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mareastrorum · 1 year ago

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TF&TS Meta: Otis Brunkel's Character Sheet

Since I am posting another chapter later this week, no WIP Wednesday excerpt today! However, I usually throw out a meta post before each chapter to tide people over.

I might post a little late this week! However, the next chapter should be up no later than Saturday evening.

This post discusses how I developed the character sheet for Otis.

See the directory for other meta posts.

Time to go over the worst gremlin in the story: Otis Brunkel. I won’t go into spoiler territory, but this should give an idea of what I decided to do with the Tombtakers. Let’s talk mechanics.

Otis is a profaned soul, so a blood hunter that “traded” a part of themself to a patron in exchange for power. (I’ll do a longer meta post on my worldbuilding with the various Orders eventually.) However, we don’t know very much about their pact, spells chosen, background, or feats.

Matt mentioned that Otis was able to hide behind Fjord in episode 123 because they were a Lightfoot halfling, which have the Naturally Stealthy ability. In episode 122, Otis spoke in Deep Speech to say grace for the meal in the tower: “Oh, great distant voice, come upon this meal and let us destroy and devour of its sustenance.” Deep Speech is generally spoken by aberrations and mindflayers, which are denizens of the Far Realm. Narratively, there wasn’t much reason to expect that a lightfoot halfling from Trostenwald (also mentioned in 122) would learn Deep Speech, so I suspect they learned it at the Claret Orders or perhaps as part of the pact with their patron. Since it would tie things together nicely, I opted to go with the Great Old One for Otis’s patron, which decides which spells and bonus effects Otis would get from their subclass.

Remember how Otis mentioned in chapter 1 that they’d sell a bit of their soul for a haste spell? Hmmm…

In episode 123, Otis counterspelled Fjord, so that accounts for at least one of their level three spells. Otis also cast Eldritch Blast repeatedly, so that’s one warlock cantrip. In episode 121, they also created a camp fire with just a bundle of grass—which doesn’t match any spell I could find. (I’m also not sure how Otis found any grass in a frozen tundra anyway.) Create Bonfire is a warlock cantrip, it doesn’t require any material components, and causes things to catch fire, but it only lasts up to one minute. So I guess Otis was just repeatedly casting it since Matt didn’t describe any fuel that stayed alight. If anyone figures that out, let me know! However, those are the only spells we saw Otis cast overtly.

It’s possible that Otis took Spider Climb as a level 2 spell, but we didn’t see them actually cast it in episode 117 when they walked up the wall to the threshold crest. It could also be Otis also had an item for that, either enchanted boots or a potion. However, the Nein didn’t loot such a thing from their corpse in episode 133. The only items we knew Otis had were a magical light crossbow that the Nein took in 133 and some kind of leather armor (which the Nein didn’t loot) when Matt described their appearance in 117.

Matt never mentioned enough detail to be certain of Otis’s skill proficiencies, background, or feats. So that’s what we knew from canon and a few of the decisions I made. With that in mind, here’s the character sheet I came up with.

I rolled for stats just to see what I’d get, so I did 4d6 for each and dropped the lowest. I rolled 8, 11, 12, 15, 17, 17, which is a little above average, so I decided to stick with it. Since Otis was a sneaky little shit, I used one of the 17s for Dex, which then got a +2 for being a halfling, then a +1 from an ASI, bringing them to the cap. I felt that was appropriate given that Matt mentioned that Otis “didn’t roll well” to attack Yasha in 123, but still got a 27 to hit, so I figured crazy Dex would help that make sense. Int was the spellcasting ability, so it got the other 17 and a +1 from an ASI. Con got the 15, of course, for better survivability. I almost gave Cha the 8, but I figured Otis probably got a tiny boost for intimidation reasons by being so creepy, and they probably weren’t strong. Thus, Wis got the 12, Cha got 11 bumped to 12 by being a halfling, and Str got the 8.

Now, here’s the thing. In 123, when Otis fired a set of Eldritch Blasts at Caduceus, 2 missed at 12 and 13, and Matt mentioned that he rolled a 2 and a 3. So we know Otis has a +10 to spell attack rolls, but this sheet only provides +9. The only way Otis could get to +10 is either getting to level 17 for another +1 from the proficiency bonus or taking another ASI at level 16 for +2 Int. So it depends on which level Otis had been at, and as I explained in a prior post, all we know is that Otis was at least level 13 while the others were at least level 16 (which means Otis was likely at least level 16). We just don’t know which it would have been. So you get a bit of a sneak peak that one of those things would have to happen by that point in the story.

Of course, that’s assuming that Matt had even used super detailed character sheets instead of simplified stat blocks, and that the story even heads in that direction.

I figured Otis would probably make the most sense as a sneaky one, even though Tyffial’s gone the rogue/blood hunter route. While CritRoleStats noted that Otis seemed rogue-like, Matt never mentioned that they got sneak attack damage. However, that doesn’t mean Otis couldn’t be optimized to fight like a blood hunter version of Nott/Veth. Thus, the weapons, feats, and background all lean into that.

Mystic frenzy allows a weapon attack as a bonus action after casting a cantrip like Eldritch Blast, so that allowed for Otis to use a two-handed crossbow for one shot as a bonus action. Their fighting style also gives them a +2 with the crossbow. I gave them a +1 crossbow for the magic enchantment, though that wasn’t confirmed in stream. However, Otis dealt 11 piercing damage in one shot to Yasha, and that would be in range with +5 dex and +1 from the weapon that uses a 1d8. I could have taken the Crossbow Expert feat just so Otis could fire twice with the crossbow, but Matt didn’t do that in episode 123 when the Otis attacked Yasha/owl, so I opted to pass on it for consistency.

I also gave Otis +1 armor because all of the Tombtakers’ armor lit up for Caleb’s Detect Magic in 117. We don’t actually know Otis’s AC because every attack the Nein did on Otis was either when they were Halted (via Command), a 25 to hit, a save roll, or an area of effect. So it’s somewhere below 25. 18 is pretty nice, but it couldn’t be too over the top or the Nein would have no chance.

I gave Otis the Tough feat (bonus HP) because they’re a blood hunter and it’d be reasonable that they would be pretty tough as a Tombtaker, even if their strength sucks. The Eldritch Adept feat was a requirement since they didn’t multiclass into warlock; Otis used the Grasp of Hadar pretty much every round they cast an Eldritch Blast. It’s a very useful ability, as showcased in chapter 1.

Otis should probably have some magic items at this point in their career, and I wanted them to make sense for how sneaky they are. Before I started browsing, I decided one would be an attunement item and the other would be either a consumable or a recharging item. After all, it would have to be something that Otis either looted somewhere and decided to keep, or they bought it and price wasn’t really a hassle. With that in mind, I chose the Gloves of Thievery for +5 to sleight of hand and lockpicking, then a Wand of Magic Detection. This fits well with their sticky fingers, and it would help explain how Otis swiped the bag of holding from Fjord. (I could have also taken a background with proficiency in Sleight of Hand, but I preferred this option.)

Also, no biggie, but Otis is fucking loaded. Man, I wonder where all that coin came from. Maybe from 5+ years of working as a mercenary and a few months bodyguarding a member of the Cerberus Assembly who offered the Nein tens upon tens of thousands of gold for the same job. I mean, that’d make sense for them to keep a fuckton of that pay if they were decently attentive with their coin, especially living in a cheap place like Shadycreek Run. It sure would be weird if they were dirt poor after so many years of such lucrative work, reaching a high level, living a relatively modest lifestyle, and being experienced enough to realize they should demand at least some pay in advance when they go on long-term jobs.

/stares into the camera

Some people enjoy incompetent villains, but I sure don’t.

Lastly, Otis’s spells. With the way profane soul spells progress, Otis would have had 3 cantrips, 3 level one spells, 3 level two spells, and 1 level three spell. As mentioned above, Eldritch Blast and Create Bonfire made sense, and I chose Mage Hand for the third because that is gonna piss Nott off. I had nothing to go off for level 1 spells, but I figured Expeditious Retreat would be necessary due to their low walking speed (25ft before level 10). Charm Person and Illusory Script also matched the background I chose and would have been useful for sneaking around solo on the Tombtakers’ behalf. (What’s that you say? Monsters don’t read and Charm Person only works on humanoids? Don’t worry about it.) Detect Thoughts was from Revealed Arcana at level 7. Then Hold Person (That doesn’t work o— Don’t worry about it.), Spider Climb, and Invisibility for level two spells, all sensible for sneaking. Lastly, it had to be Counterspell for level three.

That’s about it. Wait, I didn’t discuss why Otis’s background is Criminal/Blackmailer.

Don’t worry about it.

#TF&TS #TF&TS meta #otis brunkel

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chronicowboy · 2 years ago

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2022 writing review

so its 2023, so what? better to review a year with a little bit of distance methinks

tagged by @kitkatpancakestack hope ur 2023 is going well so far muah <3

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 42 oh lord

2. Word count posted for the year: 297,700 (mortifying)

3. Fandoms I wrote for: 9-1-1

4. Pairings: buck/eddie

5. Story with the most:

kudos: please? (can't say no) 1,220 kudos

bookmarks: the persistence of memory 386 bookmarks

comment threads: the persistence of memory 119 threads

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): ooooof i was gonna say the persistence of memory just because of the sheer word count and that i love the story but im actually really proud of my gilmore girls au all you have to do is call my name (i'll be there) because i wrote 40k words in under a week and for once i wasn't wondering about if people would read it i wrote it for me (and my beloved elke) honourable mentions to 1001 reasons to not get drunk with your sister's boyfriend and any of my ravi pov fics because they're silly but i love them all the same and my amnesia collection

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): hmmm probably we don't go through the glass doors because it was half-formed but i still posted it, i basically just saw that gif of peeta pressing his forehead against the forcefield for katniss in the jabberjay scene and i was like but what if it was buddie and yeah i just do not know why i posted it ig

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: any comments i've had saying that i should be a writer for the show makes me want to scream such as "this is soooooooooooo good!!!! its so perfectly and wonderfully devastating and heartbreaking and emotional and warm and soft. you write the firefam's dialogue SOOO WELL! they should add you as a staff writer tbh. ❤❤❤❤❤❤" on (tpom surefire way to make me happy is to compliment my dialogue and the 118 dynamics)

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: at the moment tbh i have so much uni work to do and an original piece of fiction im 200+ pages into and i'm trying to do all of that at once so the fic has fallen to the wayside a little

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: god this is really difficult and it definitely doesn't help that i can barely remember anything about my fics but um i guess character-wise its a surprise whenever i write taykay as an actual character rather than just a mention through gritted teeth lol but um scene-wise maybe just my whole albert pov fic what are you doing home? we thought you were babysitting just because its not something i'd normally write (eddie is only mentioned how uncharacteristic of me!!)

11. A favourite excerpt of your writing: oh god um i am so proud of lots of bits to my writing so i'm going to try to limit myself

just all of my surrealism weaved into 9-1-1, what's your fantasy? to kind of hint that buck's dreaming

the realisation scene in flatpack furniture and a djungelskog

"It'll be pretty cool, right?" Eddie's talking, but Buck can barely hear it over the static ringing in his ears. "To look at it and know that we made it together—"

You don't find it, son, you make it.

Its nothing special. Its nothing out of the ordinary.

There's nobody in this world I trust more with my son than you.

There's an Alan key sitting in his open palm, ever so slightly warmed by Eddie's hand.

I know you did.

Its nothing special. Its nothing out of the ordinary.

You two have an adorable son.

Eddie passes him tools at work all the time without him asking. They've suffered the telepathy jokes a million times.

Shouldn't it be when you're at your worst, they're at their worst, you have every reason to give up and you still decide you want to try again.

this scene from the only try day is wednesday because i originally hated this fic until i reread this moment

The picture catches the flames, curling up at the bottom corners, colours melting away and consuming Eddie and Christopher whole before finally, finally taking Buck too.

Because that's the thing. If Eddie is in there, if he's— Then that's what's going to happen. The fire takes Eddie first. Then, Christopher. Christopher who loses two parents and gets stuck with a Buck, a Buck he'll grow to resent because Buck's the reason Eddie was here in the first place, because Buck didn't save Eddie. So, the fire will take Buck finally.

And it will take him violently. It will ravage him, turn him to ash and sift it through their fingers until he's nothing but a few chunks of burnt bone. It will take him, consume him, ruin him. And he'll be dead, in every way that counts. He's already dying now.

Buck refuses to let it happen.

He'll die. He'll die before Chris can resent him because that would finish him off. Losing Christopher, losing Christopher to hatred and loathing, that would kill him. And that death would be much more violent than any chaos fire could wreak.

this scene in memory (all alone in the moonlight)

"Eddie, can we not do this?" Sighing, Buck looks up at the ceiling. "I'm missing five years of my life. I feel like shit. I really don't need you coming in here acting all weird."

Eddie lets out a breath and takes a step forward.

"What do you need from me, Buck?"

And, fuck, that question really shouldn't bring tears to his eyes, but. But Buck's spent his whole life being the one asking that question and now he doesn't even know the person who knows him well enough to ask it.

"I need my best friend." He whispers.

Eddie's face crumbles and he crosses the space between them in three steps, settling onto the edge of the bed and pulling Buck into his chest. Buck clutches at his Henley as he tries to compose himself, but Eddie's hand settles heavy at the base of his skull.

"Hey, don't do that." Eddie murmurs. "Just let it go, Buck."

And so, Buck breaks—for the second time in as many days—in a relative stranger's arms.

Eventually, when the tears have subsided and Buck finds the energy to be embarrassed about dirtying Eddie Diaz's shirt with snot and tears, he sits back in his bed and scrubs at his face.

"Thanks." He rasps.

"You don't have to thank me for that, Buck." Eddie offers him a cup of water and a handful of tissues. "I know you don't remember it, but we promised to have each other's backs and I don't plan on breaking that anytime soon."

"Fuck." Buck wipes at his eyes with the tissues until Eddie pries it from his hand and takes over for him, soft and gentle enough to have the tears springing to life all over again. "I really want to hate you." Eddie laughs.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: honestly just sheer volume of writing, for most of my writing life i was always so perfectionist and adamant that i couldn't move on until this one project was polished and perfect but this year i've written and written and written and let myself abandon projects and have rough first drafts yknow

13. How do you hope to grow next year: hmm idk really maybe just write even more and branch out a little in what i'm writing

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc): @danielsousa my love, my heart, my rock!!!!! honestly probably wouldn't have written half as much if it weren't for elke cheering me on for the gilmore girls au and sending me screenshots of my writing that made her want to kill me

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: oh much i'm sure, i put myself into everything i write intentionally or not just because its such a personal thing for me but um in persistence of memory all the timeloop media references and agents of shield as i have always been reference specifically

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: read and write! nothing is ever going to help you as much as that. read fics yes, but read books and poetry anthologies and non-fiction! and write! write fic, write shitty poetry in your notes app, write short fiction, start a book. in the wise words of shia la boeuf JUST DO IT

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: ohhh okay so i have plans for two very big buddie aus an agents of shield au where fitzsimmons are technically henchim but buddie gets their romantic scenes, and then a national treasure au because i am a SUCKER for those films and chimney as riley is something that can be soooo personal

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read: ummm just anyone who wants to do this?? feel free to say i tagged you because my brain isn't working!!

#sami rambles #this is long sorry #but it was really fun #and definitely not a way for me to ignore all that aforementioned uni work #tag game #long post

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raccoonfallsharder · 1 year ago

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surprise! i was working really hard to get a little autumn present out for you while it was still autumn lol. this is a low/no smut installment to

⋆｡°✩ Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩°｡⋆ aka The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl

there will be smut-free and 18+ only versions (though tbh the 18+ option is not super-smutty - really just a brief few paragraphs - and the smut-free version will still have references to an implied romantic and/or sexual relationship). really it's like....pure fuckin fluff. this should be posted this wednesday (11/22).

⋆｡°✩ Critical Interview Questions for Potential Room & Crewmates ✩°｡⋆(Eleventh Visit)

you take rocket on a fall-themed date. unbeknownst to you, he also has plans: specifically, to introduce you to some potential roommates. pure autumnal domestic fluff. comics-rocket-based but you do not need any comics-knowledge to ride this ride. you don't need to start at the beginning of this series, but it would make it more fun (and allow some references to make more sense). these versions will be side-by-side in the same ao3 work (version 1 will be linked to "chapter 1" and version 2 will be linked to "chapter 2." they are basically identical so there is no need to read both.)

a little excerpt ✩°｡⋆

You end up parked outside a sprawling box of a building with a near-empty gravel car lot. When you step hesitantly out of your little vehicle, you can hear the November breeze lacing through the dark-amber poplars, ruffled and rustling.

“Where are we?” you ask him.

He clicks his tongue at you. “So many d’ast questions, princess. Patience.”

You hear the sound of a little bell, and your eyes bounce to the glass door at the front, swung wide open and propped by the hands and hip of a middle-aged lady with steely-gray hair. “Hello! Are you the — oh,” the woman says abruptly, her eyes falling on Rocket. “We don’t take — “

“This is my friend,” you interrupt before she can say something that puts that exhausted, annihilated look back in Rocket’s eyes. Honestly, you’ve spent too much time trying to make sure he never has to feel like he did back on the Staten Island ferry to let this random woman drag him back into it.

“I’m the grizmod who set up the d’ast appointment,” Rocket adds dryly, like he knows what she’d been about to say. We don’t take wild animals, maybe, or we don’t take vermin. Your heart aches a little because you know it will always be the response he gets here, at some point or another, in perpetuity.

november aspirations ⸙͎｡˚⋆ 𓋼

★ indicates most-recent updates

wednesday 11/1: florescence ❀, chapter two year one: sprout ⋆ domestic scenes in space travel masterlist (thursday 11/2) ⋆ blackmail material masterlist (friday 11/3)

tuesday 11/7: Window Across the Galaxy, Chapter XVIII. wednesday 11/8: take what you need, reminder 1 [NEW series - drabbles, smut-free] thursday 11/9: take what you need, reminder 2 ⋆ kinktober 2023 masterlist (thursday 11/9) ⋆ let me love your OCs masterlist (friday 11/10)

tuesday 11/14: Window Across the Galaxy, Chapter XIX. ⋆ florescence❀ masterlist (wednesday 11/15) ⋆ take what you need masterlist (thursday 11/16) ★⋆ anthology (one-shots & drabbles) masterlist (saturday 11/18) ★⋆ window across the galaxy masterlist (saturday 11/18) ★⋆ FULL fanfiction masterlist (sunday 11/19)

★monday 11/20: take what you need, reminder 4 [take a damn bath, for @hibataao3]

★wednesday 11/22: Critical Interview Questions for Potential Room & Crewmates (Domestic Scenes in Space Travel, Installment 4)

★monday 11/27: take what you need, reminder 5 [leave your frickin skin alone, for nonnie] -this is aspirational (it could take a little longer!)

thursday 11/30: Window Across the Galaxy, Chapter XX.

only the bolded titles are new material - all the masterlists will be existing content. just trying to get everything organized. i'm also hoping to get a few nice extras in here for you since i'll have a few days off work!

other things i'm working on ｡˚⋆ (behind the cut)

florescence ❀, chapter three year two: growth

Window Across the Galaxy Chapters XXI and XXII

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall, part one

Firearms Over Flowers [a Blackmail Material Interlude]. almost-smut based on the discarded draft for the original part three

thinking about sunshine & practice & cicatrix (wyndham) expansions (from kinktober collection)

thinking about other duties as assigned

#november updates #rocket raccoon x you #sneak peek #sweatshirt girl #domestic scenes in space travel #rocket raccoon fanfiction #adventures of space pilot & sweatshirt girl

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filament-max · 3 years ago

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At the Catch Ch. 9 Preview #1

Well…I tried to write y’all some smut and it turned into 4k of mostly fluff (but isn’t emotional intimacy the ultimate smut?). Chapter 9 is coming along, but a bit slowly. Second (angst?) preview next week or the week after, and I’m going to change my posting day to Friday/Saturday rather than Tuesday/Wednesday. Excerpt below and writing playlist at the end!

“You can’t always go first.”

“Oh, I can’t?”

“No, it’s not allowed.”

“Allowed?” Kara laughed, her eyebrows shooting up, and Lena found herself thoroughly endeared at how Kara’s nose scrunched up, at the whole perfect picture, really.

She stepped close to Kara, kept a sliver of space between them. “That’s right. Or don’t you like listening to me?”

Immediately, Kara teetered towards her, into her, slack in that way Lena loved. Slack as if all of the tension in Kara’s body, all the stress and soreness that Lena had seen weigh on her after long practices, had sensed preyed on her mind in rare moments of brimming quiet…all gone; gone as if it could be eased with a brush of Lena’s hand, with a well-judged whisper.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She tangled her fingers with Kara’s, planted a kiss on her neck. Smiled at how Kara settled against her. At the silent question in the catch of Kara’s breath—what next?

“Bed.” She turned, hardly had to pull Kara after her, started around the corner to the bedroom. Glanced back and treated herself to the view of Kara floating along like a cartoon character who had just smelled a particularly tasty pie.

And it was dumb and adorable and it should have made her laugh, but instead Lena felt her chest constrict. Felt her eyes burn. Felt the telltale doubt creep out from the corners of her mind.

Kara certainly made it difficult for her to doubt, difficult to question that the vast sum of Kara’s earnest sweetness, kindness, adoration could actually be directed at her.

But part of her kept asking if she really deserved all of that.

She didn’t realize she’d stopped until Kara bumped into her, set them both off-balance.

That snapped her out of it, fortunately. Brought her back to Kara, to the task at hand.

And even if part of her wasn’t so sure she deserved Kara, she’d never doubted that Kara deserved every patience, every iota of care and affection she could muster.

Newly determined, she marched Kara to the edge of the bed, wasted no time in pressing up against her and kissing her. Slow at first, lips parting as they shared a breath, but with gentle, sure acceleration, pulling their joined hands up and resting them against her own chest. Letting Kara feel how Lena’s heart beat for her. Wondering if this would be the moment when Kara would guess the depth of her feelings. Thinking for the first time that it wouldn’t be the worst thing, if Kara knew she loved her.

The thought startled her, her lips stuttering against Kara’s, the rhythm of the kiss lost.

But Kara was quiet, her hand flexing in Lena’s, no confrontation forthcoming.

Lena pulled back. “Lay down.”

There was a moment thick with hesitation before Kara did so, and it felt a little odd, how Kara’s hand tightened around hers, how she tentatively drew Lena down onto the bed beside her. How she fidgeted when Lena moved closer. How her eyebrows drew together and she swallowed.

Easy.

She settled on her side next to Kara. Didn’t touch her apart from their twined fingers. Only smiled a little, tried to radiate calm and stillness.

It was satisfying, how Kara stilled too, fidgeting fading. How Kara smiled back after a minute.

Lena took it as an invitation to speak. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready, or if you don’t want this. We don’t have to do anything.” She studied Kara’s expression intently. Looked for the things Kara wouldn’t say.

And Kara’s eyes did drop, unfocus, her brow furrowing. Reflecting, checking in with herself. Lena’s chest ached with pride, with hope. She turned her eyes loose, let the warm ache in her chest expand as her gaze roved over the lovely lines and curves of Kara’s profile.

Got a little lost in that, in the faint impression of a scar above Kara’s left eyebrow, in her laugh lines, in the way her ponytail pulled her hair taut, opened up her face.

Thought, it’s so weird, loving someone like this.

Not only noticing laugh lines, but staring at them. Committing them to memory. Imagining how they’d feel under her hands, against her lips, between her thighs. Reveling in how it’d be after, lingering with Kara in the afterglow.

At that moment, Kara came back to her, met her eyes. Smiled at her, laugh lines stretching, deepening, and why, oh why did that alone give her butterflies, chase the thoughts out of her head?

She watched Kara take a deep breath, couldn’t have looked away if she tried.

“I know I want this. And I…I think I am ready.” Kara’s smile faded. “I’m just…worried.”

Lena tried not to pounce on that, but nonetheless felt a surge of relief. They’d gotten close to this conversation a few times, usually when they were already in the thick of things. Kara hadn’t been ready to talk about it then, but maybe now would be different.

“Why are you worried?” she asked, level and easy.

Kara didn’t say anything for a long time, only looked down and played with Lena’s hand, moving their fingers apart only to bring them back together again, stopping to stroke tingly circles in Lena’s palm with her thumb.

And, as always, it never felt like waiting with Kara, not when this was right where she needed to be.

Kara opened her mouth, and then—all at once—they were having the conversation.

“It…sometimes…it takes me…awhile.”

The whisper fluttered between them like a living thing, uneven and precarious, shuddering with secretive shame.

It took a considerable effort not to reach out and take it between her palms, to soothe it still and quiet and bury it under a mountain of assurances. To lay there and observe it instead. To actually have the conversation first and let the assurances follow.

But that didn’t mean the conversation couldn’t be fun.

She reached out and squeezed Kara’s bicep. Raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my attention span?”

And that made Kara laugh, thankfully. Made her snuggle closer. “No.” Kara’s face fell, and she looked away again. But the words still came. “But I don’t want you to be…”

“Me to be…?” she prompted, running her finger up Kara’s arm.

She watched Kara fish for the words, watched her wince as they came to mind. “Bored,” Kara said, a rough edge to her voice. “Or disheartened.” And then, still quieter, her voice cracking, “Frustrated.”

Fuck.

Even though Lena had suspected it would be something like this, it was different…worse, to hear Kara say it. To hear her voice break over the words. To wonder if these insecurities were really so abstract, or if they’d been cultivated with experience, with partners bored or disheartened or with the nerve to be fucking frustrated.

It was a lucky thing that she managed not to say the first impulsive assurance that came to mind (I can’t stop thinking about fucking you), instead took a moment to gather herself and help Kara to the logic behind the assurance.

“Do you get bored when you’re touching me?” she asked, drawing circles on Kara’s shoulder with her finger.

The look Kara gave her then wasn’t one she’d soon forget, as if Lena had questioned the culinary value of potstickers or grown a second head. “No. Never. Are you kidding?”

She pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows the slightest bit, see?

Kara caught up quickly, and she gave Lena a look then that was far more familiar. Lips parted, her wide blue eyes moving over Lena’s face in something akin to wonder, blinking. Lena wasn’t sure what this look meant for Kara, but she knew how it made her feel. How it’d made her feel the last time she’d seen it, Kara resting on top of her with this same wonderstruck expression, cradling her face—There’s no one like you, Lena.

And Lena had to be the one to look away then, had to catch her breath.

She was still a little breathless when she pushed on through the rest of it, “And have you ever been disheartened? Or frustrated?”

Kara shifted beside her. Moved closer. “No,” she whispered.

“And I’m not going to be either.” She glanced back over at Kara, her heart giving a particularly frantic thump when she was met with that same wonderstruck expression. “No matter what,” she promised, her voice heavy with it.

Kara didn’t say anything, but that seemed to be a sort of answer. The sun had set while they’d been laying there, dying orange light falling in long rays. They lightened Kara’s hair, made Kara fucking glow even more than usual, of course. Made Lena want to see more of her.

Easing forward, she held her hand up, stopping short of Kara’s ponytail. “Can I?”

Almost bashful, Kara nodded, her cheeks rosier than usual.

So fucking cute.

She cocked an eyebrow and tugged on Kara’s ponytail lightly. Excited herself with how Kara’s chin rose, how the muscles in her neck moved.

“You’re beautiful like this,” she said, moving to slip the hairband off, onto her own wrist. She dug her hands into Kara’s soft hair, flipped it forward and fluffed it out. “And like this too.”

Kara appeared to take a bracing breath, reached out to touch Lena’s cheek. But didn’t deflect. Sat in the compliment and smiled at Lena instead.

Sliding closer, she rested her hand on Kara’s waist. Didn’t miss how Kara jumped under her touch, or the quietest of apologetic whispers that followed, “Sorry.”

And that wouldn’t do.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said, trying for light, easy, unbothered. Trying to lower the stakes. “Do you want a hug?”

Kara’s warm smile returned, and Lena felt a little fuzzy, a little off-balance even before Kara opened her arms.

Scooting up against Kara, into her arms, Lena could have guessed at the rush of sweet sensations that would follow—Kara’s vanilla-citrus scent, her scratchy-soft flannel, her chest expanding against Lena’s. But what she couldn’t have guessed was that Kara would tighten her hold, would take the opportunity to roll them back and forth across the bed. That Kara would laugh at her gasp of surprise, and then at her muffled noises of protest.

When they came to a sudden stop, Kara was pressing her into the mattress, was just as swiftly kissing her with smoldering intensity, with a desire that seemed to say, I’m going to have you how I want you.

And while part of her certainly…reacted…to that, it wasn’t the next thing on her agenda.

She tapped Kara’s shoulder. “I want to be on top.”

Kara hummed, gave her a peck. “If that’s what you want.” Rolled them over again with more speed than seemed strictly necessary, Lena putting her hand out and halting their momentum with a huff.

She narrowed her eyes, propped herself up and straddled Kara so she could see her better. “You don’t want to make this easy for me, do you?”

Avoiding her eyes, Kara shrugged. “Wanted to give you an out.”

Her heart dropped out of her chest, and she only just managed to bite back a stricken sigh. Wished she could summon as much warmth as Kara could, made a valiant attempt as she leaned down and took Kara’s face in her hands. “I don’t want an out. I want you.”

And then she waited there, stroking Kara’s cheeks with her thumbs. Only felt her heart return to her chest when Kara met her eyes and took a hitching breath, when Kara leaned forward and kissed her. Kissed her soft, and then with blooming, expanding regard, her lips parting wide to welcome Lena’s tongue.

Kara pulled back first, and her voice came out hoarse, “Can we see how it feels? And you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to?”

“As long as you tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Yeah.” Kara smiled, that slow, growing, honeyed smile that Lena loved. “Yeah, okay.”

She helped herself to Kara slowly, as much for herself as for Kara. Exploratory foreplay wasn’t unfamiliar to her, of course, but it’d most often been fast-paced with Andrea and the other women she’d been with. There was a difference between teasing, breathing hotly against a squirming woman’s cunt and nosing the inside of her thighs, and exploring, flaring fingers and searing kisses tempered by soft curiosity.

And Lena was determined to explore every inch of Kara.

Which first involved much kissing, much tugging of clothes, much flushing delight at how Kara felt pinned under her, at how Kara smiled and whispered yes, moved to help Lena get her clothes off. At how Kara’s sun-kissed skin gave way to stark tan lines, to lighter, untouched skin and to a lacy blue bra and panties. At how perfect, how squarely right it felt that this was her second chance to see Kara in them, to do something about how unreasonably hot Kara looked like this, staring up at Lena, her golden hair fanned out around her on the bed.

She ran her finger up Kara’s abs, more than a little affected at the reminder of how solid, how strong Kara was, not that she could have forgotten. Inhaling deeply, she turned her finger to trace along the bottom band of Kara’s bra. “I’m so glad you wore this for me,” she said, her voice low and tight.

“You like it?”

Chuckling, she brushed Kara’s hair away from her ear. “Yes. I like you in boxer briefs and sports bras too, but…” She lowered herself down against Kara, whispered, “…but I can already tell you’re going to be so good at letting me have you like this.”

Kara’s gulp might have been audible from the other room, let alone from right up against her, and Lena sat back on her heels, worry pulling at her gut. It’d been a push, she knew, but a push she hoped would help Kara sink into this.

“Did you like that?” she asked, trying to interpret Kara’s struck, suspended expression. “I don’t have to talk-.”

“I liked it.” Kara nodded rapidly, eager. “Liked that.” She seemed to recover, smiled brightly up at Lena and rested her hand on Lena’s hip. “I like you.”

She couldn’t resist smiling back, leaned down to capture Kara’s lips and rekindle their momentum.

It went well for a while then, slow and steady between them, growing heavier with each passing minute. Groping for the lamp and flicking it on to bathe Kara in soft light. Yielding to Kara’s searching hands, trying to get her own clothes off without breaking apart from Kara for more than a second. Kissing and stroking her way over Kara’s body, rewarding Kara with possessive grabs and renewed effort when she felt Kara’s hand tighten in her hair, when Kara sighed or moaned.

Slowly, slowly, she worked Kara’s bra off, spent several minutes listening and feeling how Kara responded to her touch. It had swiftly become her favorite puzzle, figuring out what made Kara tick.

She’d learned a lot about how Kara liked her boobs played with in the last few weeks, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying to build her up, to feel how quickly Kara’s chest started to rise and fall under her attentions, harsh breaths and hands fisting in and around Lena. To graze Kara’s nipple with her teeth and to hear how Kara gasped, to feel how Kara’s hips jumped under her.

Grinning against Kara, grinning wide and pressing it to Kara’s skin so she’d feel it, Lena ran her hand down Kara’s side, let it rest on her thigh.

Things started to change a little, then.

It started with a tremble in Kara’s thigh, right there where she’d left her hand. Which she read as good, initially, the sensation of what she assumed to be Kara’s nervous excitement sending a bolt of heat between her own legs. With a whine, she grinded down on one of Kara’s thighs. It was difficult to swallow suddenly, caught up in what it’d felt like to have the solid length of muscle pressed to her last week, flexing against her twitching clit and driving her up towards the headboard relentlessly.

Perhaps that was why it took her a minute to feel not just the trembling, but the tensing. How Kara had coiled herself up like a spring.

With dawning apprehension, she looked up to meet Kara’s eyes.

Found them clouded, Kara’s brow furrowed in that way it did when Kara was hard at work on an article or on figuring out the walking schedules for the neighborhood dogs.

She moved off of Kara, shifted to her kneel beside her. “Hey.”

Kara exhaled, slightly shaky. “Hi.” But the set of her shoulders remained tense, rigid.

Okay. She needed time.

Unhurried, Lena telegraphed her movements, laid down beside Kara and brushed her hand against Kara’s. Kara took it at once, threaded their fingers together. And then all she had to do was sit in this moment with Kara, to listen to her breathing gradually even out, to take in how still and quiet and full it felt between them.

To wait until it felt right to say, “It’s possible you’re thinking too much, darling.”

Kara vibrated beside her, chuckled. Turned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m thinking too much? Me?”

Smirking, she gave Kara a playful bump. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

Kara laughed again, the best sound, squeezed her hand.

They laid in the quiet, in the low light of the lamp.

“Can we try again?”

Lena doubted she would have heard the whisper if their heads weren’t resting against each other.

“Yes. Always,” she said, as affirmative as she could make it. She turned onto her side, faced Kara. “I’m not expecting anything, you know. You don’t have to worry.” She reached out, ran her hand down Kara’s chest, stomach, stopped just above her underwear. “If you do want this, all you have to do is relax.”

Swiftly, she turned her eyes up, read Kara’s expression—a little stupefied, but liquid loose, slack for her. She let go of Kara’s hand, rested it on the side of Kara’s warm neck instead. Leaned in and kissed her. Whispered to her, “I don’t need to make you come to make you feel good.”

Kara shuddered, and she smiled, kissed her again. Thrilled at how quickly Kara recovered, how voraciously Kara kissed her back.

Broke away breathless, raised an eyebrow. “Do you…want that?”

The goofy, dazed grin plastered on Kara’s face made Lena clench her hands with want, for some unfathomable reason, and Kara’s rambling answer didn’t help matters, “Uh, yes…if you…yeah. I mean, I really, really do…want…sign me up? But…but is this something you sign up for? If it’s just us? I bet you’d probably have a lot of people-.”

“Kara.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Thank you. Ye-.”

She kissed Kara before she could start up again, before she inadvertently made it impossible for Lena to focus on anything else but the impossible heat gathering in her gut.

Soon enough, she settled into the slower pace from earlier, found a groove with Kara that had her body singing, had Kara moving to close any and all distance between them. She spent a long time making sure Kara liked the feeling of Lena’s hand on her waist, over her legs, between her thighs.

And then, with a murmured exchange of yes? and yes, her fingers grazed Kara over her soft, lacy underwear. Slightly damp underwear, she found with a jolt, Kara slicker for her than she’d dare hope.

“Kara, you feel so good,” she sighed, and Kara whimpered, held her closer.

“So do you,” Kara replied, her voice strained.

“Relax,” she whispered back, moving her hand still more slowly against Kara. “Try to relax, dearest.”

She waited until she felt Kara stretch loose-limbed beneath her. Kissed her and rubbed slow circles over Kara’s underwear. Let them both get used to it before she asked, “Can I take these off? Or do you want them on?”

“Off,” Kara said, apparently not up for further elaboration.

Her heart thumped particularly hard again, fuck, and she drew back enough to grab either side of the panties, to slide them down Kara’s legs. Kara shifted to help, kicked them away when Lena got them down to her ankles, so transparently eager that Lena rocked subtly against her.

Easy, she reminded herself, and she slowed them back down. Rested her hand on Kara’s thigh lightly. “Hi.”

Kara bit her lip. “Hey.”

“How are you?” she asked, her eyes flicking down to Kara’s cunt, to her trim, fair hair and the slick, swollen clit peeking out.

Fuck, wow.

She closed her eyes, steadied herself. Tried not to dwell on how it’d feel to tease Kara’s stiff bud with her fingers, how it’d be to take Kara’s clit in her mouth and suck on her, taste her-.

Something tucked her hair behind her ear, and when she opened her eyes, Kara flashed her a self-satisfied grin. Settled her hand on the nape of Lena’s neck and husked, “Who’s thinking too much now?”

She narrowed her eyes, saw it for the flirtatious challenge for control that it was, pushed Kara back against the bed firmly. “Can you blame me? You’re…,” she gestured up and down the length of Kara’s body, eyes catching on muscle group after muscle group, flushing at how inarticulate she’d become. “You’re a fucking statue,” she settled on, undercurrent of irritation fading. Tentatively, she moved her hand over Kara’s chest, skated featherlight over her collarbones. “You’re beautiful, and I’m so happy I get to be here with you.”

And Kara seemed content to continue whatever world record for eye contact they seemed to be going for lately, looking up at her in that way she had sometimes, like Lena had never disappointed her and never could.

She tried not to let that unnerve her, tried not to block out the slowly shrinking part of her that said, you don’t deserve it. Focused on Kara instead. “Now: how are you?”

Kara chuckled, shook her head. Waved her hand as if it the answer were obvious.

But Lena waited, wanted to hear.

“I don’t need that much more,” Kara finally said, blue eyes wide, guileless, wondering. Apparently still trying for the world record for eye contact. “You’ve already given me so much. Want to give it back to you.”

And as much as her body leapt at that prospect, as much as she’d give for Kara to find out exactly how wet she was…they’d barely even started.

She reached down and stroked up through Kara’s folds. Took gleeful note of how Kara gasped, how she chased the contact with her hips and grabbed for Lena.

“Are you asking me to stop because you’re done or because you think I am?” She kissed along Kara’s neck, started slow, light circles around her clit. “Because I’m not even close to done with you, Danvers. But I’ll stop if you want.”

“Oh my god.”

Writing playlist for this chapter:

Deceptacon by Le Tigre

I’m Going Down Like the Titanic by Javi That’s Me

My Girl by The Temptations

Kiss by Adiescar Chase

California Dreamin’ by Chris Lorenzo + High Jinx (for the Metropolis race)

Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes

Encounters by bl00dwave

Wet Dream by Wet Leg

Little Death by The Beths

Go Down On You by The Memories

Chapter theme: Amour plastique by Videoclub

#at the catch #supercorp #whoops all fluff #see lena can top

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lightsinthedistancee · 4 years ago

Text

Darkness : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 1.4k

Excerpt: “Darkness is a time of peace for you. A time to crawl into soft sheets, to curl up against your pilot. Some nights, to feel him lazily press a soft kiss to your forehead before his breath levels out in sleep. Others, to feel his hands roaming your body, feel him inside you.”

Summary: A short talk to Poe is always enough to cure a case of loneliness.

Warnings: Some sexual references

A/N: This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I actually originally meant for this to be a perhaps 500 word-ish Drabble but it ended up way longer obviously. But I’m really proud of it and love the concept of Writer Wednesday, so hope you guys enjoy! (Also, we’re just gonna pretend that phones and phone booths exist in the Star Wars universe...).

You’ve always found something lovely in darkness.

It’s simple, quiet, a constant that never changes, that rolls around at roughly the same time each night. Settles over cities and towns and every being in the galaxy in a thin blanket. Darkens faces into comforting anonymity, conceals the activities of lovers, provides peace in slumber for the weary.

There is a saying: One should not be afraid of the dark, but of what lies in it.

And after years of life, years of travel, years of experiencing the galaxy, you know that nothing sinister hides beneath darkness. No monsters, no demons, no ghosts. It is something that simply exists with no ulterior motive, something that is debatably hard to come by these days.

Darkness is a time of peace for you. A time to crawl into soft sheets, to curl up against your pilot. Some nights, to feel him lazily press a soft kiss to your forehead before his breath levels out in sleep. Others, to feel his hands roaming your body, feel him inside you.

In those times, darkness is there, still a constant. Hiding his features, hiding those eyes you adore during the daytime, allowing you to become entirely tactile, to simply feel him to the fullest, void of the distraction one’s most used method of perception, sight, provides.

Yet tonight is a rare night. Your feet hit pavement as you walk quickly, hands in your coat, head bent towards the ground. You’ve been on this Outer Rim planet for nearly two months, gathering intelligence undercover, maintaining little to no contact with the Resistance, and therefore, Poe.

The darkness seems stronger than ever tonight. It slithers up and down the sides of buildings, seems to wrap around you in strings. In this moment, it is not simply a cover—it is suffocating.

The loneliness had been getting to you. Too many days going by a name that is not your own, too many days living in constant fear, too many days away from the touch of someone that’s always able to take your mind off of everything.

And that’s exactly what you need right now. A distraction. A brief moment to bind you back to everything you know, something you are slowly, imperceptibly slipping away from in your mind. The buildings seem to tower over you, to dwarf you. It’s an intimidation act, and you feel it’s working.

It feels as if you can sink into the asphalt, become one with the soil that had been so cruelly compressed by man-made rock. As if you can sink beneath and become one with the dead, the figurative and the literal that had most likely been so barbarously worked to death to build this historic city in the dark days of the galaxy.

You round a bend, turning onto the main street, and your eyes, adjusted to the dark, flare painfully as light hits you. You snap them shut on instinct, flinching. However, the object of your discomfort is not an unknown. This route had been walked by you every day the last two months, and the light is the same phone booth you’d been using to transmit information back to the Resistance due to the anonymous, unmonitored, and therefore, rare quality of it.

It is hardly used anymore, for everyone has their own personal holos, and this one is particularly beat up. It’s translucent walls are cloudy, it’s metal backing dented. Nowadays, it is probable that is it only frequented by drunks and Spice addicts and, well…you.

There is something ironic about the fact that this small, dilapidated booth is your only connection back to D’Qar.

But not ironically, perhaps in a poetically symbolic manner, it also shines bright in the darkness, eradicates the very thing that had been suffocating you moments earlier. It is almost a physical embodiment of hope.

It is also a universal rule that hope births more hope, and an unwise desire comes over you. One that could put the whole operation at risk. But resisting the temptation, it hurts. It’s agonizing, and you want to give in to it. You want to hear one voice. One voice that can wrap you in softness, encourage your imagination to conjure up the sensation of his touch.

And before you know it, you’re in the booth, dialing a long string of numbers you’ve memorized by now. A voice of a communications officer sounds.

You state your name.

“Security code?” the officer asks.

“Six nine eight oh seven three.”

Your eyes nervously glance around. Despite having done this a few times, the experience still makes your heart race. You can only hope that any observer would see only an ordinary lone figure, silhouetted in the light, making an emergency call to a friend because she drank too much or got her wallet stolen.

“You got information?”

“No,” you respond, letting out a soft breath and lying through your teeth. “I need you to transfer me to Commander Dameron. I have a hunch regarding something naval, and I need his opinion.”

You silently chide yourself at your quickness to over explain.

But luckily, the communication officer says nothing. “Transferring now,” he says.

You thank him, leaning against the inner wall of the booth, hovering the phone directly next to your ear. Moments of silence pass before a voice breaks it.

“Hello?” says Poe.

Every point of tension in you seemed to relax in a moment as your eyes slowly close. The timbre of his voice washes over you, through you. “Hey,” you whisper.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds confused. Above all, tired.

“Did I wake you?” you ask, feeling bad all of a sudden. The high that had been coursing through your veins moments earlier plunges back to the ground. The intensity with which you feel it is irrational, yet nothing in you mind is steady.

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” he replies, a slight urgency to his voice. “Is something wrong?”

You picture him in your shared bed back on D’Qar, shirt off like usual. Propped up on one elbow, sheets falling to his waist, holo to his ear, concern on his features. Concern at his love calling him in the middle of the night, her voice shaking.

“Nothing’s wrong…I just…I….” Your voice trails off, and a silence a bit too long elapses.

“Baby?” he asks.

Your breath trembles slightly as you let it out. “This was a mistake,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, just—“

He interjects at the tone of finality in your voice. “Hey…don’t go, sweetheart.” You hear him shift, perhaps sitting up. “Just talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I miss you,” you blurt out. You’d meant to say it more eloquently, less directly, but that’s not something you have the energy for right now. “I miss everyone back on D’Qar. This assignment…it’s the most least contact with base I’ve ever had, and—why am I even telling you that? You know that.” You let out a frustrated breath, gathering your thoughts. He patiently waits, something you’re grateful for. “I’m just…having a hard time. That’s all.”

His energy transmits well through the phone. He’s thinking, the gears in his mind turning. You can feel the helplessness, for there is undeniably little he can do. “I miss you, too,” he finally says. “It’s a few more weeks, baby. I know you’ve got it in you…”

It’s a simple sentence, yet nearly reinvigorating in a way. Nothing that immediately lifts your mood, but perhaps something that briefly abates the hollow feeling within you.

“I’ll be there the moment you’re back.” His tone is soft, a little raspy with tiredness, slightly reminiscent of the way he tells you how much he loves and how amazing you are in a post-sex haze of exhaustion. It’s an odd relation, but the sense of peace that both tones hold is something you always cling to. “I’ll be there to kiss you. To hold you.” He pauses. “To take you to bed….”

The way his voice, on the last statement, walks the line between humorous and genuinely seductive makes you laugh quietly. It’s neither a common nor desirable combination.

“There’s that beautiful laugh,” he says softly, letting out a breath, returning to his previous demeanor. “I’ll be there, baby. I know you know that.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. Air brushes past your lips as your eyes flutter shut. “I know.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl

Taglist (for Poe): @synical-paradox @spider-starry @paper-n-ashes

If you wish to be tagged on any of my future works, just let me know or do the form on my Masterlist if that’s easier!

Based on this Writer Wednesday pic:

#Writer Wednesday #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction

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melancholic-pigeon · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday- HIOB chapter 12

Content warning for brief references to a past suicidal episode. (The actual thing is lighthearted!)

It's suggestive, but not actually NSFW. They're just having a post-scene bath. 😘

...I'm excusing this excerpt being long because I am like five words under 6k rn. I wasn't kidding about Jason not being able to shut the fuck up.

It's strange how little sex involved.

Mostly, they just talk, Percy curled up against Jason's chest as the jets pound into the knot that stubbornly reasserted itself almost as soon as they parted ways. They're off now, and the relative silence is odd, but calming.

Percy's exhausted too, although he doesn't seem to realize how much effort he's expending in his (largely successful) attempts to deal with Jason's exhaustion. He yawns into Jason's shoulder, vividly calling back a thousand memories.

"It was really, really hard not to tell you I loved you," Jason says quietly, after a few moments of soft splashing and conversational lull. Percy lifts his head, wet hair sticking to his jaw.

"You told me all the time. Your love language, ironically, is 'acts of service'." He smirks, inexplicably soft. "It's just that you only used the actual words once."

Of course he knows what they're talking about— this is probably just as nostalgic for him. Jason's pulse quickens, residually feeling that long-ago crushing terror.

("You and I both know that right now you'd say almost anything to get me to—"

"Did it occur to you that I might be willing to say almost anything, including the truth? Because the truth, Percy, is that I'm being selfish, because you're my friend and I love you and I really don't want to lose you.")

"I hadn't even thought it to myself yet. It just— popped into my head and came out of my mouth. Not that I didn't know, but I hadn't faced up to how serious it had gotten."

Percy tilts his head. He looks thoughtful and tender.

"We really are foils, huh? I faced up to it when I cried on your shoulder for the first time, I just had no fuckin' clue what I was facing up to."

"We're counterweights, too." Jason brushes back that strand of hair, mostly as an excuse to cup Percy's cheek. "Like how I'm emotionally constipated and you wear your heart on your sleeve."

"My mom told me that exact thing the morning after senior prom." Percy, smiling, leans into the touch. "Just the part about me. It was how she knew I was smitten. Apparently, I'd been making moony eyes at you since I got out of the hospital."

Jason's inner seventeen year old shivers with delight. They haven't even been together for six months yet, but it feels like they've been in love their whole lives. Like maybe they've been in love for several lives already.

"I admire how expressive you are. I—"

He stops himself, grimacing slightly. Percy picks up the slack.

"You have a lot of feelings, but every time you showed them, it got you screamed at. You learned to hold it in because you didn't have a choice, but that doesn't make you any less sensitive— it's not so much that you have a thick skin and more that you've learned to push through your pain. Which is also why you reinjure at least two things per season and insist on continuing to play until you're forcibly benched." He narrows his eyes. "Hint hint."

Jason slides his hand around the back of Percy's neck and pulls him down again, ignoring the jab.

"If you ever go back to school, you should seriously consider counseling as a career path."

"I am, actually." Percy sits up and grins, a fierce, thunderous determination in it. "I want to be a licensed clinical social worker. I can add to the pool of 'em who don't totally suck, and at this point I'm something of an expert at needing therapy, so my clients and I will have that experience in common."

"That's perfect for you." Jason kisses the top of Percy's head. "You're incredibly insightful and compassionate. You always know what to say and how to say it, and it's not even on purpose— it's what's sincerely in your heart. The only people who ever doubt how much you care about them are the ones who aren't paying attention."

Percy buries his face in Jason's neck and raspberries his upper trapezius.

"Gee, tell me how you really feel."

They're both flushed from the steam, but Jason has a feeling they would be anyway.

"You knew this about me, babe."

"Shut up. Just because I like it doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I'll tone it down if you want me to," Jason tells him, smiling. He knows what the answer will be before Percy even shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm worse. I used to, like, wistfully tell people, 'oh, Jason's the best—'" he puts on that slightly-mocking tone he uses when he's quoting himself like this— "'he's such a great dude, he's so good at calming me down, I can only fall asleep when he's holding me, I don't know what I'd do without him, also his tits are very nice, yes, I'm sure I'm straight, why do you ask?'"

Jason snorts. "You see my point about how quickly and easily you show people your love."

"I'm not the only one." Percy sits up a little, his hand on Jason's chest to brace himself. "You try to be stoic, but what you really are is steady. People gravitate to you when they're upset or scared because they know you'll protect them, and they end up trailing behind you like ducklings. You don't show you hurt, but you definitely show you care."

Jason runs his hand over Percy's back where the cool shower soothed away the irritation.

"See? You always know what to say."

#i wrote this #wip wednesday #jercy #stellarverse

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haloud · 3 years ago

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things we could burn in one go (eminence) -- chapter 10

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Alex and Forrest struggle to understand each other in the wake of their breakup; Alex makes a shocking discovery at the Long farm.

Excerpt:

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

It was true; Alex had come here empty-handed, the way he brought himself to every step of their relationship. All the things he had inside him, all the things he had to give, he’d failed to deliver any of them in a way that Forrest needed. He’d made do with illusions, convincing ones, convincing enough to fool even himself into thinking he was built any other way than this. He was a problem-solver, a provider; it was bitter medicine to learn that brute-forcing himself into the proper shape for someone else only hurt everyone involved.

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

“I took a half day,” Alex replied. He’d taken tomorrow off as well to prepare for their planning session, but Forrest didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t want to make either of us wait. Not for this.”

(Wednesday, 14:00)

The Long family home was leagues from the old barn and the fallen tree, but an odd sort of almost-nostalgia sloshed in Alex’s stomach as he approached the house all the same. He had only been back here a few times since he and Forrest met; it wasn’t a part of their relationship; it was more convenient to spend their time at Alex’s, where there was no one to bother them. When they spent the night together, it was in Alex’s bed, and the sex they had was there too, unless Forrest knew for sure Wyatt was gone and not coming back. That thought only made it stranger, how Alex had never quite gotten used to sharing his space with him, sharing a bed, sharing a life. For the thousandth time he wondered what was wrong with him, but he took a deep breath and cut that feeling loose and let it float away. What good was a question with no answer to him now? It was a search he’d never finish, and he would have to learn to live with it.

It felt wrong to leave something before it was finished. To turn his back on a piece of himself before examining every inch of it under the light, to cut loose a string without following it to its end and seeing where it led. But to force it would only make things worse, and he’d done enough of that already.

By the time Alex parked, shut off his car, and gathered his willpower to approach the house, the door was open, and Forrest was waiting for him on the porch. He looked…great. Normal. He’d touched up his hair; his eyes were well-rested and sharp; his fingers and neck dripped with jewelry, and Alex could recognize the look for the armor it was. His own leather jacket was a solid weight across his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said with an awkward wave.

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

Forrest just snorted and moved aside, sitting in a rocking chair and nudging the one beside it with his foot. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Sitting, they were silent for a while, the world peaceful around them—birds chirping, sun shining, the whole nine yards. Alex watched a small lizard creep across the dirt below the porch railing until it disappeared beneath the house.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you about Michael. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry for how I acted and the things I said.”

He swallowed, grimaced, almost, the words juvenile and inadequate to his own ears.

“About Michael staying with you, or…about Michael,” Forrest replied, guarded.

“The first one. Well—both, as it turns out. I thought…I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry for not telling you that Michael was staying over; that was shitty, I knew the whole time it was shitty, and I did it anyway because I didn’t want to fight. But at the same time, I had no idea you were worried about, well, me cheating on you.”

Sighing, Forrest said, “I told you, man. Unfinished business. It’s kind of visible from space. Before this, I wouldn’t even have thought I was a jealous person, can you believe that? I should have said something to you, but I thought I could just power through it.”

“I guess we both learned things about ourselves,” Alex said wryly. “I didn’t think I had anything to hide, but when it came time to say something about Michael to you, I just clammed up. Would I have felt that way if it was Kyle staying over? Probably not. But I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“Huh.” Forrest paused. He rocked his chair slowly forward and back, hands folded on his stomach.

“Did I act weird? Shifty, like I was hiding something?” Alex asked, awkward and vulnerable, embarrassed at how poorly he knew himself, how poorly he knew how he should have acted to not even know that much.

“No, not really. Well, you were pretty distant, but,” he shrugged, “there’s nothing wrong with needing space. It was just…you know, you sang that song at the Pony when we got together, and I had an inkling it was about Guerin, but for some reason I thought I could handle it. Dating a guy who was in love with someone else, who was trying to move on. But it didn’t work like that, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex repeated weakly. “I really thought I was ready. I didn’t mean to lie to you; mostly I was lying to myself. But I know it doesn’t make it any better.”

“Can I ask you a question? Point blank?”

“Um, sure. Go ahead.”

“Were you cheating on me with Guerin?”

“No.” That, at least, he could say firm and clear.

Forrest took a deep breath, dropped his eyes, then looked out across the desert. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.”

Briefly, Alex had to push down the urge to lash out defensively like he had during their previous fight. Had he really done so much to deserve that scrutiny while they were together?

“Thank you,” he said, not sure of what else needed to be.

“I appreciate you coming here and being honest. I mean…it still kind of stings for things to end this way, but. I do appreciate it. And, well, I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“Showing up and exploding like that without giving you some warning. I mean, I’m kind of not sorry it brought things to a head in the end, but it was still rude.”

“No, I should’ve—”

Forrest held up a hand to stall Alex. “No, seriously, dude. The martyr act is cute, but I’m a big boy. Your house is covered in cameras, and you need like two weeks of warning for a coffee date; I knew better than to think showing up like that would be a cute surprise.”

“Oh. Um.” Alex floundered for a way to respond to that. He felt seen, pinned under the lamp of an insight he hadn’t known Forrest had. It was itchy.

“Um, thanks. For the apology. And I get what you mean, about being sorry it happened but not sorry that…well. I really am sorry it ended this way.” If not that it was ending at all.

“Are you?” Forrest raised an eyebrow. “You’re a free agent now. I half-expect Guerin to send me flowers by Saturday.”

Alex winced. But still, he said, “Okay, that’s fair. We kind of, um…”

Forrest let out an ugly snort. “You know, most people double check after a fight like that. Damn, I’m glad I was already planning on breaking up with you for good if you hadn’t gotten the message.”

“I…I know. The way it happened, it just…” Alex sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “I won’t make excuses. You have every right to be mad.”

“I am mad. And hurt,” Forrest said matter-of-factly. “But maybe not as much as I thought I’d be, once the shock cooled off.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.” A smile flickered on Forrest’s mouth, and he shrugged. “Looking back on it, it kind of feels like we’d been forcing it for a while, huh.”

Alex matched him hesitant smile for hesitant smile. Between them there were stacks of stilted conversations and unmade plans, awkward mornings and missed connections. From the morning Fields barged into Alex’s life to the moment he thought he saw his brother at the airport, in the past few weeks there were a number of times Alex had found himself unable to reach out across a gap and meet Forrest there. He’d thought it was just something wrong with him; it was an unbelievable relief to find that Forrest felt the same.

“You might be right,” he confessed.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Forrest sighed. “Damn. That’s probably why my head went straight to cheating.”

“You don’t have to find a way to even that scale,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “I was wrong; I won’t back down from that. But Michael aside, I never wanted to hurt you, Forrest. And I’m sorry I did.”

Forrest chewed on his lip, an old nervous habit. He had a pinprick scar just there, a souvenir from a piercing he’d grown out of, and when Alex would kiss him there, he’d smile. Alex was walking away from this with warm memories, sweet new patterns in the weaving of his life, unexpected treasures. And that in itself was something to cherish, no matter how much their relationship faded into history.

“Yeah, well, same here.”

“You didn’t hurt me, now you’re the one trying to even the scale—” Alex protested.

Forrest cut him off. “I like you, Alex, and I liked our jam sessions, and you made my time in Roswell suck so much less than I thought it would. But there’s a universe where we’re sitting on opposite ends of this, because my book is way more almost done than I’d let on to you just yet, so. Thanks for being such an almost-two-timing emotionally constipated jerk so when I tell my friends this story five years from now I can totally get all the sympathy.”

Alex let out a surprised snort that turned into laughter, and Forrest joined him, if a little more subdued than he’d normally be.

When they collected themselves, Forrest wiped some wetness away from his eyes and said, “Seriously, though, Alex, I hope he makes you happy. Because I don’t think we did that for each other, in the long run.”

“I hope that for you, too, Forrest,” Alex replied softly. “You deserve someone way less fucked up than me.”

“Nah, cut that crap out. We’re all a little bit fucked up.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It is true. You, me, whoever I date next. My old granny,” he said with the first true smile of the afternoon. “And Guerin, too.”

His smile dropped as quickly as it had appeared, and he leaned forward, reaching out and putting his hand on Alex’s knee; Alex almost shied away, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I just want to make sure,” Forrest said, voice gentle—a gentleness Alex didn’t trust. His composure broke, and he drew back, the slight movement causing Forrest to drop his hand. He continued, “Guerin…he’s what you want? Truly, this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Alex snapped, no hesitation.

“Okay. Just, if you’re sure. If this is really your choice.”

Alex’s patience ripped clean in two. “I know the two of you spent some time together at the library,” he said, voice level and deliberate, “but from what I can tell, you don’t know him at all, so spare me this paternalism, okay? I can make my own choices. Whatever assumptions you’re making—”

“Okay! Okay.” Forrest held his hands up in surrender, but it did nothing to cool Alex’s temper. “I just had to ask.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“Noted.”

Alex stood stiffly, and Forrest followed just a second behind. They stood and stared at each other for a few seconds, Alex waiting for him to make a move, Forrest waiting for something Alex couldn’t figure.

Then Forrest stuck out his hand. In the same motion, Alex half-turned, made himself sideways, a smaller target, flowing out of the path if that hand continued forward in a blow. But no, it stayed still halfway between them. Forrest didn’t comment on his reaction. Alex reached out and shook his hand.

“I’ll see you around sometime,” Forrest said. His smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

“Take care of yourself, Forrest,” Alex replied.

He left the Long farm the same way he came, down the same dirt road, down the same path in his head, with the same almost-nostalgia. Leaving looked a hundred different ways, and he’d been a hundred different times, but this time the scenery was new, and he was ready to be home.

(15:00)

A lot of work went into making Alex’s house a home.

When he moved from the Valenti cabin closer to town, it was out of necessity, even if it took him a long time to admit it. It was a victory over his own stubbornness and solitude and maladaptive independence, a concession to comfort that surprised even himself. It made his life better. He was closer to work; he was closer to his friends; he had an accessible bathroom, and something he’d considered so small before helped him along a journey he’d barely acknowledged toward accepting and appreciating the body he lived in now. But changing environments wasn’t easy for him. He’d had to put a year’s worth of care into finding the perfect location and fitting the house there to be someplace he could feel secure without complete solitude for miles around him, between the cameras and the vantage point of the patio and the orientation of his bedroom within the house and just everything from top to bottom. He’d fought hard. He won.

And then he came home from breaking up with his ex-boyfriend to find a strange car in his driveway.

Well, not entirely strange. He’d seen it once before. But when he saw it, it was from the vantage point of his own front door, not from the outside.

The car had room to park in the driveway because Michael’s truck was gone, and that was the only mercy Alex knew as he parked in the street and unholstered his gun. Michael wasn’t here; he was safe with Isobel or Max or Sanders or someone—someone who wasn’t Alex, who thought he had a safe space, a space to protect Michael, but in the end had nothing at all. The house hadn’t been empty since Michael’s injury, but now that he was on the mend, it was at times. Michael was alone at times.

Was this the first time Fields had come by? What was stopping her from returning with backup and taking Michael away?

Gun in one hand, phone in the other, there was one defensive maneuver on Alex’s mind before he confronted his enemy.

Michael answered quickly, though every second felt like an eternity as Alex watched Fields watch him, face expressionless, body language placid in her place between him and his own front door.

“Alex—” His voice came through, so light and happy it stole the breath from Alex’s chest. He was okay. He wasn’t shoved in the back of a van, chained and muffled and senseless, his truck abandoned in a ditch somewhere in the desert.

He didn’t let him finish. “Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

Worry stole the light from Michael’s tone, but Alex could beat himself up for causing that later. “Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

Alex hung up on him and stowed his phone before leaving the car and crossing the street.

“Captain!” Fields said cheerfully from one of his patio chairs. Her eyes flicked down and clocked Alex’s weapon held at his side, but her demeanor didn’t change.

“What is this about? Get off my property,” Alex almost snarled.

“Sure, Captain. Your call.”

She stood, adjusted her skirt, and pulled her phone from her pocket. It couldn’t have rung more than once before she said, all lightness gone from her tone, “Get me Sgt. Manes.”

Cold clarity broke over Alex’s head and trickled through his veins. His arms snapped up and locked into place, gun pointed directly at Fields, unwavering.

“Hang up,” he ordered.

“You’re in control here,” she replied. “I’ve given you all the time in the world, and now I’m giving you more.” She angled her phone away from her face so he could hear the tinny hold music blaring from the speaker. “If you’re going to keep avoiding me, I’m going to call someone in who has answers and gets results. Or are you prepared to do that for me?”

The music measured the seconds as Alex considered his options, mind apart from motionless body. Project Shepherd, the source of so much pain, so many nightmares. He still didn’t really know what Fields wanted from him, except to continue his father’s work.

But he didn’t have to do that, did he? Put him at the helm of the Project, and he could quietly shut it down from the inside, erase it from existence, reduce it down to nothing. Euthanasia of a legacy.

In a perfect world, if Alex were a perfect man, he would. The path was paved with solid golden intention—but the end of it was hazy. How many times had Alex seen a stranger in the mirror and known he needed to get away from the military to find himself again behind his father’s shadow, and how many times had he made a different decision? How could he be sure this time would be different, that he wouldn’t find reason after reason that Project Shepherd was a necessary evil, that with himself heading it, he was keeping his loved ones safe, working for the greater good, even if they didn’t understand—all in the same uniform of generations, the uniform Michael could barely look at?

So, then, the other choice. Walk away. Let Fields call in Flint or promote some other career man to do what they would, set their traps, work in secret for the eradication of a threat that might never come at the expense of everything Alex held dear. No control, no insight, how many times would he have to fear the ultimate loss, Michael, dead, Maria, dead, their loved ones, dead, their accusing eyes on him.

The uniform laid to rest and packed away, a closed chapter in a life that still had so much living worth in it.

The music looped. Alex’s steady arm began to ache. He was running out of time.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Fields said, voice low and convincing past the jangling notes and Alex’s own pounding heartbeat. “This work isn’t just your legacy, it’s rewarding in its own right. Have you ever wanted to settle down, have a family? This offer comes with total security. No more moving around, way less following orders. I’m sure your lover would appreciate it too—”

That snapped Alex out of his frozen poise, the clanging dissonance making him snort. “My lover? You’re a little late with that one; we just broke up.” He dropped his gun hand. “Hang up the phone. Here’s your answer.”

“Go ahead.”

“The answer’s no.”

Fields’s face turned down, but, true to her word, she pressed end call. Alex reholstered his gun.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I was looking forward to working with you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so too,” Alex replied, surprising even himself that he’d be that candid. But something about Fields’s demeanor diminished with the threat of Flint on hold, almost like she’d pushed so hard because this was something she wanted, rather than something she was under orders to obtain.

Even with her phone silent, though, it represented the same thing—a direct line to Flint, an accessory to a job offer, putting someone with his track record highly placed to wreak havoc. But if Alex made all his decisions based on that fear, he’d never be free. He’d spend the rest of his life running into airport bathrooms after strangers.

And maybe he would anyway. Refusing to let himself be intimidated this once wouldn’t eradicate the real threat the aliens lived under every day. But allowing himself to live between those moments—he owed himself that much.

Shocking Alex further, Fields stuck out her hand, and he shook it.

“Apologies if I was overzealous, sir. I’ve been told I need to work on my impulsivity.”

“It’s—” Alex let out a weak laugh. “Water under the bridge, Lieutenant. What’s with this change of attitude?”

She shrugged. “Disappointment, I guess. A little embarrassment that I waited so long for no payoff. But I won’t force the issues. My superiors have other options.”

There was a veiled threat in there, too, but Alex was too tired to force the issue either. For the second time today, he resigned himself to walking away from stalemate.

“Goodbye, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping aside to let her get to her car.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

The last Alex saw of her was the back of her head driving away. And when she disappeared into the heat haze, he collapsed back into a chair, muscles weak and vision swimming. He stuck his head between his knees and sucked in deep breaths until he landed back inside his body.

When he could stand again, he did, pointing his body toward the door and marching inside. The door was still locked: no sign of forced entry anywhere, not in the front or the back or any of the windows Alex checked methodically, sash, latch, frame. The safe and medicine cabinet were both untouched; he checked each twice; he opened every closet and cabinet door on autopilot. He got on the floor to check beneath both beds; he pulled back the shower curtains.

And when there were no more places to check, he stood in the center of his house, staring down his own cameras, trying to break through the walls his own brain put down around him, trying to regain control.

So on edge, Alex wheeled around seconds before a car screeched into the driveway, the pounding of feet, the scrape of a key in the lock and the door thrown open, and—

“Alex!” Michael cried.

He bounded around the corner, wild-eyed and frantic, and as soon as he spotted Alex standing there, he rushed to him, arms already outstretched. Alex barely got his own arms up in time to catch him, but he didn’t need to; Michael was enough for both of them, steady and strong and there, solid arms around Alex, almost lifting him an inch off his feet. His hands clutched at Alex’s back with a desperation that registered only dimly.

“Alex,” he breathed again, holding him, if possible, even closer, pressing their foreheads together and sucking in a deep shuddery breath. “You’re okay, fuck, I was so scared—”

“I told you to stay away,” Alex said weakly.

Michael’s answering laugh was just as weak, almost hysterical. “You know I’m a rebel.”

They drifted like that for a minute or two, Michael’s warm, soft-rough palms cradling Alex’s face, grounding the both of them, letting their souls settle. Then, he stepped back, those hands on Alex’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.

“You’re okay? You’re not hurt? That phone call—you scared the shit out of me, Alex, what the hell happened?”

“When I got home, Fields was waiting for me.”

“What? Fuck!”

“I freaked out, I had to make sure you were safe, that you stayed safe—”

“Are you safe? What did she want? What did she do?”

“I’m fine. Physically, I’m fine,” Alex let his eyes fall shut, wrapping his hands around Michael’s wrists, fragile bones in his grip, and he let Michael hold him, shutting off his senses.

“Okay. Okay, Alex. I’ve got you,” Michael rasped, pressing into him even closer.

“I told her no,” Alex blurted out, pressing right back, starting them swaying back and forth. There was no other way to get close enough but to push and pull, no matter how much they tried to meld themselves into one.

“What?”

“Fields, I—I told her no. No Project Shepherd. No.”

“Alex.”

Michael’s fingers sought across his face, stroking, feeling, calloused finger pads on his brows, his cheekbones, fit so gently against the line of his jaw, tracing his lips and the corners of his eyes, and then Michael’s lips caressed him too, forehead, nose, then mouth, and by the time he was done, Alex’s breath hitched and his body shook.

“I love you,” Michael whispered. “I love you so much. You are—you are so fucking strong, you know that? I know, I know how hard this is, but I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” Alex replied helplessly.

“It’s going to be okay, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, Michael spoke with confidence, such a tiny, intimate assurance, no matter how unlikely, no matter how utopian, like a siren it sung to Alex to let go, to give his fear and stress over into Michael’s hands, and he needed somewhere physical for that feeling to go, so he looped his arms loosely around Michael’s neck and rested there.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admitted. “I don’t know how bad I fucked up—I don’t know how long she was here before I got back—there was no sign of entry, and I checked the house, but I don’t know—I don’t know—”

“Let’s sit down, okay? I’ll get you something to drink, and your meds, if you want, and I’ll, uh, let me tell Max he can go home…” Michael said sheepishly.

“Max?”

“Yeah, he was with me when you called and wasn’t gonna let me rush over here by myself if there was trouble.”

“Good man,” Alex said weakly.

Moving stiff, he sat on the couch. Michael flitted around him for a second, adjusting pillows, giving him a blanket, fingers trailing over him like he wasn’t quite willing to be out of arm’s length. He tore himself away, though, and Alex tracked him from one end of the house to the other, front door, bathroom, kitchen, and when he came back to Alex’s side he was barefoot, glass of water and pill bottle in hand, and he sat on the floor below Alex, leaning back against him, folding himself so his forehead rested against Alex’s hip and Alex could rest his hand in Michael’s hair.

“They’re not going to take you,” Alex promised. “No matter what it takes, whether I told her yes or no, I won’t let them have you.”

“I know,” Michael replied. “But I won’t let you give yourself up, either. We’re together. In everything. No matter what happens.”

“No—”

“That’s why I didn’t listen to you when you told me to stay away,” Michael explained, lifting his head enough to look Alex in the eye. He was as serious as Alex had ever seen him. “You can’t ask that of me. We stand together. That’s…that’s a line in the sand, okay?”

Alex swallowed. “I can’t promise I won’t say something like that again.”

“I know. But just understand—whenever you do, I’m gonna disobey.”

Alex’s eyes slipped shut, lips pressed together, riding out the fear, the straight shot of catastrophe in his brain. Michael’s words, so clear and steady, so different from the people they’d been, the places their relationship languished. Alex had to respect that, even knowing it would likely cause them to fight for the rest of their lives.

“I love you,” he repeated, the best acknowledgment he could give.

Michael smiled, crinkling the corners of his honey-sweet eyes, and Alex twisted a hand in the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward into a deep, sweeping kiss. He moved easy with every move of Alex’s, half-crouched to crawling up onto Alex’s thighs, then onto the couch to straddle his lap, his hot mouth driving deep against Alex’s. Alex’s hands went to his hair, gripping and tugging those soft curls, sliding down his back and back up, they made out on the couch like the teenagers they used to be.

Pulling back to breathe, but not so far Alex couldn’t shift to kissing down his throat and chest, Michael panted, “Bedroom? Do we wanna—should we--?”

“Uh,” Alex stalled out, the light from the window warm where it pooled, Michael’s hardening cock warm where it pressed against Alex’s belly through their clothes. The world was out there, the camera, in the corner, and Alex weighed his options, immediate gratification versus comfort and privacy.

Did they have any privacy, anyway? The image of Fields waiting, alone, at his house, free reign to tamper with whatever she wanted, haunted the edges of Alex’s mind.

“Alex?” Michael asked softly, brushing his fingertips through the overlong ends of his hair.

Their faces were only inches apart, their breaths mingling between lips and lungs, and there wasn’t anything Alex would let keep them from nurturing the happiness finally within their grasp.

“Yes,” Alex said, palming Michael’s hips, “Yes, bedroom.”

Sliding off his lap, Michael reached out a hand, and Alex took it, heat zinging up his arm where they were joined. Michael led the way until they reached the bedroom, where he hesitated beside the bed, watching Alex under his lashes. So Alex sat, pulling him by his belt loops back to straddle his lap like he had on the couch, running his hands up and down Michael’s body as he settled in, his own arms warm and solid around Alex’s neck.

The world held still, then, their eyes locked, electric and hypnotic, Alex’s hands twitching where they rested on Michael’s strong thighs, the scent of rain sharp and sweet in his nose and mouth with every inhale, every breath made tactile in puffs of heat in the space between them. The longer the moment stretched, the higher the temperature climbed, blood filling Alex’s cheeks, blood filling his cock as he waited for Michael’s next move.

That move was to lower his lips to Alex’s once again, slipping his hot, velvet tongue behind Alex’s lips and along his own tongue, flicking it against the roof of his mouth as he opened and relaxed into the languid kiss. As their mouths moved, so did Michael’s hands, cupping his neck then sliding down his shoulders to his chest. He dragged his thumbnails across Alex’s nipples, making him gasp and hiss, and Alex could feel the wicked smirk spread across his mouth even as he didn’t let up, nibbling his lower lip. Hips beginning to sway, Michael’s hands finished their journey at Alex’s waist, under his shirt and tugging it up—it was unthinkable to separate them, but they managed to wrench their mouths apart long enough to pull Alex’s shirt over his head—and then back down, he fumbled with the button on Alex’s jeans, fighting for access to his hardening cock.

Not to be outpaced, Alex did the same, making short work of Michael’s button and zipper even as he was distracted by the heat and velvet and texture of his chest and the sweet line of hair pointing down to his cock. Michael got up on his knees to shimmy his jeans down under his ass, tugging Alex’s off too, and when they were down to just the thin cotton of their underwear Michael let out a soft wavery sound, buzzing right into Alex’s mouth so he could taste the pleasure on it, frotting their cocks together, rubbing the weight of his body down against Alex. With every grind, his ass rolled against Alex’s thighs, a delicious tease, but not tonight, not tonight, it didn’t have to be tonight, taking everything of each other, they had so much time to explore every facet of their intimacy, every way to make each other climax, complete, come up and down all on each other.

“Come on, Michael,” Alex murmured, holding his hips as he ground down again. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Alex,” Michael whispered back, all reverence.

“You’re so—fucking—” Beautiful, hot, incredible, amazing, all words that Alex didn’t even need to say, saying would cheapen them, and they had a better language, anyway. He tugged at the waistband of Michael’s boxers, and Michael’s dick bobbed free, hard and hot and Alex wrapped a hand around it, luxuriating in the texture and weight of it in his hand. He gave it one easy, loose stroke and Michael shuddered, another little sound falling from his lips.

They got into a rhythm quick—Michael slid his hand into Alex’s underwear to match him stroke for stroke, their hips moving in time, knuckles brushing every time they came together. Alex rolled his thumb over Michael’s slit and dragged the drop of precum collected down his vein, then let out a bitten-off cry when Michael did the same. Even the things Alex could predict were surprising at Michael’s hands.

After minutes of this, after sweat slicked the pace between them, hearts pounding, senses flooded, Michael shifted even closer, chasing Alex’s hand away as it came up his shaft, so he could wrap them both up and jerk them together, fast and rough, both of them fucked Michael’s hand and fucked against each other, Alex’s teeth on Michael’s ear, Michael’s lips against his cheek. Alex dug his nails into the meat of Michael’s shoulders, riding out every wave of pleasure until finally he came in messy, artless spurts over Michael’s hand.

Michael followed shortly behind, a stuttering moan and a pulse of pleasure, and then they both fell back onto the mattress, panting and laughing. They rolled toward each other like magnets, Michael slipping a leg between Alex’s thighs.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael promised, serenity and certainty in every line of his face, and Alex sighed, pulling his hand to his chest and holding it there.

Michael couldn’t make that promise. Alex couldn’t make that promise. He had, before, and the universe turned it into a cruel joke. Believing it now would be a hard-fought battle.

“As long as we’re together, we’ll get through it,” Michael amended, and it drew a small smile to Alex’s face.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will. But you don’t have to do it alone. You aren’t doing it alone.”

Alex answered him with another kiss, sealing it as truth between them.

(Thursday, 07:00)

Michael watched Alex through one lovely tawny eye as he went through the room double-checking there was no stray shirt of Forrest’s or toy of Buffy’s to collect before he made his last trip to the Long farm, to put paid to his and Forrest’s relationship once and for all.

“It’s early,” he said muzzily, through lips still mashed to the sheets warm with his sleep.

“I don’t want to keep this waiting,” Alex said with a wave of his hand, grabbing the bag of Forrest’s things. “Not while I have the day off. Get this done, then get back with plenty of time to prepare for our meeting.”

“Mmm, so efficient.”

“I do my best,” Alex said, hoping it came off as charming. “What are you up to today?”

Raising himself up on his hands, Michael arched his back in a luxurious stretch, muscles shifting in the early morning sun. He groaned as his muscles clenched and released and a couple joints popped, then said in his sweet early-morning rasp, “I should put in a couple hours at Sanders’s. Do we know everyone is coming today? Should I cut out early and meet you back here, or will you guys just be coming to the junkyard anyway?”

“I’ll touch base with everyone, but we’ll probably come to you.”

“Sounds good.” Michael stretched again, then swung his legs around to sit on the bed. One side of his face was flushed, one side of his curls scrunched. A bubble of light filled up Alex’s chest, and he cradled it so carefully, letting it show on his face, just for Michael.

Smiling back at him and rubbing one eye, Michael gestured at the bag of Forrest’s things and said, “How are you feeling? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replied, shifting the strap on his shoulder. Then, jaw working his face into a grimace, he added, “And that’s weird, right? I shouldn’t be fine? We dated for months—I should feel something.”

For weeks after his breakup with Maria, Michael had lurked on the edges of himself, head tucked between his shoulders, hands in his pockets. And now Alex turned his back with one last box on a to-do list, a final chore of separation. What did that make him?

“Hey,” Michael said, beckoning Alex forward and sliding his hands to cup his hips when he came. “Look, I don’t have a lot of experience in this area either, but enough with the should, okay? The only feelings you gotta feel are your own. You deal with breaking up however you need to, and so will Forrest.”

Alex took a measured breath, counting in, counting out. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Michael said, kissing him softly right on his sternum, above his anxious heart. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alex left a parting kiss on Michael’s forehead and left him to get dressed and get to work. Making the drive to the Long farm for a second time in as many days was even more alien than the first; had he ever gone to Forrest’s so frequently as now, at the end?

The only feelings you gotta feel are your own, Michael said, with the wisdom of many years of terrible feeling, so as he drove, Alex did just that. One of the last sweet moments of their relationship was in a car just like this, playlist on the speakers half indie, half punk, both of them singing along to Pretty. Odd., where the two intersected, an album neither of them liked all that much in isolation but belted out together. For the rest of their lives, whenever those songs came on, for a moment they’d be back in a car together; wherever Forrest went next, in little three-minute bursts his phone would carry a dark desert road with Alex beside him.

For the rest of the drive, Alex turned on his music and let it play.

When he got to the farm and called Forrest, he came out of the house harried. “Why did I think you were bringing this stuff tomorrow?” he asked, a scowl on his face.

“I’m not sure; I had the day off and I thought—”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

A snappish retort leapt easily to Alex’s mind, but he held back. Forrest had reason enough to be mad, and if this was how he felt his feelings, they were broken up now—Alex abdicated soothing and fixing, and he’d take Forrest’s anger on the chin.

Forrest’s eyes darted toward Wyatt’s truck parked on the dirt drive beside Alex and said, “You should get out of here. Have a good life, Alex. I mean that.”

And just like that, Alex’s mind flipped and he couldn’t help himself. “If Wyatt is—”

“No, no, he’s mostly harmless. To me, anyway. But him seeing you here would be more trouble than it’s worth, so.” Forrest shouldered the bag of his things and half-turned away. “Bye.”

Alex didn’t move until Forrest disappeared back inside, gripping the steering wheel too tight until his fingers went cold and stiff. Fuck, maybe he should have waited to return this stuff, or just ditched it; all the closure from their last conversation soured on the tongue. But it was over now. Alex threw the car in reverse.

Then he threw it back into park a few yards down the lane, just out of sight of the main house. Wyatt was always more trouble than he was worth, but something was wrong in Forrest’s tone, and Alex would find out what. He had time, at least an hour, to sweep Wyatt’s most likely haunts, from the horse barn to his rigged-up shooting range.

Head on a swivel, Alex moved methodically, hot and dusty within minutes. The barn bustled with activity, so Alex gave it a wide berth, abandoning it as an option with no sign of Wyatt’s dulcet tones cutting through the air.

His mental map of the farm was imperfect at best, so Alex headed to the shooting range by way of the old barn, despite the distance out of his way, an acceptable risk when compared to the prospect of getting lost.

There was no time to linger, but the sight of the old building and fallen tree struck Alex with twin nostalgia and grief. Tripp’s dog tags hung body-hot beneath his shirt, and he let them, closing his eyes and focusing on that feeling, the chain around his neck, the weight of decades of inaction. He drifted closer to the barn, like returning Tripp’s tags to this place had some sort of meaning, whether blessing or blasphemy, Alex wasn’t sure.

He was still too far away to smell the rain burnt into the wood. Would it have smelled the same in Tripp’s time, rich and loving?

Alex hoped not.

Just as he turned to leave on that sour thought, a familiar voice drifted from inside the barn, freezing Alex in his tracks.

“I’m asking you again—are you—or not?”

What was Max doing here?

Alex crept closer. The response was clearer and came from Wyatt, loud and protesting.

“How are you even asking that right now? I’ve been doing all the shit you tell me for months, you gotta give me some quid pro quo—”

The last three words were a mocking drawl.

The response came, “Everything I’ve told you will come to pass, Mr. Long. Now’s not the time for doubters.”

That wasn’t Max. Alex’s heart pounded in his throat.

“Tsch. Whatever.”

“You’ve come far, Mr. Long. And, as always, I appreciate your talent for gathering information. Your eyes within the town are indispensable.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And you will be duly rewarded: doubly so for patience. Time is of the essence; I have to move while Manes is away—”

The sound of his name flashed hot and sharp through Alex’s frozen body, every nerve coming to life and screaming one thing: home.

#malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #malex

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joontopia · 4 years ago

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Forget Me Not Teaser | KNJ

pairing: kim namjoon x female reader

genre: smut, slight angst, some crack maybe?

au: exes to lovers, valentine’s day

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

teaser word count: 400ish (unedited)

final word count: TBD

warnings: slight angst, assumed cheating, alcohol consumption, dry humping, some heavy petting, heated make out sessions, daddy kink, bratty reader, dom namjoon, cocksleeve kink, use of sex toys (vibrator), unprotected sex, condom got lost in the mail, cream pie, oral sex (m & f), blowjob, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, namjoon got a big ol’ cock, nipple biting, marking, orgasm denial, orgasm control, some gently choking

Posting: Wednesday, February 10th —> read it here

a/n: this will be my first collab and my first official posted smut oneshot. banner made by @kimtaehyunq Thank you, Maggie, for recruiting me to be a part of this valentine’s day collab! I love you lots. *smooches*

this is a part of the be my bangtanvine collab!

excerpt: “I’m sorry, Joonie,” you say to him as you take a step closer, leaning in with your hand on his chest to give him a quick kiss. He turns away from you just slightly, jaw still clenched as you place a small peck on his cheek. You feel terrible, knowing you should have given him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t reverting back to his old ways. That he was really trying to prove to you that he changed. You place another kiss on his cheek, following it up with a few quick kisses on his neck that you feel make him shiver. Your lips twitch up into a smile, knowing you’re breaking through his cold demeanor.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head. A name he loved that you called him, one that you used to your favor to help get you out of trouble. You make your way up to his ear, nibbling on it just slightly before you whisper seductively, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

You feel his body stiffen as you trail your hand down his chest and down to the front of his jeans. Your palm barely grazes his growing bulge when he grabs your wrist in his hand, snatching it away from him causing you to back away in surprise. He wraps his other arm around you, his other hand pressing at the small of your back to keep you close to him. Your eyes flicker to his and you let out a small gasp as you meet his hooded gaze. You barely notice the smirk he gives as he leans in towards your ear.

“Oh, no baby. It seems like someone has forgotten her manners.” The deep timber of his voice sends shivers down your spine, straight to your core. You feel the wetness of your arousal leaking from you and you involuntarily rub your thighs together to try and find some relief as he continues the seductive assault on your ear. “Only good girls get to call me Daddy. Disobedient little brats call me Mr. Kim.” He pulls back just slightly away from you, his dark eyes meeting your gaze once again. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, licking your lips before you give him the most innocent smile. “I am so, so sorry, Mr. Kim.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #bts fan fic #namjoon x you #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn

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adelaidedrubman · 4 years ago

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wip on this wednesday.

tagged by @shallow-gravy and @scungilliwoman to share a wip! just posted new wildfire yesterday so sharing a few more excerpts from the pre-reaping au i decided to extend in my spare time and hopefully will get off my ass and finish sometime this week.

below cut and second excerpt is NSFW, so warning for that and repeated crimes against Mary May.

sending tags to @consumedkings @vasiktomis (i know you just posted a chapter too but if you have more i will take it) @clairercdfields @stacispratt @chyrstis @lilwritingraven <3

jestiny "as successfully opaque as the glass she's holding" rook

“Hey Mary May,” she greeted as she slid up to the bar, “Can I get two glasses of the house red?”

The blonde cocked her eyebrow a little at her as she turned around and leaned a hand against the bar. “Sure,” she said, “That’ll be $16.29.”

Jessie furrowed her own brow a little as she did the math in her head. “But the happy hour price says —”

“Five dollars a glass, yup,” she finished, “Plus tax, and what you owe for last week. When you ran out without paying.”

“Oh, right,” Jessie acknowledged apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout that.” She paused a moment, swinging her feet nervously in the chair. “Say, speaking of which, I don’t guess there’s any chance Mr. Bible Thumper has already made his rounds and left for the evening?”

“You would not be so lucky,” the blonde responded, sitting two glasses of wine on the counter. “Should be here any minute now.”

“Damn,” Jessie remarked, sitting a twenty dollar bill on the bar and picking up the glasses, “Well, keep the change, put it on my tab for the night, I’ll probably need more of these,” she joked with a shrug as she turned to head back towards her table.

“Jessie, the change is only three —”

The bartender’s voice was drowned out by the general clamor of busy conversation as she snaked through the crowd to find the table Joey had claimed.

and more lies, this time with spice

"Not every fuckin' thing is about you," she hissed as she leaned down so their faces met, nose to nose, swallowed a moan as his fingers sunk deeper inside her from the shifting. "You are," he curled them along her insides as she spoke, making her arch to press against them, "You are an extremely difficult person."

Something she hadn't seen before seemed to flicker across his face at that, for a brief heartbeat, his eyes blinking a little too hard while the rest of his face stayed blank, making her suddenly feel the strange urge to apologize for something. But she didn't know for what or how even if she wanted to, so she rested a palm atop his heart instead, rocking against his fingers to the beat.

"You aren't?" he finally mirrored her accusations back to her as a question again, a little too soft, that hint of something she didn't like.

"I am," she responded simply this time.

And that seemed to quell whatever that unsettling feeling hanging in the air was, made him lean forward to kiss her, grip the back of her neck with his free hand to move hungry against her mouth.

#nsft #jestiny rook. good at math. good at subtlety. good at making decisions.

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ourstarscollided · 4 years ago

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jatp fanworks appreciation - day 3 (wips)

wip wednesday - I didn’t think I wanted to join in on this day for my own stuff considering I’ve never posted anything original for this fandom, but I think this might just be the little boost I need from myself to actually finish the wips that I have sitting around. I am peer pressuring myself and holding myself accountable by posting this - or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Most of the past 6 mths has just been me screaming to no one in a Google Doc, so here are some things I’ve been ruminating about over the last 6 months (and if my secret agenda is to get other people to write about it so I don’t have to? Then that’s between you and me).

Everything’s under a read more because I like giving context and that usually spirals out of control!?!?

If you would like to see more from any of the below, feel free to shoot me an ask/message and I can definitely share some more! (Or you can just come yell at me about JATP in general.)

Strangers Fake Dating AU // Julie x Luke

I’m a simple person. I see a prompt, I latch onto it, and then I completely miss the entire point of the prompt as my imagination goes wild for no real reason. This really was supposed to be a super short drabble, but it manifested into a 3k+ thing that isn’t even finished.

Julie’s not really sure what she’s supposed to do now. Nothing has ever prepared her for a situation in which she’s supposed to pretend to be a stranger’s girlfriend, especially if that situation involves parents. Does she continue this ruse? Can she come up with a quick enough excuse to tell this Luke character that she actually can’t stay? What if this is just all an elaborate plan to kidnap her? Has she been listening to too many true crime podcasts? Why does Luke smell so good? Does he know how to cook? Why does his shirt not have sleeves? What-

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Her head whips up at the sound of Luke’s voice, which is now at a whisper and kind of frantic. “I just- I just really needed to get my mom off my back, so I kinda need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for the night. I swear I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Julie studies Luke’s face and it’s nearly impossible to not cave under his gaze, which can only be simply described as ‘puppy dog eyes’. She finds herself smiling back, letting out a huff, “I hope you like lasagna.” And the grin that spreads across the boy’s face is enough for her to know that he’s incredibly relieved that she agreed.

“I’m Luke by the way. Luke Patterson.”

(Okay, he’s kinda cute. And no one this cute is a serial killer. Right?)

She gives a small smile back, “I’m Julie.”

5+1 alive!Juke AU // Julie x Luke

Inspired by paper - LANY

This is one of the first things I ever felt the urge to write down back in September because I love exploring the idea of how two people can appear to be the perfect relationship on the outside, but are actually fighting their own demons. Especially when it comes to celebrities and people who are in the spotlight. It’s basically a 5+1 fic about the moments from other people’s perspectives who happen to orbit around Julie/Luke that all revolve around paper. My outline for this is so long because I can’t manage to narrow it down, and there’s zero cohesiveness but I do have little things jotted down.

“Hey little man,” Luke’s knelt down to match his 5 year-old height, and a hand extends out to him for a high five, “What are you doing here?”

His eyes flicker to the left, towards his own apartment door, where his mom is giving him an encouraging nod. “ I- I just wanted to-” he stutters and finds himself looking at his feet as he shuffles back and forth on the spot. “I- I drew you guys something!”

He shoves the paper out towards the older boy in front of him, but doesn’t look up.

Reincarnation AU // Julie x Luke

I had a random thought in December about how magical it is that Julie and Luke are so tied to one another that their love transcends time and space, which will always lead them back to one another. I remember reading a book a long time ago about how the main character is fated to die at a certain age, and that kind of sparked this little idea. I can’t bring myself to actually plot out every single timeline right now, but I did manage to write a little bit.

It will never be as complex as Rosie’s idea and all the wonderful additions in the link here, and I don’t really plan on it being anything more than a small idea. But I really do still think someone should write some sort of reincarnation AU cause I’d hop on that so fast!!

“Okay- that’s not- Luke. You seriously just ran away?”

“What was I supposed to do Alex? We all know how this ends.”

His friend looks at him, face painted in understanding and he sighs, “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

Because it’s true, Alex does know, so does Reggie and Bobby. Most importantly, so does Luke. It’s the exact same tragic love story every time.

Call it a curse or fate or destiny. Maybe it’s because Mercury is in retrograde. Whatever. It always ends the same way - with a heartbreaking goodbye, a whisper of the promise that they’ll find each other again, and the possibility of a happy ending. He’s said the same goodbye at least 734 times, but it’s not like he’s counting or anything. Fuck the universe and its mystical ways.

Competitive Alex // Alex x Willie

No real thoughts or reasons for this other than I just think I self-projected my need to play board games with people in real life into a fic. And maybe a little bit of my competitiveness onto Alex and then threw in Willie because I think he would be able to handle it while also finding it endearing. I also have written nothing about the actual competitiveness, it’s just 2k words of Alex crushing on Willie.

“Wait,” his eyes dart between the three boys, “You both know Willie? How come I’ve never met him?”

His roommates look at each other, and there’s a smirk on Luke’s face when he says, “Actually Alex, I think you have. Remember that time you got really drunk after one of our shows?”

Oh no. He really hopes that it’s not the time he’s thinking of, so he tries to sound nonchalant. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Luke.”

“The night we played at that tiny bar at the edge of the campus! We got paid in those tiny colourful shots?” He doesn’t really know where Luke is going with this, so he’s slowly nodding along. “And you were super upset that the hot dog vendor at the end of the street was closed?”

Dear Julie, Love Mom series

I made myself sad with this thought when I first watched the show and was talking to my friend about how I think that Rose would’ve left messages for the Molina family, especially when we found out that Wake Up was actually from her mom. I wrote a bigger explanation for it here.

Anyways, I started with the one for Julie’s wedding and it kind of became an 8k monster with three different POVs?!? As much as I love how I wrote this, I feel too unsure about my writing to share it in full, so you will get carefully selected looks alkfe. (I’m also kind of stuck on some of the more emotional scenes and I may or may not have procrastinated by photoshopping a moodboard for it.)

Excerpt 1 (Julie POV): A look into where I’m going with this whole letters from Rose thing.

The key clicks into place, and with a turn, the latch falls open. She’s not sure what she wants to find in the box, and she’s too scared to think about it really. All she knows is that this was the sign from her mom that she was waiting for all week, and in true Rose fashion, her mom had managed to give it to her, even if at the last second. Her dad turns the box to face Julie, and gestures to her to open up the lid.

Tucked inside is a VHS tape, the words ‘For Julie, on your wedding day’ written in her mom’s cursive on the cover. Some loose glitter and confetti fall back into the box as she reaches in to pick up the tape and turn it over in her hands. There’s a little purple butterfly etched on the back, the same one that’s been drawn on all the other messages that her mom had left her. Her finger automatically finds its way, tracing the shape of the small doodle.

“Do you want me to leave you alone, mija?”

Excerpt 2 (Julie POV): This part has absolutely nothing to do with the main plot of the story, but it self-inserted itself into this fic after @tangledstarlight and I talked about You’re Still the One by Shania Twain being their first dance. This whole scene came to me at 4am one night and might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written.

They knew that when they had asked Reggie to be in charge of the first dance performance, that they (and Alex) weren’t allowed to veto any of his ideas. Luke had warned Julie that that would be a mistake, but the giddiness that radiated off of Reggie when she had told him he could have free reign was worth it. She just hadn’t thought that he would actually take it to heart and run with it.

Sure, they had chosen You’re Still the One by Shania Twain as their first dance song, and sure it was more or less a country song, but she didn’t really imagine that she’d be staring at her adoptive brother, Carlos and her Dad wearing cowboy hats and boots at her wedding. They had somehow managed to ditch their Flynn-approved suit jackets and were sporting a taupe-coloured suede-textured vest over their dress shirts. If she looked closely, she could see that they had somehow also found some gaudy looking bolo ties with a matching set of ornamental clasps to wear. When she envisioned her wedding, she really didn’t expect that her first (public) dance as a married couple would be a full-on Western themed occasion. The only exception was Alex, who had settled on his cajon in the back, still in his pink suit, eyes rolling when she met his gaze. But even she knew how there was no real annoyance in the blonde’s reaction or else he wouldn’t also be wearing one of the tacky ties around his neck as well.

“I’m gonna seriously kill him.” She hears Luke grumble under his breath, only low enough for her to hear. But she’s still too busy giggling to actually be mad, and she knows that Luke isn’t really going to kill Reggie. At least she doesn’t think so.

Excerpt 3 (Luke POV): Idk man. My mind went “What about Luke?” and I said “You’re right!! What about him?!?”

He doesn’t realize that he’s just been silently staring at the woman in front of him, until a gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Julie’s peering at him from under her eyelashes, a curious look on her face.

“You just-” he gives a little shake of his head, trying to come up with the right words. He wants to tell her she’s beautiful. Stunning. A wicked beauty. But she’s more than that - she’s almost angelic. “I can’t believe you’re my wife.”

“Luke, we’ve been legally married for like, a whole year.” Her lips are quirked up in a grin, amusement in her voice. “You’ve only just realized that now?”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

This feels a little strange to post and a little like my inner self seeking validation but let’s not talk about that.

Kskssj anyways present me @ future me: finish one of these because writing has been really cathartic for you and you didn’t think it would bring you so much joy!!!

#gotta tag this so that it doesnt ever show up in any tags on tumblr.#i like that what got me to post about my writing was a fanworks appreciation week. but i will say that a couple weeks ago when i was feeling #extra good about my writing. i made a promise to myself to post smthg for the 6 mth mark of jatp and that kinda got backtracked because of #my requirements to be an adult and my general insecurities about putting out content that is mine for the works to judge sjsjsj #so this is me making it up to myself by sharing some things.#thank you rosie for indulging me in my ramblings. you’ve really given me confidence in my work even tho you’ve never read anything of mine.#just know I APPRECIATE YOU A LOT!!!!#i hope you dont mind that i tagged you!!!#anyways this is gonna get thrown into my queue for wednesday and whenever it posts is whenever it will post.#i also typed this on my phone (i DO NOT RECOMMEND IT) so sorry if the formatting is janky. i didnt wanna give myself time to second guess #myself and end up not posting it. sjjs #jatp fanworks appreciation week #sometimes i write #personal #<- need to come up with tags for myself welp #sunset queue

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