#i was going through my old documents of fic ideas and prompts
Note
Hiii
I have to say that I love your work. I was reading your last story where Mel gets overprotective with the pregnant reader and I have a idea.
The reader is just in fact pregnant, will be a solo parent and is so in love with Mel and thinks Mel could never love them back.
Can you make it with a happy ending, please? Thank you so so much!
You love my work? *Grins like an idiot* Positive comments like that make for a very happy writer!
I'll be honest, your prompt hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world to write (which isn't to say I haven't enjoyed it - I have!) and I hold my hands up now and admit I that what I know about pregnancy comes from Grey’s and Holby, hence, things might feel a bit detached from reality and out of sync with a ‘normal’ pregnancy timeline. But hey, I’m no doctor, I’m just some little lesbian who dabbles about with word documents in her spare time so I hope you enjoy where this goes!
(Also, I know this request came off the back of another pregnant reader prompt. In my head this became a different story altogether. I do, however, have a plan to carry on the other fic with a few little one shots in the same verse.)
~*~
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” you groan as you pace in the tiny bathroom. You jump at a sudden knock on the door.
“You all right in there?”
A voice you’d recognise anywhere. Melissa. “Just peachy!” you call back, trying to sound as cheerful as you can muster in the midst of your breakdown.
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s how my day’s going when I say fuck fifty times too!” she drawls. “You’re a worse liar than Janine! Come on, open up.”
You can’t face her right now. You can’t face anyone right now. “I’m fine, honest,” you protest. “I just…need a minute?”
“You sure?” comes the red head’s voice, soft and full of concern. It makes you want to cry even more than you already do. As much as Melissa puts up a tough façade, once she lets you in, you’re in. You need to hide a body, she brings the shovel. You need to make someone into a body, she brings the bat to make it happen.
“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning your head against the wall. You hear her footsteps as she retreats. You take a minute. Many minutes, in fact, before finally turning to the mirror and making sure you look presentable. Taking a final deep breath, you push the door open, only to halt as you see Melissa leaning against the wall opposite, scrolling through her phone.
“You look just peachy,” she comments, eyebrow raised as she pushes away from the wall. “Come on. I’m not that scary. You can tell me.”
“Are you kidding?” you hiss. “You’re terrifying!”
She merely rolls her eyes. “Yeah, only when I’m not on your side and…well…you know, I’m on your side.”
You tear up a bit at that. Fucking hormones, you think to yourself. You’re still note quite sure what you did that landed you lucky enough to be friends with her. Sometimes, you wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier to be in love with her if she wasn’t nice to you.
Stepping back into the bathroom, you jerk your head, indicating for her to follow.
“You know I don’t normally sneak off into the bathroom with pretty girls, right?” she smirks. “Especially at work with all those innocent little minds around.”
You could almost wish she was flirting, if you weren’t holding a fucking grenade tucked behind your back. You’ve fucked this up big style.
“Seriously, what’s up?” she asks after a moment when you don’t say anything.
You pull the pregnancy test out of your pocket.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“Yeah,” you sigh, sitting on the close lid of the toilet. “Fuck.”
“I…didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
You don’t look up, not wanting to chance seeing disapproval on her face.
“I’m not,” you admit. “It was the last time I went home,” you mumble. “One stupid night with an old ex.”
The tears that have been gathering in your eyes start to fall as you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothingly.
“What the hell am I meant to do now?”
*
You hear your phone chime and subtly slip it from your pocket. You’d tried to call your ex, resorted to a voicemail and when that got no response you’d finally messaged him. That had been four days ago.
Seeing his name on the screen, you quickly open the message, only for your face to fall. You knew it would come as a surprise to him. Hell, it had to you too. But you hadn’t expected him to be quite so brutal in his reply. You read the words again, not quite able to comprehend why he’s being so cruel.
Shoving the device back in your pocket you take a deep breath, willing the tears not to spill from your eyes. The last thing you need is for the kids to see you cry and ask you what’s wrong.
Instead, what you find is Barb crossing the lunch hall, quietly asking if you can give her a hand with something. You nod dumbly, letting her lead you out into the hallway. She remains in the doorway where she’s able to still keep an eye on the kids.
“Is everything okay?”
You quickly wipe at your eyes. “Just a message from my ex,” you sniffle, looking up at her. By the blank look on her face you realise those words mean nothing to her. She doesn’t know. You thought for sure with how close she is with Melissa the red head would have told her, but it would appear that’s not the case. “I’d messaged with some news and he didn’t take it well,” you go on, keeping your words deliberately vague, not quite sure Barb would approve.
She puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Why don’t you go and take a moment, I can handle things here.”
Nodding, you thank her before slinking off to the bathroom. Inside, you close the lid of the toilet and sit with your head in your hands. It’s starting to feel like an all to familiar position.
*
“What did that asshole say?”
You look up from the worksheets on your desk as Melissa marches into your classroom.
“Barb said you got all upset at lunch duty after a message from your ex?”
You sigh. “I always knew he was a bit of a dick, but I didn’t expect this…” Reaching for your phone, you open the message and hold it out to her. You really don’t want to read it again.
“Where do I find this guy?” she growls, slamming your phone down on the desk.
“You don’t!” you warn. You’ve seen her temper. Your ex wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Seriously? You’re gonna let him say things like that to you?” she asks, stabbing a finger at your phone.
“He didn’t ask for this!” you hiss.
“Neither did you!” she’s quick to remind you.
You let out a long breath, sitting with your head in your hands. When you finally look up again, she hasn’t moved. “You didn’t tell Barb.”
She frowns, confused at the abrupt subject change. “What?”
“At lunch duty today, she took me aside because I was upset, but she didn’t know why,” you say. “You didn’t tell her.”
“You trusted me enough to tell me,” she says softly, moving around your desk until she can perch on the edge of it close to you. “I wasn’t about to break that trust and tell anybody. You might wanna think about telling her though if you want someone else on your side.”
“But...”
“But what?” she asks.
“What if she doesn’t approve? It’s not exactly an ideal situation,” you mumble.
She smiles softly down at you, her hand finding your shoulder. “Oh hon, Barb has her morals, but she knows the world ain’t perfect. You tell her you’re about to pop a kid she’ll have your back. Believe me, she knows pregnancy ain’t no picnic.”
“I could make this all go away,” you say in a whisper, hanging your head.
“If you were seriously thinking that you’d have done it already,” comes the red head’s softly spoken words a few moments later.
You look up, tears in your eyes. You know she’s right. “I’m gonna be a single mom.”
Melissa pulls you into her side, her arm settling more firmly around your shoulder, letting you bury your face into her sweater. “You’ve been here long enough to know we’re a family here at Abbott, right?”
*~*
“Try this,” says Melissa, holding out a Tupperware tub in your direction.
You turn away. You want to at least be polite, but at this stage your morning sickness is all round the clock sickness and everything and nothing seems capable of setting it off.
She doesn’t move. “Seriously, Barb could barely eat a thing with Taylor, but she could eat this.”
*
“I still haven’t vomited!” Not exactly what you meant to say when you arrived in her classroom door after the school bell, but the words are out before you can stop them. You’re embarrassed to find tears in your eyes. “Shit!” you hiss, wiping them away quickly. “I was never someone who cried, now I’m crying at everything.”
Melissa just chuckles. “I’m gonna take it as a compliment. You want me to make you some more?”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, even as your mouth waters at the thought of it.
“You’re eating for two and it’s apparently the only thing you can eat. I’m making more,” she tells you, her tone not allowing for argument.
“Thank you.” You manage the words you had meant to say when you arrived in her classroom.
*
You come out after your first scan, grainy picture in hand and sink onto the first bench you find. Yes, you knew you were pregnant, but you’ve just heard the heartbeat of the tiny life growing inside you. You literally have a picture in your hand as proof of the tiny human you’ve created. It makes it feel so much more real.
You’re aware of someone sitting next to you, but your eyes remain on the picture in your hand. It’s not until you feel another presence sit on the bench on your other side that you look up to find Melissa and Barbara sat on either side of you.
“You okay?” asks the red head. “You were outta that school like a man on the run when the bell went.”
“I’m having a baby,” is all you say, your voice shaky. “I mean, I knew it was but…this makes it feel so much more real.” You wave the picture in your hand, not protesting as Melissa slips an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her.
Barb takes the picture from your shaking hand. “Real and scary, right?”
You nod.
“But amazing too,” smiles the kindergarten teacher. “This little life inside you is a miracle and as terrifying as it seems right now, I promise you it won’t feel that way. You’ll see.”
You manage a watery smile.
“Now,” says Melissa. “How about we go have a virgin cocktail to celebrate that little miracle?” She takes the print out from her friend’s hand. “And someone can explain to me which end of this jelly bean is which?”
*
You knew it would happen sooner or later, but it comes as a shock the first time it happens. You jump, eyes growing wide.
“You okay?” asks Melissa already halfway out of her chair. It’s just the two of you in the break room; she on a free period and your kids in PE.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I think…I think it just kicked.” It happens again and you press a hand to your stomach. “It did, it definitely did!” You look up and find her barely a couple of feet away, her hand reaching out before she quickly snatches it back.
“Can I?” she asks sheepishly. “I mean would it-“
“You wanna feel it?” you ask.
“Is that weird?” she asks, screwing her face up.
You shake your head, smiling as you reach to take her hand and guide it to where she can feel it. You know the moment she does as a wide smile spreads across her lips.
You laugh, tears in your own eyes as you watch her look down at your stomach in wonder. You can’t help but think about how you’re sharing such a huge moment with her. Of how she’s been there through a lot of your big moments.
She looks almost giddy as she looks up at you, tears in her brilliant green eyes. She looks adorable and you could almost believe… You shake your head. That’s dangerous territory. She’s a friend being supportive, nothing more.
*
“What if it’s not even human?” you ask, aware you’re being ridiculous but unable to shake the fear. Today is your next scan. Today is the day you’re going to find out the sex and see actual features. You’d be too terrified to ask the first time around, still too overwhelmed at hearing the heartbeat of the tiny life growing within you.
Melissa shrugs, “So you have a cute baby Yoda and get on with it.”
“You know the baby is actually called Grogo, right?”
The red head rolls her eyes. “Not the point, Jacob.”
“Extra fingers and toes would probably come in handy,” Ava chimes in. She’s not here for the baby chat, but rather, the pink and blue cupcakes Janine brought in. “What? At least the kid’ll have a talking point?”
Barb sighs, shaking her head. She turns to you, reaching for your fidgeting hands. “Don’t listen to them. It’s going to be fine. Everything was just fine the first time around, you’ve had no reason to worry, no symptoms that are out of the ordinary and you’ve even started to feel the baby move.”
You nod, releasing the breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. Melissa had been right, Barb did indeed have your back. She’d been your voice of reason when you panicked, the one who was able to reassure you that as strange as it all felt, what you were going through was absolutely normal.
More than just being right about Barb though, Melissa had been right about your little Abbott family. Yes, there had been a few shocked faces when you’d told everyone, but they hadn’t judged. They’d been helpful, kind and more patient than you often deserved.
*
“Hey.”
You look up to find Melissa leaning against your doorframe. You’d been too busy trying to cram everything into your handbag while keeping a lid on your anxiety to hear her approach.
“I just wondered if you might want a ride to your scan?” she offers. “Not that you can’t drive yourself,” she adds quickly, stepping further into your classroom. “Just, you know…wondered if you wanted some company? You seem pretty nervous and I didn’t want you to think you had to go in there alone like you did before.”
By the time she’s finished speaking she’d standing before you, wringing her hands.
“You’d really come?” you ask, your voice quiet and shaky even to your own ears.
She smiles softly at you. “Course I would.”
*
“It’s a girl.”
Those three words are enough to bring tears to your eyes. It’s not as if you’d been particularly hoping for a girl, but somehow the knowing really brings it home. You’re going to have a little baby girl.
Melissa lets out a long, slow breath, blinking against the tears that have gathered in her own eyes. It’s a battle she’s been losing since she heard the baby’s heartbeat sound loud and clear. She looks from the screen showing your little girl to your face and back to the screen again as she presses a kiss to your hair.
*
You sit on the edge of the uncomfortable hospital bed, holding the print of your scan between your fingers.
“They said she was perfect,” you smile softly, stroking your finger over the image.
Melissa puts your bags down on the edge of the bed, moving until she can see the picture in your hand. “She is,” she smiles, looking from the image to your smiling face. She’s moving before she can comprehend what she’s doing, and suddenly her lips are pressed to your own.
The squeak of surprise from you is what brings her back to reality ands he quickly steps back, immediately apologising.
You reach out, catching her hand. “Don’t apologise…or at least, don’t apologise unless you didn’t mean anything by that.”
Taking a deep breath, the red head steps forward, looking terrified but trying to be brave. “I meant it,” she admits softly, reaching out to cup your cheeks, thumbs tracing your cheekbones.
Your own trembling hands find purchase on her hips, the feel of her strong and solid and real before you grounding. “Really?”
She nods, tears gathering in her eyes once more. “I don’t know when it happened,” she starts, her voice soft, but sure. “But I think somewhere along the line I might just have fallen in love with you and that little girl we’ve yet to meet.”
You sniffle, tears already making tracks down your cheeks once more. “Any hope I had of ever having a chance with you I lost the day I saw that positive test.” You shift to wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her stomach. You feel her hands stroke soothingly up and down your back, the gentleness of the gesture only serving to make you cry harder.
When you’d arrived at the hospital you’d half expected Melissa to wait in the car, but she hadn’t even hesitated before she was out of the truck and moving round to open your door. The only time she had hesitated was when the nurse had called you in, unsure whether you would want her there for such a private moment. When you’d held out your hand, however, she’d been out of her chair in a heartbeat, linking her fingers with your own. As you’d settled on the bed, she’d been right there, a comforting arm around your shoulder, cheek pressed to your hair as her eyes took in the little miracle on the screen.
You hadn’t been sure then whether your tears were of relief that everything was fine, that she was fine, or whether you were simply overwhelmed at how different it felt to have someone, to have Melissa by your side for this scan.
“I wouldn’t lose hope just yet if I were you,” she says softly.
Loosening your grip on her, you look up to find her smiling down at you. It feels too good to be true.
Your little bubble is burst by the nurse returning. “Sorry! I didn’t realise you guys were still in here. I was just coming back to clean up. I’ll give you some time.”
Melissa shakes her head. “No, don’t be silly. We were just on our way out.” She lifts your coat, holding it out to you as you stand before helping you into it. With a soft touch, she adjusts your collar before lifting your bag along with her own and reaching out to take your hand as though it’s perfectly normal.
Smiling at the nurse as you leave, you can only look at the woman next to you in wonder, feeling as though you’re floating as she leads you back to the car.
With the doors closed, the reality of the last few minutes begin to sink in.
“We should probably talk.”
You tense up at those words, and Melissa sees it. She’s quick to reach over and take your hand.
“Why don’t you come back to mine and I’ll make dinner and we can talk?” she suggests. “Just some food, some conversation. No pressure, no nothing, just talk?”
As if on cue your stomach growls, even as it twists anxiously at the conversation that you know is to come.
*
You expect dinner to be awkward, but as you watch Melissa move around her kitchen as she brings the meal together you can’t help but relax. She looks happy and content as she cooks, and your heart almost bursts each time she checks in that you’re okay with a new ingredient. She says nothing of the tears that once again gather in your eyes as she casually comments that she can’t be upsetting the little princess by feeding her things she doesn’t like.
It's only after dinner when you’re sat at opposite ends of Melissa’s couch that things become awkward.
Melissa finally breaks the silence with a loud sigh. “Okay, I planted one on you so only fair I go first.” She takes a deep breath, turning to face you more fully on the couch. “I don’t know when it happened. Hell, I didn’t expect it to happen, but I meant what I said at the hospital. I’m in love with you and that little jelly bean. I’m not expecting you to feel the same, but I want to be there for you both even if-“
“I never really thought you could feel that way,” you say, cutting her off. “Even before,” you pause, gesturing at your every growing bump. “And especially after.”
Scooting forward on the couch, Melissa finds your hand, linking your fingers together. “So it’s not perfect,” she says with a crooked smile. “But it’s real.”
You look down at your joint hands. “Yeah…it’s real.” You find yourself blushing furiously. It feels almost ridiculous to think that somehow, despite everything, she wants this. She wants you.
“You okay? You burning up?”
As Melissa reaches out with her free hand to press the back of her hand to your forehead, checking for a temperature, you find yourself blushing harder. “I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Just thinking…if this is real does that mean you actually want to kiss me?”
At this, the red head grins. “Yeah, this is real. I love you, and yes, that means I want to kiss you.” She holds your gaze as she speaks, her voice steady and sure.
“Even though I look like a beached whale?” you ask.
Melissa shakes her head, chuckling. “You look beautiful.”
You raise an eyebrow at her. “Don’t give me that ‘you’re glowing crap’. I’m a mess.”
“A hot mess,” she smirks right back.
“A huge mess,” you argue.
At this, she rolls her eyes. “Are we just gonna argue about this or can I kiss you again?”
This time, there’s no come back on your lips, only Melissa’s pressed deliciously against your own.
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MK1 BI-HAN X READER ~ feint ~
an: no wayy almost close to 100 notes in just a day of posting my first work in so long thanks so much everyone 🫶 in honour of this ill be posting a short drabble (lets see how long this really is after im done writing) anyways this work is inspired by THIS tiktok linked below vvv !! if u don't watch it u won't understand what prompted this fic so highly advise u watch this before u read
note: bi-han and reader are married in this story
also guys this story WILL be having bespectacled bi-han bc u can NOT tell me that man does not wear reading glasses when he gets older. i can totally see his vision getting worse and him having to begrudgingly resort to glasses to read documents and books .... i included a rough image of what that looks like (dont come for me im not an editor)
it was not often that you saw your husband battered from kombat. most days when he went out to spar or fight, there's be a few bruises and scratches here and there sure, but nothing that was so severe that you had to sit down and tend to his wounds. even if he did get injured, most of the time he patched himself up before you could lay eyes on him. it was a bright fall day at the lin kuei stronghold, with most of the ombre-braised leaves littering the ground of the courtyard. you had taken over as a mentor at the lin kuei, focusing on the academics of each initiate's journey to becoming a ninja (though it took a lot of convincing your dear old husband before he ever agreed to let you onboard).
~~
"c'mon, bi-han. you can't just train the initiates physically. they gotta be trained mentally too! you can't possibly think the only problems people face are the ones in front of them -- it's the ones that are in their heads that they gotta defeat too."
bi-han propped himself up against the headboard of your marital bed, his hair messy around his head with his feet outstretched in a relaxed manner (which was much too rare for the grandmaster). he had his reading glasses on and a lounge hanfu wrapped loosely around his body, skimming some documents. rather than entertaining your antics, he ignored you and continued to read the ledger in front of him. you groaned sheepishly, prompting bi-han to look up at you with a hint of annoyance, as you plopped yourself right beside him.
"it's a good idea and you know it.....you just won't admit it..," you playfully pouted. bi-han continued to skim through his document as he gently ran his fingers through your hair and your scalp, prompting a deep sigh from you.
"not a sustainable idea, (name)."
you quickly got up and faced him, determined to make a point. "i can make it sustainable! you have to give me a chance to prove it though."
bi-han closed his reading and you could now see the glasses perched up on the plateau of his nose. he was older now and his cryomancy did no favours for his vision -- as he increased his use of snow, his vision degraded. it was you that gave him the nudge to rectify his vision but he didn't budge, said that his vision was fine. it took getting suckerpunched by a VERY apologetic initiate at close-range for him to finally realize that his vision was nowhere where it used to be and if he wanted to retain his position as grandmaster, changes were going to have to be made. you made sure to help pick out his glasses, choosing the frames and lens meticulously and helping him put them on. you could hardly control ur salivation looking at him try on reading glasses that made him look all sophisticated and scholarly. after much pushback, you both decided on a subtle and sleek pair that wouldn't garner too much foreign attention (spoiler alert: it absolutely did). the first few days that bi-han wore the glasses, everyone found it hard to pry their eyes away from him. tomas had to stifle his giggles out of fear that bi-han would strangle him, kuai couldn't help but tease him everytime he laid eyes on his glasses, and the younger initates mistakenly (accidentally? who knows) referred to him as "dad."
bi-han leans forward, his hair clinging to his face, leaning for a kiss but you put your hand between the two of yours' lips as a barrier.
"you get nothing unless you agree to my idea, grandmaster."
bi-han leaned back against the headboard, faced towards you. he took a few brief moments to speak before giving you a soft small smile and gazing at you cautiously with his mellow brown eyes.
"if that is what my wife wishes," he whispers lowly.
~~
you had given most of the initates a set of books that they were to have studied by the end of the year. this prompted a bunch of groans and boos from some of the students, seeing that they wanted to get to the 'ninja' side of things rather than slowly well-rounding all their skills. no one dared to personally say anything to you though, considering you were the grandmaster's wife and any complaint directed at you would be personally dealt with by the grandmaster himself (and it would not go well for the complainant).
you drew out an elaborate web of themes and concepts on the board in front of you.
"alright students, which one of you would like to tell me what this represents. how can we use it practically in our routine?," you say, pointing to one of the themes on the board. the room was pitch silent and you could hear a few yawns here and there.
"come on guys. i'm not doing this for myself, i'm doing this to help you guys out. the quicker you guys can answer this, the quicker we can get out of here," you say matter-of-factly. before you can continue on with your lesson, you hear people arguing and yelling outside. 2 of the initiates at the back of the room pry open the training room's doors ajar so they could take a look and listen to what was going on outside, but you didn't entertain this at all. yelling, fighting, whatever it may be, it was a stronghold, of course it would be common.
"hey. there is nothing going on outside that you need to be familiar with more than what we have in here. pay attention to the lesson please!" you exclaimed with an exasperated expression. the initiates nodded their head and let out a meager "sorry ma'am" for their inconvenience.
"now, everyone. as i was saying, wh-" before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the training room were thrown open. you could probably punch a whole through the wall with all the anger you were feeling. who the hell decided this time that it was a good idea to interrupt you?
"(name), ma'am, the grandmaster is injured and i think you should take a look at him," one of the initiates breathlessly whispers. it's clear that he ran all this way to get your attention.
"what?! oh my god......is his condition stable right now? is he doing okay? where is he?" you exclaimed.
the initiate gestured you to follow him and you agreed.
"alright students, just a mere diversion but by the time i get back, you all better be done the next chapter because i'm gonna grill you on it!" you proclaimed as you zoomed down the stronghold's corridors. when you finally made it to the room bi-han was in, you walked in to see kuai, tomas, sektor, and cyrax crowded by his bed in the infirmary.
"bi-han...." you whispered quietly as your eyes went wide. your husband was laying in the bed, resting like a mummy. bandages curtained his chest, arms, and forehead. his face was stressed -- he was asleep and yet a frown graced his face indicating that he was conscious but unaware of his surroundings. your first instinct was to push past sektor and sit down beside bi-han on the chair. kuai had intentionally left the seat empty so that you could comfort bi-han.
"how the hell did this happen kuai?" you asked, furiously. kuai grimaced at your expression.
"don't blame this on me, (name). he's your husband. you know he takes too much on himself and then ends up all injured."
you looked at the physician who had just finished cleaning up your husband's wounds in desperation, wondering what the hell even happened.
"he's alright. i've patched up any severe wounds and stuck him to an IV. you'll have to nurse him for the next few days though." the bespectacled physician prompted, pushing his glasses to the ridge of his nose.
you chuckled, putting your hands on your bandaged husband's chest, caressing him. "nurse him? what is he, a baby? you said he should be fine."
the physician prepares for a response before bi-han stirs awake. you smile at him as you await him to fully regain consciousness.
"huh....who is....wha..." bi-han murmurs as his eyes adjust to the natural lighting of the infimary.
"bi-han....you're awake! i'm glad." you smile brightly, as your hands move up and down his treated chest. bi-han glances between your hands on his upper body and you, before letting out a loud groan and plopping his head back on his pillow.
"don't."
you look at him confused. "what?"
"i have a wife......she'll kill you if she finds out you've laid your hands on me," he says sternly with his hoarse voice.
you get up from your seat and lean in closer to him with a big smile shone across your face, a light blush spread across your cheeks. you found it adorable that even in such a horrible condition, your husband was loyal to you and you only. kuai looks confused at bi-han, wondering if dementia has caught up to him after all these years while tomas lets out a small chuckle at what his grandmaster was saying knowing that bi-han is too weak to really do or say anything to him.
"i am your wife, my love."
bi-han looks back at you with a neutral expression on his face and you can see his face shift into surprise, then pure flush. you stand there beautifully over him with the hair moved from your face, your scent lingering over him. there is a perfect mix of concern and amusement engraved into your expression, much to bi-han's arousal. a heavy blush creeps onto his face, unlike one you've seen before, and the monitor regulating his heartbeats goes off the charts. it's evident that bi-han's heartrate has boosted EXPONENTIALLY.
"well i'll be damned. our grandmaster might just have a crush on someone." cyrax states. you and the rest of the ninjas turn around and look to cyrax, chuckling but bi-han's gaze remains on you. it's almost as though he is in awe that he married someone like you.
"clear the room," you demand authoritatively. the ninjas and the physician bow their head and comply with your demand, leaving you and your husband alone in the emptiness of the infirmary.
"do you need more heat? are you doing okay my love?" you ask as you get closer to your husband. he looks at you carefully before speaking again.
"perhaps....a little more heat." you smile and obey, grabbing a few candles from the cupboard in the corner of the room and bringing it closer to him. bi-han props himself up against his pillow and disregards everything you're doing just to stare at you. it puts a bit of pressure on you and you get nervous. even if he was on litres of morphine, he was still a LITTLE intimidating. he grabs your forearm gently and starts to bring you close.
"i meant in perhaps a different manner....."
you entertain him.
"i'll let your wife know that you desire to engage in intimate relations with me," you smirk bringing yourself closer to him. he leans back and looks at you in pure confusion and a hint of disgust.
"but i t-"
you ignore his protests and put your lips on his, murmuring "joke, my love" into his mouth as he kisses you back passionately. the morphine was doing its job and bi-han was entranced by the passion. you could get used to your husband being all submissive like this for you for a while now.
#sub zero x reader#mk sub zero#sub zero#bi han x y/n#bi han x reader#bi han#bi han sub zero#mk1 bi han#mk1#mk1 x reader#mk1 2023
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Who Cares for You (m)
Guess who’s back with YET ANOTHER fic lmao. This is based on 2 prompts, one from @waterfallofspace and one from an anon, the prompts are kinda long to put here but essentially the idea was that Elijah comes to work sick and refuses to go home, so Greyson has to figure out a way to get him home and take care of him. THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPTS!! <3 This one was a little out of my comfort zone, and I LOVED writing it so I hope you guys like it :) A little over 3k words because I just cannot be concise, it isn’t in my nature lol.
OH and if you’re the anon who sent the Greyson-centric prompt, I’ll be filling that one later this week >:)
cw: male, cold, coughing, light mess.
Who Cares for You
In the five years Greyson had been the executive chef at Elliot’s, many thing had changed; he’d become a partner; they’d expanded into the storefront next to the original, tiny space; and they’d seen about a dozen cooks, servers, bussers, and dishwashers come and go. One thing always stayed the same, though: August was always, without fail, maddeningly slow.
Greyson was sitting in the office, throwing a ball against the wall while attempting to come up with the fall menu they were supposed to be rolling out in the next few weeks. Was it an urgent task? Definitely not. But, his cooks were on prep projects, his sous chef was sorting through the walk-in, and truly, he had nothing better to do.
Unfortunately, his creativity was about as lukewarm as the office today.
Just when he was about to say fuck it and click out of the near-empty word document he had open, Greyson heard his boss swing open the back doors of the kitchen and stomp inside.
“Christ, it’s hot,” Elijah said, pushing past the chef and into his seat in their shared office. “Is August always this hot?”
“I mean, I’m sure climate change doesn’t help,” Greyson said, cracking his neck and turning toward Elijah. He raised both eyebrows when the two of them locked eyes. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh, what?” Elijah asked, sitting down and turning on his computer. Greyson motioned to his own face, then at Elijah’s. “What?” Elijah asked again.
“You’re wearing glasses,” Greyson pointed out. “You’re not feeling well?”
“Oh. Yeah, I have a headache, didn’t want to put in contacts,” Elijah explained, pawing his nose with the back of his hand absentmindedly. He glanced again at the Chef, who had a cheeky half-smile on his face. “What?”
“Who the fuck gets a cold in the middle of August?” Greyson asked, laughing. Elijah rolled his eyes, then grimaced.
“Fuck off, Grey, I do not have a cold. It’s a headache. Not everything is a -,” Elijah cut himself off when his breath hitched, seemingly out of nowhere. “Huh! HUTSCHH-oo! Snf.” Elijah cleared his throat, and turned back to the Chef, high spots of embarrassment blooming on his cheeks. “A thing,” he finished, lamely.
Greyson snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, not everything is ‘a thing’, but this,” he gestured at Elijah’s entire presence, “is most certainly a thing. I’ve known you five years, Lij, you think I can’t tell when you’re sick?”
“What is this? What is happening?” Elijah turned his chair to fully face Greyson and gave him a look of disbelief. “Are we an old married couple now? You gonna start organizing my pills in little containers and making sure I take them with oatmeal every morning? Putting my coffee on the night before my early-morning shift down at the mines?”
Greyson sat back, arms behind his head, and shrugged, clearly amused. “Do people still do the coffee thing? I thought that was eradicated by Big Keurig.” Elijah couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “For real though, boss,” Greyson continued, “It’s gonna be slow as hell tonight. If you’re sick, just go home; Mark can handle the front. Hell, Matt could handle the back, to be frank.” Greyson sat back up and clapped a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “No need for you to martyr yourself. For once.” An insult, but said without malice.
Elijah wasn’t having it. “I’m here. I’m not sick, I’ll take an ibuprofen. I don’t need you to mother me, Greyson, though God knows you love to do it.” He stood up then, clearly looking to finish his tirade strong, but instead crumpled to the side to muffle a volley of sneezes into his sleeve. “Huhh! HuhNGSTSHH-ue! HhDTSHHH-uhh! Hhh...HNSTCHHOO!” Elijah sniffled and looked up from his sleeve at Greyson, who was clearly basking in the thought of being correct. “Fuck off,” Elijah said again.
“I didn’t say a word,” Greyson said, holding up his hands to proclaim his innocence. “But I feel like you might want to bring these,” he handed his boss the box of tissues from behind his computer, “with you.”
Elijah looked, seemingly longingly, at the tissues before pushing past the chef once again. “Not necessary,” he said, opening the office door. “I have to go get inventory done.”
***
“Chef?”
Greyson snapped his head up at the sound of his sous chef’s voice and gave him a half smile and wave. “What’s up, Matt?”
Matt shrugged, leaning against the door to Greyson’s office. “Just checking on you. Thought maybe you’d fallen into a trance or something,” he said. Greyson laughed and swiveled his chair away from the computer.
“Nah, just trying to get this goddamn menu written, but I have literally not one single idea,” he said, pushing his hair away from his face. Matt raised an eyebrow.
“Why not have Elijah help? Don’t you guys usually bounce ideas off each other?” Matt asked.
Greyson huffed out a laugh and turned back towards the computer. “Elijah is currently ignoring me for calling him out. He has a cold and desperately needs to martyr himself on this, the slowest week of the year.”
Matt snorted. “Sounds like Elijah,” he said, picking at a loose thread on his chef’s coat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy leave early – well, unless you count leaving to take other people home sick.” The sous chef shrugged and pushing himself back to a standing position as Greyson slowly turned toward him, a look of bemusement on his face. “What?” Matt asked.
“Matt, you absolute genius,” Greyson said, pushing himself to his feet. “You just gave me an incredible idea.”
“About… the menu?” Matt asked, confused. Greyson placed a hand on his sous’ shoulder and shook his head.
“Not about the menu,” Greyson said. “Do you think you can hold it down tonight?”
“Uhh… yeah, Chef. I’ve got it covered. Are you...going home?”
“Not exactly,” Greyson said. With that, he swung open the doors to the dining room, leaving his bewildered sage in the dust.
***
Elijah slammed down his clipboard in frustration for about the tenth time that morning – there was no way in hell this inventory was going to get done today.
It had started fine enough; he’d inventoried the wine and beer relatively quickly, but once he got to the liquor his body apparently had other plans for him.
“HUHGSTCCHH-oo! HUTSCH-oo! Hhh...hnGTSHZUE!” Elijah sneezed into his rolled-up sleeve again and cursed himself for being too proud to take the tissues Greyson had offered with him. He wiped his nose gingerly on his sleeve, sucked in, and sat down on one of the thirty milk crates adorning the liquor room.
Much as he didn’t want to admit it, Elijah felt like garbage. He’d known for days that he was getting sick, and despite all of the preventative measures he always took it had bloomed into a Whole Thing, just like what he’d told Greyson it wasn’t. He would’ve laughed if he was thinking of it in hindsight, but in the moment he just felt miserable and sorry for himself.
Elijah went to stand and try to count the bottles once again, when he heard an unmistakable sound in the stairwell leading to the liquor room.
“Huh...UTSHH-oo!”
Elijah turned to face the closed door. Was that...Greyson?
Without warning, the door flew open, and there stood Greyson. Elijah had seen him only an hour before, but for some reason he looked different than earlier. Upon closer inspection, Elijah realized it was his eyes – they were rimmed red, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Grey? What’re you -”
“HUTSHH-oo!” Greyson turned to sneeze into his elbow. He shook his head as though to clear it and turned to Elijah. “Sorry, ’scuse me. I was just looking for you to help me with the menu – HUSHH-oo!” Another sneeze, and what sounded like a muted sniffle from the crook of his elbow.
Elijah couldn’t help but cringe. Maybe this was why Greyson seemed so adamant for Elijah to admit to being ill earlier; because he was himself. “Bless you,” Elijah said, his voice low and congested.
“Thanks,” Greyson said, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Sorry, not sure where those came from.”
Elijah swallowed hard to clear the cough he knew was forming in his throat. “Are you sick?” he asked, expecting Greyson to deny the claim. Instead, the chef just shrugged.
“Dunno,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Just started out of nowhere. Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair and sniffling lightly. “I just came to see if you’d come help me with the menu, but I see you’re...busy. So I’ll leave you to it.”
Greyson turned to leave, prompting Elijah to call after him up the stairs: “If you’re sick, you should go hombe!”
Without turning to say anything, Greyson held up two fingers as an acknowledgment and headed through the door back into the dining room.
***
“HSTHH! USHH!! HTSSSH!!” Greyson barreled back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes relentlessly.
“The fuck happened to you?” Matt asked, moving towards his chef with concern. Greyson shook his head and turned on the water at the sink.
“I’m playing the long game,” Greyson explained, leaning down to splash water onto his face. “I may have made a slight miscalculation though because holy fuck.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Matt asked, pulling some paper towels out of the dispenser and handing them to his boss. Greyson took them gratefully, and pressed them into his face.
“Well, like you said, Elijah will only leave if he thinks that he needs to take someone home. So. I’m going to be the someone he takes home.” Greyson pulled the paper towels off his face and looked at Matt with bloodshot eyes. “How do I look?”
“Crazed. Like a madman. What did you do? Spray yourself with pepper spray?”
“Ooo, so close. I snorted some white pepper.”
Matt’s eyebrows creased together and his mouth opened in confusion. Whatever question he had next clearly died on his lips at the incredibly odd admission from his boss. “White...pepper.”
“Yeah,” Greyson said, scrubbing at his nose. “I need Elijah to think I have whatever he has. Thus, white pepper.” He smiled at his sous, who was continuing to give him an unbelieving look. “What?”
Matt shook his head. “The two of you were made for each other, I swear to god,” he said, walking back to his station and picking his knife back up. “What are you going to do when he comes back up and you’re miraculously cured?”
Greyson chuckled softly in the back of his throat. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ve got this all under control.”
***
After another twenty minutes of attempting to finish inventory, Elijah gave up and stomped up the stairs. He knew he’d hate himself for it in a few days, but he just couldn’t fathom counting any more bottles with the absolutely insane headache that had bloomed in his temples.
While walking towards the office. Elijah allowed himself to fantasize about his bed. About wrapping himself up in a blanket, watching TV for hours on end, sleeping as long as he wanted. Was it pathetic? Yeah, maybe a little, but he always felt like it helped get through particularly difficult days.
When he stepped into the office, the first thing that struck him was Greyson, slumped over on the chair with his head in his hands. Elijah cleared his throat, and Greyson sat up.
“Shit,” he said, “sorry, boss. Headache.”
Elijah’s head pounded at the mention of a headache. “Do we have any ibupro – hh..hnnNGSTHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side and attempted to stifle the sneeze, making the pain in his head explode.
“Bless,” Greyson said, and pulled out a container of pills. “Always stocked and ready. Want some?”
Without thinking, Elijah held out his hand. “Thandks,” he said, dry-swallowing four pills. Immediately, he cringed at the pain in his throat, to which Greyson gave a small grimace of solidarity.
“I feel you. Sore throat,” Greyson said, touching his own and pouring out some pills. He swallowed his with a sip of something from a paper cup, then dipped into his elbow to sneeze. “HUSSHH-uhh!”
Elijah sat down next to the chef and cleared his throat. “You should go,” he said, gently. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Greyson shrugged at his boss and turned back to his computer. “Nah, I’m alright,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t bring my car today, and I’m having my apartment cleaned. The woman who cleans for me doesn’t get there til noon, and it takes her a few hours to clean it.” Greyson smiled tiredly and said, “Thanks, though.”
Elijah swallowed around the pain in his throat and said, “I cand drive you. You cand stay at mby apartment for a few hours, too, if you wandt. I mbean, it’s like ten mbinutes from yours.”
Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss. “Really?” he asked. “You’d do that?”
Elijah nodded and sniffled a bit. “’Course, Grey. Hhuh…” Elijah’s breath hitched then, and Greyson pushed the tissue box towards his boss, who took a few in anticipation. “HhhGTSHHH-ue! Huh! HUHESZCHUE!” Elijah sniffled again, his sinuses too blocked to attempt to blow his nose, and threw away the tissues.
“Bless you,” Greyson said again. Elijah just ignored him.
“Grab your backpack. Let’s go before the traffic hits.”
***
This is going to work, Greyson thought as they swerved through the city traffic towards Elijah’s apartment. I can’t believe this is really going to work.
After they’d left the restaurant – with Greyson waving to his staff dramatically and Matt rolling his eyes at the theatrics of this whole charade – Greyson had asked if Elijah could stop at Walgreens.
“Don’t want to use up any of your stuff,” he’d explained, though truly he’d wanted to stop because he knew in his heart of hearts that there was no way Elijah, King of Denial, had any kind of cold supplies at his place. Elijah had nodded silently, and stayed in the car while Greyson hopped out and shopped.
The issue was, he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of illness Elijah was dealing with – no clue if he had an oncoming cough, or a fever, or abject sinus pressure – so he was forced to buy pretty much the entirety of the cold and flu aisle. The cashier raised both eyebrows when he placed the mountain of medicine, tissues, and lozenges on the counter.
“Wow,” she said, “someone must have one hell of a cold.”
Someone sure does, Greyson thought to himself when he threw open the door to the car and saw that Elijah was once again stuck in a pre-sneeze.
“Huhh...hhh. Huh, huhhh…!”
“Uh, boss - ?”
“HhNGSTHHZUE! ITSZCHUE! Huh! Hhuh-GTSSHH-oo!” Elijah doubled over his lap to sneeze, and cringed into his sleeve when he was finished, clearly trying to figure out if wiping his nose on his sleeve was too gross when Greyson was going to be sitting next to him.
Greyson dug into the bag of supplies and pulled out a box of tissues, which he ripped open and handed to Elijah. The GM silently pulled a few from the box and blew his nose towards the driver’s side door before turning back to Greyson.
“Thangks,” he said, his voice low and congested. Greyson winced at the sound of it.
“Do you, uh… do you want me to drive the rest of the way?” Greyson asked, placing the bag in the back seat. Elijah cocked his head, confused.
“Thought you were sigck,” he said, sniffling. Greyson pursed his lips together not to laugh.
“Yeah,” Greyson said, biting his cheek at the complete absurdity of this situation. “Let’s, uh… let’s just get to your place.”
Greyson had white-knuckled most of the remainder of the drive, as Elijah seemed to delve deeper into illness with each passing mile. After one particularly harsh sneeze had almost propelled them into a semi, Greyson had nearly screamed, “Oh, Jesus Christ please don’t kill us!” to which Elijah just rolled his eyes.
Finally, they arrived at Elijah’s building and parked in the garage underground. They rode the elevator silently – with the exception of Elijah’s coughing and sniffling – to the floor of Elijah’s apartment, and continued their silence until they reached his front door.
Elijah opened the door and Greyson marveled, as he always did, at how clean and organized his boss’s apartment was. Even the large window in the sitting room was unsmudged by fingerprints or bird shit. It wasn’t like Greyson’s apartment as a dump, not by any stretch, but it was certainly a bachelor pad; Elijah’s, in stark comparison, was styled—cozy and lived-in, but everything in its place. It was a home.
“You seemb to have mbade a miraculous recovery,” Elijah rasped as placed his keys in the bowl by the door. “You sure you’re ndot just allergic to wooorKSHH-uhh! NGTSZH-ue!”
“Lij,” Greyson said, holding the box of tissues out for his boss once again and placing the drugstore bag on the kitchen table, “I made a miraculous recovery because I’m not sick.”
Elijah turned to the chef and raised an eyebrow from behind a tissue. “But...you said you had a headache. And a sore throat, and you were sndeez – INGSTZUE!”
“Elijah,” Greyson said quietly, stepping towards his boss. “I’m not sick.” He slapped a hand onto Elijah’s forehead and gave him an accusatory smile, eyebrows raised. “You are.”
“I’mb – HNGSTHH-uhh! God-fuckigg-dammit,” Elijah cursed, pulling away from his friend to sneeze, once again, into his sleeve. He ignored Greyson’s offer of the tissues this time, in lieu of sniffing, hard, and meeting the other man’s eyes with a watery gaze. “You lied to mbe.”
“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” Greyson said, pulling the supplies out of the bags and placing them pointedly on the table. “I didn’t lie to you. I tricked you,” he smiled at Elijah and offered him a bottle of nyquil – a peace offering. “Big difference.”
Elijah took the nyquil tentatively, and gave Greyson a look of confusion. “I dond’t… I don’t get it. Why?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.
“You’re a good boss, Lij, and an even better guy. You drive your staff home anytime they’re sick – hell, anytime they’re even hungover. But you refuse to give yourself the same treatment,” Greyson took the nyquil bottle back from his boss and cracked it open. He handed it back, along with a bag of lozenges, and the box of tissues. “You care for everyone in that restaurant. Who cares for you?”
Elijah felt his voice catch in his throat, so he closed his mouth, unable to form a response. They stood there together for a moment – Greyson sorting medicines quietly, Elijah watching with his arms full of the cold supplies he never would’ve bought himself – until he was finally able to get the words out. “Thangk you, Grey.”
Greyson smiled as he looked up at his boss. “No need to thank me,” he said. “Now take your fuckin’ medicine and get your ass in bed. I don’t trust you to not work, so I’ll be out here guarding the door until I’m positive you’re knocked out.”
Elijah huffed out a small laugh. “Oh, fuck you,” he said without malice. Greyson laughed back, in earnest.
“Get some rest, boss. I’ll be here if you need anything.”
#snz#snez#male sneeze#sickfic#coldfic#snzfic#snzblr#original character#whiskeyswriting#i'll be honest#i like how this one turned out!#i missed writing their banter while doing the ones from early in their relationship#love u guys hope ya like it <3#also jesus fuck this one feels like extra long??? idk#whatevs. more is more right? lol
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Self Rec Tag Game
tagged by the wonderful @hello-eeveev!!
Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.
1.something you absolutely adore
a winter's crest detour [mature, caleb/essek]
the idea for this fic actually went through two different fandoms before coming to light in critical role. i'd signed up for a christmas hallmark movie prompt thing and sadly didn't get my pick, so i left cause i got unreasonably attached to this one idea and so it came with me as i moved into another fandom where about 10k got written before the muse abandoned me until shadowgast ate my life and here we are. its probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written, purely created for moi and i love it, bonus other people seemed to like it too! woo!
2. something that was challenging to create
the edge of the blade [teen, caleb/essek]
a full YEAR in the making, this is my biggest, longest, most EVERYTHING fic. i love it, i had so much fun writing it but boy was it hard work. the time, the energy that went into this. i really challenged myself to dig deep for essek's emotions and insecurities and i'm really proud of how it turned out. i definitely improved as a writer because of the challenges this fic liked to throw at me
3. something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably)
long may they reign chapter 3 [gen, caleb/essek]
not gonna lie this is one of my comfort fics that i re-read of my things that always makes me feel better. i love the dynamic of being so comfortable and in love that the simplest acts of affection become automatic and the realisation of those acts can lead to a deeper sense and understanding of that love. i'm a sucker for the old married couple troupe.
4. something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.)
keep me warm [explicit, caleb/essek]
listen i am not a smut writer, it is not one of my strengths, it's very difficult for me and even the smallest scene requires days/weeks/months of writing cause i just struggle with it so damn much, (maybe she's (gnc) born with it, maybe its maybelline the aroace of it all). the idea for this fic just grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go so i put word to document and it actually came out alright, i was pleasantly surprised that i actually managed to put what was in my head into the fic in a very good way so very proud of myself for it
5. something you want other people to see
act i. the interloper [gen, caleb/essek]
ok ok ok i know i haven't finished parts 2 and 3 yet, YET! but i love how this series is shaping up even though it has grown beyond the teeny tiny wee fun little three part fluff ball it was meant to be into something so big and with feelings, think fluff ball the size of one of those stupidly big plastic tourist attractions they've got out in america. i love looking into old courting practices and seeing what would fit and connect with the culture of the drow and just being able to explore different aspects of their relationship and the important moments to them as well. part three especially has me a little teary cause its gonna be so gosh darn sweet so yeah, stay tuned i am writing it, its just bigger than originally designed lol
tag you're it: @aithilin, @mollymawkwrites, @ruvigapo, @mardyart, @glossolali mwah! show off your goods and wares darlings!!
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The Aftermath: A Nie Bros Hurt/Comfort Fic
Prompt: Could you please write '“…you stayed?” “Of course I did.”' with the Nie Bros and Hurt! Nie Huaisang being insecure because his last conversation with his brother was a really bad argument about NHS being too weak and NHS thinks that him getting hurt just proves that?
Unfortunately, tumblr ate the original prompt. Fortunately, I save all the prompts in a separate document! ... Unfortunately, it has been three years since this was prompted, so I have no idea if the original prompter even remembers this. But let this be proof that I do still go through old prompts and get inspired! (Also, posting this fic whittles my unanswered Nie Bros prompts down to 8 out of 23. Woohoo!)
I'm also sorry it's been so long since I posted anything for MDZS. Idk if you all have noticed, but I got kind of distracted by Top Gun, lol. But here we are! I hope everyone enjoys the hurt/comfort!
And on that end of this very long author's note, let's get started!
WARNING for kidnapping, threats of violence, and the aftermath of torture.
Nie Huaisang had been kidnapped before. First as the youngest son of the Nie sect leader, and then as the younger brother of the Nie sect leader. Both times, he’d been snatched because he wandered just too far from the other Nie disciples with him. Both times, he’d been rescued within twenty-four hours.
Slumped against a cold stone wall at the back of a cave, hands and feet hogtied together, eyes fixed on the dozen men gathered around a fire meters away at the mouth of the cave, Nie Huaisang knew this time wasn’t like the others.
Not because this gang was smart, holing up in a random cave in the middle of a forest where the noisy undergrowth prevented a surprise attack, or because they had bothered tying Nie Huaisang up instead of underestimating him and caving to his cries about the ropes being too tight.
No—this time was different because Nie Huaisang didn’t know if his sect even knew he was missing. This gang had grabbed him while he stalked through town, alone and unguarded, so upset about his latest shouting match with his brother that he had slipped out of the Unclean Realm and deliberately left everyone at home none-the-wiser.
You have to practice the saber! Nie Mingjue had yelled. Over and over again, the same argument: It’s tradition! You have to be able to protect yourself!
Nie Huaisang snorted. His brother’s I told you so was going to be massive, considering the trouble he’d run into after leaving both his saber and his guard behind. Nie Huaisang would be lucky if he left the training grounds for a week after he returned home, let alone left the Unclean Realm.
If he got home at all.
Nie Huaisang shifted against the rock, trying to get more comfortable—a hard task when his knees couldn’t straighten, his heels were forced under him, and his arms pulled at his shoulders. He felt like one of the pigs the Nie still raised for slaughter.
Hopefully, he wasn’t tied up to hold him still so a butcher could slit him open.
A wordless cry rose in Nie Huaisang’s throat, but he swallowed it back. For all this time was different, and however weak he was in comparison to his brother, he was still a Nie. He wouldn’t give his captors the satisfaction of hearing him whine.
The scrape of leather on stone made Nie Huaisang look up. One of his captors stared back at him, his brown eyes harsh in the dim lighting and his hair pulled back in a top knot so tight Nie Huaisang suspected he had frequent headaches.
“Where is the Nie vault?” the man asked, flicking a knife to his fingers from a sheathe up his sleeve. He didn’t spin it or use it to clean his fingernails, or any of the other things Nie Huaisang’s books said he should. He just held it there, loose and confident against his thigh, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t keep his eyes off it.
This, too, was different than the other times he’d been kidnapped. Nie Huaisang was always the prize. He couldn’t be hurt, or his father and brother might pay a smaller ransom.
But this man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him. This man wanted the Nie treasures, and Nie Huaisang suspected he would do anything to get them.
Nie Huaisang let the whine escape him this time, cowering against the wall and ducking his head.
“I don’t know!” he lied. “Da-ge never told me! I don’t know!”
His captor knelt before him, squatting back on his heels and raising the knife. “I suggest you think harder, Nie Huaisang.”
He spat the courtesy name like he had something nasty on his tongue, and Nie Huaisang didn’t have to fake the shivers taking over his body.
“Everyone knows that Da-ge of yours dotes on you. Will he still do so if you return to him horribly scarred?”
The knife tip tilted forward to press, cold and piercing, against Nie Huaisang’s cheek.
Da-ge, Nie Huaisang thought, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Da-ge!
What he wouldn’t give to have his saber at his side now.
<line break>
For a time, the blood kept Nie Huaisang warm. It ran down his skin in dark rivulets, soaking into his robes and staining the creams and greens with pools of red and brown. But the blood cooled outside his body, and where it dried, it stuck to his skin: His left cheek, and his right bicep, and both his legs. All the fleshy, sensitive parts of his body, where even the slightest blow caused a fire of pain to ignite.
The blood cooled, and Nie Huaisang cooled with it. Even the sun starting to peak into the cave again didn’t warm him. He stayed where he had fallen halfway through the torture, limbs taut from both the pain and the rope.
But Nie Huaisang had not spoken a single true word to his captors.
That would have to be enough.
And as dark shadows ran into the cave, sabers held aloft, Nie Huaisang closed his eyes and smiled.
He didn’t wake when a broad figure carved his way to the back wall, knelt, and gathered Nie Huaisang in his arms, callused fingers gentle on bloodied skin.
He didn’t wake when the figure bent over his body and cried with huge, shuddering breaths, or when the figure took a knife and cut away the rope.
He didn’t wake when the figure stood and walked out of the cave, past all the fighting, and took to the skies on a saber still wet with blood.
He didn’t wake from the wind, or the figure’s voice, or being laid in his own bed. He didn’t wake from the threads being stitched through his wounds, or the bandages being tied, or the blankets being tucked.
Nie Huaisang didn’t wake for two whole days. When he did, he rolled over into a more comfortable position, curling in on himself and ignoring pained spasms, and went right back to sleep for another day.
He thought he might have heard a familiar voice calling his name as he did—but that was surely just a dream.
<line break>
When Nie Huaisang woke on the fourth day, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, peeled them open, and stared at the scene before him.
He was in his own room. That much was clear from the painted fans, scattered books, and colorful silks that decorated the stone walls.
What was unclear was the huge, muscled figure of his older brother, shoulders hunched and head bent over Nie Huaisang’s desk, piles of paperwork around him.
“Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang tried to say, but his dry throat protested, and all that came out was a squeak and a cough. Still, it was enough to get Nie Mingjue’s attention. The Nie sect leader stared at Nie Huaisang with wide eyes, then stumbled haphazardly to his feet, holding on to a cup of water and somehow not spilling it even as he tripped over himself in a way Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen since Nie Mingjue first passed two meters in height.
“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue gasped. He practically fell to his knees at Nie Huaisang’s bedside, and Nie Huaisang winced at the dull thud that sounded through the room, even as he sipped at the cup his brother held out to him.
He cleared his throat, then rolled his eyes and said, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothing to fuss about.”
Nie Mingjue’s right hand gripped the wooden frame of the bed so hard it creaked. “You slept for four days,” he snapped.
“You know I love my napping.”
“You almost bled out.”
“Blood-letting is good for the body.”
“You were tortured.”
“And I’m fine!” Nie Huaisang shot up as he shouted the last bit, only to cry out and sink back to his bed when his wounds reminded him they hadn’t healed yet. If he had his brother’s cultivation level, or even his peers… but he didn’t. “I’m fine,” he repeated, and stared at the fan over Nie Mingjue’s right shoulder. He hadn’t painted it himself; it had been gifted to him by Nie Mingjue the day the Sunshot Campaign started.
Two mountain peaks. A promise that Nie Mingjue would return to him.
Nie Mingjue had, but he wasn’t the same. None of the Nie cultivators were—none of Nie Huaisang’s peers were. None of his friends and family. War had stolen something from them, and nursing the pain of being tortured, Nie Huaisang thought he understood.
A hand callused from fighting both spirits and people settled on his shoulder, and Nie Huaisang looked to his brother. For all the sects feared the mighty Chifeng-zun, he was still just Nie Mingjue to Nie Huaisang. And in that cave, being tortured, Nie Huaisang had wanted his older brother even more than he had wanted his saber.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying his forehead in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“You’re my didi,” Nie Mingjue said. One of his hands still gripped Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, but the other cupped his head, holding Nie Huaisang in the safety of his body. “I’ll always come for you.”
“Even when I’m at fault?”
“Huaisang—”
The rebuke was clear, but Nie Huaisang insisted, “Even then?” If he had only taken his guards as usual… or even just gone to practice… “You’ll come? And you’ll stay after?”
“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said. His body rumbled under Nie Huaisang’s head. “I will always be here.”
<end fic>
I hope you all enjoyed! Please comment and/or reblog if you did; it'll help feed my energy for more MDZS fics!
#nie huaisang#nie mingjue#nie bros#mdzs#mdzs fic#the untamed#mo dao zu shi#grandmaster of demonic cultivation#cql#fanfic#writing prompt#tw: torture mention#tw: blood
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For the WIP title tag game: campaign bars :)
I got two asks for this story, but yours came in first. Thank you for asking!! (Original post here.)
If s5pau has been the WIP for a while, this was a close second. For a while there, I'd alternate between the two of them, even if this one is significantly shorter.
If I'm not mistaken, this was some sort of belated bday present for Ally @onekisstotakewithme after she finally thought of a prompt. (The document is from mid-August, lol.)
I think she asked for campaign vignettes, maybe? Maybe focused on Danny's role. This is part of the summary I have on the doc (apart from many links to election calendars):
Campaign-set fic, focusing at the start of the campaign and on Danny.
I have links to election calendars and trying to decide an order. My snippets have been set in DC, IA, NH and ME, and are mostly short. I really dig some of the ideas in there (it has some focus on CJ/Danny, but Josh and Abbey are in there, too!), and I need to get back into it.
The first thing that I apparently wrote into the document, and that became the basis for the first of the snippets, is:
Danny and Josh. Hotel bar, a bit fancier. About joining the campaign. He’s there now, right? Will follow him through the first couple of primaries, before he drops out (Josh implies it’s about issues). It’s not like he’s going to find the love of his life on the campaign trail
Just this snippet reminds me that I've pulled a couple of things from other (unpublished) stories, but that just needed to be here. (The love of his life exchange thing tickles me, because it's just so obvious, and I might just post it for the other snippet. Never said I took myself or my writing seriously, lmao. The trick is knowing it's not good.)
“Tintin…”
Danny groans at Josh’s use of an old nickname that their friend group had for him. It wasn’t funny then, and it is still not funny now.
“I don’t care for nicknames, but I especially can’t stand that one.”
“It’s clever. You know, a redhead, do-gooder, campaigning reporter who wants to get to the bottom of things.”
“He was actually blond,” Danny replies tiredly, with the resignation of someone who has heard this nickname for decades now.
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actually that fic was the only time I attempted to write Eggman in first-person POV outside of the visual novel, that was a lot of fun
---
Unfortunately, my heels hit the wrong key combination. And that's when the screen freezes. All the data I've mined flickers, wavering like a paused video feed.
Before I can make heads or tails of it, another window opens: a command prompt. An ancient one I would never in a hundred years be caught dead using. The words spell themselves out, snowy white on velvet black, one painstaking letter at a time.
I h a ve de s
ig ne d
its mi nd per fect
p u r e
I shoot up in my chair, straight as a rod. The cursor blinks as if to test me. What is this? Someone's idea of a practical joke? To compound my bewilderment, my primary monitor crashes and the damned thing starts to whine an ear-splitting shriek. I clap my hands to my ears to block it out; as bad as Amy's squealing over Sonic.
Neither text nor noise respond to the usual methods of circumvention. I batter the keys in the hopes something, anything, will unstick it and restore my hearing: "No! No, no, no!" My foot crashes into the overheating CPU with a resounding bang. "Don't pull this on me now, you steaming hunk of junk!"
Despite the crash, the words continue their slow onward march. How is this possible? What branch of GUN is messing around with my systems—
Disc. Get it on a disc. I have the feeling the message will erase itself if allowed to run unchecked, so I vandalize my disc drawer and cram a blank into the whirring writer. Hopefully I can use the copy to track this idiot's location and—
"What in the blue blazes is going on here?"
The fragmented message vanishes before my eyes, taking all my precious data with it. Apparently it was the plug in the dam; new messages flood in faster than I can track them, filling my screens with utter nonsense.
Jagged words flash surreal neon warnings: BIOLIZARD ECLIPSE CHAOS ULTIMATE LIFE REDIRECT MEMORY SUBPROGRAM DEBUG CANNON ASTRONOMERS ARE CONCLUDING MONSTROUS BLACKS. Maps unfurl, revealing twisted machinery. Statistics streak past in bits and pieces, most notably a timestamp of twenty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds—is that how much time GUN has left before I hammer my fist through their IT department? It might as well be. The whine shrills its mocking laughter, slamming my blood through my temples as I pound at the keys in vain.
Then it stops. Stops dead. I wait for the other shoe to drop, my tattered breath scraping the air.
One last window emerges.
"Oh, what now?" I growl, dragging a hand down my mouth. "What is this? What… "
Slowly, I peel myself from my chair to lean in closer.
It's a diary.
My grandfather's. I scour every word, my blood running ice before fire. An attachment arrives, one which opens without my input once I reach the end of the journal. Classified document. A medical record for G. Robotnik.
According to the front page, it was a psych evaluation conducted by GUN officials. Other than a bit of sleep deprivation slowing his psychomotor responses, he seemed to be in tip-top shape.
For a moment I stand frozen, bathing in the glow of my overworked monitors. This is all… very sudden, for lack of a better phrase. Calculated, but I don't believe in that kind of synchronicity. If someone intended to grab my attention, they certainly have it now. As far as I knew, Grandfather passed the year before I was born. Of old age, my father said.
Liar. Later he changed his story and claimed the government had involuntarily committed him toward the end of his life. Naturally, this made a much younger me curious. What for? An accident. Always an accident, no more and no less. He remained tight-lipped on the nature of said accident, much to my supreme irritation, but his evasive silences seemed to imply my grandfather had brought it on himself.
Of course, you never knew what was truth and what was fiction with that blustering fool. He'd tell you one thing today and claim you heard him wrong tomorrow. He was always trying to frighten me with that skeleton shoved in the back of our closet: You don't want to copy Gerald someday, drooling mad, crushed by the weight of your own brilliance, do you? Behave, Ivo, or else you'll wind up just like your looney-bin grandfather, wasting away in some padded cell.
Bah, what did he know? I'm still a free man, my mind sharper than a steel trap. They haven't gotten me yet. And if this record is any proof to the contrary, they hadn't gotten Gerald, either.
Shadow …
I have designed its mind to be perfect, pure. I will leave everything to it.
If you wish to fill the world with destruction… Release, and awaken it.
The screen darkens.
I fold my arms over my chest with a satisfied smirk. Fill the world with destruction, eh? Well, well. Perhaps my self-righteous father was wrong, and the apple of genius doesn't fall so very far from the tree.
I eject the finished disc and wave it once in the air to cool it off, then shove it into my pocket and stride down the corridor toward the weapons room. I'm going to be needing it where I'm headed, and if you ask me? Our little friend Shadow's slept past its alarm.
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Writer Tag Game
Thank you for the tag @annabtg
Tagging @queen-isabelle-writes
Do you write in order?
For the most part, yes! But typically, I’ll think of one scene in particular in my head and I’ll build around it, but when I actually go to write, I start in order.
Do you start with something particular?
Typically, just an idea and how I want my characters to be. And normally what Taylor Swift song I’m assigning them and the story!
How fully formed does your writing come out the first try?
Pretty formed I think!
How many drafts do you go through?
I don’t write something completely, check over it, and do rewrites of the entire fic or scene. Typically, I write over the span of day (weeks, months) and everytime I open the word document, I read through what’s already there and make changes before continuing. I don’t know if that
Tell me about your process.
I’m just going to tell you guys about the process of DWOHT because that story is my baby right now and its a fic that I feel has actually had a process from me. Most of time, I just write silly little oneshots. This will be below the cut because it’s long :)
So Red, White, and Royal Blue is one my favorite books. In fact, one of my favorite troupes of contemporary romance is royality. (Maybe my love of the Princess Diaries and The Prince and Me played a factor in that.). I had also been to England in October 2021 and I fucking loved it. I found myself after that trip being obessed with British history because my tiny pea size american brain was so excited to see old things in the UK.
So I got home and started watching The Crown on Netflix and got addicted to the British Kardashian family. I���m not for the monarchy in any way, they are just like reality tv show that has is the face of a country and it entertains me. I feel really bad for the UK citizens whose taxes pay for the clownery.
This was all going on and then I entered the Feburary 2022 Jily challenge and was given the prompt: “You have nice lips?” “Thanks?” and I was stumped.
Then I got on tiktok and I saw the story of why Taylor Swift wrote Dancing With Our Hands Tied, which was already my favorite song by her. Basically, she had made her first public appearence in a year and the press just shouted mean and horrible things to her and made her feel like shit, especially when it came to her relationship. Dancing With Our Hands Tied is about a relationship that feels doomed to end because of outside forces but they are trying to make the most of it.
And then with Prince Harry and Meghan all the news, talking the press. How the press treated Diana. Princess Margret’s struggles, and her relationship with Peter Townsend. A plot appeared in my brain.
I chose Lily to be the princess with much debate because if you think about them in canon, James is the rich priveledged one. But I thought Lily’s characteristics just fit better as the royal in the story. James has the real privledge in the story (beside money and power) because he has warmth and love, something that doesn’t seem to be a big part of the royal family. Also the sibling rivalary is real! Petunia and Lily were perfect.
And that’s it! I started plotting and writing. I’m still working on Chapter 7 but I had to make some major changes because of watching Harry and Meghan, and now I’m almost done with Harry’s book.
Sooo yeah!
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5, 17, and 43 for the fic ask game!
[For the Fanfiction Writing Ask Game]
Three questions??? You spoil me! <3 I think I'll need a Read More for this one my friend xD
Hahaha! Ha! Ha.
Many. So, so many.
I have a bad habit of starting projects and not finishing them, so I have a plethora scattered throughout my Google Docs files that are anywhere from multiple pages of unposted fic, all the way down to single-sentence unused prompts. Sometimes I left them behind because I lost motivation, sometimes my hyperfixation shifted and I (sadly) couldn't focus on that fandom anymore.
But let's see...uh....I glanced through my older stuff first just to see. But for now I think I'm just gonna count what I'm either actively working on, or what I wish to continue when my motivation returns...because if you counted all the abandoned WIP's I've gathered over the years, I think the number would be close to 30, and I don't want to list them all up here. (Maybe I'll drop it at the bottom of this post if you're curious***)
For one, I have two IronDad fics I plan on finishing: one that's a shorter Mafia AU that's 2/3 complete, and a much longer (and heftier) multi-chapter fic that has been awaiting a new chapter for over a year I think. A Little Late On The Blood Work my beloved...I'll come back when I get inspiration again 🥺💞 I also have an old Jacksepticeye Egos fic called #SamLives that I've been wanting to continue for ages but haven't, along with a Night at the Museum fic (Jedtavius) that I at least need to finish the current arc for because the comment section is sad.
And MOST recently I've got a bunch for Hermitcraft/Empires/Traffic Life that I'm in the process of actively writing...which I believe add up to a total of six?? I think? THREE are partially posted/being updated (Through a Crack in the Void, Domino Effect, There's Not a Word Yet), and the OTHER three (two Team Rancher, one that's literally Every Ship Under The Sun With Some Found Family On Top) aren't gonna be on my plate until I finish some of the other ones.
17. Do you have a writing routine?
Not really! Usually once I get an idea, I just - jump in. If I get stuck and want to skip something just to keep the writing ball rolling, I'll throw one of these in the middle of the page: ASDJNAKFBEKAJBA ...and just leave it for later. It's bold, red, and easy to spot when I'm scrolling through a long document, which is nice! It helps make sure no blank spots get missed in editing! (I also red-dye words, sentences, or paragraphs I'm feeling shaky on, so I can spot them easily and come back later when I get a better idea to fix it.) And if I decide to completely change a section I'm writing, I'll often copy the original version, paste it at the bottom of the doc in case I decide to change it back, and turn it a pastel color so I don't confuse old versions for the current text.
I also sometimes make calendars on Excel/Sheets if I really wanna keep track of time, and I often have a separate (and somewhat disorganized) doc for Notes on my longer fics. There's also a document where I write down potential lyrics options for There's Not a Word Yet chapter titles, but that's the only time I've done that for a fic.
43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?
I feel like someone asked me this a while back, so I've definitely thought about this! But honestly? A mystery or a time-travel fix-it...which I am well aware are two VASTLY different tropes lmao.
I've always been envious and in awe of well-written mystery/detective stories, because so many little details go into them to make them work. I'd love to build one of my own someday, but I have yet to find the right motivation to do so.
As far as time-travel fix-its go...they're just...they're so fun to read, because I love to see how one little change can affect an entire timeline (see also: Domino Effect) but they're also a LOT of work to write because it involved basically retelling a story that's already been written but in your own words and with a twist. Somehow writing something fully original comes easier to me than trying to build my writing around something else that already exists. But god I'd love to have the motivation to write one of 'em anyway! It'd be fun to decide how everything changes all because of one little difference in choice :3
5. How many WIPs do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?
Hahaha! Ha! Ha.
Many. So, so many.
I have a bad habit of starting projects and not finishing them, so I have a plethora scattered throughout my Google Docs files that are anywhere from multiple pages of unposted fic, all the way down to single-sentence unused prompts. Sometimes I left them behind because I lost motivation, though most times my hyperfixation shifted and I (sadly) couldn't focus on that fandom anymore.
But let's see...uh....I glanced through my older stuff first just to check for this hah. But for now I think I'm just gonna count what I'm either actively working on, or what I wish to continue when my motivation returns...because if you counted all the abandoned WIP's I've gathered over the years, I think the number would be close to 30, and I don't want to list them all up here. (But I'll drop it at the bottom of this post if you're curious***)
For one, I have two Marvel/IronDad fics I plan on finishing: one that's a shorter Mafia AU that's 2/3 complete, and a much longer (and heftier) multi-chapter fic that has been awaiting a new chapter for over a year I think. A Little Late On The Blood Work my beloved...I'll come back when I get inspiration again 🥺💞 I also have an old Jacksepticeye Egos fic called #SamLives that I've been wanting to continue for ages but haven't, along with a Night at the Museum fic (Jedtavius) that I at least need to finish the current arc for because the comment section is sad.
And MOST recently I've got a bunch for Hermitcraft/Empires/Traffic Life that I'm in the process of actively writing...which I believe add up to a total of six?? I think? THREE are partially posted/being updated (Through a Crack in the Void, Domino Effect, There's Not a Word Yet), and the OTHER three (two Team Rancher, and one that's literally Every Ship Under The Sun With Some Found Family On Top) aren't gonna be on my plate until I finish some of the other ones.
(One of them is a cute 5+1 one-shot about Tango calling Jimmy "buddy" and Jimmy learning that "buddy" has a lot of different meanings depending on how Tango says it and who he's saying it to. The second one is an extension of a one-shot I already posted called Coming, Coming Home, where S8 HASA!Tango crash-lands in the mesa outside Tumble Town, and like - yeah. Yeah. I'd love to continue that one. And the LAST one is a Double-Life-based Witches/Familiars AU that started as Renchanting Duo and has since extended to every member of the Life series and even some Hermits.)
***ALL THE OLDER FICS I HAVE YET TO COMPLETE: I've got one for Doctor Who, a handful for JSE Egos - #SamLives - one for Night at the Museum, one for Encanto. Six for Marvel/IronDad (including a Mafia fic, a SPN AU, a Peter-gets-shot and Tony-goes-dad-mode hurt/comfort, and A Little Late On the Blood Work which as I said I'm just longing to get inspiration to return to). A witch/familiar Supernatural AU fic and an SPN time travel fix-it that I barely started. There's a TangoTek one-shot I've abandoned featuring his rage moments from both LL and DL. I also have an old fic from high school for a game called Ib that I'd love to revamp someday...and my Original FanFic that started it all, which was for Harry Potter, and I was like 12, and it will never EVER see the light of day. My god. It's...it's rough.
#I'd apologize for the length but YOU ASKED ME THREE QUESTIONS#and the last one was a DOOZY#Ask the Mage#Fanfiction Writing Ask Game#Ask Game#unpredictably-ghostly asks
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Do you know how many WIP you have? How many of them do you work with at the same time? And what's your head? Bagdad after Godzilla visited the city or it cleans as a library?
If you count the ones i've actually started on, I have like six of them currently. If you count the ones that i've just written up a sort of summary/outline for, literally dozens lmao. Honestly, I try not to start more than a handful at a time. I work on whatever I'm in the mood for or have ideas for. I'm usually in the mood to work on at least one of them, but yeah, sometimes I do have to force myself to work on them. Some times more than others. Right now (not counting the series, so just oneshots) I'm simultaneously working on three of them.
I've just started on the john wick series. I have a ton of ideas for it, but I'm still at a loss for how to connect them all, realistically. It also doesn't help that I don't really know much about the john wick universe; I've only watched parts and pieces of it. I'm thinking about holding off on the series until I've watched more, but then I'm afraid I'd never get to it lol.
The grimm series is something I'm planning to see all the way through to the end. As in, the end of the series. I'm hoping I don't get bored of it before then, because I hate stories that just leave you hanging and I don't want to do that if I can help it lol. That's partially why I'm kind of iffy on starting a truble series because, if I try to follow the storyline, it's going to get very old, very quick (for me). If I do end up doing a truble series, there will either be a lot of time skips to where she disappeared and started working for hw, or maybe I'll just start it then.
As for my head...it's an even mix, honestly. It's a fucking mess most of the time, but I try to organize it at least a little bit and get my ideas down into words right away before I can twist them out of proportion lol. I'll get into these moods too, where I'll organize everything in my docs into really nice folders like prompts, wips, finished fics and then by the series and the character. Then I'll just give up for a looong time and throw everything in to google documents and worry about finding it later lmao. that's probably the adhd though lol
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NWOD ASK EVENTTTT
how do you choose what pov to write from? do you prefer the beginning/middle/end of a fic?
oh yay, an ask!
i always write in 3rd person. growing up, almost all the books i read were in third person, and that seems to be the default for fanfiction as well. to be more specific, i generally write in 3rd person limited, meaning that the story is being narrated by someone who can see inside the main character's head, but not anyone else's. POV can switch, but usually each scene only shows a single character's internal monologue. for my current WIP (my zane-centric whump series) this character is usually zane, but some scenes show the internal monologue/emotions of other characters, such as jay, pixal, and lloyd.
other types of 3rd person include: 3rd person omniscient, where the narrator can see into everyone's head at once, allowing for a number of perspectives in any given scene, and 3rd person objective, where no character's internal monologue is given, requiring the reader to figure it out from the dialogue and actions. i don't usually use these perspectives because i find omniscient to be a bit too much for me to juggle, and i find objective to be too limiting (people who can pull these off effectively, i am applauding you).
as for other perspectives, i'm not sure why i don't write in 1st person. it has similarities to 3rd person limited, but can add an additional layer of the character's biases if you do it right. i'll have to practice 1st at some point. with 2nd, in fic spaces, this is used almost exclusively for reader-inserts, which i neither write nor read (no shade to anyone who does, it's just not my thing). i did once read an excellent fic with a transmasc main character written in second person. with this POV, it kind of forced me as a reader to recognize what the main character was going through as a dysphoric, closeted trans man and apply it to myself (a mostly non-dysphoric transmasc nonbinary who didn't know half of those words yet). i read this fic before i really understood my own gender identity, and i think it helped me internalize some things i otherwise might not have gotten until a while later. i can't find the fic right now, which is really a shame... i know the fandom was Danny Phantom, and that the fic is several years old by now, but not much else.
another usage of 2nd person is in choose-your-own-adventure type stories. since the reader is an active participant in the story, 2nd person is a natural choice. i don't have any fics in this format that i know off the top of my head, but The Stanley Parable is an excellent example- it's a video game where the narrator continuously refers to you, Stanley, or the player. it's also just has really excellent writing in general. if you're into weird time loop shenanigans, i'd suggest giving it a try.
ok, i spent more time on that question than i meant to... as for the second, i usually start with wherever i have an idea for. oftentimes, this is the beginning, but sometimes its an event that doesn't happen until 2/3rds of the way through. my current WIP is a series of oneshots based off of 30 prompts, and i've been writing them in nearly random order. whenever i have an idea for a prompt, i write it down, and then flesh it out over time. i also have an original story that i've been slowly rotating in my mind for many years, and the scenes in that story are written in whatever order i come up with them in, and then shuffled around and connected until they make sense.
tangentially related, i have a document on my computer called "overflowing trash bin in the sky" (referencing a piece of advice from Spilling Ink: A Young Writer's Handbook, which i would recommend to pretty much anyone who wants to get started with writing fiction. it's aimed at kids, but i continue to use advice from it to this day). this document has everything i've ever cut from another document, as well as what it was cut from and why. sometimes you have to kill your darlings, but sometimes those darlings would be better off in the freezer until you find somewhere better for them- maybe with a few changes or adjustments.
thank you for the ask, hope you don't mind that i ended up rambling for.... a while, lol. i'm very passionate about this stuff, apparently.
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Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to become a Villain
Day No: 14
Prompt: "I'll be right behind you."
Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries
Medium: fic
Trigger Warnings: none
SFW
Going deeper into the new Ruin was a terrible idea.
Neither Pendrick or Murdoch found anything close to a second exit where the possible air currents could have been coming from. There were several small openings, and they may lead to a cave system somewhere. But it wasn’t to the direct surface.
They had also been coming across numerous amounts of journals and paper logs that detailed the years prior to the Age of Darkness. James wanted to take all of it. Instead, there were five important ones in his pack and everything else was noted for research teams to find and document. Murdoch had opened a few lockers and cabinets to find weapons from the Old World. He made notes on where they were. There were also more computers that they kept coming across. And other, flat things, that likely also did the same thing as the computers, were strewn everywhere. James fit some of the smaller ones into his sack.
It was a mistake to come deeper and deeper as they were finding more evidence that this Old World building had something military in nature. Possibly criminal as well. The Church of Light would be disappointed at all of this below the surface of Portia. The Flying Pigs and the Civil Corp would be interested. As would Duvos.
Especially Duvos.
No, James was very glad he didn’t convince Llewellyn to come with them. This wouldn’t have been a happy trip for him. Even without the murderous bot. He read over another log, another weapon log, and wished he could simply burn it himself without having to tell anyone. William would be against it, as even bad knowledge was still knowledge that one might need in the future. The Church of Light would commend him.
He also wasn’t sure if he wanted that.
At another dead end, one that may have led outside originally, they stopped in frustration again. His water was half gone, food almost. William hadn’t eaten or drank anything yet, but his pack still had the computer in it that took up plenty of space. It’s likely he’s getting tired from carrying it. At the next area that had a couch and a chair, he dropped down in the latter. “Let’s rest for a few minutes.”
Murdoch, to his surprise, did take the couch. He rummaged through his pack for water and one of the snacks he packed before breaking into them. After eating the snack and reaching for another, he said, “We’re not going to find another way out this way. We should head back.”
“Oh, and I thought we were having such a wonderful adventure,” James joked, “You remember those Ruins by Atara? Everyone ripped them apart to the point where they were collapsing from our weight and small hits.”
He smiled. “They closed that after I knocked down the support by accident.”
“Accident, my foot. You didn’t want them to keep it open and gouge more young builders.” Murdoch chuckled a small bit, resting against the couch’s back. “Wouldn’t it be a trip if we got back there and it’s already cleared out with Brackenreid waiting impatiently for us to return?”
“Like those stupid builder galas,” Murdoch said. James watched him tilt his head, as he went through his memories for something. “Do you remember the one that he asked you to set off fireworks to get people out?”
He laughed a small bit. “Highland Civil Corp has hated me since then.”
Murdoch nodded. “I remember seeing Brackenreid rubbing the back of a child while he searched for someone in the exiting crowd.”
“Johnny? No, he wasn’t even born yet,” James said.
Murdoch shook his head. “I think it was Llewellyn.”
Pendrick now tilted his head when he thought about it. “Ohh.” He had to going through a few more memories before he picked out details. “His Mother was a builder. Yelinda Watts, married her corpsman, which was a bit scandalous among both sides, and used to travel, dig, and build while she was pregnant with both her kids.”
Whatever Murdoch was about to talk about what stopped when they both heard something mechanical out in the corridors. “We didn’t start any of the old systems, did we?” he asked.
“No.” James pulled out his sword. “I think we set off another security bot.”
Following beside, they both headed to the door frame of the room. It didn’t take long to hear something slamming down on the floor as it walked around. “Right where we need to head as well,” Murdoch said, annoyed at the situation.
“Well, better to sneak past, then.” James went first, his lighter pack an advantage. He managed to get past the bot, the same type with stripes of brown over its green and orange color scheme. William followed, slower to keep quiet. The bot had done its patrol walk down and switched around, just in time to see the other man walking by.
“Intruder alert!”
Well, there went being quiet. William had the bag off and his staff out, ready to fight. James jumped in along side him. The bot focused on William, as it detected that there was something in his bag that he wasn’t supposed to have. It shoved James to the side before attacking. “Go!” he shouted, rolling under an arm.
“Don’t even joke, Murdoch,” he yelled, hacking at another arm. He was successful at slashing into it, then saw the metal melt back together before he was thrown again.
“James, just go. I’ll be right behind you!”
Those words had him up and after something in William’s bag. Picking through, he managed to find a left behind smoke bomb that he had thrown in after the last Hazardous Ruin trip. Lighting it, he rolled it under for it to start spewing blue smoke when it stopped just by the bot. It went quickly, and started getting sucked up into its vents. It started chugging, and William thought they would manage to escape when it started slowing down.
“Not leaving without you, William.”
Two arms shot out and wrapped around both of them. James’s sword was stuck to his side, making it unusable unless he wanted to cut himself. The bo staff was dented by the force of the squeeze, and William had to angle away as the sharper area was near his head. “Intruders will be kept until Security can come.”
“Security was the one that sent us!” James tried.
“Invalid response. You do not have clearance or credentials.”
William started getting worried as something was off about the bot. The brown streaks weren’t paint, as there wasn’t a pattern as the orange and green. He had a terrible thought they were dried blood. Something opened in its chest and he saw something white among the blackness. “James!” The other man paled at the sight. If they didn’t break free, they were going to end up like the skeletons in the cavity.
Focused on wiggling as best they could, so James could swing the sword and William to just drop down, neither noticed, nor did the bot, a third person sneaking in. Swinging, an electrified pickhammer came down on the head. The first cracked the protective dome, chips coming off to expose the inner surveillance system. James barely registered that it was his pickhammer from Sandrock before the second one smashed perfectly into a control section of sorts.
The bot stopped, the electrical shock shutting down the poor thing. James and William felt the arms holding them in place loosen before they were dropped on the ground. Both shuffled back when the bot fell forward. The pickhammer was still in the ‘head’ as the person wielding it had let go when the heavier object started falling. James curiously looked it over. The electrified property came from a series of copper wires going over the head and connected to a battery powered with a condensed power stone.
The two of them stared at the person that had landed the fatal blows to the bot. Something green was on Llewellyn’s hands as he looked back at both of them. The young man was fidgeting with the strap of his own pack, suddenly self conscious. Another pickhammer was on his back, this one done in iron and chromium. William was shocked to see a vintage rifle hanging along his side. Torva, George, and Henry stopped when they saw the bot on the ground.
Llewellyn nervously asked, “A-are you guys ookay?”
#whumptober2022#fic#i'll be right behind you#murdoch mysteries#william murdoch#james pendrick#my time at portia au#the order goes#13 12 14
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till the stars fall out of the sky
Hi. It's been almost two years but I hope you enjoy this short + messy krii7y piece :)
--
The thing about it being the end of the world is how little time there is to prepare. No matter how many people seem ready with their canned foods and underground bunkers, or even the discarded pamphlets scattered throughout the streets filled with government advice as if, maybe, those in power had an idea of what was to come, no one is actually prepared for what they’re faced with; the end of everything.
And it’s terrifying.
Smitty had so many plans. A few weeks ago those plans held some dread, had his heart skipping at just the mere idea of change, and yet now his heart only aches.
In front of him the website mocks him. The screen is dim to preserve the little battery he has left in his laptop, but the floor plan of the apartment is still too bright, painting a pointless fantasy for his eyes to gaze longingly at.
He should have moved by now, but his fear kept him back. Rooted him in what he’s familiar with.
Now it’s too late.
A quiet ding snaps him out of his haze and the second his eyes settle on the notification the knot in his chest loosens, smoothed out by the person miles and miles away.
John (10:02): so it turns out the world really is ending
Smitty snorts. To his embarrassment, there’s already a smile stretching across his face.
Smitty (10:03): you’re just now realizing?
John (10:03): i mean can you blame me? how was i supposed to know all those youtube videos were real? but today i actually left the house for the first time in like, two weeks and it looks like i’m in hell
John (10:04): at first i thought i was dead because what the fuck, right? the sky is fucking red, but then i saw someone walking their dog as if it were normal so now i’m assuming this is what everyone’s been talking about
Smitty (10:04): have i ever told you i hate you
John (10:05): uh hello? what the fuck
Smitty (10:05): i’ve been stressed out of my fucking mind and you’ve been clueless this entire time?? go fuck yourself john. like actually take that dildo you thought i forgot about and fuck. off.
John (10:06): HELLO ? you said you’d never bring that up
Smitty (10:07): the world is ending dickhead. i’m allowed to embarrass you one last time
Smitty bites at the inside of his cheek, suppressing the urge to laugh as he waits for his friend’s response. It takes longer for John to reply this time but he’s probably writing a paragraph that makes absolutely no sense and only serves to insult Smitty whichever way he can.
After a quiet minute, John finally responds.
John (10:08): don’t say that
Smitty blinks, not expecting such a short reply.
Smitty (10:08): don’t say what?
Half of him is still expecting this to lead into a snarky remark and he prepares for John’s little ha-ha, got you, but by John’s next message, it’s clear he’s no longer joking.
In an instant, the mood has not only shifted into something serious, but into pure heartbreak as well.
John (10:09): “one last time”
John (10:09): it makes it sound like you’ve already lost hope
Smitty (10:09): john…there’s nothing left for us. they’ve done all they can but there’s no fixing something so completely destroyed, and at some point you just have to accept that it’s over
John (10:10): this isn’t the end
A pause.
John (10:10): i still haven’t met you yet
Smitty releases a long, shaky breath. He’s tried so hard to not think of the mistake he made those weeks ago, yet it seems like there’s always something to remind him of it.
It’s possible John isn’t even mentioning it now, but Smitty is so consumed by guilt that his mind wanders there regardless. The end of the world hanging over everyone’s head has only made it worse, dug it up again and shoved it into his every waking thought, constantly reminding him of what could’ve been.
Mocking the opportunity he ruined.
Smitty (10:12): i’m sorry. i should be there.
John (10:12): you don’t have to keep apologizing, smit. you had your reasons
Smitty shakes his head in disbelief at the message, biting down hard on his lip the moment his eyes begin to burn, blinking back unshed tears.
He hates how nice John is. How even as they face down their last days on earth there isn’t a part of him that’s angry, or at the very least, disappointed.
Smitty (10:13): my reasons were selfish and stupid and it’s because of them that we have to message each other as the world literally crumbles around us
John (10:14): being alone does suck, and it would’ve been nice to have some company, but i still don’t blame you
It probably isn’t supposed to come across as tragic as it does, but Smitty’s shoulders sag with grief anyway.
Briefly his eyes flick over to the corner of his laptop, locking onto the battery life. His heart twists painfully, constricting tight as it flashes, down to its remaining minutes of life.
John (10:16): you know...i still look at it sometimes
John (10:16): it probably sounds so lame but sometimes i imagine how it would’ve been. i’m not a morning person but i think you could’ve made me one, and you hate staying up late but i think i could’ve shown you why sometimes i never fall asleep
John (10:17): i even imagine how it would’ve been decorated. like, from the pictures you’ve sent me of your place it looks so plain and i think about all the trips we’d have to go on before we could agree on some simple shit just for the living room. but i wouldn’t want you to feel bad about your taste or anything so i’d probably let you pick out a bunch of things anyway
Smitty presses his face into his shoulder for just a moment, overcome by so many emotions. A part of him can guess where this is going and his chest nearly caves in at the thought, knows why it’s happening now, of all times.
Smitty (10:19): ... i look at it everyday, imagining the same
Smitty (10:19): i was looking at it before you messaged earlier...can you believe it’s still available? how has no one else wanted it?
John (10:20): because it was always meant to be ours
Ours.
His gaze drifts back to the floor plan still on the screen, and not for the last time, he yearns. He thinks even after everything is said and done, his longing will ripple through the endless void of space.
Thinks heartache as great as his can never die, instead linger like a mournful ghost that will haunt even the brightest stars.
Smitty (10:21): i’m sorry i ruined it
John (10:22): i’m sorry i didn’t try harder
Smitty (10:22): john, none of this is your fault. it was my idea and i couldn’t even go through with it
Smitty (10:23): we had so many plans and i shattered them all because i was too scared to leave
John (10:24): but i wanted it more than i ever admitted, and instead of fighting to get you here i didn’t say anything
Smitty (10:24): i wanted this to happen more than you think, believe me. but we know how my thoughts can get, so i don’t think there was anything you could’ve said that would’ve change my mind
John (10:25): what about i love you?
Smitty startles, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t expect this. His stomach still does a silly little swoop, the butterflies that are always present when he talks with John suddenly coming to life, fluttering rapidly.
Smitty (10:25): john?
John (10:26): if the world is going to end no matter what, then fuck it right? i’ve been keeping my mouth shut for over two years and even if now is probably the worst time because i can’t see your face and my laptop is about to die, i can’t go out without telling you i’ve been in love with you for half the time i’ve known you
John (10:27): and the time before that i really, really, really liked you
Smitty chokes on his tears, stopped caring about holding them back the second he saw i love you.
Smitty (10:27): me too
Smitty (10:27): i think i’ve been in love with you since you first messaged me that stupid one-liner about artists
John (10:28): oh god, i forgot that was the first thing i sent you
John (10:28): in my defense i was extremely bored and your page was filled with memes, i thought you would’ve enjoyed it
Smitty (10:29): i fucking loved it
John (10:30): i regretted it the moment you sent me a pic of yourself for the first time, though
Smitty (10:30): what? why?
John (10:31): because you were prettiest person i’d ever seen and i hated that the first message i sent you was about dicks
Smitty laughs, the sound croaky and awful and usually he’d be embarrassed about the noise but he sits alone in his living room, completely consumed by the messages and the guy sending them.
Smitty (10:32): who would’ve known that would be the way into my heart
John (10:32): after about a week of talking to you i knew
John (10:33): i think that’s when i started falling in love
Smitty (10:33) god, i hate that we’re saying this now. i wish both of us said something sooner
John (10:34): yeah...it would’ve been nice to finally hold you, but i’m happy you finally know
John (10:34): and no matter what happens from now till...the end, i want you to know i love you
John (10:35): i always have, and i always will
i love you-
The screen flickers once before it fades to black, the battery completely drained. Smitty’s fingers hover over the keyboard, his pinky so close to hitting ‘enter’.
It takes longer than it should to register in his brain, and for a few minutes Smitty sits and stares at the screen. He blinks rapidly through his tears, can still see i love you every time he blinks but his heart beats wildly, aware of the inky darkness surrounding him and the deafening silence, no longer interrupted by the quiet dings of messages.
Like a dam finally unleashed, his tears fall at once and a sob racks through his body, forcefully pushed out of his quivering mouth. With his legs curled to his chest and his face buried in his bony knees, he cries out in anguish, fingers clutching his sweatpants like a lifeline.
He doesn’t move, stays curled in the corner of his couch long enough to see the last bits of sunrise fall over his furniture, and stays even longer to hear the shouts of panic outside his front door, aware but uncaring, of everything ending around him.
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Based off the prompt: “So the sky is still raining fire and meteors, and my laptop is running low on battery, but I wanted to say that I like you, a lot. Even though we haven’t ever talked in real life, if this is the end of the world then I’m really happy that I got to meet you.”
#krii7y#i was going through my old documents of fic ideas and prompts#and came across this one#and for some reason i couldn't stop thinking about krii7y#so even though i'm not really in this fandom anymore#and i haven't written a krii7y fic in actual years#i couldn't resist#this is also my first time writing angst in many#many years#idk what was going through my head#sorry#i don't think it was too bad though since it was pretty messy#but that's what happens when you don't write in forever#anyways#if you read the story#and you're reading these tags#i hope you enjoyed the story#writings
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Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 1
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.
Word Count: 1871 (ahaha, yea)
Reader: Female
Warning: parole officers might be triggering??? idk
Author’s Note: I’ve decided to end my 141 part Wattpad Sebastian Stan imagine book and post on Tumblr instead :’), a happy day. Also, I’M SORRY THAT I LIKE SLOW BURN SERIES OK? Schedule for this series is every Thursday. ALSO IF YOU HAVE TITLE IDEAS FOR THIS SERIES, LMK! PLEASE
Masterlist
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
=====
The sound of your heels echoed throughout the dimly lit room as you make your way through the exhibit. The walls take you back in time, reading how Captain America came to be and all his past accomplishments. They even updated from the last time you were here, documenting the events on the Blip.
You didn’t even know where you were going, absently letting your emotions and feet lead to where it felt you needed to be.
“For a former spy, you’re not really good at sneaking up on someone.” Rhodes’ voice greets you once you open up the curtain to a different area. A small smile sneaks its way across your face seeing the two men in front of you.
“Bit out of practice.” You spit back, walking towards them. “It’s nice to see you again, Rhodie.” You open your arms out to him and he gladly takes the hug. “Hopefully life’s been treatin’ you well.”
“For the most part,” He chuckles out while pulling away from the embrace. You move on to the other man, him happily wrapping his arms around your waist as you wrap yours around his shoulders.
Sam lets out a breath into the crook of your neck before pulling back. “You doing okay?” You ask, looking at his face for any sign of emotion. He nods but there was something in his eye that told otherwise.
You open your mouth to push him for the real answer but Rhodes cuts you off, “Well, I have to get going. It was good seeing you, (Y/L/N), hopefully, we work together soon. Remember what I said, Sam.” With that, he leaves the room to leave you and Sam alone.
The room fills with silence as the two of you turn to the iconic suit and shield in front of you. You try to watch Sam from the corner of your eye but he just stands with his back straight and his eyes forward.
“You know, I’m sure Steve would understand.” You decide to say, clasping your hands in front of you. “I didn’t become as close as you did, but from my time with him during the Blip, he tried his best to help everyone. He had a lot of responsibilities and issues of his own along with having a whole country looking up to him...
“It was a lot… he opened to me about it one night before… you know.” You admit which makes him finally look at you. “He told me what he was going to do and all I could do is support him… I asked him what he was going to do with the mantle and he said give it to you.” Turning your head, you make eye contact with him. “I asked him if he was sure.”
He lets out a snort at that, shaking his head at you. “Really gotta do me like that?” He wipes his hand across his face then stuffs his hand in his pockets as he turns to face you. “I thought we were having a nice bonding moment and then you had to drop me like that?”
You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips at his whining. “I’m being serious, Sam, stop.” You hit him on the shoulder. “He said there was no doubt in his mind that you do what needed to be done with the shield. He trusted you and your judgment, Falcon.” You emphasize his hero name which he just rolls his eyes at you.
“Yea, I’m sure he did.” He smiles and then changes the subject, “How’s parole treatin’ ya, still got the collar on?” He gestures to your ankle causing you to lift your dress pant leg, flashing the electric bracelet around your ankle. He lets out a hearty chuckle at it. “Still can’t believe that they have you on a leash.”
“Price you gotta pay for freedom.” You shrug and drop the cloth. There’s a beat of silence between the two of you, both of you taking a glance back at the exhibit and the shield.
“Have you talked with Bucky recently?”
“No, I was going to ask you.” Your heart sinks at the realization. “We’ve been texting a bit but I haven’t seen him since I spent the weekend with him a couple of weeks ago.” You shyly admit and look down at your feet.
“Weekend, huh?”
“Shut it, Sam.” You knock your foot against his. “We didn’t do anything, he doesn’t like me like that. Plus, he wouldn’t even let me spend the night. I had to go to a hotel, he sleeps on the floor, Sam! I’m worried about him.” It took weeks for you to convince him to let you come over and you finally knew why when you step into his apartment. It made your heart sink, it looked like if a Hydra cell got a remodel. “He has two chairs and a tv.”
“Living modestly I see.” He snorts out, covering up whatever he was actually thinking. It’s now your turn to roll your eyes at him, frustrated that he isn’t willing to talk about this. “Hey, he’s still figuring stuff out, okay? He just got all his memories back and he’s still working on living with his past. You should know better than I do to give him time.” His tone is soft as he lightly scolds you. You hang your head at his words, knowing he’s right.
It took some time for you to come to terms with your past when you turned yourself in after Hydra and SHIELD fell. You took accountability for your actions during your years at Hydra and spent a few years in jail before Steve took action to help you get on parole. That didn’t mean you weren’t fully recovered.
“When are you joining me on the field, anyway?” Sam changes the topic noticing how you went silent and your eyes looked past him. “I could use you on some of my recon missions.”
A large smile forms on your face at the mention of your parole. “A couple more check-ins and I’m good, I think.” You excitedly inform, “They actually want to talk to me about something, and then it’s the last three months. Saving the world made my good behavior skyrocket.”
“I’m sure it did.” He smiles, “Well, let me know what happens. I’m heading down to Louisiana soon and my sisters want to meet you. She heard about your work with the soup kitchens in New York and she wanted some insight.”
“Really? Give her my number, you know I’d be happy to talk with her. I’ve been thinking about trying to get my officer to convince the big guys to expand my tracking radar so I reach out more.” You start to ramble about the ideas you’ve been having for more community service actions. During the blip, Steve got you into volunteer work and it sparked something inside of you. He said it might give you a new purpose and he couldn’t have been more right.
The two of you spend the rest of the day together, catching up on everything that’s been going on. You didn’t realize how much you missed his snarky comments and banter until he smothered you in it, “making up for lost time”, he said. He continues the bullying by texting back and forth for the next few days.
It was nice to have a friend after everything that happened over the last few years. Steve and Nat were gone so the friendships you built up during the blip were just a memory now. Yea, Bucky and you were friends but it was a bit more complicated than that.
It’s a few weeks after that and they’ve already named some prick the new Captain America. You were frustrated at Sam but you realized that he couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. Especially since when you reached out to him and he was more furious than you were. Bucky was a whole other story. When the press conference aired, he immediately called you and went off about Sam. You couldn’t offer answers so you just told him to talk to him about it. This didn’t involve you.
Now, you were sat at some random government office in DC. You were beyond nervous, leg bouncing and fingers tapping. Kevin, your sweet parole officer, had called you in for an emergency meeting. He didn’t mention anything about the content of it but he assured you not to worry. It didn’t help, though, your mind was scrambling trying to think of anything you could’ve done to break your parole or anywhere you could’ve gone that went outside your tracking radar.
“(Y/L/N)?” The familiar voice echoes through the lobby makes your head snap up. Kevin, your knight in a cashmere sweater, stands there with his hands in his pants pockets. He nods his head, gesturing for you to follow him.
He leads you down a long hallway, stopping at the end of it and holding the door open for you. You send him a grateful smile before entering the office. It was very different from his usual office. The tall windows lined the wall from floor to ceiling, making the already large room feel even more spacious. It was a bit unsettling compared to his close-knit office space located in an old house on the outskirts of DC.
Kevin moves you two to the large conference table on the other side of the room, having you sit before he does. He takes the chair at the head of the table, sighing as he opens the folder and takes a few papers out.
“Sign these.” He slides them over to you but you furrow your eyebrows in response.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re being released.” He announces, leaning back in his chair with a tight-lipped smile on his face. Your jaw drops and your heart picks up but you can’t help but question it. You quickly compose yourself and look down at the papers.
“Isn’t it a bit too early?” You ask while briefly scanning the papers. “I still have two months left, not that I’m not grateful but where is this coming from?” This was happening too suddenly, Kevin was good with warning you about the activities that go on behind the scenes of your parole and he didn’t even mention the thought of an early release.
The brunette man lets out a sigh, running his hair through his long hair. He then leans his elbows on the table with his head propped up on his palms, he opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by the office door opening.
The new Captain America and his sidekick come waltzing in, a few of his goons following as well. He didn’t need the uniform or shield for you to recognize him since his face has been plastered on every channel since they came forward with him. He’s all everyone could talk about.
“He released you.” You barely hear Kevin as your mind goes into spirals. What the hell did this guy want? Why is he even here? What the hell did he want with you?
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#avengers imagines#james buchanan barnes#james barnes#tfatws#avengers fanfic#mcu#james buchanan barnes x reader
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Fearful Avoidant Attachment and the Single Spy
Caveat: I’m not a counselor of any sort, and I’m applying labels to fictional characters. Don’t take this too seriously.
This post has been kicking around in different forms in my prompt document for awhile. I will start posting my Yavin fic this weekend. A major element of this fic will be the dynamic between Theron and the playable character/love interest. Their interactions will be informed by how I view his attachments. I’ve put some of this into the fic series already.
“Attachment” in the Star Wars universe is the idea, according to George Lucas, that Jedi should love everyone but not get attached. “Attached” in this context is possession, greed, being willing to do things for individuals rather than the greater good, and ultimately the fear of loss. Attachment is a negative concept in Jedi philosophy.
However, I would argue that while this philosophy is in the back of Theron’s head, Jedi attachment concepts are not what makes Theron’s personal life messy. It’s the personal context surrounding that teaching and his life events that shape this. So let’s look at real life attachment theory.
In its most basic form, attachment theory is the idea that children need to develop a positive relationship with a caregiver to turn out ok. If the child is neglected, then they will have problems forming healthy attachments to others. There’s a lot of caveats to this theory. Some put the threshold of ‘must have positive relationship by x age’ to age 2 or age 5. Others state that this is problematic, because if a child loses their caregiver and passes into the hands of a less affectionate or downright abusive caregiver, then their positive attachment formation by age x doesn’t count for much.
There are several different types of attachment that a person can have. A secure attachment is what most healthy relationships are rooted in. People feel safe and secure within themselves and within the relationship. Jedi can be attached in this fashion, even if they don’t call it this; the Jedi have orderly boundaries and a clear understanding of what their associations entail. They have care systems for younglings and padawans, which were like pre-modern apprenticeships. They are secure within themselves as Jedi and in their relationships outside the order. They are at peace.
An insecure attachment has a flaw in it; something is wrong in how the person relates to themselves and others in relationships, platonic, romantic or otherwise. One type is dismissive or avoidant; the attachments are actively avoided, so the person is often isolated and rejects others and their friendly overtures. Another type is anxious or preoccupied; people tend to get very clingy or possessive with anyone they latch onto, which can cause the relationship to self-destruct (hi, Anakin).
Then there is fearful avoidant attachment, the label I think fits Theron Shan, our favorite high-quality spy and absolute emotional disaster. In theory, Theron tries to avoid deep emotional attachments because he’s scared of being left behind or not having those attachments reciprocated. At the same time, he desperately wants those attachments and relationships, but the potential of failure makes him avoid or even sabotage the relationship. That results in an on-going war between Theron and his feelings. To quote Psychalive, “the person [he wants] to go to for safety is the same person [he is] frightened to be close to. As a result, [he has] no organized strategy for getting [his] needs met by others.”
Why does Theron have attachment issues?
Some accuse Satele Shan or Jace Malcom of being “bad parents.” There’s a problem with this premise: although there is a biological relationship, neither Satele nor Jace had a parent-child relationship with Theron. Jace didn’t even know Theron existed until the child was 26, so he couldn’t act in any capacity. Satele gave Theron up to be raised by someone else; she opted out of the role of mother and did not talk to him as mother-and-son until Theron was 26. There isn’t an abusive or neglectful relationship here because there isn’t a relationship, period. Much like romantic relationships, it’s better to have no relationship than a bad one. Jace and Satele didn’t raise Theron. They were strangers to him until he was an adult. They were never his caretakers. Who did Theron have attachments to?
Theron was raised by a Jedi named Ngani Zho, who had been Satele Shan’s master when she was a padawan. After Satele gave birth in a cave on some planet, Zho took the child and raised him as his own son. This was irregular, honestly. Jedi younglings that express some sort of control over the Force are typically put into a creche at the Jedi Temple; we’ve seen this in the Star Wars prequel films. Guss Tuno references this in SWTOR, as he was chagrinned to be in class with a bunch of five-year-olds in bathrobes. Theron was raised by Zho directly and they were constantly traveling, based upon comments we read in The Lost Suns comic and in the novel Annihilation. Theron never entered the creche because he never manifested signs he was Force-sensitive – not even a little like Guss.
Zho traveled with Theron until the boy was an adolescent. Then, Theron was told by Zho to travel to the Jedi Temple at Haashimut to receive more training; he could do no more for him. The trip through a desert nearly killed the boy. When Theron had recovered, it fell to Master Till’in to tell him he would not be a Jedi. Ever.
Instead of telling Theron or notifying Satele about the boy’s lack of Force aptitude, Zho sent him onward and then disappeared. There is no indication that Zho told anyone where he was going or why. When Theron met Zho again at age 23, the Master’s mind was scrambled and confused; he couldn’t give any answers to Theron about anything. Was there a mission he had been set on? Or did he just wander off on his own?
For storytelling purposes, it’s convenient to pair Zho’s departure with the aftermath of the Treaty of Coruscant. In the year Theron turned 13 (3653 BBY), the Great Galactic War ended with the Treaty of Coruscant, wherein the Sith Empire enforced demands on the Republic. The Sith won. Zho leaving could be tied to this (through a mission or quixotic urge), but the source material isn’t clear on the timing.
Theron’s life suddenly became very uncertain. His entire life had been built up to becoming a Jedi. To some extent, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong, Theron probably felt like he was a failure. We know he tried to fix this; in The Lost Suns, he acknowledged pursuing access to the Force through the Matukai Force tradition – being an ascetic. In Annihilation, he recalled and took particular umbrage at the “arrogance” of the Jedi – those that made him feel like any other path was second (or third or less)-best. This diminished over time, but the revelation about his lack of Force Sensitivity probably left Theron feeling very insecure about himself and who he was as an adolescent/young teen.
In terms of his relationships, Zho was gone with no forwarding address. The man Theron called his father was no longer reachable, and for another ten years, there would be no closure as to what happened to him. Zho had actively endangered Theron by sending him through a desert to Haashimut. Did he gamble that the boy’s Force Sensitivity would manifest in a life-threatening crisis or something? Who knows? Theron never went into the Jedi creche, so he didn’t have close peers or friends beyond pen pals at best. Theron had not spoken to his bio parents at all to this point, and he probably didn’t know many (if any) non-Force Sensitive kids. With his expulsion from Jedi society, Theron’s entire relationship network was gone.
This is important to understand -- Theron had been raised to not have attachments that would lead to selfishness or fear of loss, but he was raised to be able to love and care for others. He lived in a structure that fostered good psychological attachments (secure attachments) to the order and to his fellow sentients without possessiveness or jealousy. Theron knew his mother gave him up. He knew one day Zho would give his care over to another Master. He knew one day, he would leave the Temple to go out into the galaxy. Theron knew how the galaxy worked and his role in it...
..and then it was torn away from him. No more masters, no more knowledge of what came next, no way to ever work with his mother as a Jedi. His life to that point had been an illusion -- he was never able to access the Force, and Zho knew it. This left Theron as insecurely attached, as nothing that he anticipated for his life would ever happen, and he knew nobody that would accompany him into this new life.
External to all this, the Republic Theron was raised to serve was on the losing end of war. How the galaxy worked, as far as Theron knew to that point, was going to change. After Till’in told Theron the truth, all we know is that he spent some time in Haashimut before going elsewhere. We the viewer have no idea what happened to Theron from adolescence until he was 16, when he entered SIS per Annihilation. This may be a canon math/timing error, or it could be reasonable; Theron might have been able to get permission to join a government organization at 16. If Theron was in foster care or a ward of the state or something else, whoever was involved didn’t make an impact worthy of mention thus far in SWTOR canon.
Theron described Zho in The Lost Suns as “never reliable.” That was a 23-year-old looking back. Yet, he referred to him as his father in Annihilation three years later, and even eight years later in SWTOR: KotFE, he mentions that “Master Zho would be proud.” This seems contradictory. Additionally, in both The Lost Suns and Annihilation, SIS Director Marcus Trant expressed concern about Theron and his issues. Theron was a workaholic. Being a workaholic is actually a sign of having attachment issues; a person attaches themselves to work, not people Theron expressed desires to run away, go on vacation, and do new stuff… but he never did these things – couldn’t get away from the job.
Attachment theory states that a child has difficulty with attachments if they are abused or somehow neglected by their caretaker. The desert march definitely strikes me as falling into one of those categories, but again, Zho’s logic isn’t readily offered up to the viewer, nor are many details about Theron’s life as a traveling youngling. That all said, Zho’s traumatic departure probably caused attachment issues that had no other herald.
Why do the labels “fearful” and “avoidant” fit Theron?
Theron Shan as the player met him in Forged Alliance SWTOR was a professional. Flirting was ignored, mildly acknowledged, or, rarely, fully reciprocated. There was no physical contact between Theron and his asset. This doesn’t seem off or irregular until his romance is compared to that of Lana Beniko. She didn’t have the same issues expressing affection for her asset on Imp side; she touched their face and gave them a hug by the time the spies went under deep cover after Rakata Prime. Even if the player did not romance Lana, Lana herself was keen to make a team and bust open the conspiracy; she wasn’t as willing to go it alone.
Avoidant people tend to refrain from contact, and they like being independent. They don’t do well in teams. Sound familiar? Fearful avoidants also have the concern that they will fail their partner or that their partner will fail them. If the player was Imp side, Theron was a jerk well into the Rishi storyline. Eventually, Theron did come around. His dialogue and follow-up letter reflect the fact that he actually did want these connections and attachments. He enjoyed the time he had with the player.
This is particularly pronounced if Theron was romanced by the player on Rishi and Yavin; first physical contact occurred on Rishi with a kiss. If the player was Pubside, the fade-to-black and his comments on Yavin indicate they had sex. Those episodes of affection, paired with the Pub post-Yavin letter and dialogue, really emphasize the connection that was formed. Interestingly, Theron did not get a fade-to-black with the Imperial player. One might argue that he knew they were going to leave him, and so he couldn’t –wouldn’t—get attached.
…. And then Ziost happened. Theron refused to ask for help. He didn’t want to depend on that attachment. He was distant on Ziost, regardless of how far the relationship went, and if Pubside, he declined a drink afterwards.
Whatever transpired between Ziost and the Eternal Fleet Incident, it’s clear that a romanced Theron and the player never defined their relationship. There were certain boundaries that never were crossed. He’d “like to think” the player is dreaming of him, but he didn’t want to presume. Even after Theron got into a romantic relationship on Odessen, he still struggled with his ability to be attached, as evidence by his letters and expressions of affection and concern throughout the KotFE/KotET expansions.
One might argue that the traitor element of the Nathema Conspiracy was partially caused by Theron’s attachment issues: his independent streak, his inability to ask for help, his lack of faith in others to do the job right (not telling anyone the truth), his lack of faith in himself (his willingness to understand why the player might dump/exile him). If romanced, he gave one of his Holonet messages the subject line “I love you,” but even then, he did not clue the player into his self-made mission. Certainly, the Nathema Conspiracy happens because of Theron’s desperate desire to save the galaxy and the player at any cost – including the relationship itself and his life.
For those who let Theron live, the attachment issues have faded as Theron has gotten engaged/married and/or reformed a relationship with his bio parents… or the writers have moved on from Lana and Theron as companions. Regardless, we have to keep in mind that Theron is closing in on 40, and he has grown as a character since he first appeared in Star Wars media at age 23 (baby and adolescent only in flashbacks). His issues with his relationships, the Jedi, the Republic, and his bio parents have changed over the course of 17 years. In the last story patch, people who have romanced Theron received letters from both Theron and his mother about how good the player is for him, and it’s very satisfying to see how far he has come.
How does this label of ‘fearful avoidant’ manifest in your fanworks?
Since not everyone is into fic, I’ll drop this behind a cut.
Basically, my version of Theron wants love but is terrified of all the feelings and closeness that come with it. When people get close, he draws away, but still wants them to be close. Theron has had good relationships, but if it gets too serious, he runs. That’s the case for his last major relationship prior to my oc; his Mirialan girlfriend was drawing a tattoo to mark their relationship, and she wanted him to meet the parents. Theron noped out of there pretty hard by taking a long mission off Coruscant and sort of forgetting to tell her. There are several times where he takes a big step with Eva (my oc)– disclosure, physical intimacy, caring for her or letting her care for him – and then he just doesn’t contact her for the next few days. He dives into work to avoid her. Toward the end of their initial relationship, that will turn into weeks and months. He is freaked out when he does things with her that are intimate, sexual or not. He has a lot of fear that he will be left again, so he leaves first.
Theron also sets up a lot of rules and boundaries that the partner has to dance around to get in. After 300,000 words, I just completed a slow burn with the Rishi kiss, because Theron wouldn’t get involved with Eva until after the op to expose the conspiracy was over. There will be more rules once they get to Yavin.
When I was doing research on this, I read a clinical study that found that people with avoidant attachment issues are particularly fastidious about safe sex. They don’t want attachments to their lovers in the form of a disease or a child. Anxious attachments tend to eschew this and take the risk so they can be bound to someone. This is part of why I gave Theron a male birth control implant, but there will also be reference to his back-up (condoms) and back-up back-up (PreP) to ensure there aren’t any adverse consequences for him.
Theron is often alone, but that doesn’t make him lonely by default. In part, that might be due to his avoidance of attachments. Dude can pick up people at a bar and get laid. Theron isn’t adverse to sex, just intimacy. He can find someone to hook up, but that doesn’t mean there is anything beyond sex attached to it. Theron can and does get dates, and he can have relationships ... but that doesn’t mean he can make a healthy connection to the other person. I think his issues are more emotional/internal than they are caused by not getting enough physical contact or affection from others. People want to love him. People reach out to him to be friends or have a relationship. He just doesn’t want it; he avoids it. I imagine that this is partly the case with Jace and his SIS coworkers.
The last fearful avoidant feature I’ll give Theron in my series is the tendency to idealize relationships after they’re dead and over. When the relationship is no longer available, it is held up and made glorious, partially to enable the person not to pursue a different relationship; it’ll never be as good, so why try? This also calls in the tendency for fearful avoidants to fear not only screwing up the relationship themselves, but that others won’t live up to their expectations. Theron is a mess after the Eternal Fleet incident and never moves on from Eva. It’s reasonable when he thinks she’s alive, but for a good two years, he thinks she’s dead… and he can’t. With anyone else.
Unlike the game, I eventually send Theron to a therapist to deal with the fearful avoidant attachment issues. I figure if I’m going to give a fictional character a real-world label, I need to give him a real-world solution that might work.
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