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master-sass-blast · 1 month

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Resurgence.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

Summary: You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

AKA you and Lin meet up for an evening to blow off steam. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: M for sexual content, panic attacks, PTSD symptomatology, vomiting, and arguing.

Word count: 5.9k.

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Shout out to the commenter who pointed out how guilty Lin must feel for not saying anything about the locks. I hadn't even thought of that.

Wake up. Stretch. Get ready for work. Catch the 8:30 morning tram.

Get to work. Clock in. Review client roster for the day. Confer with reception Start off with your first patient for the day.

Clock out for lunch. Eat lunch. Talk to coworkers. Take a short walk during break.

Clock back in for the afternoon. Work with more patients. Confer with an assistant on upcoming scheduled appointments. Take your afternoon break. Drink some tea.

Wrap up your last scheduled appointment. Update client progress charts. Tidy work space. Clock out.

Catch 5:45 evening tram. Stop by the market to pick up food for dinner. Go back home. Make dinner. Do chores and general “life maintenance.” Try to relax. Get ready for bed. Go to sleep.

And on, and on, and on, and on…

You like your job. You love the field of work you’ve picked. Carrying on your grandmother’s legacy –the tradition of the Northern Water Tribe’s healing work–gives you reason to hold your head high each morning.

You have purpose. Passion. You help people.

Maybe you’re a workaholic in denial. Or maybe it’s the fault of your mad idea to also work at Yue General as a trauma recovery specialist and on-call surgical assistant. Whatever the case, at least once a year, you hit a point where the daily grind of your life starts drilling through your head and draining your will to live.

In years past, you’d usually take a few days off, after about the fifth week of dragging yourself through the motions. You’d promise to “refresh” your life –clean up your apartment, take care of responsibilities left to the side in the wake of your waning motivation–then spend your time off eating your weight in take out and napping on your couch.

Well. It works. Each year, you’re able to return to work after a few days living as a shut-in hedonist with renewed joy and drive.

This year, however…

You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What,” you say, somewhat winded, as you slow to a stop in front of her. You wind your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her curly, short hair. “You didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

…

The second the deadbolt slides into place, the weight of your daily grind melts away.

Technically, the second you got a phone call from your darling girlfriend, and thus received the invitation to come over for an evening, a lot of the drudgery bearing down on you had abated. But you’d still waited, balancing electric anticipation, looming over your head as you counted down the days, then the hours, then the minutes…

You moan into Lin’s mouth as she grabs your ass with both hands.

Bliss.

You’ve always hated waiting for what you want –for anything, really.

Lin shoves you against the nearest wall. She growls when you squeeze her ass harder than necessary, then grabs your hands. “Behave.”

“No.” You take the opportunity to nip at her lower lip –which makes her gasp gloriously–then utilize her shock to fight her grip. “I–”

Lin all but slams your hands against the wall, over your head. She brushes her lips along your jawline –which makes you tremble–then murmurs huskily in your ear. “Enough. Be patient.”

“Patient?” you sputter. “I’ve been patient the whole damn week–”

“I called you only three days ago.”

“It felt like a week!” You whimper when Lin nips at the side of your neck. Feigning submission, you tip your head back and melt against her –until she loosens her grip on your wrists.

“You little–” Lin catches your hand halfway on its journey up her shirt with one hand, then grabs your face with the other. She forces you to look her in the eye and glowers down at you. “What did I just tell you?”

“You called me three days ago.” A cheeky, self-satisfied grin stretches across your face when she growls at you. You smile up at her, the picture of innocence, then use her moment of distraction to jam your thigh between her legs.

Lin lets out a choked gasp of your name and stumbles against you.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?” you purr. “You could’ve called me so –FUCK!”

In one fluid motion, Lin tosses you over her shoulder and marches down the hall, towards her bedroom.

A short grunt escapes you when she tosses you on her bed, and then you squeal when she yanks you over her lap. In short order, your pants are yanked down around your knees. You mock-glare at her over your shoulder when she pulls roughly on your underwear. “Don’t rip these! I like them!”

Lin grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head back down against the bed. “Shut up.”

Blissful pain shoots across your scalp. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you moan into her bedspread.

(Regardless, she heeds your demand and doesn’t ruin your underwear.)

Your underwear follow the trajectory of your pants in short order. Anticipation and arousal pulse through your cunt, prompting you to squirm atop Lin’s lap.

She pins you down by barring one strong, unyielding arm across the small of your back. Her free hand gently smooths over the swell of your bare ass –almost worshipful, in contrast to her ire with your bratting. “Last chance. Behave.”

You can’t resist. “Or what?”

Her hand cracks down against your skin.

You yelp –then whimper when she kneads your asscheek, drawing out the underlying ache. “Lin–”

“Be. Good.” She leans over your back to growl in your ear. “Or I won’t let you cum tonight.”

…Come on. She practically set that up on a silver platter for you.

“What makes you think you can make me cum to begin with?”

SMACK!

A delighted sob rips out of your throat. You writhe –well, as much as you can, anyway, since Lin’s always bound to win any contest of strength between the two of you–then moan when she spanks you one, two, three more times. Stars burst behind your eyelids, dazzling and transcendent as all coherent thought leaks out your brain through your dripping cunt. “Fucking spirits–” You groan, low and ragged, when Lin’s hand cracks down against your ass for a fourth time. “Oh shit!”

She keeps spanking you in irregular intervals, until your ass feels hot and you’re a whimpering, slick mess. Lin brushes her fingers against your labia, then pulls away when your hips push against her fingertips. “What? Nothing smart to say now?”

And you don’t. The ability to speak has since left your brain, drowned out by arousal, and endorphins, and the feeling of your girlfriend’s hand against your throbbing skin. So, in lieu of saying what’s on your mind, you opt for a physical demonstration.

“You little fucking brat–”

Or, well, you try to.

You manage to twist your arm and get half a hand on Lin’s chest –her beautiful, soft chest that you would never take your hands off, if you had things your way–before the bottom drawer of her nightstand flies open and a familiar glint of silver whizzes past your head.

Your stomach lurches, akin to airsickness, when the first metal cuff closes around your wrist.

“You never listen, never learn–”

It’s like you’ve toppled into the Northern Ocean in the midst of winter. Every muscle in your body seizes, practically frozen solid. You’re sinking, slipping beneath the surface as La drags you into their depths, theirs forevermore.

“–okay? Talk to me–”

You can’t breathe right. There’s a burlap bag over your head. You’re tied to a chair in a dank basement, there’s a bag over your head, and you’re going to die–

“Breathe.” Lin undoes the cuffs with her metalbending, then tosses them aside. She lifts you into her arms, turning you so that you’re sitting in her lap. “What’s wrong? Did I–”

“Don’t leave me again!” A broken sob tears from your throat. You throw your arms around her, clutching her close as you bury your face into her neck. Shudders wrack your body as you cry louder. “Don’t –don’t leave me–”

“Okay! Okay.” Lin cups the back of your head with one hand. “I won’t leave you. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You’re trying. But it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. You can’t catch your breath, can’t get your diaphragm to open up properly.

“What does she taste like?”

The back of your throat burns. Your mouth tastes like acrid metal.

“I want you to tell me. What does she taste like when you use your tongue on her?”

Clammy sweat beads along your forehead.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

You shove yourself to your feet, then clap one hand over your mouth when you retch.

Lin’s reflexes succeed where yours fail. When you double over, she grabs you by the shoulders and rushes you to the bathroom.

The first heave makes your eyes water and burn. You cough, stomach roiling as your whole body rolls. Putrid bile spews into the toilet basin on the second heave, burning your throat on the way out. You sob when you can breathe again, falling to your knees on the hard, cold tiles of Lin’s bathroom floor.

Lin’s hand is strong, yet gentle on your hair. She quickly tucks a few stray strands away from your face. “Easy. Just let it happen.”

Like I have any control here. Panting, you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. “I–” You retch, then curl over the toilet again.

…

Things go fuzzy. Once your stomach is empty, you collapse against the side of Lin’s bathtub. You’re gasping, clammy and trembling as you try to suck down enough air to stop the feeling of drowning.

A cool glass of water is pressed into your hands. You take a small sip, rinse your mouth, then spit into the toilet bowl before slumping down again.

At some point, you wind up in Lin’s bed, tucked carefully under the covers. Your knees and hips ache from the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Still shaking, you wince as you curl up on your side. Short, shallow breaths puff past your lips. I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re safe, Lin’s here–

Except she’s not.

You bolt upright, terror coursing through your veins. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no light peeking out beneath the door to her home office, and the kitchen is silent. Your stomach drops into your feet, and you lunge out of bed. “Lin?”

“What’s wrong?” Her feet hit the floor in her living room, and then she appears at the end of the hallway, expression pinched from concern. “Are you–” She stumbles back a few steps when you careen into her. “What the –hey!”

You lock your arms around her waist and bury your face in her neck. Your pulse pounds in your ears, racing and erratic. “You left me again!”

“I–” Lin’s hands grip your shoulders tightly. “I stayed with you while–”

“Not then! Earlier! You left me!”

Lin tightens her hold on your shoulders, then forces you back so she can see your face. “I don’t know what we’re talking about!”

You lock your jaw to keep yourself from rambling and gibbering like an unhinged loon. Throat tight with fear and anguish, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Bile roils in your empty stomach; you swallow hard, then pull away from her. “You left me. After the warehouse. After Kim.”

Lin goes perfectly still. Her wide, green eyes lock onto your face, then quickly focus on the floor instead, before finally drifting to the empty kitchen. Her scarred cheek twitches minutely. “I don’t understand what that has to do with right now.”

“I’m trying,” you spit out between clenched teeth. Frustrated –with her, with the situation, with yourself–you close your eyes and scrub at your face with your hands. “I’m not –you aren’t –I don’t want to–”

“Breathe.”

You do as Lin says, relaxing minutely when her hand brushes against your upper arm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Use the diaphragm and abdominal muscles to control things. Deep inhale, even slower exhale.

Once you’re visibly calmer, Lin speaks again. “Why did you panic when I cuffed you?”

“I…” You swallow hard, then shrug small and sad. “I flashed back to –to the warehouse fight.” A pang of anxiety makes your voice crack. “When Kim had me tied to a chair in the basement.”

“Shit.” Lin rakes one hand through her short, wavy gray hair. “I’m sorry, I should have thought–”

“Of nothing,” you cut her off, suddenly weary.

“I should have checked in before restraining you–”

“And I would have said ‘go for it.’” You level her with a firm stare. “I didn’t know it was going to happen, either. It just… came out of nowhere.” The anxiousness crests higher, and you compensate by stepping into Lin’s space and wrapping your arms around her waist. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. “Thanks for helping me when I freaked out.”

“Of course,” Lin says as she wraps both arms around your shoulders. “What, like I was going to leave you like that?”

“I know, I know,” you reply automatically.

She left you after the warehouse.

It’s a poisonous, traitorous thought. Cold, nauseating ire roils in your gut. It turns hot as it swirls up your spine, until it breaks over your head in a tidal wave of rage and indignance.

It’s not fair. You and Lin have talked about the whole Kim aftermath fiasco. It’s been put to bed.

Has it? You chew on your lower lip as your mind turns the issue over. If you’re still upset about it, has it really been laid to rest?

How many times have you lectured your patients, after all? Some small injuries or aches, if left unattended, can morph into much bigger problems.

The tell-tale sensation snaps back –almost like vertigo, your head spins as the room suddenly feels miniscule around you. You can feel the walls of Lin’s apartment closing in around you, feel your scalp pressing against the plastered ceiling, even though your girlfriend is still holding you and your head is still comfortably pillowed against her chest. The urge to curl in on yourself, to find somewhere dark and small to hide claws up your legs and back, snarling and demanding your immediate submission. Breathe. Your eyes slip shut, and you press your forehead against your girlfriend’s shoulder. I deserve to exist. My feelings deserve to exist. Teeth clenched against a fresh wave of nausea, you breathe through anger and frustration and pain. Ask, don’t accuse. You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why –why did you leave me after I got kidnapped?”

Unsurprisingly, Lin freezes again.

You can hear her swallow nervously. When she doesn’t speak, you decide to keep talking. “I needed you. I–I was so fucking scared, and hurt–” Your voice cracks as hot, stinging tears well up behind your closed eyelids. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trembling all over as you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. Just –give me a second.”

Lin says nothing, simply waiting in patient silence.

Outside, down in the street below, a Satomobile door thumps shut. The engine revs, then settles into a steady purr before fading away. The familiar rattle of the city tram breaks through the autumnal winds that rip off the harbor. The sound of the tram’s bell soars higher, sailing into the night air like asclepias puffs in the wind.

You flex your feet against the hardwood floors of Lin’s apartment. Pretty grain pattern, part of your brain notes inanely. Must’ve been expensive to refine and install. “Why did you leave me?” you whisper hoarsely, once you finally manage to scrape yourself together. You swipe at your face with the cuff of your sleeve; you hadn’t even managed to get undressed before everything went to shit. You clear your throat. “I… I don’t understand.”

For several long, tense moments, you think she might not answer at all. Then, Lin sighs. “I… I panicked.”

You watch Lin sharply, trying to read her often inscrutable expression and posture.

She walks away from you, over to the window in the living area that overlooks Republic City. She stares out at the night skyline –despite the sun having already set, the city glows from all the electric lights. She braces her hands against the white windowsill; she almost looks like a pensive, noir-style detective from the murder mystery radio shows you like so much.

You tuck your tongue in your cheek to keep from giggling hysterically.

“It was my fault.” She doesn’t look at you. “The nature of my job creates enemies.” She steps back from the windowsill; her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I should’ve known better. I do know better. And despite that, I didn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not–” With a long, heavy sigh, you shake your head. “You can’t possibly predict every–”

“I did.” When you sputter disbelievingly, she faces you –but her gaze doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The security on your building is shit. And you’d be a lot better off with platinum locks.”

After a moment of your best river carp impression, you manage to close your mouth and shake your head. “Lin…” You hold up one finger when she opens her mouth to argue. “That’s not the same thing as knowing that Kim was going to kidnap me.” When Lin’s unconvinced, pinched expression doesn’t lift, you sputter, flabbergasted. “Okay, look –Lin. Baby. If I don’t expect you to make sure every aspect of my life is safe, what good does it do to hold yourself to that kind of standard?”

“I still–”

“‘Still’ nothing, Lin! You’re not a fucking god! Okay, so you thought about my locks; that –that doesn’t obligate you to do anything,” you insist. Sweat beads along your back, soaking into your shirt. You sigh, then sweep your hair off the back of your neck to try and cool off. “As it so happens, I’m an adult; I’m ultimately responsible for myself, and that includes my own safety. Besides, it’s a nice enough neighborhood!”

Lin stares at you, flat and unimpressed. “Bad things happen anywhere.” Her jaw tightens. “You would know.”

You sputter, caught flat-footed by her audacity to use your own assault against you. “I –how fucking dare you!” You clench your hands into fists at your side, fingernails biting into the meat of your palm. “I am not –I cannot believe–” Sense takes hold before you cavalier too far down the road of rage and indignance; as angry as you are, you don’t want to spew vitriol all over Lin. Even if she’s kind of earned it. You glare at her, jaw locked tight. “Even if you have a logical point,” you spit out through clenched teeth, “the woman who skipped out on me after I was assaulted does not get to use that trauma against me in an argument!”

Lin’s lips press into a thin line. She looks at the floor, expression somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Yes, yes it was. And thank you.” In a testament to your self-control –which, normally, you’d pass off as lacking at best–you inhale deeply and try to yank your temper back into some semblance of calm. Your head is starting to throb dully. So much for a relaxing night off. You rub your temples as you struggle to process and respond to Lin’s adamant self-blame. “I don’t –I don’t walk around with this notion that being your girlfriend comes with some sort of pass to perfect protection! I don’t expect you to package me up all nice and safe so nothing bad ever happens to me!”

“I know–”

“Then what, in Yue’s name, is the fucking problem!” You fling your arms wide, voice rising as your frustration mounts again. “There are associated risks with living in the real fucking world, and I have never asked, or intoned, or suggested that you safeguard me from every bad thing that could ever happen! Why…” When your mind finally runs blank, anger petering out, you throw up your arms before letting them fall back to your sides. Your palms hit your thighs with a light slap. “What’s the point? What’s the point of putting yourself through all that, Lin?”

Lin scowls. She turns partly away and rakes one hand through her thick, curly hair. “It’s still my job.” She sighs harshly. “I know you don’t expect me to protect you.” She looks back over you, expression solemn. “I know. But it’s still my job. I don’t–” She presses her lips into a thin line, frustrated, then crosses her arms over her chest. “I believe in police work. I believe that doing my job keeps people safe. Even when I’m ‘off the clock,’ my duties to the people I care about don’t stop, and that includes keeping them safe.”

“Okay.” You nod along, choking back retort after retort through sheer force of will. It matters to her. It matters to her. It matters to her. “Okay.”

Lin fully turns away from you –but even without seeing her face, you can still tell she’s on edge. The line of her body is rigid as she stares out the window of her living room. She takes a deep, audible breath, shoulders rising and falling as she does. She clasps her hands behind her back and bows her head; for a moment, she looks exactly like the countless press release pictures of the indomitable Chief Beifong (which you may or may not have clipped out of the newspaper and tucked away for your own edification, you’ll claim the fifth if asked to testify, presumed innocent until proven guilty). “I didn’t know if we were going to be serious or not. It was more comfortable, for me, to keep you at arm’s length. And that included not making an issue of your building’s security problems.”

It stings, you can’t lie. Her confessed, deliberate indifference to your safety –when it’s apparently a big deal to her–hurts. You swallow hard, then tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep from firing back before she’s done talking.

“It was my fault,” Lin states, voice flat and final. “After Kim… I couldn’t deal with it.” Finally, she turns and looks you in the eye. Her expression flickers for a moment, nearly giving way to anguish, before locking down to something more neutral with what you know to be an insurmountable, bone-deep reserve of will. “I’m sorry.” She stiffens, then frowns slowly when you start shaking your head. “What? What is it?”

“I–” Hot, stinging tears trace down your cheeks. Your palms are clammy, and your back is drenched in sweat. “That –thank you. Thank you for being honest. But–” You draw in a shaky breath as you try to school your thoughts into something more coherent. “I don’t –the locks wouldn’t have changed anything, Lin. They –no.” You hold up one finger and glare harshly at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “No. We both know that Kim had a very particular goal in mind. Better locks wouldn’t have stopped him. He would’ve had his goons just, I don’t know, kick in my door, or some shit.” You shrug, defeated, then rub your hands over your face. “I –I don’t care about the stupid locks. I get that it’s important to you, and that’s fine, but the locks don’t make a difference to me.”

The locks wouldn’t have held your hand in the hospital, after all. The locks wouldn’t have talked to you on the phone after you woke up from yet another nightmare. The locks wouldn’t have rubbed salve into the rope burn on your wrists from where you’d chafed your skin trying to wriggle free. The locks–

Your face crumples, but you manage to keep going as you start crying. “I needed you.” Your whole body shudders as you draw in a shaky, broken breath. “I was so fucking scared, and hurt, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me–”

Lin presses her lips together in a tight line, then holds her arms out to you.

You choke on a sob, then rush into her embrace. “I was so fucking scared!” You bury your face into her shirt, trembling as you weep. “I felt so lost, and small, and you just left me–”

Lin tucks your head beneath her chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cruel,” you insist, voice pitiful to your own ears. “And selfish.”

Lin draws in a shaky breath. “It was,” she agrees, her own voice wavering. She hugs you close, as though she can squeeze the pain and suffering right out of you. “I was wrong –and cruel, and selfish. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something inside you releases, like a locked muscle finally relaxing after a good, thorough healing session. You melt against her, hurt yielding to assurance and peace. A shaky exhale floats past your lips. “Thank you.”

…

Once you stop crying and settle into the post-panic attack-argument-meltdown, Lin disentangles from you and sequesters herself in the bathroom.

You can hear the sink tap running; if you felt up to it, you could probably extend your bending and feel the water swirling down the drain.

Exhaustion has you feeling hollowed out. You peel your shirt away from your skin with a grimace. The stress of the evening made you sweat. You try to adjust your underwear under your skirt. All of your clothes, frankly, feel uncomfortably, grossly stuck to your skin. This is not how I wanted to get wet tonight.

You drop down onto Lin’s couch gracelessly. You slump into the dark green cushions and close your eyes.

Your whole body feels raw. Your skin almost feels like you’ve been scraped along the pavement outside. Throbbing and tender, you shift restlessly, trying to find some position that will agree with you.

Outside, a Satomobile honks loudly, which is quickly followed by the sound of tires screeching.

Flinching, you curl forward and comb your fingers through your hair. Fuck me. Quickly, you flip on Lin’s radio, then let out a sigh when instrumental music starts droning through the speakers. You turn up the volume dial, just until the crushing feeling of overstimulation starts to abate. That’s better.

Eventually, Lin emerges from the bathroom. (It’s probably not very long, but your poor, fatigued brain has settled into the muddy state where time starts moving like molasses.) She heads straight for the kitchen and starts quietly puttering about; a few cabinet doors open and close, the tap for the sink runs briefly, and the range hisses as Lin lights it with match.

You borderline drowse as you half-watch her work, half-melt away into the syrupy ooze of reality.

Hours, maybe minutes later, Lin joins you at the couch. She sets down a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups onto the coffee table, then reaches over and turns the radio down. “Here.”

You force yourself into a more upright position and accept the cup of steaming, fragrant tea she holds out to you. “Thanks.”

Lin sets down next to you, and makes no protest when you immediately invade her space and curl up against her. She wraps one arm around your shoulders, then picks up her cup of tea with her free hand.

The tea is nice –no doubt some very expensive, well grown blend. You wish you could do more than sip tiredly at it, but your head feels heavy (probably from the swelling in your sinuses, on account of all the crying).

Distantly, the healer part of your brain starts noting all the facets of recovery after crying. Parasympathetic nervous system takes over. Brain releases endorphins. Muscles release tension from build up of stress. Autonomic nervous system reins in heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure.

“You alright?” Lin murmurs when you let out a shaky breath..

Nodding, you hum, then tip your head back and kiss her softly. Even though you’re tired, your head feels clearer. The consuming static of terror and rage have finally been swept out, leaving subdued peace and clarity.

Speaking of…

“Hey.” You crane your head back so you can see her face better. “If… if something happens to me again–” You pause when Lin grimaces and looks away. After waiting a moment, you press your fingers against her jaw and gently guide her head until she’s looking at you again. “If something happens to me again,” you repeat, “don’t… don’t push me away.” A lump rises in your throat, but you push past it. “I won’t ever be angry at you if something bad happens to me, okay? And it’s –it’s so much worse–” Your voice breaks; you have to take a moment to pull yourself together before you try speaking again. “It’s so much worse with you not around.”

Blinking rapidly, Lin nods. “Alright.” She looks away for a bit, gaze distant. She swallows hard, jaw rolling as she lets out a sigh, then asks, “Would you consider getting platinum locks?”

“They’re expensive.”

“Victim’s Assistance fund should pay for them, considering your apartment was broken into during the course of an abduction,” Lin fires back, almost like she’s reading the fine print straight from the page. “All you’d have to do is submit a request form and a copy of the police report to their office. And if they don’t pay for platinum locks, I will.”

Part of you wants to protest the notion of her paying for any of it. It’s your apartment and your responsibility. Feasibly, you could scope out some options, compare prices, and then allot the necessary savings into your monthly budget.

A quiet, wiser voice in your head whispers, ‘It’s okay to let her help you.’ “Would you feel better if I had platinum locks?”

Lin’s reply comes without hesitation. “Yes.”

You sweep your tongue along the back of your teeth; part of you chafes at the thought of acquiescing. You can take care of yourself, after all. You moved here on your own, put yourself through university and therapeutic certifications, built yourself up as a reputable and capable physical therapist and surgical assistant. While Lin’s compensated you for ruined clothes and the odd day when she’s worked you over enough that you needed to take a day or two off work, you’ve never needed –or expected–her to bankroll your life.

If the Victim’s Assistance Fund comes through, she won’t have to pay, you remind yourself. And it’s just one set of locks, and she’ll feel better knowing you’re safer.

That’s the clincher, in the end. Stubborn pride isn’t worth your girlfriend’s peace of mind –especially over something as non-invasive as a good set of locks.

You nestle back against the warmth and comfort of Lin’s embrace. “Alright. I’ll start figuring out the Victim’s Assistance fund stuff tomorrow.”

“I can give you the number for one of the department heads.”

“Okay,” you murmur, cheek squished against her shoulder. Part of you thinks it’s a little ridiculous –there’s no reason you can’t go through the same process as everyone else–but you’re too tired to argue (and, honestly, bypassing some of the formalities and traditional run-around will be nice). You sigh, then nuzzle against her and close your eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I know –I know you were just taking a moment to breathe, and you weren’t actually leaving me; I just –I was still so out of my head from the cuffs, and the panic attack, and I–”

“It’s okay.” Lin wraps one strong arm around your shoulders. “You were scared; it’s okay.” She kisses the top of your head, then squeezes you a little closer. “Stay here tonight. I’d rather you go home once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

You sniff, then nod. “Okay.” Melting into her embrace, you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The radio croons on; the singer –a woman with a smooth, low voice–drawls on about the ocean and the land meeting as lovers. Down the hall, the gentle, intermittent rumble of the elevator interjects between the radio and the sounds of the city at no particular rhythm. Outside, the distant, waning sounds of Republic City’s nightlife echo into the air.

The two of you lapse back into comforting silence.

…

Once the two of you finish your tea, Lin tidies up before shepherding you to bed.

You rinse off in the shower first. You worry about washing your hair, or anything too involved, but getting the sweat off your skin is essential if you don’t want to wake up irritable and itchy.

Your stomach still feels shaky –no doubt from all the mucus and drainage from crying. You turn down the water to a comfortably cool temperature (helps with the inflammation), then mechanically work through the steps of washing up as quickly as you can.

You borrow Lin’s toothbrush (and, fine, it’s really not the grossest thing, especially since you’ve made a point of burying your face between her legs whenever she lets you), and she lends you another baggy, Republic City Police Academy shirt to sleep in.

The gray shirt feels exquisitely soft between your fingertips, against your skin. You tuck away the notion of “borrowing” it for future you to ponder.

It’s nice, slipping beneath the covers on Lin’s bed. Her sheets are luxuriously soft –no doubt a vastly higher thread count than what you can afford.

You stretch your legs like a polar bear pup. Something pops in your lower back, and you groan. “Ugh, finally.”

“You okay?”

“Cracked my back.” You wait for her to turn off the lamp, then cross the space between you and curl up against her side.

Lin obliges you by slipping her arm beneath your neck and winding it around your shoulders. Her fingertips slip beneath the collar of your shirt and stroke along the base of your neck.

The familiar sounds of the city dwindle as the night drags on. The surrounding apartments are equally still. Here, in Lin’s bed, in her arms, you’re enveloped by safety. By warmth. Every breath you take is filled with the familiar scent of Lin –traces of the cologne she favors, the fresh mint of her toothpaste, even the fragrant tea you both had earlier. The blankets are cozy, exquisitely soft, and the perfect weight to help lull your frazzled mind and body into slumber.

Just for a moment, right before you drop off into sleep, your body relaxes into a state of perfect contentment. It’s almost like you’re floating, perfectly supported and enveloped, much like floating in a pool for a moment of rest before swimming again. Tranquility seeps through your veins, washing away any remaining tension and panic from earlier in the evening.

You fall asleep to the gentle thumping of Lin’s heart and her steady, deep breathing.

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #legend of korra #hands that heal #hurt/comfort #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #tw: vomit #heavy on the emotional hurt in this one

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chaoticbardlady99 · 4 months

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She’s Not Acid Nor Alkaline (Astarion x F! Pirate Captain OC) Chapter 2

Synopsis: The Heroes of Baldur’s Gate experience their first battle at sea in their adventure to bring Karlach back from the Hells.

CW: mentions of violence, NSFW cause these are two horny mofos (not a lot though- the next chapter is gonna be spicy as hell though)

Author note: I’m sorry this took so long! I am finally not horribly depressed and not sleeping at all due to work stress! I’ll be posting more for this story, starting a Master Vampire reader x astarion fic, and I have a lot of chapters written for my Trans Female Tav, Keeley, and Astarion that I am so excited to post! My goal is to get everything onto my new AO3 sometime this week! Oh and part 4 of I Wondered If I Could Come Home is almost complete 😈

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for your patience!

Part 1:

Chapter 2: Valkur’s Aasimar

Calypso is forever grateful to Lucifer for taking over the night time duties so Calypso can actually rest. It doesn’t make the early morning wake up any easier, but it helps. She loves her cabin and she loves the peace it provides.

The bed frame is built into the wall so that she doesn’t slide around everywhere as the ship continues to sail and there’s a washtub nailed down in one corner. Her desk and map table are equally as glued to the floor.

Calypso watched (and was an unfortunate victim of) her mother’s lack of ‘safety’ precautions when she was a captive on her ship. She was often run over by her mother’s bed or her desk- left for hours underneath them- when her mother had no use for her.

It’s been 60 years since Duke Ravenguard helped Calypso secure her freedom, but there had still been 90 years of torture and misuse. If her mother wasn’t absorbing every last drop of power from her bones- she was starving her, beating her into submission, waterboarding her, etc, etc. It’s not a reality that Calypso misses.

The soft glow of the morning sun outlining the shadows of Astarion’s face is a much better world to wake up in.

If Lucifer helps make waking up easier, then Astarion does not help- in fact the man makes it damn near impossible to leave her bed at all. She doesn’t want to have to untangle her limbs from his or wait for another 8 or 9 odd hours before she can be like this with him again.

Astarion had managed to keep her in bed later than usual over the last five days. The minute she so much as moves a muscle- Astarion has her underneath him writhing and begging for release or he’s fucking into her slowly, stealing all the air out of her lungs. It’s invigorating to say the least and her body sings under his attentive touch.

The more she learns about him, the more Calypso adores him. Astarion had opened up about his life pretty quickly after a bad trance. Supposedly one of his victims’ faces had been replaced with hers and he handed her over to Cazador. He was struggling to accept that the reality was different- that Calypso is well and truly alive in his arms. The man had been borderline inconsolable in the aftermath of the twisted memory, but Calypso had managed to coax him out of the fog and back to her.

Astarion even experienced Calypso at her worst- jealous. He learned very quickly that she wasn’t going to deal with that. When he had knocked on her door with his tail between his legs, Calypso made sure to answer and let him in wearing her skimpiest outfit- a nude, see through corset bralette and a pair of lacy nude panties. His apology ended with him eating her out on top of her map table- one of her maps needs to be replaced entirely after the affair.

She always made sure he actually wanted to engage in these activities with her- especially after learning about his history. Astarion assured her that he would let her know if he didn’t or if he needed to stop and he did. Astarion had only wanted to pleasure her that night and the rest of the night was spent just enjoying each other’s company.

Astarion will spend time with her throughout the day as well and his company is very welcome. Lucifer is usually taking his turn to sleep throughout the morning and into the evening so Calypso doesn’t have to worry about the two of them bickering.

Astarion has begun to ask her questions about the ship, how to be a Helmsman, commands, language, so on and so forth. He’s a very good student- picking it all up impressively fast. Calypso has let him man the ship (under supervision of course) as they made their way to the first stop.

Caer Callidyrr isn’t Calypso’s favorite doc to stay at, but they need to dock The Chimera and take a smaller ship into the Hells. The Chimera isn’t large, but it won’t be able to navigate safely through Stygia. Only Calypso and Lucifer will be traveling with the group of adventurers. With Callidyrr being only hours ahead of them, Calypso is confident they will make it before sunrise- provided there aren't any unexpected obstacles.

Which always seems to happen no matter how many times Calypso plans her routes out or how careful she is to avoid crossing paths with the Cult of Umberle or the Cult of Water. Now there are at least 8 Cult of Water ships heading in their direction.

Calypso isn’t paying attention to the frantic looks on the faces of Astarion and his companions as they realize they are about to be engaged in their first open water battle. She wants to reassure them (more so Astarion) that it’s going to be just fun, but there isn’t any time for that right now.

“I need Chain shots loaded- NOW!” Calypso shouts and her night crew sprints up from below the deck to join for the coming battle.

“They are chasing us at full sail, Calypso,” Lucifer’s voice holds an edge of aggression, “I’d prefer to not have a full blown battle on the Sh-“

“Yes Lucy,” she says with a wave of her hands, “I’m aware of what you would prefer and I’m working on it.”

Calypso climbs up the stairs and leans over the railing of the helm.

“Alright- we need the ship to come about! Wizards, warlocks- basically anyone who can cast gusts of wind- take position on the quarterdeck ,” she shouts, the crew shouts in understanding.

“Anyone else,” Lucifer yells, “split yourselves into two groups- I want some of you below deck readying the canons and the Chase gun! The other half- ready your bows and arrows and be prepared to fire when we are 3 fathoms away from the other ship!”

Lucifer looks up at Calypso and gestures to their guests- she raises an eyebrow.

“They all know what their capabilities are,” she states, “if they wish to travel on this ship then they need to protect it too.”

The looks of absolute dread on all of their faces is almost comical. They really have no faith in her! How hurtful.

“Well- then you heard the Captain,” Lucifer says with far too much gratification, “get to your assignments.”

“Careful, Lucy,” Calypso warned, “you sound so happy I may make you go below deck to help and let the Dragonborn be my first mate.”

Tav beamed, “I’m so glad I’m your first pick.

Astarion pouts up at Calypso and she flashes him a teasing grin before blowing him a kiss. Calypso stands on the rail and addresses the crew one final time.

“Oh,” Calypso clears her throat, “and may I remind you sorry lot that dead men tell no tales- so let’s try to make it out of this one alive- savvy?”

Everyone races to their positions. The laughter and the energy is infectious. Calypso isn’t worried a single bit and she watches the tension ease from Lucifer’s shoulders. He rarely thinks she takes anything seriously, but Calypso does. She is equally as protective of her crew and her guests- it’s not about her or the ship’s safety for her. Calypso has a special group of individuals aboard her group- her main crew consists of runaway slaves from Calimport, ex-Lolth sworn Drows who remain below deck until the night time and operate the canons, Half-Orcs who have been ostracized, Dhampirs who were abandoned at birth (Calypso would come across them and the crew worked together to raise them), etc. They aren’t a ragtag group of scummy pirates- they are all survivors who are standing together.

Well, except for the contract workers. Fuck those entitled pricks.

She jots back to the Helm- waiting for the exact moment to turn the ship.

The minute red and green flares go up in the air- the ship goes flying forward with the assistance of the many magic users casting gusts of wind on the sails. Calypso turns into the sudden rush of air allowing the ship to circle into position where it can slam the side of the other boats.

Calypso closes her eyes and takes a deep breath- letting the smell of the ocean water fill her senses. She imagines a storm surrounding the ship hurtling towards them- the waves thrashing them around and consuming them whole.

The thunder cracks the peaceful sound of the air before the dark clouds even begin to sweep across the sky- the water underneath her rumbles it’s war cry and Calypso allows Valkur’s power to consume her- like him, she can commandeer any ship, walk through water, control the weather, navigate through every storm unscathed, call upon Orca’s, etc. The best part though? No ship she sails on is able to sink- ever.

Then she hears Wyll scream, “HOLY SHIT!”

She looks over with a smile- her good friend, Hesjing, must have missed her enough to make an appearance. Or he’s just really hungry. Most likely he is really hungry and her targets make for easy prey considering they end up floundering in the ocean.

The massive Sea Wyvern goes flying over their heads and laying chaos to the ships- their flags going up in flames and the chaos keeps them from changing direction in time.

“NOW!!!!!”

The ship lurches forward in the water with the support of the extra wind and Calypso’s magic as Calypso prepares to ram into the 4 ships in the back of the line.

The bow crashes with an ear shattering noise through the first, second, and third ship. Hesjing takes one of the ships down in the front of the line. The world is full of smoke and flames- Calypso barely sees the four remaining ships beginning to form a circle to trap them in.

“GRAB ON TO SOMETHING!”

The command roars through the air as it’s repeated by the whole crew upon the deck. She takes one glance at Astarion- trying to remind herself not to get caught up in whatever emotions he is feeling.

Calypso is surprised to see the pure adrenaline in his posture and in the shadows of his face. There isn’t a single ounce of fear to be seen. She can’t help the smile that crosses her face. Poor Tav looks absolutely green and is holding onto Astarion’s arm for support. She’ll have to make sure to pick up something for sea sickness otherwise the Dragonborn may detest her forever.

The screams shattering through the air is the only thing that keeps Calypso from being lost in thought. One of the other ships had managed to turn towards them and was going to hit them very very hard. The ship will be fine- much like her powersake, Valkur, any ship she sails is indestructible. However, that means the ship will pass through the boat and they are going to have a battle on deck.

Calypso jumps over the Helm- yelling to Celeste nearby to take control of the Helm momentarily. She doesn’t check if Celeste goes there, she just keeps racing until she hits the deck.

The ship is barreling at them much faster than Calypso thought and she messily says a spell in Thaumaglossia (Celestial spell casting language). Both ships are being pulled up and to the side ever so slightly by a massive title wave- the captain of the other ship makes eye contact with her and she can see the fear as plainly as the whites of their eyes.

Magic flows through her fingertips and the tidal wave passes over them and engulfs them in the water- an air tight bubble surrounding The Chimera while they watch the enemy ship be demolished by not only a tidal wave, but the pack of Orcas that followed it.

It’s a gruesome scene- the pirate ship popping back up underneath another enemy ship and adding to the carnage. The Orcas leap and flip through the air with screaming cultists in their mouth.

The last two ships had been graciously taken down by Hesjing, who then proceeded to inhale one of the Orcas on his dive back down to the depths of the sea. The Chimera totters along the capillary waves as the Crew cheers loudly.

Calypso releases a sigh she didn’t realize she was holding and nearly stumbles to the ground when a large hand slaps her on the back.

“Excellent work as always Captain!” Toothless Tosh shouts out- everyone cheers in agreement.

“Oh yes, it was a very impressive display as always,” Lucifer says goadingly- his eyes flitting around her form, “so much so that drinks will be on the Captain tonight- hm?”

“You rat bastard,” Calypso mumbles under her breath, causing the man to laugh, “fine! But only because you actually hurried your asses up this time!”

The crew disbands with laughter- returning to their previous spots and helping to make sure everyone is injury free. Some of the less magically inclined individuals begin to pass out the rations for the day. Honestly she feels like she could fall over and fall asleep. It takes a lot of thought, magic, and concentration to be able to perform that many high power spells at once. For example- the Orcas did not show up on their own accord, they showed up because Calypso’s magic called out to them when she asked it to. She does feel poorly about Hesjing running off with one.

The sound of approaching footsteps and grumbling from a certain seasick Dragonborn fills Calypso with glee. Wherever Tav is, Astarion usually is.

The poor man is still tinted green on the tip of his scales, but luckily, he doesn’t have to utter a word.

Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll are smothering Calypso in questions- some she barely has any answers too. For example- how does she summon Orcas and a Sea Wyverm. Her answer? She has no fucking clue. However, she does appreciate how impressed they are.

Eventually everyone disbands to get their rations for the day. Calypso is thankful that Farview is maybe only 6 hours away and they’ll be there before the sun falls. They are running low on food and Calypso prefers to not go hungry if she can help it- especially with a crew of hangry individuals. They are all the worst people she has ever met when they are hungry- it’s great for raids.

“That was quite the show of strength, my Dear,” her lover’s melodic voice flows through her ears, “I can’t decide if I’m afraid or turned on.”

She smiles cheekily at him with an eyebrow raised, “why not both?”

“Hmm, how erotic,” Astarion teases, “should I expect to be tied up while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps, I am full of surprises, you know.”

“Oh- I am very well aware.”

Calypso can’t help it- her face always hurts when she is around Astarion (in the best way possible). Everything about him makes her smile and her heart sing. It’s proper gross if she’s being honest with herself. She never pegged herself for a smitten school girl- at least not in her adult years.

“How much longer do I have to wait to keep your attention for longer than 5 minutes at a time, East?”

Despite his teasing tone, she can sense the impatience in his tone. She tuts at him.

“I’m afraid another six hours, North,” Calypso says with an exaggerated pout, “you will have to wait several five more minute increments longer.”

The man groans and grabs Calypso’s hand- dragging her off to her cabin. The moment the door is closed- Astarion’s lips are on hers hungrily and his expert hands are already rubbing her clit, a finger and then two sliding in as soon as she’s ready- which she finds very quickly when it comes to Astarion. A hum of pleasure rolls through her body as he coaxes moans and her orgasm out of her. Her own hands have fumbled their way into his pants and she uses his precum as lube- rubbing her hands up and down his hard cock. The moans and curse words that tumble out of Astarion’s mouth are absolutely divine.

Calypso knows this is all they have time for- they would never leave if they actually had sex- and Astarion thankfully respects that, but Valkur preserve her- it’s going to be a very long six hours.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x you #karlach #bg3 #Astarion x oc #dark urge #dark urge x Karlach #astarion acunin #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #smut

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bluestar22x · 7 days

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Epilogue

Baby Fever - Epilogue

Series Summary: It all started with a classic case of baby fever

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!(Wife)Reader

Rating: 18+ Series

Warnings: Family fluff - that's all you're getting, otherwise spoilers - but keep in mind all previous warnings

Word Count: 2,150(ish)

Author's Note: A peek into the Pike family's future for me and you. :)

There will be one more oneshot coming soon, so keep an eye out, but this is it for the main fic.

xxx

When you parked your car in the driveway you turned off the ignition right away and slumped back in the seat, sighing and scrubbing both your hands over your face.

It had been a long day at work. More than usual. A maid hadn't shown up for work the night before and the hotel, already short handed to begin with and at full capacity with spring break tourists, had been in utter chaos.

You'd had to split your time between your job at the front desk greeting guests and checking them in, and laundry duty, throwing loads in the washer and dryer to help the maids that had shown up. Even then they were only just catching up on the laundry by the time your shift ended.

You were exhausted, more than you'd been in a long time. Not since Rylee had started sleeping her nights, which was well past three years ago.

Three years. Where had the time gone?

You pushed open the driver's door and stepped out, smiling at the excited shouts you could hear over the day's strong winds. For the first time in months the weather was comfortably warm. You followed the sounds through the gate to your backyard, finding Marcus engaged in a very serious soccer match with the kids, Oliver kicking the ball past him into a makeshift goal (built out of two orange cones).

The ten year old boy raised his fists in the air triumphantly and Rylee ran up to him, jumping up and down excitedly. "Go Ollie!"

He grinned at her and offered a hand up for a high five which she gladly accepted, slapping his hand so hard it was loud enough to hear from where you were standing.

"Easy on Ollie, Ry," Marcus said as the boy winced.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly before darting for the ball.

It was then Marcus noticed you standing by the gate and he told the kids to play amongst themselves before joining you.

"How was work?"

"Busy," you replied. "How was your day off?"

He briefly kissed you on the lips before answering. "Good. Good. We might have emptied the ice cream container though."

"Marcus!" You gaped at him. "That was supposed to last us another three days." It had been a fairly large tub.

He shrugged helplessly. "They were still hungry after the mac n' cheese."

"They're always hungry," you reminded him, shaking your head. What did you expect? He had a hard time telling the kids no, especially when they were hungry. Knowing him he'd probably given them the ice cream before dinner.

"I'll pick up some more on my way back home from work tomorrow," Marcus promised, stroking the bottom of your back. Even through the knitted cotton of your work shirt you could feel the warmth of his hand and it helped you relax.

"Thanks," you said gratefully.

"Of course," he murmured.

"How'd Ollie do at school today?" you asked.

Though many schools had a vacation at the moment, spring vacation wasn't for another week for your kids' school.

"No fights today," Marcus informed you. "In fact, Ollie told me he'd like to go see a movie next week with his new friend, Alex Jackson. Promised me his parents would be watching them."

"And their background?" you questioned, knowingly.

"Clean," he said. "But we should still meet them first."

"Of course, papa bear." You smiled. You liked to tease him about how protective he was of the kids, but you were the same.

Oliver had only been yours for a year, including the time you'd spent fostering him, but you both loved him as fiercely as you would've if you'd known him his whole life.

The start had been rough. He'd been from a neglectful home and wasn't used to any rules or much affection, so he'd quickly labeled you and Marcus as overbearing, but he'd slowly adjusted. His school life was rougher for longer though, and he still had a ways to go. He'd been a loner at first, and recently had gotten into several fights, not one for letting anything he considered wrong slide. That included pushing a bully into a locker for shoving the books out of a fellow classmates' hands. He'd nearly gotten himself expelled, but luckily the principle was a bit more sympathetic towards adopted kids.

At least Ollie fights on the good side, you'd thought, though you'd never say the words out loud. Parents weren't supposed to be okay in the slightest with their kids using physical means to fight off other kids. So you were told.

"Saved you some leftovers," Marcus told you.

"Perfect." You weren't being sarcastic. You loved mac n' cheese, even reheated.

You walked over to the kids to greet them, Rylee giving you a big ol' hug, then went inside to eat.

With the stress of work beginning to roll off your shoulders, the memories of a few impatient guests fading away, you realized you were starving.

You dumped a healthy portion of the mac n' cheese stored away in the fridge into a bowl and shoved it into the microwave to heat up for a couple minutes as you glanced around.

The house wasn't too much of a mess. Marcus had done the dishes. Most of Rylee's toys were put away. The place just really needed a dusting. Soon. On the weekend. Not tonight. Definitely not tonight.

The microwave beeped and you quickly yanked the bowl out of it with kitchen mitts. You didn't even sit down to gobble it up, but you did use a fork.

You were putting the bowl in the dishwasher when Marcus and the kids came in for the night. Ollie got ready for bed on his own and Marcus helped Rylee, though she was getting pretty good at her routine too.

She was growing up way too fast. Just like how her curly hair grew out too fast. She'd need another haircut soon, before it fell below her middle back. She didn't like it too long.

Once she was ready for bed you joined her in her bedroom, in an extension tacked onto the old house. It was your turn to read her a bedtime story.

"What would you like me to read you tonight?" you inquired as you sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Clifford!" Rylee exclaimed, shoving one of her Clifford the Big Red Dog books into your hands. It was the one about him as a puppy. Her favorite.

You could probably have told her the story without looking at the words, but you did anyway as she buried herself under her blankets and pulled her very own Clifford (a stuffed toy red dog) into her arms.

"Hi, I'm Emily Elizabeth, and this is Clifford, my big red dog," you began.

You showed Rylee every page you flipped through until you noticed that she'd nodded off, looking as angelic as ever (though she wasn't always). You read a little longer until you were sure she was completely out then quietly put the book down on top of her bookshelf and turned off the lamp beside her bed.

Afterwards you left for the master bedroom where Marcus was waiting, scrolling through his phone while sitting at the desk in the corner of the room.

"What ya looking at?" you quizzed.

"Case stuff," he informed you.

"Marcus..."

He sighed heavily. "I know; I know. Work stays at work. But this case is really baffling everyone."

"And you thought Google would have the answers?" you teased.

"Maybe."

You bent down to give him a peck on the cheek. "Get ready for bed. We have plans."

"You're not too tired?"

"You'll be doing most of the work."

He laughed and grabbed a hold of your right hand, pressing his lips to your palm. "Sounds good."

As unromantic as it may seem, you and Marcus had to set aside time to be romantic with each other some weeks. Your lives were just that hectic at certain times of the year. But you'd learned to be okay with it, to even like it. It wasn't that difficult to deal with the lack of spontaneity when you had to resort to putting aside time together. You were still deeply attracted to your husband and daydreamed at work about him when things got slow.

The worst part was when you didn't have the time or energy. When your body was at odds with you. This wasn't one of those nights though. You weren't that tired.

You left Marcus for your bathroom, slipping into one of his t-shirts that you borrowed on a regular basis for these kind of nights, for when you didn't feel like wearing lingerie, as you did so.

While you were closed up in there, getting ready for the rest of the night, you checked to make sure you weren't bleeding yet, since you were due for your period soon, wiping yourself with a tissue.

Nothing.

Strange. Lately it'd been consistently at the end of the 3rd week of the month, but you were several days past that mark.

Your mind immediately drew back to the morning, when you'd had to forego a traditional bra in favor of an undershirt with a built in one because your breasts had hurt in them. It happened sometimes, but knowing that you were late...

You reached under the bathroom sink for a pack of pregnancy tests and rushed to take them, knowing pretty soon Marcus would wonder why you weren't out yet.

As you placed the two tests in the sink he knocked on the door. You slipped back into the bedroom, a little excited and nervous, like every time you took a pregnancy test.

You weren't as sure as the first time if Marcus would be as happy as you about this. You were both so busy, if the pregnancy test was positive, you'd only be busier. And this wasn't planned like the first time. You hadn't exactly been careful, but you hadn't really discussed having another baby together in a long time.

You'd taken up the "if it happens, it happens" attitude a year after Rylee was born but it hadn't happened for over two years. You'd been convinced you couldn't have anymore kids in that manner.

You were doubting it even as you waited for the tests, but you wanted to tell Marcus anyway, just in case.

"What's up, honey?" he inquired with concern, recognizing the conflicting emotions written on your face.

"I've been off today and I'm late, so I decided to take a couple pregnancy tests," you informed him. "Probably won't be positive, but I figured best to be safe. Never know. They should be ready in a few minutes."

Marcus nodded in understanding and pulled you to him. "You know I'll be happy either way, right?"

You smiled widely at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. And it's the same for me. I'm perfectly satisfied with our lives, having two wonderful kids. But I wouldn't say no to one more. Just...we're so busy already."

"We'll make it work," he promised you. "I thought the same thing when I was single."

You snorted. "True."

Almost everyone complained about how little time there was in a day, and yet you'd always found time for what mattered. It was just about narrowing down what was in that category.

You checked the alarm by the bed. "It's been long enough."

You led him into the bathroom and you peered down at the tests together.

They were both positive, clear as day.

You and Marcus glanced at each other, mouths both hanging open before the grins formed.

You reached up to him and he wound his arms around you, kissing you on the cheek briefly before letting you tuck your head into the crook of his neck as his hands started rubbing your back, up and down along your spine.

"Looks like we're going to be busier," you said and he chuckled, his chest rising and falling strongly against yours.

"Looks like we have something to celebrate tonight," he added, kissing the top of your head.

You leaned back and beamed up at him. "Good thing we have time set aside for it."

"Oh?" He moved his hands to your waist and you guided one of them further down, under the t-shirt.

He hissed when he didn't feel any fabric underneath, just you. "Shit, you're not wearing anything else, are you?"

You shook your head. "Not worth it. Saves time."

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his hands on both sides of your face, cradling it, and you parted your lips to let him in as he backed away towards the bed, with you closely following.

For as long as you could you'd stay embraced in his arms, your lover, your husband, the father of your children.

You'd never have enough time, but you'd take all the time you got.

xxx

Tagged: @amyispxnk @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Marcus Pike #The Mentalist #Marcus Pike Fanfic #Marcus Pike Fanfic (Mine)#X Reader #Baby Fever Series

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babiebom · 4 months

Note

apologies for my absence- holiday periods are tiring lmao how were they for you? unfortunately we have yet to watch the fnaf movie, as our group is one that is exceedingly difficult to make plans around because we're all busy 💀 but then there's the one guy who doesn't want to leave his house lmao luckily, iv'e been pretty good at staying away from spoilers, so i've got that going for me. on the other hand, i'm planning to go see Trolls 3, and my mother and sister recently went to see the new Wonka movie. Though from what i've heard from a friend, Wonka's no good :// Yeahhh, if i actually commit to the mod, i'd have to learn pixel art and reteach myself code and programming 😭... i used to be somewhat decent at it. oooo yes i love a good choose your own adventure! they're so much fun and i've actually coded 1 of my own :,) it was through Visual Basics though, so the formatting was a bit weird for me lmao if you're going for a visual novel type of look and playability, I'd probably recommend Unity or itch.io? in my experience, Unity is probably easier to use.. theres another website/app i used but i can't recall the name sadly :( if i do i'll get back to you though! i don't have that much of a detailed request this time, but perhaps some fluff and love languages between rasmodius and the reader? or like hcs of rasmodius's evolving interest/thoughts arund the reader before finally getting together? i'd perhaps request nsfw/smut stuff too but tbh i just don't have any ideas 💛 tysmm :D -🔮

A/N: I’m glad you’re okay!! Honestly I’ve been sick these past couple of weeks (I caught pneumonia and had it for a month before going to the hospital. I thought it was a cold oopsies) I haven’t watched anything new recently but I am watching the third season of singles inferno with some friends. And I guess until I can figure out how to make a visual novel I have to write the fic out lmao sucks for me because I think a game would be better but oh well. What can I do? And like always I’ll try to do both!! Check back for the second one!!

Tw: cursing, slight nsfw but no full on smut. Let me know if there’s something I missed!!

Wc: I have no idea! But these are headcanons so 10+ is the goal!!

Sdv Masterlist

Okay so there are five main types of love languages.

Physical touch, Words of Affirmation, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service, and Quality Time.

I would also like anyone reading this to remember that these love languages are how you want to be loved/receive love not how you show love to others.

I do think that Rasmodius is very connected to himself

And by that I mean I think he knows himself very well, or at least he thinks he knows himself very well.

And for a long time I think he probably thought that Quality Time and Physical Touch were his main two love languages.

I mean idk if it’s canon but in my opinion I do think he cheated on the witch with Caroline

And I’m not gonna go into it here because this isn’t about them, but I think it might’ve had to do with that and his own struggles with temptations.

And I also think gift giving is canon for literally every single character in stardew because that’s the main way to befriend someone.

But I think that after marrying you/beginning to date you he realizes that his actual love language is words of affirmation.

While Physical touch and quality time are still very important to him, being with you makes him see that he really does like being praised.

Like whenever you say that he has done something well, or that you like something he has done his heart flutters as if he were a teenager again.

Especially when it comes to his magic

Like I feel like the townspeople aren’t really fond of him

And they never thank him for the things that he does whenever they actually need him for stuff

Like the haunted maze

Like they’re just talking about how weird he is and how he got it done

But they never stop and say anything that’s positive like WTF

So I think he would appreciate whenever you thank him or praise him and it would go straight to his head (which one idk 👀)

With quality time I feel like you get a lot of it after he moves to the farm

Like unless he’s working in his tower, or you’re off somewhere like in the mines

That you’re like together even if it’s spent in silence

And he loves that

Like he was super lonely before even if he doesn’t want to admit it

So just being in the same room as you counts as quality time for him.

And if you’re doing an activity that’s particularly domestic

He’s in heaven like he doesn’t wanna make it a big deal

But baking and helping you around the farm makes his heart soar.

I think in terms of how he shows love i think he would show it in acts of service and gift giving

Like oh you don’t feel well?

Don’t bother going to the clinic he’s just going to create a potion that stops you from getting sick

You’re afab and you’re having bad cramps during your period?

Consider them gone

Look at this thing he got for you

And while yeah this might seem like either a lot of insincere

In his mind and heart this is how he shows that he appreciates you and wants you to live a good and easy life.

If he can make things easier and less stressful for you

That’s exactly what he’s going to do

He loves you and while he loves receiving attention and love he’s kinda crap at giving it in the same way because he just doesn’t really know how

So this is how he does

He’s VERY romantic sometimes and shows it through gifts and services.

Very cute and a good significant other when you get past his rough exterior.

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amywritesthings · 5 months

Text

ownership of mine (4/4)

pairing: kino loy x f!reader ( andor ) word count: 2.2k summary: The Empire has integrated their prison systems, with you as one of the few women now incarcerated at Narkina 5. The unit manager takes you under his wing – but for reasons you didn’t anticipate.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! post-narkina arc, peril, presumed character death (he ain't dead gtfo of here), alcohol, angst with a happy ending a/n: this epilogue-ish chapter is dedicated to the wonderful people of next big franchise. without you all, this fic wouldn't have been possible. my many thanks for your laughs and friendship over the last year.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

welcome to the tenth day of the twelve days of amymas !!

Seven-hundred days.

It would have been seven-hundred entire days since you last stepped foot on solid earth;

Since your last real meal;

Since you made a vow to keep your head low, to serve, so that you could finally see the sun again.

And you were going to see the sun again.

Your sentence was drawing to a close with little incident.

Kino Loy would leave first, and you would follow.

Your new life was right there.

—but then the prison riots happened, and everything went to shit.

The day Cassian Andor arrived at Narkina 5 is still a hazy one.

You recognized the fire in his eyes right away; a death wish walking on two legs.

Cassian wanted out of here the minute he stepped foot in this place.

(Didn’t he know he had to serve his time, keep his head low, and do what he must?)

He became Kino's new problem and, naturally, yours.

Every day after became a blur.

Kino continued to keep order, to remind everyone of the common goal, even with Andor's poison of fighting their way out.

The floor manager still met you with secret touches, longing stares, and whispered promises to meet you at the showers when the unit was busy feeding...

But then something changed.

Veemoss dies. One hundred men on Level Two get fried.

The final domino was the passing of Ulaf.

Something snapped, and that something — that someone — was Kino.

Because Kino Loy wasn't busy keeping order, no.

The opposite:

Kino Loy was readily agreeing to chaos.

Order was an illusion.

The other floors were frying.

No one was getting out of the bottom of this pit.

One way out.

So your Unit banded together and pushed up.

Up, up, until you took the prison for yourselves.

Up, up, until you saw the expanse of a tumultuous sea.

Then down — off the platform, pushed by the other desperate prisoners.

Into the freezing water, where you fought for your lungs to propel you to shore.

Away from Narkina 5.

All without Kino.

You’d lost the fearless leader of Five-Two-D somewhere in the mayhem.

Kino!

The constant of sweaty hands and bustling bare feet made it hard standing still as you shouted his name.

Kino!

A brief moment of relief passes through your body when you see that familiar head of salt and pepper hair.

Your eyes connect. He looks just as worried as you — until he sees that you're safe.

I can’t swim.

You swear you heard it — Kino’s voice, but it's too late.

One burly prisoner knocks straight into you to dive off the platform, knocking you backwards with him.

You lose your footing.

The world is weightless as you fall to the ocean.

Your back collides with the water, leaving you with little choice:

Either you live or you die.

You can't go back for him.

Too many bodies are falling to the depths, and if you don't move, then you may get crushed.

So you choose:

You swim.

You swim and never look back.

SIX MONTHS LATER

It’s freezing at this outpost.

However, it’s better to be freezing in the Outer Rim than living in fear within the inner cities. That would be a surefire way of getting caught by the Empire.

Besides, you don't hate it here. The people are nice. Everyone mostly keeps to themselves.

You've finally seen the sun, eaten hot meals.

You've built a life.

As you enter your favorite dive of a cantina, you’re met with a swirl of artificial warmth. The bar curls at the center of the tiny establishment. A lone singer, a wanted criminal of the Empire herself, croons gently on the makeshift stage at the far right corner. The air reeks of the seasonal ale.

Scharzi, the Iktochi bartender, gives you a sage nod.

You’re welcomed here, even if you don’t usually speak much.

For the longest time, you spoke with no one.

(Paranoia seeped into your very bones.)

After a few weeks, however, you choose to chat with the locals.

It seems like everyone's on the run from the Empire in one way or another. Fugitives with a past and a present, not looking towards much of a future.

Maybe life is simple, dull, in the Outer Rim, but you all agree on one thing:

At least it’s free.

When you sit and shrug off your coat, you give a bland smile to the bartender and hold up a finger: the usual.

They’ve decorated this hole in the wall better than most.

An assortment of winter decorations, lights and strings, line the low ceilings of this place.

It’s cozier with the added lights. Less bleak and depressing.

Scharzi glances at you briefly as his assistant, a small twi’lek — Phia — earning her keep, smiles at you.

Phia is peppy despite her grave interactions with the Empire, scorned and orphaned, but Scharzi has done the best he can to give her shelter and a place to hide.

To be a ghost, like the rest of you.

“Doing anything for the holiday this weekend?” she asks after pushing a goblet of your usual ale to you.

Glancing up at the eager young woman, you shake your head. “Not particularly.”

“Well, we’ll be open our usual hours. I’m sure Charlie and a few others will be coming around,” Phia cheerfully informs.

She cleans up a sticky circle on the counter as a body takes a seat on the stool beside you.

“Then I guess I’ll be here tomorrow, too,” you tell her, scooting on your bar stool to give the stranger some room.

“You better bring your best holiday wish, then.”

“A wish?”

“Yeah, we always do them here.” Phia glances to the man beside you. “What can I get you?”

He waves her off without a word.

(Not uncommon around these parts.)

“Just tell me when you do want something, alright?” she pleasantly tells him, before turning her back to the wall of liquor bottles to rearrange them. “So? What’s your wish?”

You snort, taking another long gulp of your drink.

"My wish?"

"Yeah! Lay it on me. I promise telling doesn't make it not come true."

“It won’t ever come true, so." You sip again, shaking your head. "I don't particularly feel worried about it not happening.”

“Now that I doubt,” Phia counters, sing-song and light. “C'mon. Try me. Hypothetically, what would you make your wish?”

This is stupid.

Then again, so is trying to survive as hard as you have.

There isn’t a point to it, to any of it, yet you live freely out of spite and spite alone.

(The Empire will not win.)

“My wish. I guess I’d wish for… ha, well, I lost someone.”

You trail off before becoming resolute. Certain.

You see him in your mind’s eyes — the way he ducked his chin while sitting on his knees, staring you in the eye with the promise of a better tomorrow.

You earned this.

Your heart clenches.

“He, uh… I think he passed away a few months back. I don’t really know what happened to him. I hope it didn't come to that, but it was unlikely he survived. I think my wish would be getting to see him again, some day.”

The awkwardness of Phia’s stare makes you down the rest of your ale before giving it back.

“Mind topping me off?”

The twi’lek nods solemnly, taking the ale and disappearing around the semi-circle bar to bring you a fresh pint.

His words linger on your tongue, sticking to the roof of your mouth.

You earned this.

Living.

Breathing.

Being.

“Bloody awful wish if you ask me.”

The stranger beside you speaks up.

Their voice is baritone, low with an unmistakable growl.

You almost drop your drink from the shock.

In a flash, you whip your attention to an older man staring back at you: white curls with a growing salt and pepper beard, shorter in height yet twice as intense in the eyes.

His cheeks and nose are reddened by the cold outside.

Maybe Phia laced the ale with something, because you know you’re not drunk.

Maybe you’re tired. Hallucinating.

Or maybe—

“Should spend a wish on something that’s not so easy to come true,” Kino Loy grunts, setting his hands on the bar top as he regards you.

You can’t speak.

Won’t.

You’re too afraid to blink the illusion away.

The older man stares you down, waiting in silence until Phia brings back your second ale.

“Mind giving me what she’s having?” he asks the young barkeep, knowingly making her take a second trip around the other end of the bar to give you space.

"Sure thing! She likes 'em strong, hope that's alright," Phia chirps.

Kino thumbs at his nose. "I'll do my best to handle it."

You haven't stopped staring. You're sure Phia notices your wide-eye gaze.

It doesn't matter, because no matter how much you blink, Kino is still there.

He keeps his chin ducked while he waits to be alone again, before his voice smooths out the edges.

(Just like he always did, when it was only the two of you.)

“Didn’t bring a bloody bouquet of Queen’s Hearts with me, but—”

“How?”

You hate how much of a bark the question is, but the blurt must come before you’re rendered mute.

Kino’s mouth presses to a thin line of regret.

“Is this real?” you whisper, voice dropping to a whisper of uncertainty. “Because I heard—”

“I know.”

“And I saw—”

“I know,” he repeats with a heavy sigh. “It’s more complicated then what we have time for tonight. I’m not here to relive the past, kid. Maybe another night, but not this one.”

Your brain reels with memories you once swallowed so far down they stuck to the pit of your stomach, now threatening to spill here:

Kino Loy, alive and well, at the very Outer Rim city you’ve been hiding in all this time.

“How the hell did you find me?” you quietly reply, absently tightening your grip on the handle of your ale as you process the scent of him.

Faint cologne lingers, new, but it’s still him.

It’s still him.

Kino mumbles a thank you to the twi’lek bartender who then disappears once she hands him the ale, allowing you the illusion of privacy in this cantina.

“...you’re not easy to find, I'll give you that,” he explains, taking a sip of the ale.

His eyes slip close, relishing in its taste, before taking a second, much bigger gulp.

“Had to ask around, but I remember you mentioning this place. Remember you mentioning a couple of places, figured maybe you chose to hide out on one of 'em."

"And you..."

"Went to every single one? Yeah," he supplies. "I’m not one to waste time. Not when we’re living on a borrowed case of it, so I hit up as many places as I could. Finally found you on this one.”

Kino allows a moment to pass, settling his ale back on the bar top, before he leans in.

You don’t move, mesmerized by the way his chest rises and falls under his gray tunic.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive—

“I told you once that we’d get the hell out of that shitehole, once and for all, and I’d buy you whatever drink fits your fancy at the nearest cantina.”

The man reaches a slow, cautious hand from the table.

Magnetism draws you in, desperate to feel something stable, something warm.

Eventually his palm connected with your cheek and you’re threatened with a surge of emotion.

Same calluses. Same stroke of his thumb.

Simultaneously, you both suck in a sharp breath — two octaves of the same relief.

It’s as though an electric spark flows between you, and you find yourself nuzzling his palm with a longing that’s propelled you for six straight months.

Kino chuckles under his breath at this, only to move in closer.

His other hand cups your face, cradling your head in his reach.

“Sorry I couldn’t find the bloody flowers,” he exhales. “Not exactly welcome at the pearly gates of Naboo, if you could imagine that.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the flowers, Kino,” you inhale, earning another rumbling laugh from the older man.

“No, didn’t think you would.”

When you slip your eyes open, you see him shake his head as if mesmerized by what’s before him.

You stare right back, raising your hands to gently rest against his.

Kino studies your face in the dim lights of the cantina, Adam’s apple bobbing from a thick swallow.

He frowns briefly, as if plagued by a morose thought, before his shoulders droop.

There’s so much to say.

So many doors have closed…

Yet reuniting with the man who taught you to fight to live feels like a fresh start, all the same.

“I’ll take that drink, though,” you murmur, forcing a tired smile to play on your lips.

The former unit manager’s eyes instantly drop to your mouth.

“Whatever you want, love, so long as you’ll have me.”

The smile on your face grows.

He mirrors, huffing and smiling back — only to drag you in for a searing, devastated kiss.

For the first time in years, hope is within the confines of your galaxy.

#kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #kino loy x you #kino loy fanfiction #andor fanfiction #andor fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #kino x you #kino x reader #andor fic #kino loy fanfic #twelve days of amymas

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whosafraidofmarklee · 2 years

Text

about you

pairings: photographer! johnny/ arthistorian! reader

genre: established relationship, loads of fluff but also angst...

summary: johnny has successfully opened his first solo photography exhibition. however, he is secretly hoping for someone to walk through the gallery doors all day. intertwined with love from five years ago, his photographs speak louder than words.

wc: 6250 words

a/n:

hey all!!!! here's a wee bit of a johnny fic heavily inspired by the 1975's new song, about you. that song is so good it got me weeping for days as i concocted this story in my head. enjoy, don't cry :')

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

"Aren't you excited?" the curator beams, patting his fuzzy felt blazer down, composing himself.

Johnny turns his head toward the dimmed gallery behind him, the frame reflections catching the glimpses of streetlights outside. Each photograph sits nicely on the wall, proud and tall, waiting for visitors to be voyeurs into his life. He purses his lips, letting out a small "Yeah" before turning round and heading out the steps.

"Get ample sleep, alright! It's your big day tomorrow - your grand opening. I am telling you, everyone would be buzzing over your photographs. They hold so much emotions, that's precisely why I chose you," the curator closes the door behind him and spins back toward Johnny. "Be proud of yourself, your exhibition is going to be spectacular."

"Thank you so much, I appreciate it, really. I'll see you tomorrow then?" Johnny turned his heel and waved a short goodbye before speed-walking to his car. He could not take it anymore, all this holding it in.

He sits at the driver's seat and shuts his eyes. Finally, some peace and quiet after a whole month of crazy preparations. His chest expands and contracts, the warmth of his breath countering the frigid weather he just walked through. He gathers himself, or so he thinks.

"Yeah, Johnny. You'll be alright. It's your big day tomorrow, don't fuck it up," he whispers to himself.

As he places his hand on the wheel, his eyes flutter open. Under the starless winter sky, the amber streetlights embrace the white flurries falling aimlessly. One, two and suddenly, a whole gust of them make their descent onto Johnny's car. His eyes trail the flurries’ every move as they softly land on his windshield, eyes capturing the delicate intricacies of the snowflake before it begins to fade away into nothing.

In the tiny gaps of the melting snowflakes, he saw her again.

—

“So what is your new years resolution, my love?" she giggles as she wraps their thick, Rudolph-printed blanket around her body.

Johnny catches her gaze and smiles back tenderly. She looked absolutely marvellous, her hair falling all over the place having just woken up. Their curtains are fully opened, revealing the expansive city below them while the winter sun breaches its way into their abode and whose light finds refuge on her hair, illuminating her figure. He watches as she goes back to scribbling her goals onto her tattered journal, occasionally looking up and whispering to herself to perfectly articulate her desires.

“To keep loving you, of course," he replies after awhile.

“Don't be ridiculous, i already know that," she puts her pen down and reaches towards him, "we are going to be by each other's side forever and ever and ever. That's our eternal january 1 wish."

He leans forward and gives her a quick kiss, lingering over her lips as she pulls away. He does not have to look, he feels her lips curve into the same smile he fell in love with 4 years ago, the moment he walked into his introduction to art history class and saw her sitting at the end of the room. He knew from then on out, she would be etched into his life for years to come.

“Well… since it is our last year of college, I was thinking of doing a year long project where I document the events that make me feel tumultuous emotions. Sort of like cataloguing my life…into photographs…as photographers do….” Johnny finally answers her question and trails off, his hand finding the waves of her hair and habitually running his fingers through them.

“Yeah? A great big project before you get pushed into the real working world?” She asks smugly.

“Definitely that.”

She shifts under his touch and leans towards his embrace, letting herself fall into his arms. Johnny pulls the blanket over their bodies and lets himself melt into her. He could do this all day, intertwining himself with her. She was his life-force, his sun and moon.

“For me,” she breaks the silence in a whisper into his ears, “it would be to get accepted into a post-graduate course.”

“Why’d you have to whisper it like someone’s going to come running in and stop you?” he buzzes at her lingering lips on his ears, giving a little laugh.

“Because if I don’t get in, it is embarrassing. I’d rather whisper it to you so you can pretend to forget it if I don’t get accepted.”

“Are you kidding me? You are the best art historian I know, you can name every artwork off the top of your head, you’re like a walking museum,” Johnny assures as he holds her tighter under him, placing a quick kiss on her forehead.

She looks back up at him, gazing into his hazel eyes that bore into her soul. The very eyes that comfort her in her darkest nights, envelop her every morning and the one that showed more love in its little reactions to her presence. Letting her fingers trace his features, she grins slightly as she feels her heart grow fonder and fonder with every sight of him.

“I best be in all your photos this year then,” she jokes and snuggles into his warm neck.

Truly, waking up next to each other on the first day of every year has become a norm. They were renewed, rebirthed with every passing year, but they feel just the same every time their hands graze each other. Between them both, time slows and speeds but never halts. They were orbiting together, their love powering the cycles of many lifetimes.

—

The lamp switch clicks and Johnny’s room brightens. He is acutely aware of the silence in the house. Bending his head slightly, he roughly dries his wet hair on the towel. When he looks up, his eyes fall on the paper by his bedside table.

THE COMEDIAN

A Solo Exhibition by Johnny Suh

31 December-31 January

The golden text bounces itself off the sheen of velvet blue cardstock paper. His name seemed unfamiliar to him, a jumbled up word from the array of alphabets. Then again, he never felt like himself the past five years.

An inaudible sigh escapes his lips as he throws his towel to the side, climbing into the left side of the bed. That was always his side.

He turns the paper over and extends his body to turn off his lamp. Rolling over the bed, his eyes slowly adjusts to the darkness of the room.

A pillow rests untouched beside him, the white space demarcating the absence in his life. The blanket creases over his side but straightens itself as it passes his body. He takes in a sharp breath but he feels the oxygen running out. The air is heavy, damp with memories that flood to the forefront of his mind. As he blinks to compose himself, he sees her brief silhouette laying there, as it should be, as it always has been. But a silhouette could be a mirage. The brain tricks itself, as Johnny has tried to trick himself for years.

She is not there, she has not been for awhile now.

His fingers run along the cotton bedsheet, imagining the weight of her next to him as he lulls himself toward the door of dreams.

—

2:03 AM

Johnny looks up from his crumpled notes, scratching his head. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he pushes his glasses up his nose bridge and squints at her direction. There she sits, opposite him, legs tucked under her, biting her lips in anxiety while she mumbles the notes off of her laptop screen. He beams as he notices the way his sweatshirt hangs off her shoulders, too massive to fit her frame.

It was midterms season and they were cramming for an exam the following day. Well, technically, that day of. On his desk lay his scrambled astronomy notes. It is ludicrous in hindsight, that Johnny would take the time off of his photography classes to take it as an elective. But he tells no soul about the fact that it was simply because he notices her contemplating the sky every night, searching for the different stars and planets that appears with every passing season. Compelled by her devotion toward this habit, he took on the class in hopes of piquing her brain.

He pushes his notes slightly and stands up from his chair, groaning as he twists his crammed up body. He notices that she did not take her eyes off of her screen and with pursed lips, slowly walks towards her. He carefully carries the nearest chair, placing it silently next to her and sits on it, eyes on her screen too, curious to find out what she was reading about.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” he comments, skimming through the page, matching her speed of reading.

“What is?” she asks offhandedly, not moving her gaze one bit.

“The artwork.”

She stops scrolling and turns her head toward him, looking all frazzled. Her hair stood at weird angles and her blue-light glasses precariously on the tip of her nose. He chuckles and gently pushes the glasses up for her.

“That’s some intense dedication there, to walk from the ends of the Great Wall of China for 90 days just to meet each other in the middle. That’s such a romantic way to propose,” he muses and raises his eyebrows, “should we do that? Walk along the wall, meet each other after 3 months and I will go down on one knee?”

She laughs at his proposal and untucks her legs beneath her.

“I stopped scrolling at the wrong time then. They managed to pull off the performance but instead of getting married, they broke up in the middle instead.”

Johnny’s eyes widened, a little too invested in this, “why?”

“It started out as a passion project, they were both highly regarded performance artists whose practise involved testing the limits of the other. They had ambitions to get married but approvals from the Chinese government to walk along the perimeters of the wall took too many years to be cleared. By the time the approvals were passed, their relationship had slowly fizzled out. They had affairs and were unhappy with each other, but for the sake of their art, travelled the wall.”

She watches as his face softens at her explanation, his lips puckering slightly, a habit she noticed him doing every time he is in deep thought.

“Oh, that sucks,” he blurts out in response.

“I guess you could put it that way… I still find their dedication toward their art very fascinating. If it is of any consolation, they met years later in another performance artwork of hers.”

He takes her hand in his and shakes his head slightly. “That’s good, no? Reconciling.”

“To a certain extent, yes. It rocked the art world for months and years on end: the greatest love is back again!” she dramatises, sticking her arm out like she was in a performance, gaining a laugh from the boy in front of her.

“Now I don’t know if I should make us walk a historic wall before I pop the question, it seems so silly,” he strokes her ring finger subconsciously and traces the creases on her palm. She notices.

She leans in, kissing his cheek, “continue brainstorming then, my love.”

Johnny grins and imagines himself walking over battered bricks to get to her. The ground shifts below him but the running hills circle in around him, as if giving him comfort to persevere on. She was at the end of the wall, slowly walking toward him too. It did not matter how long it takes, where it happens or what season it was.

He knew he would walk across endless walls just to get to her.

—

Walking into the metallic frame of his hanging mirror, Johnny puts on his emerald coloured sweater, fixing his white button-up collar in place. His eyes were sunken in, tired from imagining all the possibilities of today. He sighs, proceeding to grab all his belongings and throwing them into the bag strewn on his floor.

It was his big day, he knew. But he cannot help but wish for the morning to turn out differently. His eyes catches the perfectly shaped pillow on his bed and his feet quickens its pace out of his home.

“God, it is freezing today,” he mutters to himself as he exits his car, tightening his coat around his body. Every breath of his turned into vapour, clouding his view of the gallery right in front of him. He looks up toward the sun, seeing only an obscure ray of yellow hanging in the air. There was no warmth, not even in the atmosphere and definitely not in his heart.

He checks the street for cars before dashing across, finding himself at the doorsteps of a gallery he knows too well. In the glass door, he sees his languid figure obscured by view of the gallery inside, his photographs and him merging into one incomprehensible figure.

Putting on his best smile, he opens the door and walks in.

—

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, here it is!”

She muffles a squeal as she grabs onto Johnny’s hand, pushing him into the crowd. Fishing their way through, they land in front of the very painting they were there for.

She could barely control her excitement. Bits of tears pool around the corners of her eyes as they land on her most beloved painting. It was real, in front of her, in all its delicate brushstrokes. The warm spotlight of the gallery was nothing but a halo to this painting, so she thought.

Sensing her bewilderment, Johnny wraps his arm around her waist and scoots them closer to the work, shielding her from the mass of crowds around them. He recalls her screaming when the news came in, her favourite painter of all time had a travelling show and they were miraculously showing in the gallery closest to their house. He grins every time he sees her shared calendar countdown to the number of days until the exhibition opens in the notification tab of his phone, silently counting down with her too. He made sure to purchase two tickets for the opening day, to which she kissed him tenfold when they landed in her hands, and he could still feel her hand on his chest waking him up at 6am this morning to beat the snaking queue into the gallery.

Now, they stood in front the very work they came here for. It is a little bit smaller than I thought, Johnny mused to himself. He had seen the painting countless times whenever she showed it to him on her phone screen and he felt that the years of seeing it in pixels made him grow fond of the artwork too. His breath hitched as he is pulled into the black mass of the painting, his eyes gaining refuge from the darkness with the two figures standing on the stage. He knew them by the back of his hand. The two figures stood by the stage, wearing Pierrot and Pierette costumes, in the midst of bowing toward an imagined audience. The delicate brushstrokes of the painting arrested Johnny’s gaze as he stood in awe of the piece of canvas.

“It is so beautiful,” her voice croaks, breaking the bubble of silence between them. They stood side by side, eye-level with the figures, staring so intently into the heaps of paint that they could almost see themselves in the obscurity of the figures’ features.

“Out of all his paintings, this last painting of his is arguably the most striking as it is the only time we see two figures accompanying each other but not alone in their own world. In his other paintings, even if the figures were interacting with each other, their expression still signalled isolation. But this painting is an outlier. Their hands suggests their union against the loneliness of the world, their white costumes as a resistance to the fading darkness behind them. They are in tandem, in the same performance, in the same space, sharing the same moment. How poignant that he chose to paint him and his wife as his last legacy,” she reveals in hushed tones, gesturing at the painting.

Johnny listens intently, nodding as he follows the trailing of her fingers, leading him furthering into the work.

“I love this painting because they are fools. Their quirky garb appoints them to the roles of a Pierrot and Pierrette, infecting the world with their joyous art,” she continues. “Historically, the fool is known to be the bearer of all binaries; the divine and profane, power and destruction, morning and night. Due to their ties with those in power, they enlighten others with the truth through their little whims, being the only one to merge the truth and absurd laughter, just like Hopper does with his works. The position of the fool reveals the significance of being more than ourselves, discovering our potential through such a limitless figure. That’s why this painting is called Two Comedians.”

“Most importantly, the painting reminds me of us.”

Johnny’s train of thought snaps back into reality at her words, shifting his wonder from the work to her. In this moment, as they stood in front of this timeless piece, they held many possibilities for the future. Their lives were intertwined like his hands around the hem of her skirt, their legs under the blanket after a long day apart and their riddled words of affection. They are painted in white, staring into the abyss of their future.

—

The wine in his glass sloshes side to side but never disappearing into his mouth. It has been at the same level since two hours ago, when the scarlet ribbon decorating the entrance was snipped off and people trailed in to discover his works. The wine dissolved under him, morphing into the torn ribbon, morphing into her lips, morphing into the her favourite book on his shelf, morphing into th-

“Johnny!”

His head whips upward and the curator was staring back at him, wide-eyed. Next to him stood a guy donning a navy suit, his blonde hair slicked back and his hand gripped on an empty wine glass.

“Meet Taeyong, he’s an art critic,” the curator subtly raises his brows at Johnny,” and he has expressed great interest in your work thus far. Thought I’d introduce you two.”

Johnny extends his empty-hand and gave the well-dressed guy a tight handshake. Taeyong has a wide grin on his face, returning the handshake with near excessive shaking.

“I am a big fan of your work, these photographs are extraordinary. What would you say is your inspiration for these works? I believe it was a year long project, yes?” he chides, leaning toward the artist, enunciating his questions.

Johnny lets his hand go at the word “inspiration”. He purses his lips and could feel the curator beside him anticipating a brilliant reply. It is your big day, remember that Johnny, he reminds himself.

But the only words that left his lips were: “just foolish things throughout the year.”

Throughout the entire conversation, his eyes went over Taeyong and the curator’s head. They were instead set on the rectangular door frame of the gallery, assessing every person walking in and silently praying to notice the same rosy lips he had last kissed years ago.

—

She flips through the pages of her book, aware of the dissipating feet shuffles around her. Her fingers grazes against each page, imagining each word in her mind.

This was her weekly routine, waiting for Johnny to finish his shift at the cafe while she finished her reading in one corner. By then, she has pavloved herself to associate the fragrant smell of coffee beans to this place and nowhere else. As such, Johnny too became her coffee lover.

Fleeting her eyes between the pages and her watch, she notices that he is running slightly behind time today. In her peripheral view, she sees him wiping the coffee stains off of the counter. Though it is so mundane, she fixes on this sight, scrutinising every detail of his face that she has memorised by now. She believes that love is inherently non-corporeal. But whenever she lays her eyes on her lover, she thinks about how his every physical detail is filled with so much to love. His cupid's bow draws the same curve as the back of every chair she sees. His eyelashes appear in the labryinth of twigs above her in her daily route to her classes. His hair's texture remains in the crevices of her fingers, forever part of the stitches of her hand. Everything led her back to him.

She gathers her stuff when she sees him untie his apron and disappear into the back room. Unbeknownst to her, a small smile is plastered on her red face while she was doing so.

The moment she heard the backroom door open, she turns around and watches the strides her lover takes toward her. Five, she counts. Five too many.

She reached toward his neck, bringing his lips down to hers. She feels his lips curve into a cheeky smile as he pulls away, shifting the position of his bag behind him.

"Why was your shift extended today?" she asks casually as he holds the door open for her.

His hands naturally finds their way around hers, their feet turning toward the direction of their home.

"I ran a little late because my previous class ran over," he replies her, taking a quick glance at her curious expression before focusing back on their path.

She notices that while he is holding her hand as tightly as he always does, his other hand occasionally tugs onto his bag from time to time as if making sure that the bag was there at all costs.

"Why are you holding your bag so carefully? It's not like anyone is going to steal it" she jokes, earning a nervous chuckle from him. There and then, she knew.

Johnny never answered her question. He knew better when he ran into the ring shop because his class ended earlier than usual. Occasionally, he would walk past this shop and casually survey the different rings on display but this morning, one caught his eye. Sapphire green, her favourite colour.

He talked to the jeweller and his hands trembled as he opened the velvet box to see the ring destined for her. Entranced by the beauty of it, he realised he was late for his job. Even after sweating buckets from running blocks to the cafe, his heart never faltered.

When he saw her seated at the edge of his cafe, engrossed in her book and with the warm lamp light softening her features, he knew he made the right choice.

—

Slowly, visitors filtered in and out. But none of them contented him.

His mouth hurts from forcing a smile and his feet shifted back and forth, aching from standing too long.

He listens to the hushed whispers of those viewing his work. He watches as they encounter his work, first glancing at his statement before their eyes fall on the work on the wall. After a minute or two, they turn to the person next to them and tell secrets while side-eyeing the work.

Johnny wonders if perhaps they saw his pain through the photographs. Granted, these photographs were taken 5 years ago but he wondered if they saw right through him when they look at the prints. Could they read his every thought? Could they see how much love he had? Could they sense that this time was then truncated, smashed into pieces and reglued to be the pictures they see right now?

Photography offers a look of love, he used to tell her.

He wondered if they could now see the world through his lens. If that was the case, could all their love accumulate and transcend the gallery space, bursting into the frigid air outside and somehow find their way to her, give her a little pat on the back and usher her into this gallery?

He sits and wonders.

—

"I just received exciting news!" Johnny exclaimed, hand clutching onto a ripped open envelope addressed to their address.

"What is it?" she could barely contain her excitement, the red neon light of the diner reflecting on her face outwardly expressing her anticipation.

His eyes were sharp, twinkling at her as he pulls out the letter, pushing it toward her.

"I just got accepted into a photography residency programme here, the best one in town," he grins.

She did not even skim through the letter. At his words, she lunges forward and hits her waist against the table.

"Ouch!" she exclaims as she tumbles forward clumsily, hugging her lover as tight as she could.

"I am so fucking proud of you, John," she says, "You deserve it."

Johnny pulls away and kisses her tenderly, melting under her touch. He applied the day she found out about the residency, continuously bugging him to apply every hour. She knew his ability best, knowing that he could grow better in this environment and never once did she doubt his success.

"When are you starting? When did the mail come in? Are you getting paid? Are there any other names accepted? Do you know who your mentor is going to be? God, I am asking countless questions but I am so happy for you," she feels tears welling up but blinks it away at the sight of his lit up face.

"Nothing's decided for sure yet accept that I got in, the details will slowly come in in the weeks to come" he states, "how about you? have your acceptance letters come in yet?"

She feels her face slowly fall, just like the silence between them. Slowly, reality began to dawn on her.

"No... but if they do, I am going to be halfway across the globe," she trails off, a hint of doubt in her tone.

Johnny catches it and replies, "that's not a problem, I will travel back and forth for you even though our original plans to move there altogether might not happen… I am sure we can find a way around this..."

She glances out the window for awhile and watched the sun glare down on the walking passersby. The heat was unbearable at the height of summer. She watches as people struggle under the heat, occassionally waving a paper fan on themselves to alleviate the heat.

Brought back by the sound of the diner's bell, she notices Johnny's gaze still on her.

"Yeah, we will figure it out," she smiles and feels guilty. This was his big day, there was no use worrying about her acceptances and their future. All that matters is this moment.

"I love you, John."

He opens his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the waiter bringing their food, clanking the dishes against the cold marble table. The retro music drowns her words out and she stares into the hashbrown on her end of the plate, picking on it until it falls apart.

—

Johnny's stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence of the gallery. His eyes widened as he awkwardly shifts himself away, finding himself a chair in a hidden corner to nibble on some snacks.

From the glass door, he gathered that it was late into the night. He watched endless cars pass by this street and the disappearing winter sun.

Hope is scary. It manifested in everything he saw that day, creeping up on him with every ding of the doorbell.

As he looks at his watch, he sighed. It was 5 minutes before closing and still, his wildest dreams were not realised.

He watches as the last visitor headed toward the door, silently bowing to him and opening the door to the world outside.

A gust of freezing air rushed into the gallery, penetrating through Johnny's exposed fingers and straight into his heart. He shudders.

It was about time he gave up. It was never going to happen. He had hoped endlessly for the past years but to no avail. It was selfish of him to expect more, to want her right next to him like nothing ever happened. He was the one that sent her off, he knew that all too well.

Leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, he relents.

A second after, he hears the sudden ding of the door.

—

"We could try, but I do not think it is particularly feasible," she thinks out loud as she paces around their living room.

Johnny is sat on the couch, head heavy in his hands as he ran through many solutions. In front of him, her acceptance letter lays bare on the table.

While the initial reaction to the letter was utmost joy, the two of them slowly came to realise the prospect of the future ahead of them. Where they were previously of the same bubble, with every passing second, each of them could feel the glass breaking.

"Yeah, we could do long-distance," Johnny voices out, reaffirming her thoughts, only to be met with her sigh.

"But I will be gone for 4 years, John, that is a.. ho- horridly long time," she chokes on her words and stops her pacing. Her hands were placed firmly on her hips as she tilts her head back to prevent her tears from falling.

"That's no worry, is it? I will fly to you every time I have a break, and you could do the same for me, we could keep this apartment together and we could still be together," he tries to convince her, hands shaking at the thought of them possibly separating. His words hung uncomfortably in the air.

He looks up at the home they have built together for the past 4 years. Their books are mixed on a single bookshelf, their selves undiscernable from the other. His camera collection sits on the floating shelf above the tv, right next to her gigantic painting she first finished the week they moved in. Her pink and blue pillows rests against his grey striped ones, creating a disjunct of colours in their mint green living room - but it was intrinsically them.

Everything they have built in the past 4 years was slowly crumbling. It seemed irrational, it seems. Long-distance could definitely work out. Many couples have done it and it was successful, what makes them different?

Despite desperately trying to rationalise their decision, each of them felt it deep in their hearts. The inevitable rift. The intimacy that gets lost in the endless flights. The conversations that get lost in timezones and sleep schedules. The love that gets jumbled up in the array of their pursuits.

"You know that we have to," she says finally.

Johnny doesn't meet her eye. He would love to live in denial, reject this all and suddenly wake up to find out that this is just a dream but he doesn't. The overwhelming pain in his heart grounded him in reality, with nowhere to run.

"We could always find each other again, right?" he manages his words out, concealing the quiver in his voice to not scare her.

"One day."

Their bodies are turned away from each other, their gazes fixed on different things. The place that they came home to everyday for the past few years suddenly feels constricting. The walls were collapsing onto them and the oxygen was being pumped right out. But both of them stayed, watching the walls slowly crumble, crackle and disintegrate.

They sat and stared, waiting through the whole duration of the damage until their house was unrecognisable and turned into bits of ashy rubble. Amidst the dull ruins and dust, a glinter of sapphire glows.

—

She walks in. Her hair was cut shorter than when he last saw her, shaping her face perfectly. Her cheeks were the shade of freshly planted roses, matching the mauve tint on her lips. Her neck that he has kissed time and time again was wrapped snuggly with a red and blue plaid scarf, shielding it from his view. Her hands slowly untucked itself from the deep pockets of her black coloured coat, revealing the veins that used to course through her body with her endless love.

Johnny felt his breath knocked out of him. There she was, in flesh and blood. She aged, as he did, but she looked more beautiful than ever, he thought. She looked better than when he last saw her, she looked like the person he knew yet not at all. She looked at him with rekindled fire behind her eyes, letting the warmth of the gallery welcome her into the space.

"Y/n."

Her name left his lips for the first time in years. It sounded, felt and tasted unfamiliar but the moment the word lingered in the air, he remembered why it was his favourite word.

"Hi Johnny," she responded, managing her breaths between each word, controlling her emotions at the sight of her beloved.

He did not know how to react. He was overcome with many conflicting thoughts and emotions. He wanted to hug her tightly and never let go. He wanted to shun her away for showing up so late and letting him wake up alone this morning. He wanted to kiss her eagerly and remember the taste of her mouth. He wanted to spit out all the pain he felt throughout the years, letting her know exactly what he struggled with all this time. He wanted to ask her a billion questions about the years that eluded them. He wanted to curse her for never reaching out even once, even though it was the pact made, he supposed that she would somehow break it but she did not.

She lets her eyes fall on the photos scattered around the gallery. Every photo, a sight too familiar to her.

"So this was your one year project, hm?" she hums, eyes landing back on the bamboozled Johnny.

"Yeah, it was" he manages out.

Silently, they made their round around the gallery. She led the way and he trailed behind her, occasionally smelling a whiff of her perfume that used to sit on their dressing table. He watches as her face barely changes with every passing photo. She remained silent, her lips pursed together and her eyes non-judgemental.

They made their way through photos of their empty bed, disordered bookshelf, dusty shelves full of collectibles, colourful tupperwares of food in their fridge, brown oak front door, creaky silver chair they found near their garbage disposal, frayed bohemian carpet and the mismatched sock pile in their drawers. All scenes that are engraved in their memory. As they walked further, the sight of the last painting halted them in their tracks.

Finally, Johnny watches as her eyebrows twitch and fall. Her eyes softened. Her lips steadily parts.

"Was that the ring?"

Johnny remained silent. He remembers taking the photo, the day he bought the ring. After they returned from the cafe, she rushed off to bathe and he sneakily took the box out, quietly opening it and marvelling at its sight. He grabbed his camera when he heard her shower stop running. Taking a quick shot, he buried the box behind the shelf full of art books.

"Yeah."

"It's beautiful."

Silence penetrates the room once more. They were turned away from each other, bodies drawn toward the photograph. They could hear each other's laboured breath bubbling up the room until Johnny pricks it.

"Would you have said yes?"

She lightly shifts toward him, meeting his eye for the second time since she entered. The same eyes that he looked into every morning and night. The same eyes that saw him in the lecture room years ago and the same eyes that bade him goodbye in the departure hall.

"Of course, John."

Her response washed over him like flowers blooming in place of melted snow. He held her gaze.

"Well, we've made our journey across the wall, haven't we?" she chuckles, making Johnny reveal a slight smile.

She takes a step closer.

"After looking at endless artworks the past few years, I came to realise something. I see you in all of them. The greats, the worsts, the ones portraying the highest moments of humanity and the lowest. The ones encased with grief, anger, fury and the ones with joy, love and fondness. Beyond every frame, form, brushstroke or performance, you were there. You were everywhere."

"I realised after awhile that just as I am cataloguing these works and granting them significance, I was doing the same for all our memories. I have never, not for a single second, forgotten you."

Outside, people were gathering and gearing for the year end fireworks. Screams of excitement filled the streets, anticipating the looming new year. They huddled together, their bodies emanating warmth that the night could not offer. They wait, staring at the sky.

Inside, two figures stand beside each other, framed by the dark photograph. They bow forward, stumbling on each other’s shoes as they clumsily announce their musings of each other, stepping forth from the peeling curtains. Their clothes glimmer in their pure whiteness, illuminating their path into the unknown.

At last, the clock struck midnight.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct angst #nct fluff #nct oneshot #johnny suh #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh angst #nct drabbles

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songliili · 5 months

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2023 writing roundup

i was tagged by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @rockyroadkylers!

i feel like i've spent my whole year writing, but i also know that i've spent months without doing it so i can't say how much it was month by month. but i posted three fics this year so like. that's an achievement!

let's see what we got.

January:

the great dean court off - Supernatural, 21.8k, M (chapter update) [someday i will finish it, i promise]

Of all the things Dean expected to find when he came back from the bathroom break, a folded piece of paper with "hey, if you’re not gay, my friend thinks you’re cute. here’s her number 316-557-9608 (and if you’re gay, here’s mine 316-997-2018)" written on, was not it. - Or the one where Dean organises a dating contest because he's bi and can't decide between two options.

September:

I Had Some Time (With You) - Supernatural, 23.9k, E

It's 2005 when things go to hell. Well. They go to hell for everyone except Dean, ‘cause he was ready for it. Well. He was ready for the apocalypse, not for the gorgeous man who fell into his life, quite literally. OR A Destiel rewrite of Bill and Frank's love story as shown on HBO's The Last of Us episode 3: Long Long Time that uses elements of both universes.

November:

we all have a hunger - RWRB, 22.9k, E

Alex’s journey of self discovery started one random night five years ago, when he was scrolling his favorite porn website to relax after midterms. He chose a video with the preview of two guys in the threesome category, thinking nothing of it, and came so hard he thought he was going to pass out. The threesome didn’t happen, the girl just sat there looking at the two guys going at it, just like Alex did. After that night, saying that the tall, blond and gorgeous actor with a fucking sinful shoulder to waist ratio didn’t do it for him was a complete lie, so maybe, maybe, Alex could be excused when he freezes up when said man - even more tall, blond and gorgeous in real life - stretches a hand toward him and says “I’m Henry, Pez’s ‘best mate of honor’, as he says.” with his perfectly infuriating British accent. — OR: Henry is a porn star, Alex is a fan.

December:

Fill My Stocking - RWRB, 6k, E

Alex has spent the past fifteen minutes talking with David about his favourite treats. Not that the dog answered, but Alex was undeterred and kept going, uncaring that Henry had asked him to give him an hour and then he’d join him in hanging up fairy lights and mistletoe everywhere. Very well. If Alex wants Henry’s attention, he'll have it. It's probably not what Alex thought he’d accomplish with his little scheme, but it's a compromise between Henry's needs and Alex's wants, and that's all that can be done. OR: Alex wants some attention and Henry has to get creative.

Upcoming in 2024:

part 2 of the pornstar verse (title undecided):

picks up the day after the ending of part one, it's alex's first christmas in london

Like Father, Like Son:

alex is a horse trainer and has a crush on arthur fox. he's the trainer on set for arthur fox's new movie (a queer western). his son, henry fox, visits the set and well. alex is fucked.

I hope you don't mind. (part 3 of the pornstar verse):

henry's bad days and how alex helps him go through them

Other things I hope I manage to put out next year (or at least start writing):

Your body is the Sistine Chapel:

what if dean was as tattooed as he was supposed to be? which tattoos would he get? for whom would he get them?

untitled airbnb fic:

alex travels to london as a reward for finishing college, and henry is his airbnb host whose dog likes alex a little too much.

untitled mandalorian!alex fic:

alex is the mandalorian, david is grogu. that's all i have for now.

untitled scarlet witch!henry/sword agent!alex fic:

inspired by this tweet. i have nothing more than this to give you atm.

i posted 62.406 words this year, and written many more. i'm fairly new to writing, so this is a real accomplishment for me. my biggest goal was to post a fully finished chaptered fic, and i did! then i started a series, and wrote something shorter than 7k, and i have so many ideas for future fics that i genuinely don't know where to start. i hope i manage to post at least a couple next year!

tagging: @affectionatelyrs @firenati0n @absoluteaudacitywrites @gayrootvegetable @leojfitz @anincompletelist @ssmtskw @littlemisskittentoes @cactusdragon517 @read-and-write- and everyone else that wants to join!

#tag game #writing roundup #spn #supernatural #rwrb #red white and royal blue #fan fiction #songliili writes

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iamstartraveller776 · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Stole this from @curator-on-ao3. (Thank you for the open tag!)

1. how many works do you have on Ao3?

111, not including the dozens of ficlets and short one-shots I've posted as separate chapters in fic collections.

2. what's your total Ao3 word count?

614,875 and counting.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I've written for: Star Trek (TOS/AOS/DISC), Star Trek: Enterprise, Labyrinth (1986), Marvel, Once Upon a Time, Shadow and Bone, and LOTR: The Rings of Power.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Princess and the King (Labyrinth, Jareth/Adult Sarah) A little girl wanders into the Underground and Jareth's life is forever changed. [3,467 words]

Text Alert (MCU, Loki/Jane Foster) Late one night, Jane found herself in an online chat room for Harvard alums. She and the user youweremadetoberuled hit it off and began a strange, anonymous friendship. [16,129 words]

Intoxicated (Star Trek TOS/AOS/DISC, Sarek/Amanda Grayson) Amanda Grayson sets out to make nice with Sarek, the infuriating Vulcan ambassador to Earth. Her future career prospects are on the line, after all. There's only one problem: the ambassador isn't quite himself. [9,034 words]

Drunk Dial (Labyrinth, Jareth/Adult Sarah) Five times Sarah drunk-called the Goblin King. One time he sobered her up. [7,138 words]

Touch (MCU, Loki/Jane Foster) The first touch was her fist to his jaw, and she thought the last was when he pushed her out of the way of a Dark Elf bomb—until he showed up years later with a proposition she had trouble turning down. [4,014 words]

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes, absolutely. That's my favorite part about writing fic—being able to interact with readers. Sometimes I'm slow in replying, but I promise I always will.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a few stories with unhappy endings, but I think this one is the most gut-wrenching read: Just a Dream (Labyrinth, Jareth/Adult Sarah) He can have her in their shared dreams, but is it enough? Obsession can be a dangerous thing. [1,644 words]

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I tend to mostly write happy endings—at least for stories that have a proper ending. I think there would be too many to list here.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

It's happened infrequently. I just delete the comments. I'm too old and tired for that kind of manufactured drama.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, not really. I mean I have a few—very few—M-rated stories, but it's pretty much all feelings with pretty words and metaphors. The tension is my favorite part. When it comes to resolving it, I tend to be a "pan to the sky" writer.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have written a couple. The zaniest? When Fairy Tale Meets Mythology (OUAT, Captain Swan; MCU, Loki/Jane Foster) While searching for Henry, Emma and Hook happen upon a strange couple in Neverland. [1,209 words]

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I was asked once, but I don't know if they followed through. I have had someone turn one of my stories into a podfic, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep. I'm a fandom old. I hail from the days of doing fic Round Robins and fandom Big Bangs.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

The USS Enterprise NCC 1701 D, though the Jolly Roger comes in as a close second.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The companion fic to Three Months on Vulcan where we follow the escapades of Soval and Amanda Cole as she works as his assistant. I was going to call it Lost in Translation. But my drive to write it has fizzled out over the years. I just don't have it in me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Fleshed out characters, humor, pretty prose, banter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

F I N I S H I N G. Seriously, that's my goal for 2024: to finish at least 3 of my languishing multi-chapter fics. Also, I want to improve my longfic game. I tend to rush through the plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it, though I try not to overdo it. And I try to make it easy for the reader to understand from context so they don't have to constantly jump to end notes for the translations. I've been super fortunate to have a native-speaking fandom friend help me with Norwegian for some of my MCU stories. I've used Google Translate for Icelandic, and the Vulcan Language Database. Trying to write in Quenya is the worst, though. Never again! *gives Tolkien a side-eye*

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek: Enterprise

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

That's like asking me to choose a favorite child. How about one for each fandom:

Through the Dark Mirror Series (Star Trek: Enterprise, Trip/T'Pol) Stories that take place before, during, and after the events of the "In a Mirror, Darkly" episodes. [14,633 words and counting]

Pertinacious Wills (Labyrinth, Jareth/Adult Sarah) Regency AU Sarah Williams’s life is turned upside down when her widowed father remarries. At the same time, a new lord has taken over the Labyrinth who may be the most insufferable man Sarah has ever known. But as she is thrown in, quite against her will, with him and his kind, she discovers mysteries that call to question everything she thought she knew. [46,963 words and counting]

Blood for Blood (MCU, Loki/Jane Foster) He missed his chance by a heartbeat—the difference between life and death. Now, the mantle of savior rests on Loki’s shoulders. Will the mercurial God of Mayhem rise to the challenge of rescuing the nine realm from eternal darkness? [4,330 words]

The Worth of a Broken Soul (OUAT, Outlaw Queen) As a Keeper of the Watch, Robin hasn't been a mortal's personal guardian in centuries, but he's been tasked with a special case. Regina Mills is full of hate and anger, her aura so black it's difficult to find any hope left inside of her. Robin is determined to succeed in his assignment, even if it requires unconventional methods, but drawing her closer to Redemption is changing him as well. Will he pay any price for her salvation? For the salvation, too, of the lost souls he's unwittingly collected along the way? [14,407 words and counting]

The Nightwalker Chronicles Series (OUAT, Captain Swan) Emma Swan is an expert private investigator, but recently she's witnessed things that even she cannot explain. The only one willing to help her safely navigate the underbelly of the city in search of answers is the man who saved her life, a mysterious artist with secrets of his own. [6,448 and counting]

I haven't written much for either Shadow and Bone or The Rings of Power, and I don't feel like I have proper favorites for them.

Yes, I know I'm not listing any of my comedies, dear friend who knows who they are. That's because they aren't *my* favorites.

Tagging: Are you a fic writer? Consider yourself tagged by me—if you want to play, that is.

#tag game #questions for fic writers #this was fun

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ardent-fox · 5 months

Text

New Year's Ask Game for Fic Writers ✍✨

I decided to complete this game to help me reflect and possibly get back into writing regularly again, I was not tagged but here's a bit of self-indulgence nonetheless 😊💙

To close out 2023…

1) What fic did you have the most fun writing this year and why? Or, if you can’t decide, what was most fun about writing this year for you?

I've only completed and posted one fic this year/ever and about a dozen Galladrabbles, and had the most fun writing humorous dialog whenever it was sprinkled into them.

2) What’s a scene/story that you finished and felt “wow, I really accomplished that, that actually went so well”?

The mechanics of Mickey getting fucked and jerked off at the same time in Everything, followed by describing his and Ian's orgasms. I've never written erotica from a male perspective before fanfiction and had no idea how I was going to do it, but am pretty satisfied with the results.

3) What helped provide the most inspiration for stories, if anything? Was it poetry? A song on repeat? A gorgeous gifset? A walk outside? A book you read that made you want to change everything? Whatever it was! Tell all.

Music, I make playlists for most of my WIPs. Everything had only a couple of songs, the most prominent ones being Colorblind by Counting Crows for Mickey's and I'll Be Your Lover, Too by Van Morrison for Ian's perspective. Also the poem "My God, Why Are You Crying?" by Molly Peacock, which I discovered while going through a Reddit thread about people crying during sex, doing research is sometimes inspiring in itself.

4) What is something you want to share about what you’ve written this year? A particular line, a comment that made you feel really good, a scene that was difficult to write — you get to choose! What do you wish someone would ask you about when it comes to what you’ve written?

This little tidbit in Everything that I managed to write after coming back to what I thought was an abandoned fic five months later, capturing Mickey's conflicting feelings about making noise:

The beginning of a sob emerges and he gulps it down, flinching when he feels Ian nod encouragingly against him. Rather, he dips his head, cheek resting on the back of Ian's hand as fresh tears quietly leak from him, a rogue one snagging on Ian's wrist before sliding down. "Hey," Ian gentles, hand stirring beneath him. "Don't have to hold anything back. Can be as loud as usual." He wants to, he truly does. Pleasure builds deep within him, its sounds catching in his throat, begging to be freed. Other noises tether themselves, too, ones he'd rather not bring to fruition, and he draws in his bottom lip to keep them at bay, the stubborn desire to hand-pick them denying him the deliverance of any. Restraint coils around him and he clings to it in turn, actually praying Ian doesn't stand for it and finds a way to cut it down, his authority easier for Mickey to give in to than his own permission to be vocal.

Also, all the beautiful comments I got for the fic and all the reblog tags I got for my Galladrabbles, I always screenshot those so I can easily find and reread them whenever I need a pick-me-up 💕

And to start off 2024…

1) Do you have any writing/creation goals for the year? What are they?

Just to write more without any expectations and see where it takes me, whether it's fanfic or personal stuff. Make it fun, write with abandon and focus more on the process than the final result, more on the emotions I wish the story to evoke than on the construct of things. Try to finish up most of the Gallavich WIPs I've had going on since summer of 2022, but not be afraid to drift away if something else inspires me in the moment and just write, write, write.

2) Is there a fic or idea that you’re really excited to be able to continue to work on in the new year (shout out to my fellow fic writing folks who take forever to finish wips, sometimes it’s nice to be able to continue working on something even if you wish you’d gotten it done! Now you get even MORE time with it!)

There's one domestic/fluff/angst communication-centered Gallavich fic I got the idea for and outlined not long after I joined the fandom, but thought I needed more practice before writing it that I feel ready enough to jump back into now, so that's very exciting. I also have a 13K WIP one-shot of gratuitous smut that I wrote for Kinktober 2022 that I was 90% done with, but scrapped because I used my then limited resources to complete Everything instead, and I'd love to give it a rewrite and complete it. There are ideas brewing for a Blackbonnet fic as well, but I'd rather wait and see whether we get a season 3 before delving into it, since I prefer to write post-canon. Also continue Galladrabbles, my dear 100-word morsels that are super fun to write and allow me to experiment with different themes and styles which I can later apply to other projects if I see fit.

3) What’s something new in your writing you want to try/are going to try? A different writing style? Different fandom? Darker works? Fluffier? Longer or shorter?

I'd like to work on being less rigid in my sentence structure, play around with length/pacing in order to convey the mood better. Stop focusing on counting how many times I've used a certain word and switching it out even though it fits perfectly, not allow editing to suck the joy out of things in a way. I'd love to write more at a faster pace, too, but since severe brain fog prohibits me from writing a single coherent sentence on particularly bad days and that a 7K one-shot took me 6 months to write + 2 months to edit, I'm just content with keeping my motivation strong and spirits high while writing at whatever pace I can manage. I'd also like to experiment more with angst and see how I navigate difficult, dark, traumatic topics as well as possibly try writing in the past tense, as I'm not sure a present one is the way to go for every fic.

4) What’s something you love about your own writing that you will continue to appreciate in the new year?

My ability to dive into a character's psyche in order to describe their feelings and reasonings in complicated situations, all the while making sure I sprinkle at least a tiny bit of humor along the way. I'd love to continue playing with themes such as healing through communication and sex and working out their kinks as a couple, both in and outside the bedroom, all in favor of emotional breakthroughs that strengthen the bond between them. If the level at which I'm able to portray a character's vulnerability matches the enthusiasm I have for exploring it, I reckon I'll stay on the right track this year.

Tagging @lupeloto, @crossmydna, @metalheadmickey, @gallawitchxx, @whatthebodygraspsnot, @ian-galagher, @squidyyy23, @bawlbrayker, @secret-gallavich, @juliakayyy, @look-i-love-u, @thisdivorce, @mmmichyyy, @howlinchickhowl, @callivich, @lingy910y, @arrowflier and @sam-loves-seb in case you haven't done this and would like to, otherwise just ignore the double tag and accept this cookie as a token of my adoration 🍪🥰

#me acting like some big shot writer while struggling to keep all of this coherent is a mood #here's hoping my ailments dwindle down and let me sleep in 2024 so i don't have to constantly worry if my writing make sense at all #it's been a year y'all #here's to a better time for all of us and to many creations in 2024! 🥂#tag game #ask game #fandom friends #writing

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cheswirls · 20 days

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early op/dc au fic plot points

in honor of finding my notes finally after five months have passed since writing them and after i just wrote out a huge block of what happens during part one of the fic relying entirely on memory and wit alone, here are some freebie things-that-will-definitely-happen (and just random Things to throw in between) to think over while i'm trying to get back into writing this fic

also tagging @kiteou who created jason/sabo and 100% inspired this verse (please look at their ship art it's all so impeccably goooood)

sabo wears make-up to cover his scar when he goes crime fighting and chooses to hunt criminals in a distant district of gotham to avoid being recognized since he doesn't wear a mask

though he doesn't weak a mask, he does adorn a large tophat with a wide brim and uses the shade to conceal his face from view; when he runs into jason and snarls about a hero not posibly wearing a fucking full-face helmet mask, jason argues back about protecting his identity and accuses sabo of being a hypocrite since his hat also hides his face

jason quotes old literature sabo has never heard of when he's trying to make the most of a situation (so rarely) and sabo scribbles illegible-chicken-scratch words in tattered notebooks when he needs to vent about Life in general (it's maybe his goal at some point to create an autobiography of life in gotham and how much It Sucks, Bad™)

sabo using a metal pipe as his choice weapon reminds jason of damian (he's in his bo staff days) in kind of a fond but wary way - this does not last; at some point the pipe scraping against concrete or brick sets jason off, triggering something in his subconsciousness bad enough to make him lose focus in a fight, and it gets to the point where he tells sabo they can't fight together anymore if he's gonna continue to use the pipe as a weapon

ace and sabo are 19 in the beginning because it takes place in fall, and jason is newly 20 - because of this, sabo is 5'9 and ace 6'0 but sabo wears platform and heeled (the heel is inside so it's not visible) boots when he plays vigilante so he's taller than jason by a couple inches; at some point when ace meets jason he implicates sabo's true height and sabo shouts at him (shut the fuck up, ace!) before ace can finish; even later on, sabo ends up at jason's apartment and when his shoes come off, he stands shorter than jason, much to jason's surprise; sabo admits gruffly that being over six foot makes a person more intimidating, which is his goal at night when facing off with criminals, but also insists that he's still growing (which he is, and eventually he doesn't need the boots to stand at 6'2 properly); even though ace is (barely) taller than sabo (just like he's barely older than sabo), he's still shorter than jason, which rubs him the wrong way (and sets off the comment about sabo's alleged height)

while ace is just trying to survive in gotham, owing nothing to the city that's chewed them both up in childhood and spit them back out again in adolescence, sabo chooses vigilantism in a bid to 'just do what's right, or at least try to'

^ going with this, ace and sabo both have awakened meta-genes that grant them fire powers; ace got his first and is proficient in using his powers - in contrast, sabo develops his after his accident that leaves a portion of his upper body scarred, and refuses to train or even try and control/subdue his powers at all due to his intense fear of fire; this causes daily strife because ace should be able to coach sabo through developing (or at the very least, getting under control) his powers so they don't cause accidents all the time, being the more experienced and honed of the two, but because he's never willing to overstep and always afraid of reigniting sabo's trauma, he never pushes sabo toward what should be the reasonable solution

aaaaaaaa smth smth jason being more experienced in relationships but none of them ever going well, versus sabo who's never been in love and doesn't know how to act, doesn't know how to be vulnerable in front of another person (who's not ace, but even then) or what's considered normal for their relationship status, and eventually having to tell all of this to jason to dispel some worries threatening to make him sick; jason tries his best to insist that sabo doesn't need to act a specific or certain way and that they were going to figure this out together and find what worked for them; in the beginning their "romantic" relationship is super dysfunctional and not much different from their status before when they were just friends, but it slowly becomes more functional when they start to clue in to what they and each other want out of this

i CANNOT find my notes which makes me sick (< actually i did!!! not long after i wrote this which makes me SO mad in hindsight) but in this verse jason runs around with roy harper and artemis crock, who are roughly the same age as him and sabo but have the dynamic they do in earth-16 when they're (sibling) in-laws, meaning, they get along like a tight pair and often will team up to lovingly tease jason whenever the opportunity present itself; when they're introduced to sabo, the initial reaction is them recounting ('oh so this is the boy you're always mentioning') various things jason has said about him and then low-key embarrassing the both of them with their teasing, so it takes a bit for sabo to warm up to them

after sabo is burned by a lighter and his make-up runs, jason believes his old face scars to be part of the fresh injury and rushes sabo to leslie's clinic to get seen; sabo is bandaged up and none of the staff ask questions about the vigilantism that would (tie him w illegal activity) but in the beginning when someone asks sabo a basic question in regards to the injury, sabo clams up; jason has to snap at him that (leslie) was a doctor and not the fucking cops, so would sabo please put an ounce of trust in someone for once and let them take care of him; sabo relents and lets himself be treated

when he arrives home with his eye covered, ace is shocked because sabo never lets anyone but ace bandage him up; ace asks what (the fuck) happened and sabo clams up, flinches back when ace tries to reach for the wrap, and snaps at him to leave it because an actual medical professional treated him for once; ace says smth like 'but you always let me patch you up' and sabo appeases him by saying he can redress the wound later when it needed changing, but right now, he wants it left alone; later ace gets to see the damage and immediately realizes sabo got burned which terrifies him, putting sabo's shying away from him earlier into a new light, and ace takes on a new perspective when he helps sabo tend to the injury in order to frighten sabo as little as possible

sabo lives with ace and rouge until zero year, when their apartment floods and rouge gets sick and eventually dies in the hospital without proper medical care; without rouge, neither of them go back to the house in coventry and instead spend most of the remainder of zero year in a church - despite spending a good portion of their upbringing from that point on around clergymen, sabo refuses to believe in a god that would let him and ace to suffer through life to the extent that they had, and when ace curses 'god damn' or 'oh god' sabo isn't even willing to humor it, always blunting insisting 'there is no god' that ace in turn always counters with 'it's an expression, sabo, it doesn't have to mean anything'

aaaaaaaand since i've been sitting on this intro for a good six months now here's a small actual written pv :)

(if tumblr blurs the ss just click on it and it'll clear up)

#op #dc #writing #little longer than intended but this is maybe 10% of the beginning so its fiiiiiine #idk how many yrs this fic is gonna span thru but tbh #i dont see either falling for e/o quickly or even in a normal amnt of time #its not slowburn but their relationship progression is slow af #somewhere in their twenties at least so sabo can cash in on the height diff bc its cute af to look at #anyway the last dc comic run i read in full was the dark knights of steel series....... DOES IT SHOW AAAAA #for anyone expecting this to be all one standardized timeline that makes sense: gonna disappoint you right now #do not set your expectations high bc dc verse has always been a mess n its not my job to sort thru it to write au fic #ig this is loosely post-2011 continuity (w/e earth number that is)#but also no its not bc there are elements from so many other things #im gonna regret shoving this one into the ao3 dc comics tag but in true xover ship fashion i will be doing so regardless #anyway x2 if any of this appeals to you PLSSSSS go look at kiteous art its so so sosososo good

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