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testingcheats0n · 4 years ago

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Massive Dream SMP Fic Rec!!

Hey- Hi, I just feel like there are a ton of fanfiction that's really underrated in this fandom- so I'm going to dump it on your dash!!! Most of it is going to be Tommy-centric or SBI-centric, but they are very good!

Source: Me

Finished Fanfics:

Multi-chaptered Fanfics:

that's, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade

Hard-hitting, but has a happy ending, though I recommend reading the prequel (in the same series) first, otherwise, it's lowkey depressing.

MORE RECOMMENDATIONS BELOW THE CUT!!

you’ll rise above (crowned by an overture bold and beyond) by azvremoon

Tommy is not sixteen. He has faced too many open wounds, dripping ichor onto blood-stained warzones, to be just a child. He is Blood and War and needless Death, an all-in-one special of everything that can ruin reality.

(Tommy is the blood god. No one should know, but this server can't stop pushing him over the edge.)

+2 more Works that were Inspired by this one

Tommy is a BAMF and Dream, Technblade, and Phil get fucked it is what it is.

Responsible Forever by SilverWing15

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” /////

“So,” Techoblade says, slow and deliberate, his face shows clearly just how unbelievable he finds all of this, “you saw a boy last night, in the middle of the night, living with raccoons and eating our garbage?”

“I know how insane it sounds,” Phil says, “but I know what I saw. We need to help him, who knows how long he’s been out here?”

“Okay,” Wilbur interrupts, “let’s say that raccoon-boy is real. What is it you want us to do? We can’t go searching the woods for specific bunch of raccoons, I don’t know if you’ve noticed Phil but there are a lot of them out there.”

“Going out and hunting him isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Techno says, “we have to let the raccoon-boy come to us. He’s already come once, you know how tenacious raccoons are. If they came to the garbage pit once, they’ll come again. We just have to set a trap.”

“Those raccoons aren’t gonna know what fucking hit them,” Wilbur mutters.

Or: RaccoonInnit taken well beyond its logical conclusion

Tommyinnit is a Raccoon boi that lives with other Raccoons

Protecting the Traumatised Youth by spookyserpent

Sam blinks. “What?”

Even behind the mask, Sam has the distinct impression that Dream is grinning at him. “A week and he was begging for my attention, even after I stole and burnt his armour, even after the beatings. He couldn’t stand me leaving him because I was the only one to show up, to pay him attention. It was hilarious.”

Sam is going to be sick.

Or, Sam decides to ask Dream about his intentions and ends up becoming a big brother to Tommy and Tubbo. All the while, Dream and George fight, Niki and Jack plan child murder and Ranboo is slowly getting adopted into the SBI.

Awesamdad written back when it was possible... ahhh

Chaos In a Bottle by Lovetribable

After a realization, Tommy leaves the pillar, but instead of going to Techno. He just disappears, leaving everyone to think he's gone.

It takes a war to bring him back.

+2 Sequels and an Alternative Ending

Dadinnit!! + A Sympathetic Dream

Absolutely Anything For Them by Numanum

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Tubbo,” Dream sighs, meeting his eyes cooly. Tubbo, back against a tree, shudders at his tone, at the look on his face.

The sword at his neck skims across his skin as Dream shifts his grip on it, and he flinches back into the rough bark behind him. Dream smiles at his reaction, seeming pleased- like the cat that’s been toying with a mouse that always tries to run no matter how many times it’s caught. And, despite this being his first encounter alone with the man, he thinks that the comparison is fairly accurate; Tubbo has never felt smaller than he does now. There’s supposed to be a buddy system to prevent things like this- he shouldn’t be alone here, stuck in this situation.

Or: Tubbo becomes a traitor to save everyone and has to struggle with his choices

Traitor Tubbo, but it has the happiest ending possible since it follows the rest of the story.

Where Did You Come From, Kit? by KadeAK (zacixn)

Hybrids are an ancient species of humans crossed with animals, blessed with the favour of nature. They used to live in peace on the SMP’s land, but ever since the dawn of humanity’s modern culture, they have become ostracised and hunted by their once-brethren. Now, the once-thriving subspecies of hybrids have been reduced to ashes, the majority of their peoples struggling to survive in a city capital that can't stand their presence.

To the members of L’Manburg, General Wilbur Soot is just another mildly prejudiced human being, stuck with a hybrid fox kit for an adopted child. However, that assumption could not be farther from the truth. As it turns out, there's a reason why he is the man he is today.

This fic is entirely pre-L’Manburg.

Part of a series, very good.

Take It Easy by sweet_magnolias

Five times Techno scared Michael, one time Michael scared him, and the resolution of those fears.

AKA - Techno learns how to be an uncle.

Technoblade's POV, so expect some Tubbo bashing on the margins of all that Michael fluff.

I suppose it’s never my time to die, is it? by Birb_Whale

The first time it happens, he barely remembers. The second time is when he realized. The third... Twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern

“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy”

Messed up, but not unrealistic. Purely for the Hurt/Comfort lovers.

This Wasn't Planned, But It'll Work Out by Anonymous

Dream isn't sure what to think when he finds a kid on his doorstep, but he can't just leave him there, now can he?

(He doesn't know what he's getting into, or what he's gotten the kid into, either)

Long, and angsty, with a bittersweet ending Imo.

let's play a game by Aria_Cinabun

Tommy was once a slave. That's gone now - shoved in his past with the memories of blood and gore and death. He wants to forget who he was; what he has to do to survive. Of course, the Elementalists will always come back to haunt him. They aren't the ones who killed his mother, but they're close enough. And now he and his brother have been dragged into the mess, as Elementalists with their own, separate covens, to find the Pit - the place where he'd lived and killed and hurt for the first twelve years of his life. His coven can't know. Can't know who he really is, what he can really do. Can't know anything about his past. He doesn't want a coven full of Elementalists who don't trust him; one of whom he's pretty sure despises him. He doesn't want that life. He wants the life of a pickpocket, on the streets, because nobody questions street kids, and nobody comes asking about his past and pushes him to tell his secrets that he holds closest inside. Tubbo tries to tell him to trust people. But trust is how you die.

Good fantasy AU, has SBI, and is thus fluffy.

Turn of the Tide by SilverWing15

Tommy’s fins twitch at the mention of Dream’s ancestors. Dream talks about them a lot, how they made their fortune hunting down mer pods, how they were cruel and greedy. Nothing like Dream is. They’ve both overcome their roots he says.

Tommy is nothing like the wild mer out in the ocean, who spend their lives scraping by just to survive, who kicked him out of the pod when he was a baby because he was too small. He’s also better than the pit mer, who can’t overcome their wild instincts and know nothing but fighting.

He’s different from them, he’s better than them. He’s Dream’s. //// OR: Change is like the tide, when it comes, you can only sink or swim. You would think that a mer would be better at keeping afloat.

Mermaid AU Pooog. Part of a series.

One-Shots:

Snapped by AmberRunnel

“You don’t know what I went through in that prison cell.”

Jack burst out laughing, blinded with rage and the overwhelming urge to hurt Tommy, to give him everything he deserved. “Oh, is the poor child traumatized? You want pity now?” He twisted his blade, and Tommy’s axe was sent clattering to the ground.

“If the prison was so awful, why don’t I send you back there?”

-|-

Jack doesn't handle Tommy's revival well. There's a simple solution, though. Kill Tommy, and Dream revives him right back into that cell. Problem solved, kid dealt with.

It takes a few confrontations for Jack to realize he's an asshole.

It's fucked up, but god does it hurt in a good way.

the sky is coming down blue by salinesolution

An imagining of New Milo's perspective throughout the Skyblock Randomizer adventure. What did he think of the world he found himself in, and how did Wilbur's feelings and actions change things for him? Here's my way of answering those questions.

He made the fish think, funniest shit I've seen.

You told me to be a hero (so let me die like one) by spiromachia

"You told me to die like a hero," the blond interrupted, spinning on his heel to face the others, holding his arms wide open, "So why not fulfil the ending that was always meant to be."

Across the battle field, through the chaos and destruction, a tree burned.

Even the sound of explosions and cries and bloodshed felt distant enough for the world to become silent for a few moments, each individual slowly coming to the same conclusion, each of their bodies tensing.

Tommy's face broke out into a grin as he lowered his head, glowering at the people around him, and Philza's face flashed with recognition.

"Kill me."

Or... In the middle of Doomsday, Tommy decides to ask Technoblade to be the Lycomedes to his Theseus.

Heavy and dark, but at least Dream gets it.

tomorrow night by meridies

Tommy is desperately searching for his missing brother. Techno is the reluctant psychic who unfortunately got dragged along.

or, two people, more alike than different, learn what it is to have a family at their side.

It's cute what can I say :]

maple syrup by itisjosh

"We could run," Tubbo stares at the sun. "We've got everything we've ever wanted right here. We could run."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees, feeling his head swim. "We could."

(or, tommy and tubbo run away together)

Children get away from toxic adults :)

Why’d it have to be so sunny? (The sun shouldn’t shine without you.) by AToZRainToBe

‘A realisation hits Phil in the face like a truck. “Wi- Ghostbur,” Phil says, turning to his grey-scale, translucent, actually-dead son. “You definitely told Tubbo that Tommy’s alive, right?”’

To get away from Dream, Tommy agrees to fake his death, going with the cover story that he jumped from the pillar in Logstedshire. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Tubbo.

Misunderstandings are one of my favorite tropes.

sugar and ice by princedemeter for Aenqa

“He is my son,” Philza says. “Mortal or not, I would see him grow strong.”

Technoblade looks down on earth, at the tiny, angry bundle of cloth and pinking, wrinkled skin. This mortal child, he thinks, lungs filled with breath from the king of gods himself, will not grow strong.

It's mostly centered around Technoblade and Wilbur with Phil being a shitty dad. Pog Gods AU.

a matter of time by meridies

Tommy is twelve years old when his wings first appear, and he is twelve years old when Phil tells him, "All it takes is time and patience, Tommy, and soon you'll be flying even better than me."

or, Tommy grows up feeling like a failure, and it takes him a while to figure out where he's happiest.

Tommy is just finding his place in the world. Powers AU.

That Time a Baby Decided to Raise a Baby by Scitrust

Tubbo wasn't good at making excuses, so when Schlatt asked him why he was leaving in the night, he made something up on the spot. That had been months ago.

At least he sort of had an alibi for that, now.

Or, in which Tubbo finds a baby in the woods on his way to see Tommy, and promptly adopts it.

Part of a collection!! Read it all.

spider lily by blue000jay

Wilbur has a body.

The freckle on the base of his left pinky finger (shared with Techno). The scar on his chin from when he was twelve and over ambitious, diving into too-shallow water. The scar on his throat from the final control room, and the puckered skin on his shoulder from the poisoned arrow that killed him next. Various other nicks and things that litter his skin from years of rebellion and living wild, a kid thrown into a vicious world with too little self-preservation.

(Resurrection AU, for when/if Wilbur comes back.)

The author knows how it's like to live with chronic pain, and it shows :(

Hands tied loose by rabiddog

"Let's run away, Tubbo." Tommy breathed; a wide grin split across his face as his hope grew. "Let's get out of here – far away. We can go anywhere, can't we? Let's just go, you and me right here, right now."

Tommy needs to leave. He has to get out of L'Manburg, he has to leave the Dream SMP for his own sanity, and he wants Tubbo to come with him.

But Tubbo has a family now, a better life - something that he can't give up... not even for his best friend.

Unhappy ending :(

The serpent underneath by rabiddog

Tommy and Techno sit at the memory-filled bench and talk. Technoblade reminisces, he talks, he admits his pent-up feelings, he cries. And Tommy? Tommy listens. (That's all he can do.)

“I’m sorry for everything, you know? For all of it. I’m so sorry about... about the first war, about the withers and the fighting, about...” Technoblade's fingers began to curl around Tommy’s blonde locks. “About Wilbur and everything after. I'm so, so sorry.”

:((((((((

Damning choices by rabiddog

Ranboo would have never expected to find himself in a horrifying situation such as that one - quite literally sandwiched between a rock and a hard place, with three lives dangling over his head and the answer on the tip of his tongue.

Tubbo, Michael, Tommy.

It's his choice. He chooses who lives, and who dies. His new family, or his first friend. But Ranboo... Ranboo already knows.

"Ranboo," He hissed out, voice cracking and somewhat staticky, "It's not your fault. It's not. You had no other choice; I know that, okay? I- I know that- I know- I know..."

:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Jealousy is a disease by rabiddog

Tommyinnit isn't new to the idea of jealousy. He understands it completely. He understands the way it runs rampage through his body each time he catches even a glimpse of Tubbo and Ranboo's new relationship, he understands that the emotion makes his heart clench uncomfortably from time to time. He sees it, feels it, and yet he doesn't care.

He doesn't care at all.

"You took Tubbo away from me. You took him away. You took my best friend, and now he's- now he's not my best friend anymore, and I-!"

Word of Honour by rabiddog

Tommy could only stand and stare as Technoblade agreed to hand him over to Dream - as his brother traded him off like he was nothing. Like Tommy wasn't important.

Technoblade was a man of honour. He was a man of pride and sticking to his word. He knew that he owed Dream a favour, and no matter what that favour might be, he'd be compliant with it. Nothing would change his mind. (Not even Tommy.)

Almost canon. F.

Sweet Repentance by rabiddog

Perhaps Tommy should have told Phil about his arguably life-threatening injury the minute his father had opened the door. But of course, Tommy being Tommy, did not.

Dying seemed like a nice enough option as long as he was with his family.

Tommy just wanted acceptance, forgiveness, and peace. He wanted to close his eyes for the last time and finally be able to let go.

Tommy dies painfully.

A White Tulip by astervoid

He picked the white tulip from the bottom of the stem, standing up carefully as he held it pinched between his fingers. It would die now, inevitably, but Tommy relented and held the flower to his chest. What a silly, stupid thing to ground him. He almost hated that it made his breaths come easier and his steps feel lighter. Almost.

Tommy & Ranbooo chill on the bench.

lying to the authorities (again) by touchgrass

"Please tell me that my right-hand-man, my soon-to-be vice president, one of the people I trust the most on this godforsaken server, did not lie straight to my face and tell me he was twenty-fucking-years-old.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but then closes it shut at the furious look on Wilbur's face. Oops.

It is the day of the elections and Wilbur Soot could not have chosen a worser time to realize that half his staff is underage.

The ONLY fic with this premise I've seen on Ao3.

Dear Theseus by rabiddog

Tommy had thought that they'd won - thought that they'd finally beaten Dream, and that everything would be okay. As it turns out, however, apparently Dream had called in that favour from Technoblade after all.

“Please,” Tommy whispered after a beat, quivering hands edged upwards to hesitantly press against the tip of the sword striking through his chest. Why, why, why? Why him? Why now?

Tommy almost wins.

A Shifting World by AplusIsRoman

How was Wilbur supposed to know it would end like this?

The smoke hung in the air and soot clung to his skin. His brother - adopted, but older by two minutes - stood back-to-back with him. The chilling cries of people and the calls of the withers rang through the air above the chasm that was once his home.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

How could he have known this would happen?

Sequel to A Child's World

Age-swap AU. Has a prequel.

heart of the sea by RyDyKG

Here is the secret that he barely thinks about, a secret that he shoves deep and far down in himself:

Wilbur Soot is a siren, and he’s not exactly proud of that fact.

Wilbur-centric. Urban Fantasy AU.

He knows, ok? by Ralli

By some means, Techno has given his raccoon younger brother some cotton candy. It doesn’t end as well as either of them would like.

Very, very cute :)

that's it, it's split (it won't recover) by Jk_Kat

Tommy has always been the fighter.

He has never been the fought for, and he knows it, with every whisper Tubbo directs at Ranboo, with every glance thrown his way- Tommy knows, the way he wishes he didn't, that they think he's dead.

If they're so convinced he's still dead, maybe the one good thing left he can do for them is die.

---

Or, Tommy gets addicted to being dead and thinks that nobody cares about him. The people who very much do try to pull him back from the brink before Dream can't resurrect him anymore.

Messed up, but with a happy ending.

Hugs 'n PTSD by rabiddog

Ranboo knew from the start that the recovery process would be hard - that moving on from quite literally being beat to death would be something hugely difficult to step away from, and that's if Tommy could even manage it at all.

He knew that it would be stressful and arduous, demanding and tough... he just hadn't expected to be holding Tommy through a PTSD-induced panic attack only days after his release from Pandora's Vault.

Ranboo isn't typically an overbearingly protective person. But for Tommy? He just might be.

I love this author if you can't tell.

Big Men don't cry by Shiny22Snivy

The room is small and warm, almost stifling compared to the cool openness of the ravine. It’s cosy and candlelit, and a chest sits open in the corner, full of what looks to be burnt rags of a former smart suit. And sitting in rumpled blankets on a bed, cradling a mug of something steaming, sits Tubbo.

At first, Tommy forgets all about Niki’s vague warning. He’s just so happy to see his best friend again, alive and well and all in one piece. Tubbo’s okay. Tubbo’s okay, and in front of him, and suddenly everything bad in the world is gone, if only for just a moment.

“Tommy?”

And then Tubbo turns to look at him.

Clingyduo fluff.

sins of the father (i broke all my bones that day i found you) by ryter

The thing that hurt Wilbur most was when he saw Fundy tear down the walls of L'Manburg. After all, those walls had gone up to protect his son. But in this world, Fundy trusts his father just a little bit more, and it ruins him.

Or: there's only one way Wilbur never becomes the villain. It's unclear whether this was the better path.

SOME VIOLENCE WARNINGS/BLOOD MENTION. CHARACTER DEATH. SO MUCH ANGST.

Sad, but cathartic.

REVIVED TOMMY HEADCANNONS AHAHAHAHA by racooninnit

i’m dropping ALL the fucking revived tommy headcannons on you guys today get ready for some ANGST

this is different from what i usually post but it was fun

i don’t think there’s a lot i need to put warnings for, obviously there are mentions of the way tommy died and the aftermath of that (i.e. injuries and trauma), but if there’s anything that needs a warning please tell me!

What it says on the tin- not really a fic.

Unfinished Stories:

Ongoing (Less than a month since the last update):

Over the River Styx by CorpseArt

I feel like we should name him.

There’s a scuffle at the back of his mind as he rolls up, curling tight with a shiver despite the heat of the flames licking up his back.

I mean, he’s like – us, but like a worse version clearly because oh man, this is just weirdness. There’s a flare of a tangle of emotions, complicated and fearful, resentful and livid with anger. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to, stuck in the mind of this- this child.

He’s like your age, Tommy. Are you calling yourself a child?

I mean, I am one so fucking duh. Child murderer.

Or: trauma bonding in the most unconventional of senses.

Just- Read it. Show the writer your support, it's unique, it's amazing and there needs to be more of it.

If history is dead and gone by iregretallmydecisions

“Don’t come any fucking closer,” Tommy shouted, startling Phil into stepping back. Tommy was still looking around wildly, like a trapped animal “Don’t fucking do it.” ---- In which Tommy finds himself faced with his splintered family, while it was still mostly whole. The past is not an easy place to be when the future was not kind. His family is forced to deal with the fall out.

It's better than Rewind, but you didn't hear that from me.

Wilbur Soot's Redemption (OR Ghostbur's Retry) by luckykitty0523

Wilbur had many regrets in his life, being lost in his madness and the urge for revenge drowned leaving a shell of who he once was. It was only in his dying moments that he regained himself but it was already too late for him leaving him drowning in wishes and regrets. However waking up in another different universe where wilbur was never born and family soulmates exist, so when wilbur said he wanted to fix the mistakes he never expected this turn of events.

In one world wilbur dies and he would return as a ghost missing his memory and trying to fix what he did in life but in this one wilbur dies and wakes up in another world where soulmates exist and the wilbur of that world was never born so wilbur/ghostbur takes his place and tries to make up his mistakes to the other version of his friends.

Wilbur adopts SBI + Fundy + Dream.

A Talk Long Overdue by penink

Tommy has his first therapy session with Puffy.

Tommy gets therapy.

Into the Night by Interjection

“Don’t touch me,” Tommy hisses, leaning against the railing. “I will - I will-”

They’re a hundred stories up. Wind lashes against Phil’s face. Next to him, Sam makes choked noise.

“But why?”

Tommy looks up to meet Phil’s eyes, terror struck so deep in those pale blue irises Phil thinks they must hold all the world’s fears within them.

“You’ll die,” he whispers. “And then I’ll die. But I’ll come back.”

“And I don’t want to come back.”

Others have the freedom to live. Tommy doesn’t even have the freedom to die.

But maybe they can teach him that living doesn’t have to be so bad.

---

(Superpowers AU where whenever someone touches Tommy, they both die. But Tommy will always come back to life eventually. He just wants it to end - but instead, he’s on the run, terrified of how his power will be exploited if he’s caught.

A few people reluctantly team up to save him.)

Funky SBI dynamics + a Sam that cares. Also a lot of angst.

#dream smp #dream smp fic rec #fic rec #sbi #wilbur soot #tommyinnit

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years ago

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"Not My Yacht" *Chapter 1?*

So this is interesting:

So "Not My Yacht" was my very first fic. Like, I'm talking VERY VERY first.

So when I started asking around about ideas for a new series, a few of my lovelies went through my one shots and this story and "Doodling" got some good votes.

So, I decided to include the one shot and just added to it for a POTENTIAL new series. We'll see how this chapter goes over.

Also I'll be including Rita Calhoun in this for the FIRST time ever, so I may need assistance from @storiesofsvu to get her voice right. I did my best here. I'll be honest I've never really watched her, just that one where that guy blackmailed her or something.

Also Also, if it wasn't obvious enough this is obviously the beginning of the SVU episode "Her Negations".

I don't want to give anything away because I haven't even really thought that far, but I'm 95% sure this is going to turn in a William Lewis situation fic. So...pretty dark. I'm just warning you NOW.

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

And yes, the results are in. There is a part 2!

You breathed in the salty air of the sea of the sunny South Hampton shore; It was a beautiful day for a yacht party.

You walked along the pier as you got closer to your boss’s boat: The Crime Wave. Her husband’s idea of a funny name she claimed as she had invited people from the office to this soiree. You were lucky to even get an invite, just being the assistant to the owner of the law firm. “Who else is going to help me dodge boring conversations with men who just wanted a "free ride” on the bosses boat?“ She had teased you; or at least you hoped she was kidding.

You really wanted to just relax and mingle among the elite lawyers of NYC, seeing as you wanted to be one of them someday.

You saw your boss, Rita Calhoun waving you down as you reached the dock space.

"Ah! There you are, for a minute I thought I’d have to mix my own drinks!” She laughed with a wink. You laugh nervously, unable to discern if she was kidding.

“Calm down sweetie, I’m a big girl. Besides, I like to make them myself, strong,” she laughed again, patting your shoulder. Crap had your face looked that panicked? Keep it cool!

“Go ahead, enjoy yourself. I’ll be here, making sure none of those damn punks tries to sneak on here for free booze,” she scoffed, nodding to a group of highly dressed teens playing chicken on the shoreline.

You nodded with a half laugh, stepping onto the yacht. It was a decent size, a second level deck and a very spacious main level. Not a lot of people had arrived yet, so you decided to pick a spot on the yachts back bench area before all the seating was taken. You began removing your over clothes revealing your swimming wear when you hear Rita greet someone else.

“Ah, Barba. You know we have flare guns on board,”

You turn to see the ADA of New York, Rafael Barba. He’s dressed in a windbreaker and what could be either a dark red or salmon polo. You realize Mrs. Calhoun is referring to the almost neon yellow color of the windbreaker, and you can’t help but giggle. It must have been way too loud because they both turn to you which caused you to immediately shut up and go back to undressing and laying out your towel, but ever so slightly still honed in on the conversation.

“You can never be too careful Rita, who knows how many enemies I’ve made in this town; someone might throw me over,” he smirked.

“And anyone here could make it look like a very convincing accident….even my aspiring protege over there,” Rita nods over to you, knowing full well what you were doing.

Barba turned and looked at you, your body frozen in mid towel thrust. You didn’t know whether to throw it over yourself or just run off the boat right there.

“I know it’s an awful jacket dear, you don’t have to keep staring at him.” She called over to you. God why did she have to be so….her.

“Jesus Rita give the girl a break, or did you invite her just to torture her on unbillable hours?” Barba scoffed with a half smile, walking over to you.

“Is it really worth the minimum wage to put up with her?” He asked.

“Mmm…it’s more for the experience, honestly.” You replied surprisingly smoothly.

“Oh….well I mean I could give you the experience without–” He started but was interrupted by your boss’s loud exclaiming.

“Yeah I’ll BET you’d give her experience Barba! Stop hitting on my intern and mingle with the adults.”

If you could dig a hole straight through the boat into the ocean you would do it right then and there.

“…..Without THAT.” He rolled his eyes, lightly flipping her the bird behind his back. You see her respond with a laugh then turns her attention back to the guests boarding.

“She’s probably been drinking since she got on the boat, yeah?” He asked you.

“I…I don’t know I just got here….” You managed to squeak out as your towel strayed from your hands. Barba grabbed it and helped you reposition it on the bench.

“Kinda windy for a yacht party, but Rita will take any chance to celebrate anything remotely resembling a boost to her ego. Am I right?” He chuckled, before sitting down on your towel.

“Just to keep it from blowing away, do you mind?” He asked, gesturing for you to join him. You nodded a boisterous “NO”, plopping next to him on the bench.

“I’m Rafael Barba,” he extended his hand to you, which you took and shook gently, praying to God he didn’t notice you were literally shaking. You had probably had the biggest crush on him since you started working with Mrs. Calhoun, he was constantly in her office challenging her with warrants and favors.

“Oh yeah I know,” you blurted out, mentally facepalming immediately.

“I see….” He raised an eyebrow. “And you are….?”

You were about to answer when his phone went off. He answered it putting one finger up and mouthing the words “one second.”

“Barba. Yeah….what? Seriously, Olivia? On a Sunday?!” He groaned into his phone with an exaggerated eye roll. He raised his hand and ran it over his face begrudgingly as he talked.

“Yeah….alright, fine. Yeah I’ll be there, give me an hour. I’m in the Hamptons. Because it’s my day off, Liv! Do you think I lock myself in my office over the weekends like a vampire in a coffin? Yeah…I’m sorry, I just…” He glanced at you.

“I was enjoying my Sunday.” He gave you a small sad smile.

“Yeah. Ok. See you soon.” He hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go back to the city. Don’t let Rita push you around too much, okay?” He chuckled, rubbing the top of your head like a puppy. You felt your face scrunch up in annoyance, seriously? He thought of you as a kid?!

He obviously noticed, and quickly held out his hand again very sternly.

“Sorry, future counselor.” He said in an overly serious tone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling. Again. Like an idiot.

Relieved he had fixed his faux paux, he gave you one last beautiful Barba grin as he jogged over to Rita and told her something before nodding to you once again, then walked off the boat and disappearing down the pier.

Your boss sauntered over to you, a shit eating grin across her face.

“Well Cinderella, you sure kept that cool.” She gestured for your phone beside you.

“Be sure to tell him your name this time,” she winked, handing it back to you. You glanced down at it as she walked away; she had added a number to your contacts.

“BHole Barba.” You laughed out loud. Nice. Maybe she wasn’t such a horrible boss after all….

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

By Monday you still hadn’t had the balls to text Rafael Barba. You had just stared at the number in your phone, imagining all the possibilities contacting him would lead to. You may have gotten so far as planning your summer wedding in the Hamptons, but nobody needed to know that.

But you had chickened out and left it alone, and now you were sitting at your desk typing up a memo for Rita when you saw him come waltzing through the door.

“Ah, Cinderella!” He smiled at you.

“Hey…” Your mind went blank, you couldn’t think of words. Wait, had he already given you a nickname?

“Cinderella?” You blinked in confusion.

“Well I never caught your name-- But I guess I shouldn’t even push it, you’ve clearly moved on and I must seem like a creep,” His train of thought proceeded out loud as he realized you hadn’t taken his number and here he was still flirting with you. Rita had given it to you, he had seen her type it in your phone. Obviously you weren’t interested, why was he pushing this?

“What? NO!” You said a little louder than you intended, actually a lot louder than you intended. You slapped your hand over your mouth after your little outburst, but to you relief he was still smiling.

“Oh? Well I suppose that’s good…” He was obviously fishing for your excuse as to why you had waited until he popped back in your face to talk to him.

“No, I um--” You racked your brain for an excuse that wasn’t “I was busy planning our lives together”.

“I….couldn’t think of something interesting to say,” You finally admitted with a pitiful sigh. You were not a good liar, and under pressure, forget about it.

Again, he still smiled-- but this time he laughed along with it.

“I mean, ‘Hello’ is always an option,” He chuckled. “Or...your name?”

“Oh!” Idiot. You hadn’t even given him your name, how was he supposed to fall madly in love with you without a name?

“Y/N,” You stuck your hand out awkwardly, Was this a ‘shake hands’ moment? Hadn’t you already met before? You stared at your hand as you moved it slightly back and forth, arguing with yourself whether or not this was necessary. Luckily, Rafael settled the argument by taking your hand and shaking it firmly.

His hands were so soft, his long fingers enveloped yours in them. You lost yourself in the moment, and before you knew it he was making an uncomfortable cough, snapping you back to reality. You dropped his hand and snapped yours back into your body like a zip cord, your face in a horrified stare.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, that was so weird. I’m weird. I’m--”

“Well I don’t know what you were so worried about Cinderella, you’re clearly a chatterbox,” He gave you a tongued smile, referring to the word vomit you just couldn’t help spill all over him.

“Oh yeah, I’m a total word machine,” You laughed nervously. A word machine? What the fuck was that?

“...Word machine. Right,” He nodded in amusement. “Well word machine, would you mind shooting some words to my phone, or do you just enjoy this face to face thing?”

“With that face? Definitely the latter. But you can have my number anyway,” You typed a quick message and sent it to his number. Damn that was smooth! How did you do that?

Rafael made an impressed face with your line, but when he opened his phone his brows furrowed.

“Hit?” He gave you a curious look as he read the text out loud.

“Fuck it was supposed to be ‘hi’-- stupid autocorrect,” You muttered angrily. Yeah, that was more like you.

“Oh yes, the dreaded autocorrect,” He nodded while saving your number. “Turning fucks into ducks since 2011,”

“Oh I didn’t have a phone in 7th grade but I’ll take your word for it,” You laughed, but stopped when his face twisted into a mix of horror and discomfort when he realized how young you actually were.

Dammit. Why...why would you do this?

“....Right, is Rita in?” He quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket and headed into Rita’s office before you could answer.

“...Idiot!” You yelled at yourself as your hands went over your face and your face planted into your desk.

Well, that was nice while it lasted. All 2.5 seconds of it.

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

“Well Barba, about time,” Rita smirked as Rafael abruptly burst into her office trying to get away from you. “Done flirting with the intern are we?”

“Shut up,” He rolled his eyes, though his face was a deep shade of red.

“Oh no, what happened? Did your dentures fall out in front of her?” She smirked.

“I’m younger than you!!” He scoffed.

“Yeah but I’m not the one trying to boff a 25 year old,” She smirked harder, making Rafael angrier.

“Can I just get the warrant I came here for, Rita?” He huffed.

“Oooh, struck a nerve there, did I?” Rita chuckled as she grabbed some papers from her desk and started to hand them to him. “Barba, for the record I’m really not judging you. If I were 20 years younger, I’d hit it too,”

“Excuse me?”

“I had a lot of ‘cats’ in college,” She winked.

“Wow,” Rafael held up his hands. “Rita, we really don’t need to be that personal.”

“Fine, but all I’m saying is if you like the girl, don’t let a stupid thing like age deter you. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s actually very competent and organized. I would almost prefer her not to graduate, unless she'd come work for me. She’s going to be a hell of a lawyer,” She gestured outside to your desk.

Rafael looked at the ground as he mulled over what she was saying, a small smile crawled across his lips as she complimented your potential.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mrs. Calhoun,” He nodded as he walked towards the door with the papers in his hand, a huge smile across his face now.

He walked out to find you cursing at yourself and whimpering in embarrassment at your desk. When you heard the door shut you snapped to attention and stared at him, shocked he hadn't sprinted out of the office like Usain Bolt. Even more shocking was that Cheshire cat grin now upon his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I totally meant I was--” You tried doing math trying to make yourself reasonably older.

“It’s fine,” He chuckled as he put a hand over your counting fingers. You blushed at the touch of his skin on yours again, but quickly shoved your hands under the desk nervously as you tried not to look him square in the eye. His eyes were so gorgeous you were positive staring straight into them would actually get you pregnant.

“So does Rita ever unchain you from this desk?” He smirked as he was now very aware and very amused at how nervous he made you. He may be old, but clearly he’s still got it.

“Oh yeah, if I ask very nicely she let’s me--” You tried to think of something witty, but it wasn’t coming with him staring at you with those eyes. “....Yes,” You wanted to put your hands over your face but you didn’t want it to be a ‘thing’.

“Well, maybe if you’re an extra good girl she’ll let you off your leash early tonight,” He winked.

“....Am I a dog or a toddler in that situation?” You were genuinely asking, but Rafael clearly realized how insulting that must have seemed.

“Oh no no no, I just, shit,” He tried to backtrack but if he was being totally honest, you made him nervous. Maybe he didn’t have ‘it’ as much as he thought.

You noticed he was the one blushing now, oh my god were you making him nervous? QUICK, BE SMOOTH. BE SMOOTHER THAN YOU’VE EVER BEEN IN YOUR LIFE.

“Are you asking me out, counselor?” You did your best “sultry “voice with a bat of your eyes. Were you batting them too much? What was too much? Oh god you’ve done it for too long now. STOP BATTING.

“...I don’t know, guess you’ll have to wait for me to text you, future counselor,” He was impressed by the line, and decided to bow out before either of you made idiots of yourselves again. He gave you a wink and sauntered out of the office.

Great. Now he’ll probably make you wait two days for a--

*BEEP*

Your phone went off in your desk. You pulled it out to see a text message:

BHOLE BARBA: Dinner? Tonight?

You really needed to change his contact name. But that wasn’t the point right now. He just asked you out. Rafael Barba just asked you out. You stared at in your hands, unsure of what to do. Then you realized you couldn’t do this again, you couldn’t just sit there and imagine things, this required an immediate response.

You nervously typed a reply and hit SEND:

Sire ;)

“DAMMIT!!!” You cursed your autocorrect. You instantly sent another text.

Sure***

Before you could lecture yourself again, your phone beeped again:

BHOLE BARBA: Play

Play? What did that--

BHOLE: Okay** ;)

You typed the word ‘okay’ into your text reply bubble, ‘play’ came up in the autocorrect word list.

He was joking with you. He was flirting with you. RAFAEL BARBA WAS FLIRTING WITH YOU.

This work day could not end fast enough.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanficton #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #not my yacht #raul esparza

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starlessea · 3 years ago

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Ultimate Guide To Writing Second Person POV

Y/N, You, and Everything in Between

Hey everyone, here’s another post for my writing tips series - this time focusing on how to write in second person.

As a lot of fanfics are written in this POV, you’re probably already familiar with seeing ‘You’ or ‘Y/N’ to describe the reader. But, I wanted to give a few tips on how to construct this type of character - keeping it accessible, whilst not making it too vague/general either.

1) The Reader Insert

One of the most common tropes in fanfiction is to use ‘Y/N’ in place of a character name. It is literally an abbreviation for ‘your name,’ and therefore allows the reader to insert themselves into the fic.

There’s a lot of debate surrounding the use of ‘Y/N.’ Personally, I think it’s fine, and I find it quite unfair when a lot of people show undeserved bias towards it. There is, by no means, any correlation between the standard of writing and whether or not an author uses ‘Y/N.’ It is just personal preference!

However, you must ensure the following things if you are going to use it:

Be consistent in capitalisation - it’s a pet peeve to see it rendered as ‘Y/n,’ ‘Y/N,’ and ‘y/n’ all in a single fic. Pick one and stick to it.

Don’t overuse it - something about the dash really sticks out like a sore thumb. I try to use it for emphasis mainly, like if someone is talking to the character in an emotional moment. But don’t forget that you can use VARIATION, too. Such as:

He called your name.

“Did you hear me?” She asked, and repeated your name.

“I’ve called your name three times now.”

“Y/N!” He yelled, over the sound of the engine.

If you’re writing a multi-chapter fic, keep in mind that although ‘Y/N’ is meant to refer to a general name, it shouldn’t always refer to a general character! What I mean by this is, nobody wants to read a long fanfiction where the main character lacks any distinguishable features, personality traits, or development.

Just because your pronouns and naming system is vague doesn’t mean your character should be! You need to give them distinguishable characteristics - even if it’s as simple as them liking music, having a specific family background, having certain speech patterns.

As much as we might be tempted to write as inclusively as we can, it is unrealistic to have a ‘one-size-fits-all character in EVERY scenario.’ One of the main points of criticism against ‘Y/N’ is that they lack DEPTH.

Another thing to note is that there are chrome extensions like InteracticeFics - where you can enter your name at the start of a fanfic and it’ll automatically replace ‘Y/N’ with it. You may have seen those little boxes on certain Tumblr posts that allow you to do this!

2) The Impersonal ‘You’

This is just a phrase I’ve coined to describe fics that replace ‘Y/N’ exclusively with ‘you.’ I almost visualise it as a sort of hierarchy of depth, or a sliding scale that goes from Y/N > Impersonal You > Personal You > OC.

What I mean by this is, if we think of an OC, they are often a fully fleshed out character. They’ll have a full name, age, appearance, background, likes/dislikes etc. Whereas, with Y/N and the Impersonal You, we can often get away with glossing over these things - or generalising them (but not TOO much, remember).

The Impersonal You is for those who don’t like the visual look of ‘Y/N.’ It is more traditional, and I find that it takes away from the reading experience less. However, there are still pitfalls with this form:

There is a lack of variation - unlike the previous example, here you can’t switch between ‘Y/N’ and ‘you.’ Often, you’ll find that your fics become completely littered with the word, since it describes both the PERSON (the pronoun, replacing he/she/they) and the NAME. So you may find yourself left with something like this:

You finished tying your shoes and look up at the man, already looking at you. “Are you done?” He asked. “I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes.” You nodded, as he repeated your name to get your attention.

In that passage alone there was 8 instances of ‘you/your.’ In terms of correctness, there is nothing wrong with it. However, it leaves much to be desired stylistically.

You need to be aware of this if you’re writing in this form, and maybe carry out this visual exercise of ‘you’ spotting and counting to check. Instead, try to experiment with adverbs and playing around with syntax order. We could write something like this:

Tying your shoelaces, you looked up at the man to see that he was already looking at you. “Ya done yet?” He asked. “I’ve been callin’ for the last ten minutes.” You nodded, as he repeated himself to get your attention.

3) The Personal ‘You’

This form is the bridge between the Impersonal You and an OC. It is used to describe someone who is almost an original character, whilst still keeping them relatable. I like this example especially, since it allows for a lot of variation and style.

One of the fics I’m writing, for instance, is about a teacher. Therefore, although I use ‘you’ the majority of the time, I’m also granted the extra variety of ‘Teach.’ A lot of my other characters use that nickname to refer to her. So it’s a good idea to have some distinguishable features that can be used as identifiers - like a certain profession for example.

I’ve also read another fic about a doctor, where everyone calls her ‘Doc,’ and another one where the character is identified by the name of the gang she belongs to. So, it doesn’t always have to be a job - it can be hobbies, interests, an embarrassing secret, a pet name etc.

Here are a few examples:

“Hey, Sunshine.” He greeted, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Get over here, Teach!” She called, and you quickly ran over to hear people muttering your name.

“Well if it isn’t that biker chick I’ve heard so much about.”

“I want to get to know you better, Doc.” He said, and you started by telling him your name. “That’s pretty” He replied, trying it out for himself as he struggled to pronounce it.

4) General Points

Nicknames

As we’ve just gone through, nicknames, pet names, or little identifiers can be a great way to gain some variation - and give an insight into your character’s background. Even if you’re writing in the ‘Y/N’ form, you can use general ones like ‘sweetheart’ etc. to show the relationships between your characters.

Abbreviated Names

With these nicknames, or professions, try out the long forms but also abbreviate them for variation:

Doctor > Doc

Teacher > Teach

And have different characters say them in different ways, or use different ones to address your main character. For example, you might want to emphasise different accents.

Darling > Darlin’

A Nameless Character

It might even be fun to take a meta approach, where your character is consciously aware that they don’t have a name. I read an interesting fic where the reader ironically belonged to a group called ‘nameless’ - and that’s what people called her by.

Or, you could have a character with amnesia - and watch as other people give them an array of nicknames throughout your story.

That’s it for now! I hope you found this part helpful. Send me a message if there’s any other topics you want covered.

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 4 years ago

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The Voyage So Far: Paramount War (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

ace’s execution is, in a way, the exception that proves the rule when it comes to one piece’s themes of blood and family. ace is set up to die for the crimes of a father he never knew and never wanted, and he does die here, but in the end he dies for the family he did choose, in the form of luffy, rather than the one he didn’t.

god do i wish we knew more about ms portgas d. rouge. with ace’s storyline pretty much wrapped it looks unlikely that we’re going to be learning more about her than what we got, which in my opinion is an absolute tragedy, because what little we do know about her is amazing and she’s an absolute badass. oda give us more female ds please.

whitebeard’s power is so cool. it might be one of the visually coolest devil fruits we’ve ever seen, in my opinion. he he causes earthquakes and tsunamis while far past his prime; he pulls the sky apart with his bare hands. this whole arc is world-shaking, and whitebeard’s power is perfectly appropriate for it.

doflamingo’s speech on justice and rightness is one of the most well-remembered quotes from this whole saga, and rightly so. i’ve always found it fascinating, myself, because he’s right. he dead-on hits how the one piece world works- the world government and the marines rule the world not because of any inherent actual goodness or justice or right, but because they won a war a very long time ago.

in a way, this reminds me of blackbeard’s line of “people’s dreams never die” from jaya. i like how oda isn’t afraid of letting his villains be right about the themes of the story, sometimes even having better awareness of them than the protagonists.

man, if i had to pick a single favorite spread out of the whole manga, it might be luffy’s marineford entrance. it’s so epic, and so completely unexpected for everyone else there. absolutely nobody was expecting strawhat luffy to drop out of the sky with a posse including two former warlords. it just makes me grin!! so much!!

it also gets followed up by a solid two pages of just people’s reactions, from smoker’s “what the HELL is he doing with CROCODILE” to moria’s immediate incoherent rage, and i just love that the world and cast of one piece is so well-established and built up that we know exactly how all of those people know luffy and why they react the way they do.

going back to what i mentioned in the last post about marineford being luffy’s conflict of interest arc, i’d say it’s also the only time where he isn’t the future king first and foremost. in this arc, before anything else, he’s a little brother.

there are a lot of what-if moments in marineford. moments where you kind of have to ask “what if this specific thing hadn’t happened, had gone differently?” would things have turned out differently? squard’s betrayal is one of them. does this change the outcome? would whitebeard have been able to survive if not for this injury? there’s no way to know. marineford is a lot of little tragedies, and they just pile up and up.

marineford has just so many incredibly striking spreads. all of the momentous moments (and there’s a lot of them, in this arc) are done full justice. this is such an image heavy post just because marineford is such an incredibly visually strong arc.

conqueror’s haki is so cool and i love the way it’s set up and built up throughout this saga, with luffy’s constant inadvertent uses of it, from duval’s bull to marigold and sandersonia to the wolves in impel down, all leading up to this moment.

i’ve heard people complain about conqueror’s as kind of a deus ex machina, but i honestly love it, it’s very cool and honestly i think it just seems to fit luffy as a power. if there was ever gonna be a character who turned willpower into a weapon, it would be monkey d. luffy.

i’m gonna take this chance to talk about garp, because this sequence of panels is heavily implied to be garp’s thoughts just before luffy punches him down, and it hurts. garp is a flawed person who makes some bad choices, and there’s no arguing that, but i think it’s very obvious he really, really cares about his grandsons, even if he never could understand them as people and that they never would have been happy as marines. and that’s just tragic, really.

the moment ace gets freed and the brief span of time where he and luffy can fight together feel so triumphant, and i think it’s one of the reasons the final tragedy of marineford hits so hard and feels so cruel, because luffy succeeds, here. he saves ace. he gives absolutely everything he had and makes it, and saves ace. the ultimate failure isn’t his. there was nothing more he could have done.

the first time i was reading one piece, i hit this page (which is also the last in the volume) and had to put the book away, take the bus downtown, wander around for a few hours, and buy myself some candy and some new books before i started feeling okay again.

the thing about ace’s death, i think, is that it’s a tragedy, but it also feels so completely essential to the story going forwards and luffy’s character growth specifically that it’s really, really hard to imagine one piece without it. there are a lot of (really excellent!) fix-fics out there for marineford, and although those are often really good and their authors super talented, i think it’s really hard for them to ever hit the same way canon does with regards to this.

i always think of this scene specifically in contrast to zoro and mihawk’s fight, back on baratie. zoro and mihawk are both people who believe in honor in battle, true victory or death, and that’s reflected in their fight, in zoro’s refusal to turn and run even in the face of imminent death, and mihawk’s respect for that resolve. whitebeard, too, is an honorable man. he refuses to turn to run, even when facing certain death.

the blackbeard pirates, however, are not.

i do enjoy how, just like roger’s, ace’s execution backfires tremendously on the marines. this was entirely a predictable outcome, too! this exact thing happened twenty years ago! the marines don’t learn. they don’t change. they’re so assured of their own rightness and power that they make stupid mistakes like holding a massive public execution after the last one blew up in their faces.

(this is why they need coby so badly, for the record, and why it’s important that he still decides to become a marine after witnessing their corruption firsthand in shells town. the marines are long overdue for a reformation, one that orients them towards real justice.)

i really, really enjoy crocodile in this saga. mostly because he hasn’t been redeemed at all, he’s still pretty much the exact same kinda awful person he was in alabasta, he’s just on luffy’s side this time, and it lets us see him in a better light, when he gets angry at whitebeard for nearly dying or when he helps luffy and jinbe escape to keep the marines from getting their way. few of one piece’s characters are truly so one-dimensional as they can seem, and i really appreciate that.

i really really love all the interactions between luffy, ace and sabo as kids. they’re so fun and bounce off of each other so well. even though we only see them together for a brief time, they really feel like siblings. (which of course only makes later events hurt so much more.

i’ve always been a little fascinated by the fact that it takes us this long to get luffy’s full backstory. it’s almost a fakeout, because we get part of his backstory in the very first chapter, and we’re kind of led to believe that’s all there is. it’s not until ace’s introduction nearly two hundred chapters in that we’re given any indication there’s more.

but at the same time, it makes sense. marineford is luffy’s focus arc, as arlong park to nami or thriller bark to brook. he hasn’t had a focal arc that’s really about him before this, while all his other crewmates have. it makes sense that this would be when he finally gets his flashback.

i think it’s cool that dragon and the revolutionaries show up at the grey terminal fire, because it’s one of the only looks we’ve gotten so far into what their actual regular operations are like. and, of course, they’re saving people. i really like this about the revolutionaries, that helping people in trouble is basically their modus operandi, when pretty much everyone else in one piece’s world mostly does saving on an incidental basis if at all.

i think a lot about how the last line of sabo’s letter to ace is also both of their last words to the strawhats.

death in one piece always feels much realer and more impactful to me than in most other series, and i think this is part of the reason why: in one piece, we are always shown the mourning. nami at bellemere’s grave, carrot grieving pedro, ace and whitebeard’s funeral.

there are fewer deaths, comparatively, than most other series, but they’re given so much room to echo. we’re still feeling the impacts of ace’s life and death in the most recent chapters of wano. it ties into the theme of inherited will and all the way back to hiriluk’s final speech, of men not being dead so long as they’re remembered.

the picture of luffy at marineford always kind of strikes me. he looks so young and so solemn, and yet much more himself than he did when we last saw him losing his mind on amazon lily. i really like it.

sometimes i just think about the sheer depth of trust and love the strawhats must have in each other to separate for two years, far longer than they were ever together, to solely dedicate themselves to improving for the sake of crew and captain. none of them even hesitate, and none of them ever doubt that the crew will be reformed at the end of it.

after all, luffy keeps his promises.

#the voyage so far #one piece #opmeta #not japanese #arc: marineford #arc: post marineford #long post

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terrm9 · 4 years ago

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you give it to me anyway (Tatum X Lina)

Set immediately after the ending of chapter 13.

Update (after the events of chapter 14): in this little series, Tatum does not go back to the army but is relocated to work as a bodyguard for some random politician in Rutherland. That's why this goodbye of theirs is not as heartbreaking as it was canonically. Therefore, shall the two other parts happen, they will not follow canon because I have them planned and I refuse to make new plans

WC: 3 600; rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, making out, mentions of smoking, alcohol consumption, adult situations; hurt/comfort

Author’s note: my first Foreign Affair fic - it was so much fun to write I forgot about my two idiot doctors for a while. This is supposed to be part 1 of three-parts mini series, but 1) I have no idea when those two other parts will happen and 2) if it goes by plan, they will be all completely okay to read as stand-alones so hopefully this will be enjoyable no matter what.

She could feel it. She could swear she could; she could pinpoint the moment her mind stopped working and all the energy normally divided between the gears in her head and the beating of her heart suddenly focused solely on the latter.

Her mind stopped working and her heart drummed against her ribcage twice as hard.

Lina doesn’t remember much after that, after bursting through the door and demanding an answer (“Why the fuck would you take Tatum off the team?”), her memories a messy blur of shouting (hers), a voice trying to calm her down (Demarco’s) and the one that mattered in the end.

“Lina,” Tatum put his hand on her shoulder, his face stoic – but she knew better, she could see his eyes, eyes pained, eyes pleading. “Get inside. I will be with you in a moment.”

“But-“ she opened her mouth to protest, only to be stopped by Tatum’s gentle squeeze and eyes more pleading.

Just get in and wait for me, he whispered and that’s how she has gotten here.

Pacing back and forth in her room, biting her lip so hard she feels blood. Her brain is working again, thinking and analyzing (overthinking, overanalyzing) and she needs a cigarette, a shot of vodka, she needs to punch something (someone), needs to just do something.

The tremor in her hands violent and she clenches them in fists, telling herself that it’s anger, a rage running through her whole body, but there is that traitorous voice that whispers – no, screams – that she knows this is more than that, that it’s fear.

A lump in her throat formed and unmoving and Lina swallows once, twice, keeps swallowing until she cannot catch her breath but the fucking lump is still there and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and-

No.

Line Monroe does not cry. She has learnt not to cry, hasn’t cried since-

She does not cry.

Tries to take a deep breath but it’s completely useless and Lina knows how she feels. Like a crystal vase in the middle of a big wooden table, beautiful and shiny and protected at all costs – all of it worth nothing when an earthquake comes. This is her personal earthquake, every second pushing her closer to the edge, sobs threatening to cut her open, to leave her mouth and never stop and she wonders if falling over the edge and just break into million pieces would be such a terrible thing.

She could beg. She would beg, if only that would help. She only begged once in her life.

(Lina has never been the picture of a perfect child – well, definitely not after Tatum left. No, she lived for making her mother’s political career an actual hell, she laughed into her face in the middle of a scolding. The First Daughter of Rutherland couldn’t give less fucks about what her mother wants, needs, asks for. Nobody ever asked what she wanted, needed, asked for.)

She only begged once in her life – she was seven and desperately wanted a puppy. (She could do it again at the age of twenty-two and desperately wanting her Tatum.)

Mom, I promise I’ll be good. (Mom, I promise I’ll be good.)

I will take care of him. (He will take care of me.)

I won’t eat sweets. (I won’t smoke. Won’t get drunk.)

I will do all of my homeworks. (I will go on as many fake dates as you want.)

I won’t watch TV. (I won’t cause another scandal.)

I will clean the whole house! (I will attend all the summits, I will, I will.)

Mom, please. (Mom, please.)

She never got the puppy. (She knows that no matter how much she begs, she will not get to keep Tatum, either.)

An earthquake and she is starting to accept her fate, awaiting the final shake, the strongest vibration that will make her fall from the table and shatter.

There is a soft knock on the door and she feels it coming, the magnitude strong enough to stir fear inside of people.

Tatum walks in, closing the door behind him carefully – and the Richter scale does not have enough values to describe how dangerous this earthquake has gotten.

“Lina,” he whispers softly, stretching his arms towards her and that’s it.

The crystal vase falls to the ground (into Tatum’s arms) and the shards cut skin (and the sobs cut Lina open).

It is easy after the first one – like the blood spilling out of the cut, like a plug removed and water pouring, flooding, destroying, the sobs leave her mouth and her shoulders shake and Lina hasn’t done this in four years, hasn’t shed a tear for so long but Tatum’s arms encircle her, strong and firm and safe and no, breaking into million pieces is not such a terrible thing after all.

She thinks she screams in one moment and Tatum only hugs her tighter, slowly dropping to the soft carpet, pulling Lina with him, his arms never (never, never) leaving her shivering body – and she holds onto him tighter than she holds onto her own life (own dignity, own worth, none of it more important that holding onto Tatum), hands still clenched in fists. Lina’s grip on his perfect white shirt must be uncomfortable and she is sure she is ruining the fabric, if not with her nails then definitely with her mascara-tinted tears.

For a long, long moment they stay like that – Tatum kneeling on the floor and Lina curled up against his chest, sobs wrecking her body and his hands drawing soothing circles on her back.

“We will make this work, Lina,” he whispers when the room falls into silence, the only memory of Lina’s ignominious breakdown being Tatum’s soaked shirt and her throbbing temples. “You are strong and the other bodyguards are capable. Demarco is a good agent, they will keep you safe.”

“I don’t care about being safe,” she scoffs. “All my life, everyone has only cared about me being safe. You are… You have always been the only one to care about how I am feeling. If I am happy. And now you are leaving again.”

Tatum pulls back a little – not enough to break the contact of his hands on her shoulders, just enough to look her into eyes – and with a voice that is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubts, he says: “I am not leaving you, Lina. I won’t be returning to army, okay? I am going back to Rutherland tomorrow and only then I will be informed about this move – maybe I am only being taken off for some time. This is not the same as the last time.”

“I cannot lose you again,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes. As if she was not sure about her decision to share such moment of vulnerability with him.

“You will not. Who is my toughest galyetas here, hm?”

Lina looks up at him at that, the initial shock from hearing the old nickname (the one she hasn’t heard in years, the one she has missed for years) soon replace by her smile, however faint and it’s like the sun peeked into the room all at once.

(Eyes puffy and red, cheeks wet from tears and lips swollen from biting and has she always been this beautiful?, Tatum wonders.)

“I am,” she chuckles before Tatum demands the answer and encouraged by the moment of clarity that has settled over them, she manages to stand up and open the closet.

Impulsive would be a great word to describe Lina. Unpredictable. Fierce. Mostly fierce, Tatum thinks and it should not be a surprise for him when Lina takes off her skinny jeans and light blue blouse, carelessly throwing them over the chair and it should not be a surprise when she follows the motion to take her bra off, no, it should not be a surprise for him and yet-

The heat in his cheeks is inappropriate, for God’s sake, and he should – he must – tear his gaze off her naked back, but he cannot (and how many nights he wished he was granted this? how many days?). He stares and stares as she ruffles through the closet and it’s his time to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“I should… I will leave you to change,” he finds his voice and it’s low and husky and inappropriate, but Lina just smirks as she turns slightly to face him better and he needs to avert his gaze, he must not stare at the curve of her breasts, so perfect above her ribcage.

“You have already seen me naked,” the smirk widens. “And besides, you should get out of that wet shirt too.”

Getting out of his clothes does not sound like a good idea to him, not in the slightest, but it gives him a reason to look down and unbutton his shirt – and that motion gives him some time to take a deep breath and respond.

“Yes, I have seen you naked. When we were five and swimming in a lake.”

He can swear he heard Lina mutter ‘time to check how much has changed in those fifteen years’, but Tatum doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in that conversation and so he carefully slips out of his jacket and the stained shirt and switches his radio off before putting everything in a neat stack on the top of a drawer.

Tatum sits down again after that, his back leaned against Lina’s bed and soon she joins him, soft grey cotton shorts and tank top on. She mirrors his position and they share a private smile, because it is their position, the one everyone knows them by – knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, (heart to heart), Tatum’s arm wrapped around Lina’s shoulders and her hand resting on his right knee. It is always this position for them and Lina can’t count how many photos they have together, where they sit exactly like this.

“Are we going to be okay?” she whispers, almost not daring to break the comfort they bring out of each other. But she needs to. She needs to know that they are going to be okay.

“Of course,” he nudges her knee with his own softly and smiles down at her. For a moment, she pretends she does not see the panic swirling in his eyes, giving away that he does not know, that there is no of course for them.

She nods, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on his leg and she is sure they are not that mindless, she knows that in a language only known to them she is writing her confessions, she is writing a love letter.

More mindless patterns and Lina feels Tatum’s eyes on her, caring and loving and worried, definitely worried, but she doesn’t look up at him because the emotions his gaze can stir inside of her are enough to send her into another breakdown.

“Do you remember Scott Diaz’s party?” she asks into the silence.

Tatum chuckles loudly and squeezes the shoulder he is hugging. “Of course.”

“It was the first time I got drunk,” Lina says as if it was an explanation itself, when in reality this conversation was not making any sense so far.

Scott’s party was the one which only Lina attended when she was sixteen – Tatum had to stay home to help his father with something (it was not important to Lina back then) and Lina didn’t mind that much because she liked Scott and she believed there were higher chances of her charming him without Tatum’s alert gaze directed at her.

“Yes, I remember,” Tatum decides to play this game that makes no sense with her. “It was my toilet you threw up into that night.”

“I remember getting drunk with Scott and his stupid friends and realizing that they were a group of idiots, with Scott being the greatest idiot of them all. But I was drunk and he was my first crush and I just wanted him to like me and I was ready to do anything.”

“Yes,” Tatum says again, this time much more quietly, though. “I remember your phone call at 2 AM. You were crying and asked me to come and rescue you because you are drunk and nauseous and Scott is a dick but you might sleep with him if I don’t come.”

There is a long pause and Lina thinks he might not continue. Even worse, she fears he might ask why she is bringing the story up now.

To her utmost surprise, Tatum laughs and continues: “I stole my dad’s car so that I could get you out of there faster. You threw up in the backseat and my dad almost killed me because he was supposed to take your mother to the airport the next morning.”

Lina laughs with him shortly and the room falls into silence once again.

Once again, Lina makes sure to interrupt the comfort it brings.

“And then you left and there was nobody to rescue me anymore.”

She is not sure why she said that. No, Lina does not want to tell Tatum about those years he has been away. She is scared (and she has never been that scared in her whole damn life), scared to share the failures and slips of her past, scared that he would get up and leave-

(Because that’s what he should do)

-scared that he would see what she sees every time she looks in the mirror and Lina does not care about the opinion of the others, she does not care if someone sees her as someone worthy or not, as long as that someone is not Tatum.

Deep down, she knows he would not, he will not leave, she knows Tatum - the same Tatum that strokes her upper arm now, giving her the space to sort her thoughts – will stay with her even in the moments she does not want to stay with herself.

And there is one fear that is bigger, greater, more terrible than the fear of being left – fear of hurting him. The idea of her past being the reason of his hurt, being the thing that puts the haunted look into his eyes, makes her want to throw up.

She will need to tell him eventually because if somebody deserves her honesty, it’s Tatum Mendoza, her best friend, her savior, her Tatum.

Eventually does not mean now.

Tatum wishes Lina could say something, anything, he wants her to share her demons with him and he almost asks her to tell him everything but before he can do so, she turns abruptly and looks at him, her eyes no longer puffy or red – glossy and bright and beautiful now and she doesn’t say a word.

She just looks at him like he is the only thing in the whole world worth looking at.

"It's your eyes," she says quietly, reaching to cup his stubbled cheek with her left hand.

"My eyes?" Tatum asks, surprised by the sudden statement.

Lina nods, tracing his left eyebrow with her finger before moving to stroke the skin under his eyes and finally reaching the bridge of his nose.

"There's no one else's eyes that could see into me," she whispers and her finger traces circles around his right eye now, soothing the wrinkles - reminders of their earlier laugh.

(She doesn't know those wrinkles are hers; nobody makes him laugh like she does)

Her gaze doesn't leave those eyes, not for a second and and the intensity she looks at him with is far more intimate than her naked form, bare torso and soft skin she shared with him moments ago.

Tatum is sure he must be blushing.

It’s the moment her thumb traces his lower lip when they snap.

The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and mutual understanding so deep it ignites further fear changing into the one of passion and need and fire, fire, fire, burning inside and outside, the moment their lips meet.

He has kissed many girls and he knows Lina has kissed many people too and fuck, they even kissed each other before but this kiss is different, filled with more than just years of friendship (years of love) – filled with years of separation, years of longing, years of pain.

They kiss as if the pressure of their tongues against each other’s could be their private painkiller.

A moment later they are on the bed and Lina is not sure how they got there, she can’t remember they mouths parting but it must be so, because she is laying on her back, her hands firmly against Tatum’s shoulder blades to pull him closer and it still feels like he is not close enough, one of his hands next to her head and the other tangled in her hair, pulling on them and massaging her scalp all at once as he kisses her the way she has never been kissed before.

Lina’s hand moves from his upper back to his shoulder, caressing the old scar there and moves to his chest and his stomach and she feels him growl against the skin of her neck at the touch, the vibrations sending shivers over her whole body; she reaches his waistband and her finger fumble on the button of his trousers as he kisses her collarbone.

His fingers circle her wrist suddenly and he moves her hand away from him, gently (as he always is with her, gentle).

“You don’t want-?” she doesn’t know what to say. Me? This? Us?

“I want everything with you, Lina,” he sighs and it’s almost painful sound. “But I cannot take an advantage of this situation. You are – we both are – worried about your future, exhausted and uncertain and I don’t want our first time to happen under such circumstances. You deserve much better.”

There is a part of her that wants to cry again. Sob again and punch someone, because of course he is right.

(It is every single part of her, actually. Every single part wants to cry and sob and punch)

He is right, as he always is. He knows what she needs even when she doesn't know it herself – he always had known. Five years apart did nothing to change that.

Lina traces the lines of Tatum naked torso with her eyes and perhaps it should scare her how familiar it feels. She knows his body, every (almost every. Almost, she reminds herself) scar and every freckle, his flexed muscles and long fingers, she knows his body, even though she grew up getting to know a body of a boy and now her fingers are caressing a body of a man.

She hates how vulnerable she feels and how much she wants to share everything with him. But that's now what she has taught herself, no.

And so, despite the disgusting feeling of tension in her throat, she smirks and asks: "Why do you care about the first time so much?"

Tatum chuckles and makes a show of rolling his eyes (not leaving his position above her, not even now), biting his lower lip deep in his thoughts.

When he looks down at her again, however, his gaze is tender, too tender and intense and Lina has to avert her eyes because surely he can see into her, he can see all that she has done, all that she has caused while he was gone, not there to save her, to take care of her.

"It's not the first time I care about," he speaks softly and any hints of amusement are gone. "It's the first time with you."

She almost asks him about his first time – she knows it must have happened after he left. There is the part that is Tatum’s childhood best friend and is simply curious. They shared everything with each other – first crush and first kiss and first platonic love, she knew his and he knew hers. Of course she is curious about his first sex or how many firsts there were, how many people that got to know him in the way she has never gotten.

There is another part of her, a bigger one, she realizes with dread, that hopes he would tell her that he has lost count, that his five years in army were filled with infinite excesses and that he would rather not talk about it – maybe then her deeds would be justified.

She cannot ask him because it’s Tatum and he would ask back.

What would she tell him?

She laughs to herself, a sardonic sound lacking any hint of joy it is supposed to carry.

I have no idea. I am not sure about the first nor about the last time. I cannot count them, I will never be able to count them because I do not remember.

I do not remember.

“Lina,” he whispers, still hovering above her. “Don’t do that. Stay here with me.”

“I-“ she opens her mouth – for what, she doesn’t know. To explain or to apologize?

“We do not have to talk, mahal. We can just lay next to each other until the morning comes, alright?”

Tatum lays down next to her and wraps his arms around her without further questions and as she puts her head on his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, she feels calm for the first time in weeks.

“Alright,” she whispers back.

They lay next to each other through the night, listening to each other’s hearts and breathing and Lina thinks that even though they don’t talk, there are novels of conversations exchanged between them that night, written in the softest of sounds they make.

*** *** ***

Ever since finding out that Tatum is Filipino, I felt this desire in my heart to throw some (nick)names for Lina in his native language here and for him to use them. I can’t see him calling her darling on daily basis, but I can see him muttering it in the language he grew up with when the moment asks for it

galyetas = cookie, biscuit (Tatum’s nickname for Lina since forever)

mahal = darling, sweetheart

I am not exactly happy with how the ending turned out but it’s not going to get better so you have to suffer through it with me

Thank you for reading!

#foreign affairs #tatum x mc #tatum mendoza #tatum x lina #play choices

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years ago

Text

Confidentiality - Chapter 1: The Conference Call

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Four months. Four long months that she’s been hiding in lockdown. So when everything starts to go back to normal again, she’s going back to work as Jensen’s handler for the first Supernatural convention after the pandemic.

Chapter Warnings: A little angst, a dash of fluff

WC: 1703

A/N: For this fic, let’s pretend Jensen is single and the pandemic was over and done with after four months. Also I’m sorry ugh, it’s been a while since I wrote Jensen.

Beta’d by: @dean-winchesters-bacon <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

It’s Monday and Y/N is sitting in a darkened room as she starts up her laptop for today’s work meeting. She had drawn the blinds already, hiding her surroundings from her workmates.

The light on the nightstand illuminates the room enough for the people in the video call to see her features. That’s all they need to see, really.

Logging onto her laptop with her password, she clicks open the email client, and selects her calendar. The cursor travels over the highlighted block and she clicks on it, searching for the login link to the Zoom meeting.

It’s 4.56 PM, she still has four minutes left. Wonders if she should click on the link and let the computer connect or if she should wait. She’d hate to be one of the first ones because that’s always awkward. She would spend time talking nonsense with whoever was as eager as her to join a meeting too soon.

4.58 PM. Now is a good time, probably. Not too early and she’d hate even more to be the last one.

Moving her mouse over the link, she clicks on it and a window with the meeting pops open. There’s another click and then she’s there, her laptop camera lights up with a green light, signaling that she too can be seen.

Seeing herself on screen is not something she enjoys. She nervously rights her hair, arranges it so nobody will notice the hickey that she tried to hide with concealer ten minutes before. It’s a fresh one, one he just gave her an hour ago, even though he knew full well that she’s going to have a meeting. It's her own fault because she had let him, always gets so fucking weak when he nibbles at her throat.

Y/N joins as the six people are talking about something. Nonsense, she guesses. She doesn’t really listen.

There should be ten people in the meeting to discuss the upcoming Supernatural Convention. The first convention after the lockdown.

“Hi,” she says and waves, because that’s what every newcomer does and she’s greeted with Hello’s and Hi’s back.

But there’s one guy already sitting in there, looking like he owns the whole fucking internet, and she doesn’t know how he does it with the lighting but he looks downright pretty. It’s not really fair.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jensen greets her by name. Of course he does, because he likes to rile her up. He’s also the only one who’s so abso-fucking-lutely cheery. “How are you?”

She smirks, “I’m fine, thank you. I hope you are too.”

Keeping it professional, that’s what she can and will do.

“Good,” Jensen nods and opens his mouth to say something more but he gets cut off by her boss who’s taking the lead.

Y/N doesn’t say much, doesn’t have anything to say anyway during the first ten minutes of the conversation. Lowering her face, she takes notes because it’s a prep meeting where they get informed how it will work out and to see how the spirit of the people involved is for the upcoming convention — which she’s really excited about. It has been a while.

Jensen and Jared do a lot of talking, as they want to know the details on how to make the experience great for the fans after everyone’s been holed up for so long. And she loves that. She always loved how they actually really care, unlike other show’s leads. There are some points that still need to be talked through and Y/N just sits back and watches. She could watch Jensen talk for days, it’s really mesmerizing.

His hair is long, his beard too. Jensen’s new look is completely different from Dean. It makes him look softer, and rounds up the edges of his jawline. The graying of his beard doesn’t make him less attractive, and that’s also something that she thinks it’s unfair. She hopes they will let him keep it for the convention. Hopes that he won’t let them talk him out of it because ‘some fans might want to meet Dean and not Jensen’. It’s going to be another month until they go back to filming, so it’s actually feasible. She’s sure that apart from a select few, the majority of fans would love to take a photo with this look and she can’t blame them one bit.

It’s going to be weird when the look is gone. Honestly, she needed some time to get used to it herself, but it has really grown on her. Maybe she’ll mourn the loss — just a little.

“So, let’s recap,” Gina, her boss, says and Y/N snaps her mind back to reality, “Jared’s flying in on Friday already because you want to visit some friends, right?”

“Correct,” Jared nods his head in approval. “You did book the hotel for three nights for me, right?” The question is directed to her co-worker, Julian, who’s responsible for the boys' travel arrangements.

“Yeah, I did,” Julian says with a nod of his head.

Gina nods, “Good, so Jensen, I see that you’re flying in on Saturday evening as per usual?”

“Yes.” Jensen says. He looks into his screen and licks his lips. She hates that she knows that he’s looking at her.

“I want you girls to be there on Friday evening at the latest? We’ll also go for dinner on Saturday and go over the Sunday schedule.”

“Uh, yes. I’ll be there,” Hannah and Kristin say in unison. Kristin is responsible for Misha but since Misha is also attending Sunday, she sits into the meeting as a formality.

That’s Y/N’s cue.

“I-I’m, uh, sorry, I’m still in the middle of booking my flight but yeah, I’ll be there on Friday.”

It was a huge issue with Jensen and they’d argued today about the flight. He doesn’t want her to leave until the last possible minute but now she has the confirmation that she has to be there on Friday already.

She sees Jensen raising an eyebrow and hates him for it because he distracts her.

“Okay,” her boss nods, “Jared and Jensen, I’ll have someone picking you up.”

Jared smiles, “Okay.”

“Great,” Jensen huffs out. She can see that he’s a little irritated about something.

The others don’t seem to have noticed, but she does. Jared notices as well, but apart from him clearing his throat, he doesn’t say a word.

“Right, I need to hurry to another meeting. Boys, I’ll see you Sunday!” Gina addresses the boys before waving goodbye, and disconnects. People in the meeting follow her and disappear one by one.

Y/N too, disconnects and is about to shut down her laptop when a skype call interrupts her.

Ugh.

It’s Jensen.

As soon as she picks up, her screen lights up and the view of his face almost blinds her. Honestly, it’s like staring into the sun. Nonetheless, she rolls her eyes because of the things he pulled in the meeting.

“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?” He asks, seemingly oblivious.

She groans with another eye roll, “Because you tried to distract me the entire conference call!”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t the one who was trying to undress you with my eyes.”

Y/N cocks an eyebrow, frowning at him. There’s a beat of silence until he groans.

“Fine, alright, I did. Sorry, okay? And why didn’t you say that we’re going to fly in together on Saturday like we said we would?” There’s something about the way he looks and she detects disappointment.

“As far as I remember, we did not settle on that because you ended up distracting me again and gave me a fucking hickey. And besides,” she sighs, “Nobody should know.”

“Would it really be so bad, Y/N?”

“Jensen, are we really going to have this conversation over Skype?”

“Fine,” he scoffs and stands up abruptly, walking out of the frame.

Great.

Abandoning her laptop, Y/N proceeds to walk to the window to open up the blinds again. Walking back, she switches off the only other light source, and as if on cue, the door opens.

“Shall we have the conversation face to face instead?” Jensen asks as he barges in, walks to the bed of his guest room, and sits down. He rubs a hand through his long hair, scratches at his beard before he looks at her.

“I rather not have it at all, but yet here we are, huh?” She strides over to stand in front of him and Jensen looks up, his features are so fucking soft, it makes her weak.

“Why don’t you want them to know? And I’m sure they would let it slide if you flew in on Saturday instead of Friday. You’re only responsible for me anyway and we’re a good team.” His hand reaches out for her, tugs at her wrist, uses his strength to pull her onto the bed with him.

Y/N lands on her back with a squeal and Jensen takes the opportunity, looming over her and looking down at her. Her hand goes up, strokes his hair back, fingertips tracing along his beard.

“Because the only reason I’m still employed is because you let them put in the contract that you want me as your handler and no one else. They would absolutely hate it if they found out I was fucking their talent.”

Jensen chuckles, his nose touching hers, “That’s not true.”

“What’s that?”

“If anything, it’s me fucking you.” His irresistible smile makes Y/N melt a little before he kisses her.

He lingers too long, kisses her too softly, too sweetly, knowing what effect his kisses have on her.

Pushing at his chest, she makes him break the kiss, “I should look for a flight.”

“No,” he chuckles and pecks her lips.

“Jensen!”

“Okay, fine,” he pushes himself up, “but only because I have an interview scheduled.”

Right, he does. It’s going to be an hour long.

“You want me to make dinner to have it ready when you’re finished?” She asks while she sits up and walks over to her laptop.

“Nah, I’ll eat you,” Jensen winks before he walks out.

Chapter 2

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#confidentiality #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fan fic #jensen ackles fan fiction #jensen ackles series #nathalie writes

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shootybangbang · 3 years ago

Text

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #red dead redemption #rdr2 #my work #talking bird

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katie-writes24 · 4 years ago

Text

Cursed Blessings

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: MAJOR MENTIONS/BRIEF SCENE OF RAPE! Language, angst, alcohol, suggestive material, and this is just really sad.

Chpt. 2

Okay, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS! I don’t think the scene is graphic, however it’s there. If you feel that I should put a stronger warning, please don’t be afraid to dm me.

So, my first ficlet, where do I begin? This story was supposed to be a cute little scene with Thomas and an ex lover but omg, I went so off track but I hope yall like it. I did lots of scheming with this fic and @tinywhim I cannot thank you enough for all the help! Brainstorming with you gives me so much more motivation to actually finish writing stories ngl. But yeah, please be wary. Next part will be much lighter I promise. Let me know if you want to be tagged, I’m tagging my original tjeff taglist. Feedback is always appreciated! And....hope you guys continue this story with me! Enjoy!

Y/N didn’t believe in soulmates, even if she was surrounded by so many people who seemed to be destined to each other. Her parents were married for 27 years, never once betrayed each other, they even died together. Even though her mother would call them soulmates, she didn’t believe it, she just thought they were two people who found an undeniable love.

It was this phrase that was tossed around so much that it was starting to seem like a far off fantasy.

That changed when she met Thomas.

He was brilliant, charming, he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. He had little quirks about him that she knew was just for her to see. Y/N liked when he would tell a story and he would get this fond look in his eye, and start scrunching up his nose the faster he talked. To her it was adorable, to him it was stupid.

Thomas made her feel safe, she’s never felt like that before.

They met at an art exhibit, and the two spent the whole night talking about different pieces and ended up going to a small diner, looking ridiculously overdressed. She could see her mother gush about how romantic it was, how she could picture the wedding now.

Y/N still didn’t believe in soulmates, but she did start to imagine a future with the man.

Two years in, they were finally thinking about moving in together. Thomas found a nice place in Charlottesville, not too far from his family’s estate. It felt like a perfect dream. They were going to close on it at the end of summer.

It was all perfect timing. The Jefferson's always threw a big charity event in July, the house would be filled with hundreds of snobby, rich attendees. Trying to fill in a conversation with any of them bored her to death, but Y/N couldn’t complain because while they had no genuine personality, they did have money. The event usually does really well each year, and this year was no different.

Y/N spent that whole weekend at the Jefferson's estate, helping set up decorations and enjoying her time with him and his father. Ever since Thomas’s mother passed, Peter hasn’t been as social with outsiders.

And even though she had heard some stories from the past that gave her dreaded chills, the man seemed to mean well. Thomas had told her that it was all in the past, and that he still cares for his father, so she shouldn’t hold it against him if Thomas wasn’t.

The night after the fundraiser she learned more about Peter Jefferson. He liked to golf, he enjoyed telling awful jokes, and he liked to drink.

He drank a lot that night.

Y/N was in the study, reading the final chapter of her book on the couch. Thomas had gone out with James for the night, seeing that he would be leaving to go up to New York till the end of summer. It was peaceful; she was wrapped in a large blanket, feet on the table with a mug of coffee and a good book.

The characters were clashing, it was something she hadn’t expected. She leaned forward and focused more on the words, not noticing the door open and shut quietly behind her. She only lifted her head when she felt cold fingertips run up her backside.

Y/N turned around quickly, noticing Peter barely standing on his own.

“Peter, are you alright? You don’t look too good.” His eyes were foggy, there was a stain across his shirt and he hiccupped to himself as he laughed.

“Well, I think...you do, darling.”

“Do what?”

“You look..good, very-very good if I might add.” He staggered into the seat next to her and immediately put his hand on her thigh.

“What are you doing?!” She pushed his hand off and he chuckled again.

“You know, Thomas...my son he sure did pick out...a beautiful lady. And, heh, at least he did something right, he did something good in his life. But that boy, he still doesn't have the mindset yet...he doesn’t see that-” Peter drifted off as he looked like he was about to vomit all over himself.

It was an opportunity, it was the perfect time to leave.

“He’s so blinded by your wit that he doesn’t see that you’re taking as you please, and maybe not even to him alone, right huh?” He grabbed Y/N’s calf as he tucked himself into her neck.

“He doesn’t see the way you dress, the way you look, how you’re just asking for it! Is he not giving you enough attention, darling?”

His hands felt slimy and unfamiliar, and they were certainly unwanted.

But what was Y/N to do? She could’ve easily ran out the room. The man was drunk, she could’ve easily shoved him, hit him hard enough, and he would probably stumble and she could get out. She could call Thomas-

Thomas.

Thomas kept her safe, Thomas promised her that she was his and nobody else’s. Thomas left the house, Thomas brought her into an abuser’s house.

Thomas was going to be so upset.

And she could avoid this, Y/N could put an end to this hand running up her shorts.

But she was numb, she was lost. All she could see was Thomas, all she could think was Thomas. But that certainly wasn’t Thomas’s hands, not his soothing touch, not his caring praise. It was Peter’s, and it was disgusting. But if she ended this, what would he say to Thomas?

By the time she could feel her feet, it was already over.

Y/N sat up to her pants on the floor along with a spilled coffee and puke smears on the rug. Her bones were cold, but that blanket had a white stain that made her uncomfortable. She looked and found the door closed.

As if he never even came in.

Maybe it was seconds, maybe it was hours, but when she finally sat up her whole body weight caved in on her.

She had to clean up the mess, she needed to get rid of the evidence.

She had to clean herself, she felt like this wasn’t her body. She was violated, she was abused, she was used.

Y/N took the longest shower of her life, whether it be from her crying or trying to disinfect the feeling of hands crossing her torso.

She went to bed alone, and surprisingly, sleep caught her quick. When she woke up, she was still alone. No Thomas, no Peter.

Her emotions ran over her again and she sobbed gently into her pillow. She was too afraid to leave the bed, too afraid to go downstairs and see what broke her, is breaking her. It was too much.

When her tears finally ran dry, there was a knock on the door. Immediately, she pulled her knees up to her chest and felt her heart jump. She stopped breathing until she heard her boyfriend’s voice.

As he walked in, he had bloodshot eyes, wearing the same clothes as the night before.

“Sorry I didn’t come back home. I drank a little too much, crashed at James’s place.”

I drank a little too much.

“It’s okay,” Her voice cracked and she hoped he didn’t notice it. Y/N couldn’t bear with his overwhelming care right now, she wasn’t ready for questions.

“Hey, so, turns out I do have to go in tomorrow, and early at that. So, what do you say getting a head start on the drive back?” Raising a brow, Thomas had a soft look on his face. He looked so different all of a sudden.

“I would like that.” Y/N put on her best smile.

But she couldn’t hold it forever, she would eventually give herself away, and of course after being together for a couple of years, Thomas would know a difference. The lack of hugs, the uncharacteristic quiet, working, what she claimed, “overtime.”

They were signs.

The next few weeks, he made an effort to do better, try harder. Thomas booked reservations at the most expensive restaurants, he surprised her at work on Wednesday’s, he made sure to leave the office on time so he could cook dinner for Y/N, always asking how her day was.

He said those three words at every chance he got because he needed her to know, he needed her to understand that whatever was happening, whoever she was seeing, they wouldn’t love her like him.

It wasn’t enough.

“Is there someone else?”

Y/N turned to look at him, luggage in hand. She’s never seen him so broken, so lost. He had stopped crying, clinging to himself as if to hold him close to the ground. Those eyes, those deep brown eyes that she fell in love with...they were too similar.

It was like she was back on that couch, seeing those drunken orbs that ruined her forever.

Apparently, her silence was his answer. Thomas nodded his head sadly and walked back towards the bedroom, leaving Y/N stuck to the doorstep.

~~~

“It could turn out to be a blessing.”

Her jaw was shut tight, hand over her mouth, restricting even the tiniest sob from letting loose.

“No matter what happens, we’ll help you out….”

This town wouldn’t let her live peacefully if she dared approach one of those buildings.

“Have you at least called the father?”

Peter gave her a check and a note two days ago.

“Why don’t you just come up here? We can figure this out together.”

Her phone dinged, and there was a ticket to New York staring at her.

“Whatever you need, whatever you decide, we’ll support you, Y/N.”

She was gonna need it.

Jefferson Taglist: @notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @astralaffairs @daveeddiggsit @ramp-it-up @ohsoverykeri-blog @i-know-i-can

#thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson x oc #thomas jefferson #hamilton fic #hamilton imagine #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #my writings #cursed blessings #i finally made a story tag #this story is a giant cry #dont hate me #thomas jefferson fanfic

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maggotbxby · 4 years ago

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Fire and Ice - Carol Denning x OC/Reader A/B/O Fic

SUMMARY: Sallie Novak, a 19 year old omega, gets sent to litchfield max for attempted murder, and has to survive in a prison that consists of mostly Betas and Alphas.

CHAPTER ONE

Sallie Novak never thought she would end up in prison, but with the unfortunate circumstances that have occurred over the past 2 years of her life, it honestly may be the better option than being at home.

Being an omega, she was told to do the right thing and never the wrong thing, her mother raised her that way. At first, it was okay. Her mother was a strong omega and taught Sallie to control her heats and not get swept up in relationships. She didn’t end up as a pregnant teen, so she didn’t do too bad.

Though when Sallie was 16, her mother met Dan, an ex-military alpha who is the biggest fucking cuntstick on the planet. He actually seemed incredibly nice at first, for the first year of knowing him, actually. He had money and took care of Sallie and her mother who didn’t have much since her father died when she was 12, and her mother worked as a manager at a grocery store.

After Dan and her mother got married, however, the dynamic shifted, Dan seemed to turn into a different person. He got lazy and grew a dependence for alcohol, and they quickly discovered that he got violent when he drank. He began to get very abusive towards Sallie’s mother, and it sent her into a highly depressive state. She lost her job and hardly left her bedroom most days.

Sallie was unsure why or how Dan’s attention got shifted to her instead of her mother, but it did. Sallie would come home from school and Dan would be drunk, and he would find ridiculous excuses to be pissed off at her; she didn’t do the dishes before she left, or she forgot to feed the dog, anything. On the good days, he would scream at her and she’d shut herself in her room and cry, on the bad days, she would be in her bedroom with belt marks, scrapes, and bruises all over her body.

He never took interest in her sexually, as far as she knew. She took suppressants and wore scent blockers so he could never smell her, but he did make occasional comments about her figure and slapped her ass a couple times, so, he wasn’t innocent in that regard either.

Eventually, she had enough of the abuse, she couldn't take it anymore, so one day, when she was bringing him coffee (Which he made her do, every morning), she slipped rat poison in it. But the motherfucker caught on, he could taste it in his fucking coffee, and he wasted no time calling the police.

That’s when she knew she was fucked.

So Sallie ended up in prison. Granted, the time for her was shorter than most, but as an omega, she knew there wouldn’t be many like her. And there weren’t. Omegas didn’t commit crimes and go to jail like alphas do. They stayed pretty and did little offenses that very rarely got them in trouble. Omegas were pure little creatures, even though a lot of them had a nasty sex life, they always kept things clean on the outside and blamed others for their faults like the prissy little bitches they were. Well, Sallie never did that. She took the blame, and though she tried and tried to report Dan’s abusive behaviour, her mother, always denied it, and it was the word of an attempted murderer against that of a woman with a clean record and a veteran.

So here she was, litchfield fucking Max. Walking in with cuffs on her hands, glaring back at everyone who looked at her. The prison provided scent blockers for omegas, and hormone suppressants, but that didn’t make Sallie any less nervous, the suppressants weren’t the same ones Sallie was used to taking, and the blockers weren’t very strong.

They stopped at a gate, and next to it was a large “C” on the wall. “Welcome to C-Block” the guard said as the gate opened and they walked in.

Even with the blockers, she noticed some alphas got a whiff of her smell as she walked by, causing some to lick their lips as if they were a treat, palm at themselves with obvious sexual frustration, while others bit down on their bottom lip to seem less obvious of their intentions when gazing at her body. She shouldn’t be here. She should be somewhere else with more protection, yet here she was… She didn’t realize she'd be mixed in with alphas, even if there wasn’t that many. Sallie didn’t have a plan for what she was going to do while she was here. She didn’t have a plan on staying safe and keeping herself up in the long run. She had nothing.

She was so fucked.

Practically shoved into her little cell, Sallie found herself back towards the guard who had pushed her in. “So, inmate,” the guard spoke. Helman, was it? “Most of the time Omegas are put into Florida, but since we're short on space there, you'll have to stay here until we find an alternative. There aren’t many alphas here, but there are a couple. That means no making yourself vulnerable; cover your scent as much as you can, or you will be fucked over if one of us isn't here. We can’t be by your side every hour of the day, and the male guards won’t be the most reliable if you accidentally seduce them with your scent.”

Sallie wanted to scoff at the male’s words, staring at him. Her expression clearly showed she was nervous. “My cellmate isn’t an alpha, right?” She asked.

“Obviously not, your cellmate is a beta, one of our most docile inmates. Don't expect any more special treatment just because you're an omega though. You got yourself in this mess, and now there’s no way out. You should have been a good little whore and stayed put instead of going out and doing bad things.”

The guard’s words tore right through Sallie, making her go pale for a moment. The look in his eyes showed that he wasn’t messing around and that he was looking for what many of the inmates were looking for: A hole to fuck.

This was her life now.

“This was the end of your special treatment, Novak. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner will not be taken to you. Dinner is in ten, tomorrow you have orientation after breakfast. Don't be late for it. We have eyes on you, so you have little to worry about,” the guard was smirking. “I would get a head start on getting to dinner.The good trays always get taken by the alphas.”

Sallie breathed shakily, nodding her head slowly.

Keep your head up, Novak. They won't hurt you.

——

“Ooh, look at this new cookie, you don’t look half bad,” a voice jeered at Sallie when she went to get in line for her dinner tray. She couldn’t resist glaring over, seeing a slightly overweight girl with badly bleached hair laughing at her. She was with a group who already had their dinner trays, sitting at a table. Sallie gave the girl a dirty look, but then she noticed a movement behind her.

It was just a tiny movement, a cocking of the head. And yet for a second when Sallie saw her, she forgot how to breath. The woman was staring right at her, eyes narrowed how a predator would watch its prey. Sallie immediately knew this woman was an alpha, not even having to smell her. Sallie’s brain told her to look away but she simply couldn’t. She didn’t know if it was her omega needing this or just deep curiosity, but she kept her gaze, taking in large 80’s glasses and the end of a lollipop that stuck out of her mouth. But then she blinked, and Sallie felt her face flush and the world came rushing back. She quickly looked away and bore her gaze at the food cart, making sure not to look back at the woman.

When she got her food and sat at an empty table, 2 inmates quickly came up and sat on each side of her, their smell flooding her senses; alphas.

“So… what's your name, pretty little omega? Why did you end up in this sickening place? You must have fucked up, bad.”

“Shut the hell up,” Sallie spat.

“Feisty. I like that.” A second prisoner spoke up, grinning towards her. Her hand began to rub Sallie’s thigh, causing her to flinch. “Oh, they were right about omegas… You are sensitive, huh, pretty girl?”

“Leave me the fuck alone…” She growled, nudging her off her thigh. “I don't fuck around like that. Just because I'm an omega doesn't mean I'm not strong.”

“But I think it does… You see, if all of us were to pin you against this table right now, there would be no escape. I think the guards would even join in on the fun! Either that or we would get thrown in the SHU, but none of us give a shit about that. All we care about is that we might be getting a wet hole to fuck…”

“Hey, knock it off.” A woman’s voice rang through, and the two immediately scattered, there was an instant heaviness in the air. The fear the voice instilled in the other alphas made Sallie nervous as fuck. She looked over and realized it was the voice of the woman she saw earlier. She was no longer looking at Sallie, she was now speaking to the girl with the awful hair.

“Oi Gapman, go sit with that cookie. And nobody fuck with her, got it?” A heavy Bronx accent rang out from that girl, she sounded almost annoyed to say what she did.

A few moments later a thin woman with greasy blonde hair came up to Sallie and sat with her. She was an Omega, Sallie could tell simply by her demeanour, and the alpha bite mark on her neck. Knowing she wasn’t the only omega here made her feel a little bit more safe.“Sorry about these guys, they’re awful here to omegas, but in my experience Carol doesn’t tolerate a bunch of horny alphas like Barb does over in D-Block, so you should be fine. Oh, I’m Chapman, uh, Piper.” She said and stuck her hand out.

Sallie shook her hand with a blank expression. “Carol?” She asked

“She runs the gang here in C-Block. Everything goes through her. I haven't been here long, but I’ve seen her gang do some shit, I wouldn’t mess with her. Oh and her fucking right hand is a bitch, Badison’s her name, the one who yelled at me to come over here in the first place.”

“Badison?” Sallie chuckled. “What kind of name is that?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but she’s my cellmate, and it’s torture. Don’t get on her bad side like I did. She’s just a beta, and honestly I think her attitude is to try to overcompensate for her genetics.”

Sallie just nodded and got lost in thought for a moment. She really didn’t care about this ‘Badison’ character. She did care about Carol though… The quick scurrying off from the other alphas made more sense now, they’re all scared of her. Sallie wonders how long she’s been in here for, and what she’s done.

——

About 15 minutes later, Sallie returned to her cell to try and get some rest. Upon entering she saw a short, blue haired girl sitting on the top bunk reading a book.

“Uh, hey, you must be my cellmate. I didn’t see you when I first got assigned. I’m Sallie Novak.”

The girl looked up from her book and grinned, hopping down from her bunk. “Great! They’re finally giving me a cellmate! I’m Jacs Walker, sorry I didn’t see you in admission, I’ve been in medical, caught a shiv in the ribs a couple days ago from a dickhead alpha over in D-Block.”

“Damn, sorry, that had to suck.” Sallie replied, kind of dumbfounded how positive this girl's energy was for just being shivved.

“It’s all good, shit happens, I shouldn’t have been trying to score from them. Anyways, you can have the bottom bunk, and those hooks there.” She pointed at the wall, “I know you’re an omega, but don't worry, I’m not into girls.”

Sallie nodded, not really sure how to respond, and she sat in her bunk. “If you don’t mind, I’m exhausted, I need some rest.”

“Of course, intake day is the worst! I’d know, I’ve been sent here 3 different times. Get some sleep.”

It wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep with thoughts of large glasses and bright blue eyes…

#carol denning #carol denning x reader #present day carol denning #x reader #fanfic #oitnb #oitnb season 6 #oitnb fanfic #lesbian #abo #abo au #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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aethel · 3 years ago

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MDZS/Untamed fic recs

Since I’m in danger of wandering off to another fandom, here are some recs I’ve collected so far:

Wangxian

Strange Darling, fic by etymologyplayground. Explores what Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen mean to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Habits of Defiance by Feynite. It's a WIP, but I think stands on its own. Explores Alpha/Alpha attraction in an A/B/O world.

all the modern AUs by detectorist, including and there was only one tent

Let's Play Pretend and Live Our Lives by Tassos. Modern AU where Wei Wuxian forgot to tell everyone he was adopting a child and tries to bluff his way through it; Lan Wangji ups the stakes. Pretend husbands, very ridiculous :)

Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl. Modern AU with fake dating. Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian with side Jiang Cheng/Wen Qing. On your rich breathing by Petra. Psychic wolves AU. Lan Wangji bonds with Wei Wuxian's wolf after he dies. of all the hands by typefortydeductions. Canon divergent AU with arranged marriage for diplomacy reasons. Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian. tell me your whole life by phnelt. Cyberpunk noir AU. Android Wei Wuxian/hacker Lan Wangji.

i’ll be your girl by plonk. Modern AU, miscommunication, cross-dressing, happy ending. The "extras" companion piece is also very cute.

baby let's take the long way home by plonk. Modern academic AU. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are academic archnemeses until Wei Wuxian gets pregnant and Lan Wangji drives him 6 hours to get an abortion. They fall in love! My favorite line is from Wei Wuxian, during sex with Lan Wangji, saying "I'm so fucking glad I got an abortion." I hope that you will come and meet me by feyburner. Post-Untamed-canon, Wei Wuxian returns to Cloud Recesses. Bed sharing and other delightfulness! I've been listening to the podfic by exmanhater to fall asleep. Other sleep aids in the Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian bed sharing podfic genre: hunters seeking solid ground, and You, Asleep and Dreaming.

this river runs to you by sundiscus. Modern fantasy AU with cultivators. Wei Wuxian is on probation, Lan Wangji is secretly a dragon, nobody dies, much pining and angst. So good! So far there are two podfics, one by argentumlupine and one by Rhea314.

In Case You Should Ever Ask by phnelt, plus sequel from Lan Wangji's POV. Modern AU in which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are still cultivators (a secret identity). They go undercover at a fetish party for cultivation purposes, but not really. Mianmian, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Qing as Wei Wuxian's kinkster friends who are concerned about him was possibly my favorite part of the fic, followed by Lan Wangji discovering a creative way of satisfying Wei Wuxian's kink. wear me out by plonk. Not!fic modern AU where Wei Wuxian is a soccer player and Lan Wangji is a former child actor/fashion something intern. Very cute! when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche. Modern AU fusion with some horror film I haven't seen? Lan Wangji is an exorcist, and Wei Wuxian is a medium. Wei Wuxian overexerts himself, so Lan Wangji takes him home. A most excellent and creepy use of Mo Xuanyu!

happy not knowing by plonk. Lan Xichen is aggressively clueless about the nature of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's relationship.

live from new york by varnes. Everyone is a writer on SNL. So good! So fun!

a ghost is just a memory you haven't met yet by ThirtySixSaveFiles. Modern AU with super creepy haunted library :) All Caught Up by brooklinegirl. Post-canon Untamed verse where inexplicably Lan Zhan hasn’t noticed that his feelings for Wei Wuxian are not platonic, but the fake betrothal plot clues him in. to dwell inside a body by typefortydeductions. Modern AU series, BDSM, genderfluid Wei Ying.

Like You Mean It by CoatWrites. WangXian, Modern AU, asexual!Wei Ying. Love Is More Than Telling Me You Want It by phnelt. omega!Wei Wuxian/alpha!Lan Wangji. They have sex in the first chapter, but it takes 100K words to communicate their feelings! A most-people-live AU, with unjust gendered A/B/O dynamic social expectations to boot.

Clear Through the Long Night by mistresscurvy. Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji. Pining while sleeping together.

Always Knew You Were Magical by jeyhawk. Modern cultivators AU, with bed sharing.

flourish, full-flowered by lazulisong. Novel-canon, but with A/B/O.

The Last Three Feet, podfic by knight_tracer, fic by etymologyplayground. bunnies, Lan juniors, and lunch.

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane. Modern AU, we-have-to-get-married-for-citizenship, kidfic.

i don't wanna lose you (hope it never ends) by annemari, podficced by exmanhater. The Untamed, Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji, sickfic, 2 hours

Resolutions series by incendir. Various POVs, Wei Wuxian’s obliviousness is trauma-related, angst, happy endings, attempted sexual assault in one of the later stories.

Rule 63 Wangxian femslash

if your body's into me by plonk. Modern cultivator AU Gimme shelter by 74243. Modern A/B/O AU.

a history of the body, by northofallmusic, podfic by Thimblerig. Modern AU where Wei Ying has hip problems from an old injury and Lan Zhan pines. Then they use Lan Zhan's sex toys. say all that you're feeling by phnelt. Modern urban lesbian community AU.

wake up all in tangles by la_dissonance. A Rule 63 remix of varnes' live from New York, the SNL AU, except Lan Wangji says I love you before Wei Wuxian ruins it so Wei Wuxian freaks out about the I love you instead.

hush now by astronicht. Always-a-girl modern academic AU. Wangxian.

And they were roommates... by harriet_vane. Modern always-a-girl AU. I read this before I started watching the show (I started watching the show because I read this).

Non-Wangxian

a compromising position by verity. Lan Jingyi/Jiang Cheng (!!). Hilarious Lan Jingyi POV.

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste. post-canon Jin Rulan/Lan Sizhui, with combs.

Misdirection by feenwitch. Some kind of fantasy spy agency AU. Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui/Ouyang Zizhen/Jin Ling

throughline by lunatea. Modern setting, everyone is detectives or forensics experts. Wen Ning/Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian.

Revealing That You Can't Forget Me by phnelt. Nie Huaisang is at loose ends without revenge to plan, so he takes up a hobby writing porn.

Marry for Love by tuesday. Jiang Yanli/Nie Huaisang. Time travel fixit.

the final cut by Wildehack (tyleet). Mò Xuányǔ/Niè Huáisāng. For when you want to be emotionally devastated past bedtime and cry yourself to sleep.

the height of summer by la_dissonance. Post-canon Wen Ning/Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji, very sweet. Wen Ning has a secret admirer.

anyway, here's wuji by kakikaeru. Post-Untamed canon Lan Jingyi POV, featuring Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui. Sequel is ok, jiujiu: Jin Ling POV, Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen.

Four Days in Lanling by halotolerant. Jiang Cheng/Nie Huaisang.

Untamed RPF

bring your secrets to me and I'll drink them all down by ThirtySixSaveFiles. Untamed RPF magic AU. Features a creepy magic house and otherworldly problem solver Wang Yibo/human Xiao Zhan.

you can take my heart (and hold it together) by ThirtySixSaveFiles. Wang Yibo/Xiao Zhan. Wang Yibo is a robot/spaceship AI. A little bit Ancillary Justice-y

Sexting Chicken: It's More Likely Than You'd Think by la_dissonance. Untamed RPF. Wang Yibo/Xiao Zhan

you're the reason that i just can't concentrate by gdgdbaby. Wang Yibo/Xiao Zhan

#recs #mdzs recs #untamed recs #mdzs #podfic recs

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only-lonely-stars · 3 years ago

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Brighter Every Day, Chapter 1

[Chapter 1 - you are here!] // [Chapter 2] // [Epilogue] (FFN)

Summary: The future may be bright, but it isn't here yet; even so, life gets brighter every day. Knowing their future paths, Cole and Vania undertake the task of devising this bright future. With many obstacles and victories, they know they will be happy in the end... but in what manner? (Rated T for safety. Book 2 of the Cosmic Spoilers AU, sequel to The Future is Bright.)

This story is a sequel to another of my stories!

Prequel fic: The Future is Bright (#the future is bright, FFN)

------

Chapter 1: You Make It All Okay

Cole Brookstone was an expert, professional ninja. He was a master fighter, a respected fighter, and an Elemental Master. He'd fought monsters and demons, survived becoming a ghost, defeated ancient evils, overcome terrible odds, and become a legend. He had done great, heroic things, and all of Ninjago knew his name. Even the people of other realms knew of him!

Over his years of service to Ninjago, he had served its people faithfully. He had never wavered, and despite close calls, they had never lost the wars they waged. Cole's work was a part of that; even death for the cause was not enough to stop him from protecting those who could not protect themselves. He stood up to many a tyrant, and for his work he was often rewarded by great adventure and fame.

All of Cole's work had rewarded him well, all things considered. He had a family that loved him dearly. He had his mother's legacy. He had a human body again, and even more elemental power than before. He had become someone worth calling a hero. He'd even gotten a glimpse into his future.

Yes, the future was bright, and the present was brighter every day. He'd learned he had a future, back when he wasn't sure he did. Then he'd learned it would take place in the Ivory City of Shintaro. Last but not least, he'd learned the identity of the person with whom he'd spend the rest of his life in Shintaro: its ruler, Queen Vania.

Now, as he faced the world ahead, Cole found that life was good. He was happy, Ninjago was safe, and all was well in the world. He could relax, knowing he was a ninja who could protect all the people he loved.

Plus, according to Vania– who had agreed to be his girlfriend, to their mutual delight– he was also a wonderful pillow.

Today, Cole was in Shintaro to visit her. This time, they were simply sitting together in a big plush chair, and she rested her head on his chest quietly. It wasn't the first time they'd cuddled like this– their first kiss had happened in a moment just like it. It was simply the most recent, and this time, he appreciated it more than any other.

Cole sighed, eyes closed as he rested with her, thinking about the past week. Like usual, they'd dealt with a particularly bad series of emergencies; none of the Ninja had been able to sleep more than three hours a night. Fires, an untimely earthquake, and flooding had taken their toll on the outskirts of incorporated Ninjago City, and the countryside hadn't fared much better in a lot of those circumstances.

In addition to the damage of the various disasters afflicting their country, crime was spiking. In Master Wu's words, "the wake of natural disaster made many desperate people." The Ninja had been tasked with helping the police handle the huge brunt of the need for defense, and they'd taken it in stride to the best of their ability. Even so...

It was all over now. The chaos was finally past, but Cole was still dealing with the sleep deprivation and exhaustion. He was so, so tired, and little fixed it other than sleep.

Presently from her place beside him, Vania nestled into Cole's arms. He was struck by her size– she was so small that he could easily wrap an arm around her, and farther besides. She was a wonderful woman, and the fact that she was willing to just sit with him was relaxing and soothing to no end. It made him wonder how he deserved her and her love, if he deserved her to begin with. What was a woman like her doing with a man like him– a hero, but still only a man?

The ice caves had been a blessing and a curse, back when he visited them for the first time. Now, he knew they were mostly the former, and ever more by the day. Foreknowledge of his life gave him hope for the future.

For years, Cole had struggled under the weight of prescience. When he'd visited the First Master's tomb for the first time, it had revealed his future to be in Shintaro. Through a few choice meetings and another two visits, he'd figured out that his future was with Vania, rather than simply being in Shintaro. Now, he knew doubtlessly that she was the love of his life.

A tap on his chest pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked down to meet her bright gaze.

She smiled at him, sweet and beautiful, with curiosity in her eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

He smiled back at her. "Just about how I deserved you, Queenie."

"If I recall, nobody deserves anybody else."

"I mean… that's true, but I've still got you, and it wasn't because of me doing something to earn you." He chuckled, and with the arm that encircled her, he rubbed little circles into her side. She closed her eyes in pleasure, and he smiled at her reaction to such a simple, affectionate gesture.

Vania sighed happily. "Deserving people isn't a real thing."

"Yeah… but still. I missed you this past week. I'm happy to be here with you."

"Yeah?" She looked at him again, her gaze soft. "I heard about what happened in the city. It sounded really chaotic."

"Oh yeah. Let me tell you, it was definitely not the best week of my life." He smiled wryly, yawning. "I'm really sleep-deprived."

"Oh, that's not good!" She frowned, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Did you need to use one of the guest rooms and get some rest while you're here?"

"Nah, it's okay. I don't want to waste any of my time with you because I need sleep." He bent down, kissing the crown of her head. "I'll be okay."

She sighed, laying her head on his shoulder again with another little smile. "Okay isn't always good enough, though. I want you to feel wonderful."

"Who's to say I don't?"

"Well, your yawning says otherwise." She reached up an arm and poked him in the shoulder, smiling all the while. "You should take a nap!"

"No, I want to be with you!" He squeezed her gently by the waist. "I haven't seen you in weeks, Vania!"

"Silly, I'm still going to be here when you wake up!" She reached up and touched his cheek again, caressing it. "Just go to bed, Cole. You'll feel better."

He frowned, but seeing as that wasn't going anywhere, he took a different approach. "Well if I'm going to sleep, I'm going to sleep right here in this chair. I'm not moving."

"That's fine." She raised her head from his shoulder, pushing herself up from her place against his side, and his embrace loosened as she slowly left it. "I can just go work and let you sleep…" She looked him in the eyes, and hesitated. "Since you clearly need a nap."

He smiled a little. He didn't want to let her go, but to force her to stay would be rude. "According to you, I do. Do you not want one? It's not like this chair isn't big enough for two."

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant!" She blushed a little. "It's just– it's not exactly appropriate, is it?"

"Bah, whatever." He rolled his eyes, smiling wider. "Do you want it to be inappropriate?"

"No, this is my palace! I'm the person in charge here!" She pouted. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Fair enough…" He sighed, feeling exhausted again. "I didn't think about that. I just..."

She sighed. "Yeah." Her mouth was open as she prepared to say something more, but she kept silent, hesitating for an agonizingly long time. "...I really shouldn't."

He nodded, letting his arm fall from embracing her. "Fair enough. If you think you should go, then go."

She hesitated again, looking like she was extremely torn. There was a light in here eyes that was distinctly hesitant. Her eyes really were beautiful, and today they shone with the light streaming in a window to the side– they were lit up in a sapphire tone that he couldn't help but adore.

With every second that passed, Cole expected her to get up and leave him alone in the chair, but it didn't happen. She just kept watching him, until finally, something changed in her mind. Then, slowly, she began to lower herself back down into his embrace, gaze flickering with confliction. "Well… okay, it's not like it's really that inappropriate, is it?"

He hesitated, heart beating fast as he watched her slowly take the place she'd occupied before. "Are you staying?"

"Yeah. I don't see why not... and a nap would be nice." She smiled at him, blushing dark pink. Once again, he was struck by her surpassing beauty. "If you don't mind, that is."

"'Course I don't, Queenie." He smiled back, feeling warm and happy as she laid back down. When she was comfortable, he wrapped an arm around her to cradle her into his side for warmth. "I don't mind at all."

With a happy sigh, Vania laid her head back down on his chest, closing her eyes. "I guess you're my pillow again, Cole."

He grinned, closing his eyes in the face of sheer sleepy happiness. "Am I, now? That's not the career choice I thought I made."

"Well, it's the one you got." She snuggled close, head under his chin as her soft hair splayed across his shoulder. "So you'd better like it."

"Fine. I'll be my beautiful girlfriend's pillow." He kissed the crown of her head, the warm fuzziness of sleep starting to descend. "Where's the harm?"

She sighed, reaching up to rest a hand softly on his other shoulder to cuddle him. "It doesn't matter where the harm is right now. It's not with us, and it's not here in Shintaro."

"Not here," he repeated, letting his hands settle on her waist.

"Yeah. Not here."

"I think I can get behind that," he murmured, eyes feeling heavier. "A peaceful life sounds good right now."

"It does." She sounded so sleepy, yawning so quietly. "Do ninjas protect against nightmares too?"

"Of course we do. Wouldn't dream otherwise." At his words, she giggled. The sound sparkled, and he squeezed her a little as he watched her. "Got some dreams to fight off?"

She glanced up at him, smiling mischievously. "Only the ones that don't have you in them, handsome."

He blushed, beaming at her. "Well, good news, beautiful."

"I know." She blushed too. "I love you."

He chuckled as she hid her face, squeezing her the tiniest bit. "I love you too, sweetheart. You're always safe in my arms."

"I know I am. I never doubted that." She snuggled in closer, much to his delight. "Just like you're safe in mine."

He sighed happily, cherishing that feeling of security as sleep drifted over them both. "I believe it, Queenie."

She sighed softly. "Good..."

As quiet returned, Cole closed his eyes again, finally surrendering to the call of sleep. It was sweet and soft, even singing to him… as Vania's heartbeat gently slowed as she drifted off, he felt it take him too.

Before long, the lovers were quiet without stirring, peaceful as they held each other. A hero and a queen, embracing in sleep, keeping each other company– it was nothing if not perfection.

As sleep took him, Cole's last thought was one of bliss.

"You make everything okay."

#OLST fanfic #ninjago fanfic #ninjago #cole brookstone #princess vania #ninjago cole #ninjago vania #colania #vanillacake #vanillacakeshipping #cole x vania #vania x cole #ninjago au #THIS FIC HAS A UNIQUE TAG FOR YOU TO SEARCH ON MY BLOG:#brighter every day #no update schedule but I'm gonna try for posting on mondays #<3 it's about time I posted the beginning of this!

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blissedoutphil · 3 years ago

Text

Tops Only Part 2

Dan’s favourite actor just opened a new bar right by the street near his apartment, and he couldn’t wait to check it out. One problem though, it was for Tops only, and Dan wasn’t one.

1389 words of Top!Phil, bottom!dan, AU where everyone’s born with a Type (top/bottom/switch)

There's a tiny part in here that was inspired by the Weenie Hut Jr episode of Spongebob. gotta love that classic

~Part 1~

or read on ao3!

“Thought you were gonna unstan him now.”

Dan rolled his eyes at Anthony’s remark, then went back to scrolling his tumblr. His post about how unfair Phil was with the bar had gained traction, and it was largely supported by his fellow Type. Though there were some Tops who grumbled about how people were taking things too seriously or tried to explain that it wasn’t unfair. Dan blocked those accounts. What do they know about unfair treatment?

Dan had asked Anthony to help with his plan B tonight: Perhaps they could let him in if he came with a Top. It would definitely irritate him if they allowed this, but at least he would be let in. Anthony easily agreed to try it out, so here they were waiting in line. He was a friend Dan didn’t deserve, always willing to indulge in Dan’s fanboying.

Dan had waited a couple of weeks, walking past the bar everyday but from across the road instead. He'd observed the different bouncers, trying to work out their schedules as he didn’t want to cross paths with the same one from his original attempt.

They stepped up to the new bouncer, who easily let Anthony through after they flashed their ID. But he held out a hand in front of Dan when Dan tried to quickly follow Anthony.

“Oh, I’m with him,” Dan reasoned.

“Still no can do buddy,” the bouncer stepped between him and Anthony.

“It’s okay I can take care of him,” Anthony spoke to the bouncer casually.

Inside, Dan hated the statement. He can take care of himself, thank you very much. But that’s just how the world worked and treated Types - Tops protect and care for their Bottoms. He understood where Anthony was playing at, so he played along and nodded with wide pleading eyes.

“Sorry,” the bouncer shook his head.

Dan frowned, but at least this bouncer was polite. Unfortunately though, he’d judged the guy too soon.

“I think you’d be better off in a Bottoms Only Bar,” the bouncer then suggested lightheartedly.

"Bottoms only?!" Dan repeated in surprise and seethed, “are you fucking kidding me?”

The bouncer shrugged unapologetically, swiftly moving on to the next person. Anthony shot Dan an apologetic look before he entered. Dan had prepared for this outcome, instructing Anthony to enter without him if he couldn’t so that he can bring back updates on what goes on inside that makes it so unacceptable for Dan to be let in.

Dan made his way back home begrudgingly, imagining himself opening a Bottoms Only Bar. See how Phil would like being excluded like this.

He sighed as he reached his door, shaking his head at his own thoughts. Why would Phil care about Dan’s made up Bottoms Only bar, he doesn’t even know who Dan is.

Dan entered his apartment and sprawled on his sofa, opting to scroll the internet while he waited for Anthony. The security at Phil’s bar was good, he read quite a number of fans’ posts on how they tried to sneak in not just through the bouncers but through any possible back doors. So far, nobody has had any luck still.

Anthony finally returned past 1am, startling Dan out of his accidental nap when he knocked on Dan’s door. Dan narrowed his eyes at Anthony when he opened the door.

“You didn’t need to be there that long,” Dan grumbled.

“Dude, it was...” Anthony was clearly very pumped up and tipsy after a good night out but he quietened, not wanting to make Dan feel bad about being unable to enter.

“Just tell me,” Dan groaned, slumping back on his sofa.

So Anthony related the events of his night. How there were Bottom waiters enticing the guests while serving their dessert and drinks. Giving them a show and dancing with the Tops, even getting sexual with those who gave extra tips.

“Did you like… get it on with a waiter or what?” Dan said judgmentally.

Anthony shrugged playfully, “The opportunity presented itself…”

Dan fake retched at Anthony’s confession, and got a playful punch on his shoulder in return.

It was clear from what Anthony told him that the bar really was catered for Tops only. That still didn’t satisfy Dan, though.

“He could’ve made an all-inclusive bar,” he pouted.

Anthony sighed empathically but he countered softly, “Well, it’s Phil’s way of finally expressing his Type I guess.”

“By capitalising on it and alienating a big part of his fanbase?” Dan spat.

“You really should unstan him if it bothers you, this is getting unhealthy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dan stuck his tongue out at Anthony.

“I saw him there,” Anthony admitted in a small voice.

“What?” Dan perked up instantly, “What was he doing? Did you get any pictures?!”

“I didn’t, but I think he’s there most nights. He made a short appearance and thanked everyone for coming and supporting him. Played around with some of the Bottoms for a bit.”

Dan scoffed, but deep down he felt a bout of envy. He wondered how those Bottoms got the job.

“Trust me Dan, you wouldn’t enjoy it there anyway. You’re not missing out on anything,” Anthony tried to comfort him.

“I guess. Thanks for getting the inside scoop,” Dan joked half-heartedly, getting up from the couch.

“I’ve prepared the guest room,” he yawned as he headed towards his own room.

He’d heard enough. Maybe Anthony was right, there was no reason to let some celebrity affect him this much. He decided to sleep his negativity off, abruptly leaving Anthony in the lounge. His friend had stayed over enough times to know to make himself comfortable in Dan’s home anyway.

Of course, unstanning someone Dan had adored for years was easier said than done. A few days later, he was back on his bullshit. He’d tried searching for any information online on how to get a job in Phil’s bar, but there was nothing at all. He frowned, he of all people should’ve seen information about it. How the hell did he miss any job ads or casting calls or auditions or whatever?

Dan sighed as he walked past the bar from across the road after work again. He could’ve been working in there right now. Seeing Phil every night. Maybe dancing with him. Instead he was stuck in some boring office admin job.

The queue to enter never wavered despite it being almost a month since opening already. And despite knowing almost everything there was to know about the bar, Dan still longed to step inside and see it for himself.

He visited Anthony for lunch the next day. And to drop Plan C on his friend.

“Are you insane?!” Anthony said incredulously upon hearing Plan C.

“C’monnn, everyone says we look freakishly alike anyway!” Dan persuaded.

“And what happens if they find out you’re using my ID? Will you pay the fine for me? Bail me out of jail?” Anthony stared at him disbelievingly.

“Don’t be so dramatic!”

“Oh I’m the dramatic one here? It’s just a bar Dan, let it go.”

Dan fell silent. He knew Anthony was right, there was no point in arguing. He sagged against his chair in defeat.

Perhaps Anthony felt guilty for dismissing his idea like that because after their lunch, Anthony sat Dan down on his couch and turned on one of Dan’s favourite movies that Phil starred in. It was telling that Anthony was trying to cheer Dan up because he would never watch that movie on his own accord.

“How long are you gonna be all mopey like this?” Anthony sighed after the movie ended and Dan was still being quiet.

“How come... I didn’t at least know they were hiring waiters or something?" Dan spoke wistfully.

Anthony gave a long suffering sigh before saying, “Maybe that could be your Plan D if C doesn’t work out.”

Dan looked up at his friend in surprise, finding Anthony’s hand outstretched towards him with his ID in hand.

“Really?” Dan said in an unsure but hopeful tone.

“Take it before I change my mind,” Anthony huffed.

“Thank you!” Dan leapt up to land in Anthony’s lap and crush him in a tight hug, “I owe you one.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid to get yourself caught,” Anthony chuckled, returning the hug.

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

~Part 1~

This chapter's kinda short but dw next one's gonna be longer! Sorry no sign of Phil (yet) but hope yall enjoyed some danthony this chapter :) I'm enjoying projecting fan behaviour onto Dan lol

There will be either 4 or 5 parts for this fic, idk we'll see! lmk what you think so far~

#My fic #Tops Only #phan #Phanfic #phan fic #Dan and Phil #stereo

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