once, John felt a sweeping thrill of victory. It was coming together, right there, in front of him—in front of his brothers, and Faith. All of the witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Fine,” Jacob acquiesced, at last. “But it’ll take them a few hours.”

“Perfect.” John smiled, looking at Elliot across the table, Joseph’s figure nearly eclipsing her. “Then Elliot and I will head out as soon as we hear that the bodies have been properly disposed of.”

“There’s one more thing,” Elliot began, looking uncertain, and drawing all eyes back to her again even as Joseph had moved to place his hand on Faith’s shoulder. When they had watched expectantly for long enough, she continued, “I want—everyone there.”

“Everyone?” John asked, the word souring in his mouth.

“Not—of Eden’s Gate. Just… All of you,” she elaborated.

John could feel the surprise, bubbling fresh and unexpected, between his siblings as they exchanged glances.

“Even me?” Jacob asked, and John saw the grin splitting across his face.

“Even you,” Elliot replied, dryly. “Against my better judgment, I’m sure.”

“I’m touched, honey.”

Clearing his throat, John walked around the table briskly, muttering a quick excuse us as he guided Elliot away from the front of the chapel and down the walkway a little.

“You want my family there?” he asked, keeping his voice low as his siblings chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jacob was grinning wolfishly, looking very pleased with himself, which was something John didn’t necessarily like. “Normally, it’s more of a—a private affair, and that’s how I pictured it with you—”

“This is important to me,” Elliot said, watching him. “And they’re important to you. Aren’t they?”

John swallowed. “Well, yes, but…”

“John,” she murmured, her fingers loosely tangled with his, “I’ll stay, after.”

He blinked at her. “You’ll—?”

“Yes.” Her gaze flickered over his, her voice low as she struggled through the words. “I’ll stay here, with you—and your family. After it’s done. I just… Need to close the chapter.”

I fucking did it, he thought, certain that he was going to grin like a complete maniac if he didn’t keep himself in check. I fucking got her. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they doubted me.

“Of course,” he managed out, somehow keeping his voice steady despite the rush of butterflies banging against his rib cage. “Of course, hellcat, anything you want.”

“Okay.” She paused, and then reached up and kissed him—willingly, of her own volition, in front of his siblings, she kissed him, and then sat back on her feet. “In a day, then?”

“In a day,” John promised, their noses brushing. “We’ll really belong to each other.”

Elliot’s lashes fluttered. She looked a little more tired than before, but it was hard to tell this close; and if it bothered her at all—if it was changing her mood—it didn’t show. He felt her smile against his mouth.

“Yes,” she murmured, just the way that he liked. “Completely.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jacob stopped by the bunkhouse with Joseph that evening to let him know they’d dispatched the men to clean out the ranch of any remaining corpses; they’d do it through the night, to better assist Elliot in her revelations. It seemed that the members of Eden’s Gate were just as relieved as the siblings themselves that the deputy was no longer and adversary, but joining them.

Which still left the matter of Cameron Burke.

“I say we kill him,” Jacob announced, glancing over John’s shoulder to ensure Elliot wasn’t there—and never before had John been more grateful for the blonde’s need to go on exorbitantly long walks out of the compound. “Quick and easy.”

“Well,” John said, “that is what I had thought you intended before, yet here we are, with him still on our hands.”

“We are lucky that our brother cares so much as to run our deputy through such trials,” Joseph interceded serenely, before a spat could break out. “And that she passed. With flying colors, I think.”

“That’s a little generous.”

“At any rate, that we’ve moved up this celebration for her is good,” the blonde continued. “I hear that the Family may not all be finished. Jacob mentioned that his scouts saw movement, out close to the Whitetails.”

John frowned. No good, he thought, but then—what about all of those dead couples he and Elliot had seen? Paired, holding hands, flowers blooming from wherever they could fit them? How was it determined which ones would off themselves and which ones stuck around?

“Now that we have all of the supplies we need,” Jacob said, “we don’t have to worry about getting rid of them.” He shrugged. “Let the apocalypse finish them off.”

“Well.” John clapped his hands together. “I’ve quite a day to prepare for tomorrow, I think. And when it’s all done, we’ll be ready to settle in.”

Joseph and Jacob exchanged looks, just for a moment, before Jacob said, “Night, Johnny,” and set off, leaving Joseph alone in front of the doorway to the bunkhouse. When he looked at John, his expression unreadable, something uneasy crawled and settled down at the base of his spine.

“I have something for you,” Joseph said. “Come with me to the chapel?”

Trying not to recognize that dread, lest he give it more legs than it already had, John nodded his head. “Of course. Though, you know you never have to…”

“It’s the least I could do,” his brother interjected lightly, waiting patiently as he closed the door to his temporary base of operations and then fell into step with him to the chapel. The evening was brisk and chilly, and when Joseph said, “And where is our deputy?” John stifled a rueful smile.

“Taking a walk, with Faith,” John replied. “And the dog, of course.”

“Of course.” He saw a smile ticking the corner of his brother’s mouth, small and almost imperceptible. “It’s nice that they get along, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he agreed, “like she was always meant to be with us.”

Joseph paused outside the chapel’s doors, reaching up and giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just like.”

They stepped inside. It was cool and quiet; nobody remained. The radio flickering through channels was the only noise, and they rang empty and static, not a peep out there. He wondered if the remaining members of the Family were just looking for a place to rest, or a way to get out; maybe they didn’t want anything, anymore.

He followed his brother to the front of the chapel. On the table was the map they’d been using, a few scribbled notes in Jacob’s hand-writing, and a manila envelope.

Joseph picked up the envelope and held it out to John. He took it, and then glanced inquisitively up at his brother.

“Is this—?”

“Her file,” Joseph confirmed. “What we gathered on her prior to the Collapse. Also in there are my notes from her confession, as well as what appears to be diary entries, recovered from where Kian had tried to hunt the two of you.”

Holy shit, John thought, because sitting in his hands was the exact thing that he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything that he wanted to know about Elliot was right there: waiting to be read, devoured, committed to memory. He would know every single part of her, every wretched thing she had ever done, every loss she had ever suffered, every—

“And,” Joseph continued, “your marriage certificate.”

John glanced up at his brother. Suddenly, the envelope felt—different. Like an ultimatum. If he learned all of this about Elliot, and she got suspicious because he suddenly knew so much about her, and she asked where he found out and he told her—and he would have to tell her—she’d want to see it and then. And then.

And then.

“I think it’s time, John,” his brother said. “I know that you haven’t told our deputy about this arrangement. She is your wife, after all, before the eyes of this congregation and God.”

“Right,” John murmured, swallowing. “Yeah, of course. I planned on it. After tomorrow. It feels fitting, to tell her then.”

Maybe it would be better to tell her in the bunker, he thought absently, and then shoved that immediately away. No, fuck, no, I have to tell her. Tomorrow, after we finish everything.

“Good.” Joseph smiled, and for the first time in a long time he smiled with teeth, and the expression on his brother’s face almost unnerved him. He reached up, and his fingers brushed the nape of John’s neck, tilting him forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

Relief, hot and overwhelming, washed straight through him. They had been so at odds that John thought he might have forgotten what it was like to be in his brother’s good graces, but here he was.

“I am so proud of all that you have done for me, for our family, for Eden’s Gate.” Joseph’s voice rang in the hollow of his bones, vibrating straight through him, spiking in him a delirious rush of pride. “You have done so well, John, despite all that God has done to test you.”

Oh, there it was: everything in him said, finally, finally, finally, someone sees me, and he was reminded of why it was he owed Joseph so much. Because he gave him this.

“I’m—” John felt the words choke and stutter on the way out of him. It was almost too much—the finish line was in sight. Elliot had said, you can’t have both, but he could. He could, and he was going to, and it was here right in front of him.

Waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed out. “Thank you, Joseph. I only ever wanted to make you proud.”

“I know.” Joseph smiled, hand pressed against the back of John’s head, holding him gently. “I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leaving the chapel, John was cruising on cloud nine; he had everything. Everything. Nobody was going to take it from him. No stupid cult, no last-minute hail mary’s from the opposing team—

As he passed by a window into the bunkhouse that had been Elliot’s before Burke had made it his home, John stopped and leaned against the siding of the house, tapping on the window. Burke was sitting at the table, leaned back, eyes closed; when the sound of John’s finger against the glass rattled again, he opened one eye.

John waved, and grinned. “Hi, bud.”

Burke stared at him. He gestured for the Marshal to push his window up, and after a few exasperated gestures, he did—reluctantly.

“Seed,” he said, tiredly. “Particular reason you’re not fuckin’ off?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” John replied slyly. “See how you were holding up. The impending apocalypse must be weighing heavily on you.”

Burke stared at him for a moment. He worked a toothpick between his teeth. His hands and feet were both cuffed, and the guards standing outside of the bunkhouse seemed to be concerned with his tone when he said, “Can’t wait to beat that shit-eating grin off of your face.”

“That’s not very professional,” John drawled. “Won’t that look poorly, in front of all of your little friends?”

“They’ll avert their eyes to let me give you some extra special attention.” Burke lifted his chin, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and spitting out the window, nearly landing on John’s shoes. “Promise.”

Impudent, John thought. Burke really just couldn’t let him have a moment, could he? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Marshal,” he said, straightening up from the window and taking a step away. “I like it rough.”

And then he paused, turning on his heel like a swivel and lifted a finger thoughtfully.

“If you want some pointers on what I like,” he added pleasantly, “you can always ask Elliot.”

Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Your little brainwashed cultist? I think I’ll pass.” he asked, and John’s smile plummeted, wiped off of his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “You’re the failing party here, Cameron Burke. You’re going to be the one suffering when the End comes for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Burke replied, “better get goin’, shouldn’t you?”

John’s teeth snapped together with a click, pain shooting up through his jaw as his molars ground. Petulant and arrogant, all the way to the very end, wasn’t he? He supposed that made it a little bit better that Jacob was going to off him.

He had everything he wanted, and not even Cameron Burke was going to take that from him.

John flashed a smile, all teeth, and held his arms out. “I suppose I should,” he replied. “Have a nice ceremony tomorrow to prepare. Though, I don’t have to tell you—you’ll be there for it, won’t you? A front row seat and all.”

Even in the dark of the growing evening, he could see Burke’s jaw clench. The Marshal pulled back from the window and slammed it shut, signaling his exit from the conversation; if John had been in a worse mood, he would have stormed right in there and shown Burke exactly what the consequences were for trying to run the show.

But there wasn’t time, because just as he was debating the logistics of doing so, he heard a dog barking in the distance and the sound of familiar voices.

“Hi, John,” Faith sing-songed at him, swinging Elliot’s hand in her own as they approached. “Isn’t it a bit late? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” John replied with a quick smile, which was not necessarily a lie.

“Too excited,” his sister agreed playfully. 

As they approached, he could see the circles beneath Elliot’s eyes had darkened. She really wasn’t sleeping, was she? Reaching up with his free hand as soon as she was close enough, he brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and guided her close, his fingers tangling into her hair at the base of her skull and his mouth finding her temple. Faith giggled and waved her fingers at Elliot, breezing past him on her way to the chapel.

He asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“It was dark,” Elliot replied, by way of explanation. Boomer sniffed around their feet and then cocked his head, listening while his eyes fixed on the dark treeline. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” John asked, distracted by Boomer’s sudden alertness. “Oh, the envelope?”

“No, John, this stupid fucking Hot Topic belt I’ve seen you wear all the time.” Elliot pulled back to look at him, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Yes, the envelope.”

He opened his mouth to respond, trying to decide if he wanted to be upfront with her about it or not; he was so caught up in his decision that he didn’t even have the time to be offended by her remark about his belt before he said, “We should go back to our house, don’t you think? The company here’s a little sour.”

Elliot’s gaze swept around curiously, and when she spotted Burke through the window, she said, “Ah.”

“You never did tell me how your talk went,” he added, taking her hand and beginning to pull her away. “Good? Bad?”

The blonde watched him for a moment, like he’d said something a little too suspicious. “It really bothers you when you don’t know what exactly is going on, doesn’t it?”

John feigned a pleased smile. “It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

“I thought it was your job to talk incessantly?”

“I am multi-faceted.”

They reached the door to their shared space—and that was a nice little thought, their space, like they had a place that belonged to the two of them—and as Elliot stepped inside, she said, “Burke wanted to know what had happened.”

John closed the door behind them, pausing and looking at her for a moment; he tried to glean any insight he could out of her expression, but he couldn’t. He could only see quiet exhaustion sitting on her face, just there, just within his reach.

“And?” he prompted, when she failed to elaborate. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on, washing her face; quickly, John opened the envelope and thumbed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He slid the paper beneath the nightstand beside the bed and shut the envelope, smoothing the metal pins out. There, he thought, like it was never opened.

“I told him the truth,” Elliot replied from the bathroom, shutting the water off. “About the Family. About—you. And your siblings.”

“Well, he did refer to you as my ‘little brainwashed cultist’, so I imagine that conversation didn’t go well.”

The blonde stepped out of the bathroom, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him for a moment. That was answer enough, he supposed—whatever friendliness had lingered between Elliot and Burke seemed to have been decimated by the reality of their situation.

“What’s in the envelope?”

“It’s your file,” John said, plainly. Elliot’s jaw tensed.

“My file,” she reiterated.

“Yes. All of the things Joseph had on you before, including your confession to him and some papers they found in Kian’s bag of belongings. Back in the woods.”

Her eyes flickered, and she exhaled, long and tired. He could tell that she didn’t like that he had it. She had so desperately tried to keep him from knowing what it was that haunted her, though he had mostly pieced it together by now—an ex-boyfriend gone bad, the resulting fallout, all wadded up into a tiny ball of trauma that sat right in her ribs. All of those times Elliot had tried to cling to those shreds of control—and everything about her had been handed to him in a manila envelope. He imagined that it was quite frustrating.

John offered, “I haven’t looked at it.”

“Why not?”

“I thought,” he began, carefully, “that you might want it. For yourself.”

Elliot looked at him warily. “You’re just going to give it to me?”

“Elliot,” he said as he closed the space between them, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’ll give you anything you want.” John reached up, brushing his fingers against the slope of her neck, feeling the way her pulse jumped at the contact. “Besides, I have you. What do I need the file for?”

He wanted it. He wanted to read her file, learn every gritty detail about her, memorize them the same way she’d memorized his scars and tattoos with her fingers; to know her, inside and out, so that there wasn’t a single dark corner of her that he didn’t have completely.

“Throw it away,” Elliot murmured. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it anywhere. Please, just throw it away.”

“If that’s what you really want,” John agreed.

“It is.”

She leaned up and kissed him; her hands cradling his jaw and pulling him there, her mouth soft and compliant against his. He dropped the envelope in favor of getting both of his hands on her, walking her back against the nearest wall and sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. Elliot’s breath stuttered and hitched prettily, but she pulled back until her mouth was just out of his reach.

Still, though her head was tilted otherwise, her fingers tugged on the front of his shirt and crowded him against her, close. If he thought about it too hard—about the way they had begun, hissing and spitting, and how they were now—he’d have thought he was dreaming, how she wanted him in her space now.

“Let’s go,” the blonde said, her voice urgent. “Tonight. To the ranch.”

“You—” John paused, watching her. “You want to go tonight? Why not tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to be here,” she murmured, “in the compound. I want—”

Elliot stopped, then, worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I want to have some time,” she continued, “with you, before... Everything. Just us.” Her mouth twisted in what John thought could only be a playful smile. “Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, narrowing his eyes amusedly. “Which times are those? The times where you told me to go fuck myself, or—”

“I think you liked it.”

“Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, yes.”

“So,” she continued, “can we go tonight?”

John, propped up against the wall with her caged between his arms, studied her for a moment. It wouldn’t be bad to get some time away from the compound that wasn’t some kind of macabre venture out into Fall’s End, haunting her with all of the things she used to have and had once been.

“Sure,” he said finally, “I don’t see why not. Just a little time for us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though he had been less than thrilled about the idea of Elliot being outside of the compound, Jacob had confirmed that the ranch was cleaned out of bodies and ready for them. When they swept past Burke in the bunkhouse, watching them through the window, John’s eyes went to Elliot—trying to see if there was anything in her expression, trying to see if there was a blink of affection or recognition.

There wasn’t. Elliot walked past without looking at the U.S. Marshal and swung into the driver’s side of the truck, and when John reached across the console to drop the keys in her hand, her gaze and expression were clear of any cloudiness.

When they got to the ranch, it was quiet; the lights had been left on, and while John knew that the bodies were gone and cleaned out, he still braced himself for impact when they walked in. The bookshelf had been righted again, and the strong smell of cleaning solution lingered in the air, but for the most part, everything was exactly where he’d left it.

It was a shame, then, that soon they’d be slipping underground.

“Bleach,” Elliot said, walking up the stairs after him. “How romantic.”

“It’s your mess they were cleaning,” John replied dryly, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He pushed the door open to the master bedroom, taking in a little breath and turning to look at Elliot. She was inspecting the room, and for a second, John almost felt self-conscious—that she was here, now, with him. In his home. Touching his things. Looking at him.

It was almost unnerving to think about; that some time ago, she had been viciously looking for any way out. But of course, she had come around. She was always going to come around, one way or another. He thought about the way she’d spit Go fuck yourself, John, the way she’d tried her hardest to be as obtuse and unhelpful as possible, how she’d said in the bar you can’t have both but here he was.

Here she was.

There was only one thing left standing in the way, and it was something he had all the power in the world to change if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” the blonde asked, arching a brow at him loftily.

“You,” John said, and it wasn’t a lie. Her lashes fluttered and she almost looked shy, for a moment; when he reached out and tugged her close by the belt loop of her jeans, he added, “What do you think about getting married?”

With her hands steadying herself on his chest, she barked out a laugh. “In general? Or us getting married?”

“Primarily the latter.”

“I—” Elliot blinked, and shook her head. “I don’t... What do you mean, what do I think about us getting married?”

“Do you like the idea?” John prompted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slope of her jaw.

“We’ve barely been together,” she murmured. “And—you still piss me off.”

“That’s amore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot groaned, and John grinned, sliding his arms around her to pull her closer still. He hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed; when he’d settled her there, on her back and with her legs looped loosely around his waist, she watched him for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to get married.”

John cocked his head. “Not even once?”

“Not even once.”

“And why not?”

“Why would I?” she retorted. “The only marriage I ever saw was my dad dragging my mama’s credit through the dirt and then fucking off the second he got tired of playing house. Giving up my last name to someone? Letting someone take that away from me?”

John leaned down, pushing her sweater up and pressing his mouth to the curve of her hip cutting up and over her jeans. Her breath stuttered for a moment, and she squirmed when he let his tongue slide along one of her scars.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he said, “but marriage isn’t all about giving. It’s about receiving, too.”

He watched the heat crawl into her cheeks, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them down until they pooled on the floor with a whisper. She said she’d never wanted to get married, but he thought after tomorrow—after she saw how beautiful it would be, to have her sin revealed and in the open—she would change her mind. For him, she would.

Elliot let out a sharp, stuttering breath. “Come here,” she said, tugging on him a little to guide him back up to her. He obliged, and she tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him; long and patient, lips parting beneath his and her tongue flickering playfully against his mouth. She skimmed her fingers along his chest, down until she could undo his belt and pull it from the loops, discarding it on the floor.

“Miss Honeysett,” John murmured.

“John,” she replied, as her fingers deftly undid his jeans.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“You did take my pants off.”

He laughed, the sound sweeping out of him just before Elliot pulled him down into another kiss. She shifted and squirmed against him, pushing and working with her fingers until they were skin on skin. There was a second, a heartbeat of time, where Elliot paused, her gaze flickering over him.

“I want—a home,” she said, her voice quiet, “with you. I don’t have one anymore, and I...”

John dragged his fingers along the exposed skin of her sternum, down and down and down, and she sucked in a sharp little breath the second he found exactly he was looking for.

“You have it,” he replied against her mouth, and a spike of heat sprinted up his spine when he beckoned his fingers against her and she whimpered. “You have it, El, I told you—”

Elliot’s nails dug into his shoulder and she said, “John,” and her voice plunged a little when she did, pitching high and sweet and just the way that he liked it; he mouthed a spot on her neck, sighing against her skin.

“Love those sounds you make,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

“Yes,” Elliot said breathlessly, turning her head so that their noses could brush, “yes, I am, for you—so, please—”

So, please, she said, so sweetly, wanting and hurting and needy as she clutched him, as her breath hitched in anticipation when John pressed up against her, slow and without urgency.

“Is this what you wanted to come here for?” John rumbled against her mouth, breathing unsteady. “So I could f—fuck you in peace and quiet?”

The blonde moaned her agreement as she kissed him. Her body arched up against his, impatient, and when he finally pressed into her all the way, she let out a sigh, her fingers twisting in his hair.

It was too good; too tight, too hot, and the way Elliot held him close, like she thought she was going to disappear if she didn’t keep her grip on him, made the trickle of heat turn into a wildfire splitting through his body. He groaned, the pace excruciating and delicious as he made sure to take each drag as slow as possible.

“F-Fucking—faster,” Elliot whimpered against his mouth, “John—”

“No,” he ground out, slotting his hips against hers tightly before drawing back out again. “You have to—I want you just like this, hellcat—”

She made a sweet keening noise and rocked her hips up, impatient; each time she did sent another sharp jolt of desire sprinting through him, and he bit out a low swear and gripped her hip with one hand.

“Brat,” he moaned. “Wants everything her way but can’t—f-fucking—behave.”

“Fuck you,” Elliot replied, but there was no real heat in her words; she said it in a broken, stuttering breath. “What if I want you faster? What if I want you to fuck me until you just can’t stand it—”

“Stop.” John gritted the words out between his teeth; if there was one thing that sent him to his undoing, it was Elliot and her filthy mouth. “God, you—fucking—”

Elliot dragged him in for a kiss, open-mouthed and slick and wanting, and she begged, “John, I want you so badly—I need—”

And her words stuttered for a moment, like she was catching herself before she could say something that she thought might be embarrassing. John’s hand came up and pressed to her jaw, tilting her face back to him so that he could see her; gazing at him through her lashes, flushed and lips kiss-reddened and eyes dreamy and dazed.

“Tell me,” he managed out, through the haze of his own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Elliot moaned, “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” John ground out. He was powerless to go against her wishes when she was looking at him like that, and saying I need you, and twisting her fingers in his hair and—

And when he snapped into her, she sighed his name like a prayer, like he was holy, and he thought that it would have been a crime not to give her what she wanted. It was almost as good as taking it slow; hearing Elliot whimper yes yes yes into their liplock as he fucked her, rough and a little unforgiving, nearly sent him spiraling.

When he slipped a hand between them, dragging the pad of his thumb across the neediest part of her, he felt her tighten; closecloseclose, it said, and Elliot made a wrecked, desperate sound and kissed him just as she came unraveled, panting his name.

His followed close behind—it hit hard, a strange, empty moment just before the ricocheting pleasure rattled around in his skeleton. John buried his face into Elliot’s neck and moaned, gripping her tight to him, and she arched up a little into him and made him hiss.

“You,” he said breathlessly into her neck, “are getting too comfortable using that filthy mouth of yours to get what you want.”

She laughed, raking her fingers through his hair. “You like it.”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“How much?” Elliot idled, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Wicked thing, aren’t you?” he asked, instead of answering her question. Her lashes fluttered, and when John leaned down and dragged his teeth against her pulse point, she made a soft, sweet sound, squirming in his arms.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced. Having disentangled themselves and slipped under the covers, she settled back against the pillows and he was reminded, once again, of the dark circles lingering under her eyes. “Feels like I have slept a fucking wink in the compound.”

“Fine,” John agreed, kissing her temple. “You’ll need your rest for tomorrow, anyway.”

It took some time for them to fall asleep; Elliot slept more fitfully than he, and each time she shifted or sighed or rolled it woke him up, too. Eventually, the blonde settled with her face tucked against John’s chest, her fingers absently tracing over the shape of his scar until her breathing slowed and she drifted back off.

Sometime around three in the morning, she stirred, sliding out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. John reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch to squint at it in the dark. He heard the sink running, and the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

“Can’t believe it’s almost the end of November,” he said, out loud and to no one in particular, though Elliot’s head peeked out of the bathroom. She’d wrapped herself in his robe, cinching it tight around her waist.

“It is?” she asked, tiredly. “What’s the date?”

“The twenty-first.”

Elliot stilled for a moment. A strange emotion swept over her face; he thought that it was almost sadness. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

John set the watch back down on the nightstand. “Well, perfect timing then. I just gave you an incredible birthday present. How old are you turning? And why do you look so terribly distressed?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered when he grinned at her. “Twenty-six, asshole.” And then, like an afterthought: “It’s just that normally by now, I’m—”

The blonde cut herself off, and then shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly and walking back into the bathroom to turn the water off.

“Elliot?” he called. “What is it?”

“Just weird,” she replied after a minute, “being... Having a birthday. Here. Like this.”

He settled back against the pillow. “Come back to bed.”

She did as he asked, obliging him as she slid back under the blankets and covers. The robe was still on, and he pulled at the hem of it playfully. Elliot somehow looked more tired than before; and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, like she was somewhere very far away from him.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. “Blue’s your color.”

Elliot’s attention snapped to him. “Faith said the same thing.”

“Great minds.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to the other side in bed so that John could tug her back against his chest, burying his face into her neck. When her breathing finally slowed a little, and regulated, John felt himself finally start to relax.

I can have both, he thought, as he began to drift back off. I can, and I will.

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

When Elliot awoke the next morning, the first thing that she thought was, I’m late.

It hit her differently in the cold light of day, to think her period was delayed. That’s probably what it was, anyway—a delay. Lots of things could fuck around with the timing of a period, right?

The second thing she thought was, today’s the day.

Things did seem oddly calm, as they went about their morning; they showered, and John kissed her smelling like expensive soap, and his hands went to the places he loved the most—her hips, her hair, her jaw. It was like they’d fallen into a routine with each other, in just this short period of time; but then, she supposed, that was very natural to have happened, considering that they spent so much time with each other now.

“We should do it downstairs,” Elliot said as John busied himself with some coffee. Boomer had sprinted outside at the first opportunity, taking off into the treeline to burn some of his energy off.

“Downstairs?” he asked, glancing at her. “In the room?”

“Seems fitting.”

He shrugged, sliding a cup of coffee her way and leaning across the counter. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The sound of car doors closing and voices outside stirred her attention away from John’s mouth—a wholly distracting thing—but when she turned to see the Seeds walking through the front door of the ranch, she felt her stomach plummet.

“Brought a plus one,” Jacob announced, shoving Burke forward. “Hope you don’t mind.” He fixed Elliot with his gaze. “Caught him snooping around the chapel. Isn’t that weird?”

“I—” Elliot’s brain fuzzed viciously, static biting through all other noise. Burke’s lip was split and he had a nasty black eye forming. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no, no, no, no. This is so fucking bad.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone to keep an eye on him, so unfortunately, that is now my job.”

“No,” Elliot said abruptly, drawing all eyes on her. “I’m—I don’t want him here.”

“Elliot,” John murmured.

“Then what do you propose I do with him?” Jacob demanded.

“I don’t know, that isn’t my fucking job,” she snapped. With the siblings all looking at her, Burke took a second and very gently, very resolutely, shook his head no.

Her mind went frantic. What does that mean? Does that mean stop kicking up a fuss? Does that mean he got to the radio? Or that he didn’t? What the fuck is the plan, now?

Joseph said, gentle, “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to lose track of him, Elliot.”

She felt fingers brushing hers. John had come around the kitchen island, and now their fingers were interlaced. It felt like she was on some kind of precipice, some great, plunging cliff into a void, and all she could do was stand by hopelessly as everything pushed her towards the edge.

She didn’t want Burke to watch. She didn’t want him to see her let John carve WRATH into her skin, but most of all—most of all, she didn’t want Burke to see that maybe it would feel good, for her, a catharsis.

“Fine,” she managed out after a moment, watching Burke’s eyes flutter shut in what might have been relief. Or suffering. “Fine, whatever.”

“Well,” Joseph murmured, “shall we get started? There’s a full day ahead of us.”

As they moved down the stairs, Elliot swallowed thickly and tried to clear and compose her brain. Everything did feel just a little bit like it was too much. Joseph there, his shoulder brushing hers; Faith and John, chatting like it was nothing to have her sit down in a chair in the middle of the room where she had been kept captive; Jacob, shoving Burke into the room and on his knees.

It was too much. She would just have to pray that Burke had gotten a chance with the radio before Jacob found him.

“We’re going to have to take your shirt off,” John said, moving into her vision, and didn’t sound like he regretted that in the least. A little rush of relief coursed through her when she realized she’d be able to focus on someone familiar—none of Joseph’s prying eyes or Faith’s sweet smiles to unsettle and unseat her. Just her, and John.

“How long is this going to take?” Burke asked, his voice bordering on vicious. Jacob gave him a little jostle.

“Why? You got somewhere to be, friend?”

Elliot barely heard them. Her eyes, her thoughts, were on John; when her shirt was discarded to the side, he skimmed his fingers along her sternum, eyes bright.

“It’s going to look so good,” he murmured, and she knew that he wasn’t paying attention to them, either. He’d seemed disappointed when she asked someone else to be there, but now, it didn’t seem like it mattered at all. “Ready?”

She nodded, feeling a little swoon of adrenaline kick through her body when John left the room and returned with a knife. John looked at her expectantly. The physical acquiescence wasn’t enough.

“Yes,” Elliot said, and John’s eyes fluttered closed just for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her—hard and open-mouthed, his fingers bruising where they gripped her shoulder.

“Fucking Christ,” Burke ground out, and John pulled away with a wicked grin.

“You and me,” he murmured against her lips, and she nodded.

John sat down. Over his shoulder she could see Burke, sitting on his knees, his face resolutely turned to the side. She turned her gaze away, too, because she didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see Burke sitting there, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her, look at her scars and the one John was going to give her and—

The sting of the first cut barely registered through the fog of her brain. It didn’t quite hit, and then her eyes flickered down and she saw the first stream of red, and it really hit, immediately slicing through the fog of adrenaline to hit sharper, harder, nastier.

Elliot exhaled a stuttering breath. It felt exactly the same as she remembered; it wasn’t so soft, on her chest like this, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation to her either. Something in her brain tripped at the pain, neurons firing rapidly; we know you, they said, as John meticulously carved the W into her skin, we know you, pain, we missed you, missed you missed you missed you.

“John,” she said, because there was a burst of panic going off in her brain like fireworks. The two parts of her—the one that self-preserved, and the one that craved this exact sting and bite—wrestled with the reality of her situation: that she was both doing and not doing the thing she had tried to deprogram out of herself.

“So good, hellcat,” John murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as he started on the R. He was fixated; he was somewhere far away from her, even as close as he was. “It’s going to look so good on you.”

And behind him, Jacob said, “C’mon, Burke, don’t you want to see what your little deputy asked for?”

“Fuck. You,” Burke bit out.

The sting, the bite; the push and pull. Elliot breathed her way through each excruciating moment, and they were excruciating, these moments, because John was utilizing every second that he had her here, like this.

And that was fine. She needed him to; both for her sake, and for Burke’s. 

Something sounded like thundering up ahead, distant but out of place. It gave her a little jolt of panic. If that was what she thought it was, then—

Elliot saw Jacob’s eyes flicker up to the ceiling, narrowing; she managed out, “Slow down,” just as John paused too, to draw his attention back to her. 

“Slower?” John asked, and the way he said it felt intimate, with his eyes fixed on her and his fingers red with her blood.

“Please,” Elliot breathed. Jacob looked at her for a moment, long and hard, but she didn’t meet his eyes; only looked at John, only waited patiently for him to begin.

After a moment, John said, his voice pitched low, “Anything you want.”

“I’ll be back,” Jacob said. He dropped his hand from Burke’s shoulder; John made a non-committal uh-huh sound, finishing off the unsteady cross of the T. She hissed, squirming in her seat at the pain, drawing Jacob’s attention for just a second long before he made his way out of the room.

The H followed next. As soon as he finished, John pulled back to admire his work; there was still a bit of bruising, but most of it was up on her shoulder, not her chest, which was now doused in crimson. Wiping his hands off with a towel, he beamed at her; all teeth and bright eyes.

“What a relief, don’t you think?” Joseph asked, his voice idle and distracted as he glanced up at the ceiling inquisitively. “To have it all out there.”

John flashed a smile at his brother, clearly pleased. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said to Elliot, coming to a stand. “We’ll have to let it heal for a while to see how it’s going to scar, and then we can go back in and—”

Before John could finish his sentence, Elliot heard the sound of car doors slamming outside, and Jacob’s voice, asking something in a demand, and then a volley of responses: it was hard to hear, a floor down, but she thought they were saying get down, get down.

“What is going on?” Joseph asked, his voice verging on something other than cool and calm, and the sound of it filled Elliot with a bright spark of joy: yes, she thought viciously, coming to a stand and feeling around for her shirt while her eyes stayed on the Seeds, yes, you fucking cockroach, squirm.

“I don’t know,” John said, stepping toward the door. “Stay here.”

He only took two more steps before the sound of Jacob shouting something above them, followed by a gunshot, and then a loud cacophony of footsteps above them.

“Jacob,” Faith breathed, her eyes wide and panicked. “Something’s happened, Father, we have to—”

“Stay,” John barked out, suddenly all business as he was hauling Burke up to his feet. “I think our friend the Marshal would like to take a look first, make sure nothing is dangerous.”

But Burke was grinning when his feet righted themselves on the ground. He sucked his teeth, looked directly at Joseph, and said, “Time’s up, fuckhead.”

Burke’s words send her stomach somersaulting. So he had gotten to the radio. He had, just in time, which meant he’d been caught just after, and now—

Now he was here, and so were all of the Seeds, too.

I fucking did it, she thought hazily, bracing herself on the chair. Holy shit. I fucking did it.

The sound of footsteps storming down the stairs made John’s eyes flicker to the doorway, and he let go of Burke, gripping the bloodied towel loosely in his hands.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, the stinging and burning of the cuts on her chest, but it was there, if she tried hard enough to look: hope.

But Joseph wasn’t looking at John. He was looking at Elliot.

“You,” the Father hissed, as Elliot pulled the shirt away from her chest, sticky-wet with blood. “You did this. I know you did, you fucking locust, I knew it the second you stepped foot in my chapel—brought us all here, rounded us up like lambs for the slaughter—”

“What do you mean?” John demanded. “Elliot has been with me since this whole—”

Things moved very quickly, then: through the fog of pain, Elliot heard one, two, three heavy thuds against the door before wood splintered and came crashing down, the instant array of green sights set on them—all of them, her included—and the sound of voices demanding their hands go up.

Elliot watched Joseph, hands at his sides.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Joseph ground out, his voice vicious, the rage splitting across his face almost as delicious as the fear. Faith was crying, and saying something through her tears, as John lifted his hands obediently.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the SWAT members hauling Burke out of the room first. She looked at Joseph and arched a brow at him, lifting her hands obediently when the order was shouted again. 

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, her voice cloying and sweet and just between the two of them, “did God not tell you about this part?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Things were going poorly.

That is to say, Jacob had a gunshot to the shoulder that was currently being patched while he was in handcuffs—“Can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?” the medic said, a little too gleefully, until Jacob said something along the lines of I’m gonna rip your fucking face off—and Faith was crying, and Joseph was seething, furiously whispering to himself and held in place by one of the other U.S. Marshals.

Elliot was in cuffs, too, but Burke seemed to be talking furiously with the man who had cuffed her, occasionally interrupted when Elliot would try and draw his attention back to John.

This won’t do, he thought, as panic pounded through his body, as his heart hammered against his chest. All of his siblings, in handcuffs, and Elliot too; she was, too, but she looked—

Fine.

She looked fine, and he thought about what she’d said. You can’t have both, and then she’d immediately gone back on that. Of course she had. Of course, because she was wretched and wicked and clever, and she had never truly let go of her hatred for Joseph, but they were married. They were married, and the U.S. government was going to know about it before they stuck her on a stand to testify against any of his siblings.

“I need to speak to her,” John said to the officer holding him. “The woman, there. That’s my—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” the man replied sharply, “except shut your mouth and wait patiently for us to load you and the rest of your fucking brood into the van.”

“She’s my wife,” John bit out viciously. “And she’s in cuffs, I would like to speak with my wife—”

“What did you just say?”

It was Elliot’s voice, sharp and clear and splitting through the distance between them. In the chilly Autumn afternoon, John felt the spike of pure adrenaline race through him at her tone, at the way her head snapped to him and she shouldered her way past Burke. The officer had taken her cuffs off.

Burke said, “Rookie,” in warning, but it didn’t matter, John knew; they had never been able to ignore each other, in love or in war.

“I said,” John reiterated, “you’re my wife.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot demanded.

“That night,” he began urgently, “that night that you were feeling unwell after your walk with Faith, and we talked about leaving—”

Elliot started, her voice hitching, “John, what did you do—”

“—we talked about other things, too,” he plunged on. “I didn’t tell you, Elliot. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be the right time. I was going to tell you today, after we were done—I was going to tell you that we talked about it and I asked you if you wanted to marry me, and you told me yes—”

“Stop,” she moaned, agonized. “Stop—fucking—talking—you didn’t, John, you fucking didn’t lie to me again about this thing that you know I hate—”

“And you signed the certificate. It’s back at the compound,” John finished, trying to lean around the officer. “We’re married. You and me, hellcat, just like we say, you and—”

He saw the slap coming before it hit, but it definitely took a few seconds for the pain to actually register in his brain. And oh, then it hit; Elliot had swung her hand with the same amount of force she might have if she were close-fist punching him, but her palm connected with this side of his face and sent a sharp, red-hot shot of pain blooming and blurring behind his eyes.

Dazed, John blinked and tried to focus his attention again as the officer jostled him out of her reach. He was vaguely aware of Burke moving toward them as Elliot gritted out between her teeth, “How fucking dare you.”

“Ell,” John said, and there was blood in his mouth, his lip split from the impact of her hand. “Listen to me—”

Burke, louder and closer: “Elliot.”

“No, you listen to me, you fucking rat!” Elliot’s voice was pitching higher in volume, and higher in frequency and hysteria. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told you, I fucking told you what was going to happen if you lied to me again—you fucking—I’m going to fucking kill you—”

John saw Burke sling an arm around Elliot’s waist just as she lunged again, seething and furious, holding her tight against his chest as she clawed at his arms to get free. His mouth against her hair, he said, “Rookie, take a breath.”

“You take a fucking breath!”

He hauled her, all five feet and four inches of her, turning her away from John, like breaking her eyesight with him would save him the trouble of having to cuff her.

“Elliot,” John called, trying to lean past the officer, “I forgive you—”

“Fuck! You!”

“—marriage is hard work, but I know,” he continued, grinning when she finally pulled herself out of Burke’s grip, “that you’re just the woman for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Every line in her expression was pulled tight with fury, and yes—John thought he should have told her sooner, maybe, but if she was going to find out, what better time to find out than in front of the very men who wanted to put her on the stand?

“Don’t you remember what you said last night? You need me,” he tried again, and he could tell the officer holding his shoulders was getting tired of him leaning around all the time. “I love you, Elliot, through sickness and in health, no matter how many—”

“Oh, John,” Elliot breathed out, like she almost couldn’t get a full lungful of air, she was so out of breath. She swayed on her feet exhaustedly, her mouth twisting around the next sentence that came out of her mouth: “I want a fucking divorce.”

The words plunged John straight into a panic, the kind that made it feel like there was a feeding frenzy going on under his skin. This was not how things were supposed to unfold. This was not how it was supposed to go. Elliot was going to be upset, sure—but he had taken great pains to make sure that she knew he was the only thing left for her, after it all. She was supposed to upset, and then see that it had been for her, it was always for her, for them. Everything he’d done, every step he’d taken, every—

She’s mine, he thought, his face still stinging, dull and hot, from her slap. Burke was saying something to her. That’s my fucking wife, whether she likes it or not.

No one was going to take her from him. Not Joseph or Jacob, not Cameron Burke, not even her. No one was going to put a serial murderer and the wife of a religious group’s lawyer on the stand. He’d make fucking sure of that.

“You think you’re gonna move on from this, El?” he demanded, managing to shoulder around the officer to make eye contact with her. His voice came out tight, sharp—slowly and purposefully careening, but he hated the strike of strange hysteria that wormed its way in there, too. “I watched you slaughter at least a hundred people in the name of “justice”—you beat a man to death with a blunt object, and you liked it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elliot ground out. She made to move at him, nails digging into her palms, but Burke hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back again, much like before.

“You think you’re gonna move on and meet some nice little country boy who’s gonna love you even with all that fucking red in your ledger?” Oh, he was careening—all of the control slipping out from between his fingers, like sand. “No fucking way, baby, I’m it for you!”

“Rook,” Burke said, but there was no follow-up which made it worse; Burke said one word—one tiny little pet name—and Elliot’s attention immediately snapped to him.

John had never been made to feel like he was nothing; not like this.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and Elliot’s eyes turned to him; but he saw the fury split across her face, the absolute indignant rage. “You’re going to spend one day back in polite society and come unglued, Elliot Honeysett, and when you fucking do—you’ll be begging for me to take you back, and I guarantee you I fucking won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Burke said, but he was speaking to Elliot, looking at her.

“Maybe,” she hissed, pushing at Burke’s arm as blood seeped through the wound on her chest “you should have considered how I would react to you being a pathological liar before you fucking came inside me, you cunt.”

Her words sent a strange, uncomfortable sensation sprinting down his spine. She couldn’t be, John thought, alluding to—

But she had been surprised when he told her it was her birthday, like she hadn’t realized what day it was, and had said something like, normally by now I’m, and just hadn’t finished her thought. 

“Okay.” Burke pulled her back a few more steps, his voice strained. Pulled her away from him. “We’re taking a walk. You and me, Rookie.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” John called after her, panic rising in his voice. “Elliot? Tell me what you—”

“I mean I’m late, fuckhead,” Elliot spit at him over Burke’s shoulder.

The officer pulled him back towards the truck, dragging him by his arm as Burke took Elliot around the corner of the ranch house. His stomach was lurching nauseatingly, trying to piece it together. Had it been long enough? Of course, it had—it had been over a month, probably, maybe even more because he didn’t know how to keep track of time when he’d been drugged and kidnapped and dragged around.

If she is, he thought, frantic; if she does have my child, if she’s—

“John,” Joseph said, his voice eerily quiet as he was pushed into a sitting position across from his brother. He seemed to have recovered from his outburst earlier; there was an odd grimness about his expression. “We must remain focused.”

“She—” John blinked rapidly, trying to gather his fraying, desperate thoughts. “Joseph, she might—”

Joseph lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence. Jacob’s breathing was labored but controlled, and Faith’s gentle crying had been snuffed out. She’d only been the damsel for a few minutes before she tried to storm her way out of their grip.

“The task at hand,” Joseph cautioned him. “Then, we will figure out what to do for your son.”

My son. The words echoed hazily in his brain as the van doors slammed shut, eclipsing them.

“How do you know?” John demanded. “You know? You know that she’s—with my—”

“Of course,” his brother replied, still keeping his voice soft.

“God told me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Take a breath.”

“No.”

“Rookie.” Burke’s voice was hard. “Look at me and take breath.”

She couldn’t. Every inch of her body was screaming—desperate for a reprieve, but there was none to be had because she was still nursing her WRATH wound, because she was heaving out great, panicked breaths between ragged cries.

“I can’t,” Elliot moaned, her hands shaking, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Burke snagged her hand and pressed it to his neck, just like before, but this time it didn’t do anything; this time, she just felt the spiral hit harder, the overwhelming sensation of touching and being touched sending her brain sprinting in panic.

She yanked her hand out of his grip and clutched her knees to her chest, ignoring the warm seep of blood even against the bandages the medic had patched her with and the sting of the pressure of her bones pressed up against the wound.

Burke stayed, and she noticed. He stayed, and he didn’t have to—he was done, free, could leave and go home—but he stayed sitting there with her, against the side of the Seed ranch, wherein many ways, things for her had began.

So, she cried; she sobbed into her jeans until she thought she was going to be dizzy from gasping for air, and Burke stayed, and waited until her hand fumbled for his blindly before he touched her again. His fingers gripped hers, firm and soothing.

“Is it true?” he asked, when she had stopped her crying, when she had breathed so much there was too much oxygen in her brain. His gaze flickered over her. “That you’re… With that fucker’s…”

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, exhausted. “I’m—fuck, I’m late, and I didn’t realize until yesterday, because it’s been so fucking—”

Burke passed his free hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” and the words came out of her agonized; because she could hear the disappointment in his voice, or what she thought was disappointment. “I thought—I thought he—Burke, I—”

“I know, Rook,” Burke murmured, not unkindly. “Just focus on breathing. I know.”

A few more moments of silence passed between them, filled only with the sound of voices and out and the kick of an engine starting and pulling out from the ranch. After her breathing had evened out again, Burke said, “They’re going to be retrieving Kian’s body.”

Elliot stared at the ground, feeling numb. He didn’t have to say; she knew what that meant. Government officials were going to see what she’d done to Kian. They were going to see it, and see that she was legally married to one of them, and see that she was carrying the child of one of them, and see her history, and all of these things were going to add up.

The picture was not going to be a good one.

“I’ve gotta take you in, Rook,” Burke said quietly. “At the very least, to a therapist.”

She sniffed. I love you, John had said, after he’d lied. Lied, and lied, and lied, and used her, and lied, and if he loved her, he didn’t love her in any way that she understood.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I know what you’ve been through, and you know I’ll vouch for you. I saw firsthand the kind of—the shit that was going on,” he insisted. “I just—want you to have a realistic picture of what it’s gonna look like, when we get back. They’re gonna autopsy Kian’s body, and—”

She took in a long, suffering breath. “I’m really tired,” Elliot said, her voice breaking a little. “Can we—are we going straight there, or?”

Burke paused, his expression softening, and shook his head. “We’ll hit a motel or two along the way.”

Elliot nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her face back into her knees. She stayed like that for a while; it was hard to tell how much time passed, but eventually, someone came around the corner and said something to Burke, and he tugged her to her feet and walked her to the car.

The sensation of Burke’s hand slipping out of hers sent another burst of panic flooding through her; her body was so tired, so very fucking tired of managing the adrenaline, but the more she tried to calm down the more tired she got.

“I want to stay with you,” she said, feeling hazy and tightening her hand around Burke’s. The Marshal looked at her for a long moment and then nodded.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, reaching up and squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll stick together.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently, after that. Elliot couldn’t have said how long it took them to get to the first motel; it couldn’t have been seconds, or minutes, or months for all that she knew. She was numb when they set her up in a motel room with two beds, she was numb when they checked her scar and redressed it.

“Fucking Christ,” the medic said under his breath when he saw the WRATH wound, still hot and trying its best to scab over. “You poor thing.”

It’s not me, Elliot thought miserably, opening her mouth; but no words would come. All she could think was, I asked for this, I’m not the poor thing, please don’t.

“Hey,” Burke barked out, his voice sharp as he took in Elliot’s crumpling expression. “Let’s get it cleaned and let her sleep, buddy.”

The medic nodded, thoroughly scolded, and worked quickly after that. When he’d finished and she had swallowed two Tylenol dutifully, Burke watched her climb under the covers of the bed and said, “I’ve gotta make a call. You okay in here?”

She swallowed thickly. He was looking at her like he was wary of her. The same way Whitehorse had looked at her.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a tight, tired smile and then stepped out of the motel room, closing the door behind him. Silence lingered there for a little while; Elliot tried to close her eyes and sleep, her fingers brushing through Boomer’s fur as he dozed, but the low, murmuring sound of Burke talking just outside stirred her anxiety, and each time she closed her eyes she just saw John’s face.

John, holding her face and kissing her, You and me. John, burying his face into her neck, I love you.

John, their noses brushing, We can have a place to belong, Elliot.

John, vicious and unyielding, I’m it for you.

She lurched out of the bed, pushing her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her just in time to lean over the toilet and throw up whatever was left in her stomach—which wasn’t much, if the amount of dry-heaving were any indication. Bile burned at the back of her throat, and she thought if she didn’t get a breath of air she was going to fucking die.

Elliot pushed the window open and tried to steady her breathing. Rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she shut the water off and paused, looking at herself in the mirror.

The person that looked back at her was unfamiliar. A stranger. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but each time she did, she felt less and less familiar with the gaunt, sharp-faced, dark-eyed stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Some bruises along her neck and shoulders still remained.

Who are you? She thought, tiredly. The one that killed all of those peggies? The one that killed Kian? Why don’t I recognize you?

“... understand that, sir, it’s just—if you saw what was going on...”

Burke’s voice drifted in through the window. He must have been pacing, because the volume of his words drifted and moved, as though he were walking around the corner and then back again.

His footsteps paused. “No, I have not read the autopsy report yet. I didn’t think it pertinent at this time, considering we only just—”

She heard Burke’s words cut abruptly, the sound of his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale, and then he said, “Jesus Christ. No, I didn’t know.”

Oh, she thought hazily, oh, he knows. He knows what I did.

Her body moved automatically. Something inside of her kicked—we’re not done yet, it said, ferocious and furious, sinking its teeth into her and operating her body outside of her own executive function. We’re not fucking done yet.

Elliot pulled her sweater and her shoes on. The late autumn chill drifting through the open window made her mind feel sharp, and clear, and she thought, somthing has to be done, and I’ll fucking do it.

She stuffed a couple of things that felt essential into a bag—painkillers, bottles of water from the fridge, Burke’s gun he’d left on the nightstand closest to the door—and then waited until she heard his footsteps pacing around the corner again before she ducked out of the window.

When she looked back, Boomer had already leapt through the window after her. His eyes were on her, bright, ready.

And then she ran.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s twenty-six, and she’s in a bar.

Or that’s how it would go, anyway, if she was asleep. If she were dreaming, or remembering. But she wasn’t. Elliot was twenty-six, and she was in a bar, and she wasn’t waiting for her best friend to come back with a different drink, and she wasn’t making eyes at a handsome blue-eyed stranger from across the bar. He wouldn’t come over and call her beautiful, and he wouldn’t make her want to be kissed by someone whose face looked a little sharp, and she wouldn’t one day think that maybe she was in love with him.

I’m just a girl, she thought tiredly, staring at the water glass on the counter in front of her. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it was. It was her life. Here she was, sitting in a seedy bar halfway to Georgia, with a U.S. Marshal’s gun she’d lifted sitting in her bag. She’d hitch-hiked a ride back into Fall’s End, grabbed what remained of her things—her ID, what little cash she still had on her, a debit card she was too paranoid to use, dog food—and then she’d taken the jeep parked out behind the Keller’s old place and drove.

And drove. And drove. And drove.

Now, she was twenty-six, sitting in a bar, and there is no Joey coming to rescue her, and there is no John to be a monster that she needed rescuing from.

I’m just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She left the cash for her water on the bar top, hauling herself out of the stool and back out into the parking lot. It was late; the sky was speckled with stars; if she thought hard enough, if she really thought about, Elliot thought maybe, somewhere inside of her, she was going to be okay.

As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, Elliot turned the key into the ignition and reached into a grocery store bag on the passenger seat, fumbling around for the cigarettes she’d purchased. Her fingers hit hard plastic and she glanced over.

The two little tiny lines on the pregnancy test stared back at her. Her stomach lurched, nausea welling up inside of her, and she tossed the hard plastic back into the bag and left the cigarettes untouched. Boomer, dozing in the back seat, pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquisitively.

She was just a girl. This wasn’t supposed to be her life. But it was—and there was only one place left to go from here.

Home.

#my writing #fic: ancient names #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #not gonna melt down in the tags even though i wanna #just. thank you all so so so much. this has been incredible to write and enjoy and make so many friends #yes i am crying do not LOOK at me