#i hope. there is no errors in this post i have reread this so many times | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 2 months ago

Note

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom.

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.)

Word Count: 6.2k

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here) 

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

The Beginning:

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!

That is, until…

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━

The During:

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━

The After — Part One:

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!” Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”

“Adrian,” you warn again.

The next bit happened all so quickly.

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━

The After — Part Two:

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”

You feel your body grow lighter.

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

Beginning Again:

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much… And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.

Your love has come back for you.

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.

And wait.

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.

“What?”

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further.

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3.

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard imagine #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania imagine #castlevania x reader

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biaonww · 11 months ago

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"something about you" rin itoshi based • angst based on not-so-bf trope <3

may contain errors, similar content is coincidental.

watching rin itoshi’s match is always mesmerizing. he shines in destroying things that are close to him.

it’s complete monstrosity when he plays, which is the complete opposite of his brother sae’s gameplay.

a completely calculated person, while rin is a monster.

but still—

why does rin still shine so much?

why does he stand out the most in your eyes, as if he was a twinkling star in the sky you would wish on?

why is he so captivating, yet always out of your hand?

bothered by your thoughts, rin wins his match. of course, another easy win for him.

… but its noisy. it hurts your ears.

announcers announcing his win.. interviewers excitingly waiting for him to get out of the stadium and start asking him questions… the horn sounds and people shrieking….

but everything goes quiet when he manages to find you straight away.

no matter how many people are in the stalls—

his eyes always seem to capture you.

those beautiful eyes that could even challenge a diamonds beauty.

but there he is again, confusing you.

he’s looking at you pleadingly, right after he scored the last shot.

shouldn’t he be focused on the crowd, and the way they scream his name in joy?

did he maybe finally realize that he left you mesmerized every single time?

did he maybe finally realize that you were always admiring him from afar?

or will he push you away again when he gives you mixed signals?

you sigh thinking of it, so you stand up, going to the exit of the stadium.

but once you finally reach the corridor, you see rin.

so you pause from walking, while he jogs towards you.

“you should celebrate your win, itoshi.” you remark.

“don’t call me itoshi.” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s still trying to catch his breath, while gripping your arm tightly.

(but of course, not in a way that would hurt you. he wouldn’t want that.).

“i think it is only proper of me to call you itoshi. considering you never let me see what’s under your disguise.”

“i said don’t call me itoshi.”

“fine then.”

“— you know what, rin? i actually think it’s better if you keep pushing me away.”

“i mean i don’t know if you’re just another unreachable dream, or a one-in-a-million person i can achieve.”

“but i also don’t know if you’ll destroy me. which i’m scared of.”

“after all, you said everything that grows close to you soon tears down.”

you look at the floor, eyes slowly but surely becoming watery.

rin stays quiet, his gaze softening when you immediately look down.

“… if you’re scared of me destroying you, then i’ll try and treat you like a delicate flower.”

“if you ever get scared, i’ll stay by your side to keep you safe.”

“if you hate the noise, then i’ll cover your ears for you.”

“if i don’t show my true self to you, then i’ll lower my guard for you.”

“just don’t leave like everyone does. not like nii-san.”

“but instead stay. i’m humbly asking you to stay right now.”

“i’m sorry that i give you mixed signals. but give me a chance to prove myself to you, please?”

“i’m not perfect. i’m not the best yet. love is foreign to me. we may have fights and disagreements when we’re together. but for you, i’ll try.”

you finally look up at him, the tears in your eyes spilling out already.

but he wipes them for you, and looks at you so fondly.

“then why couldn’t you do all this in the first place, you idiot?” you mumble.

“i’m sorry.”

“but what’s your answer? will you accept me, or not?”

he chuckles softly, slowly letting down his facade for you. and only you.

“… you know it’s a yes, rin.”

— fin.

now that im rereading this, it actually looks so SHITTY WTF... but i hope its good enough to be posted </3 reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated pls !! (btw, tags kinda foreshadow the fic so hehe)

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin imagines #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock angst #bllk angst #itoshi rin angst #bluelock #blue lock x you #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi angst

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bluedalahorse · 1 month ago

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additional shameless posting of fic snippets

I’m rereading Heart and Homeland to prepare myself to finish writing it after I finish grad school, and you know what? It’s delightful revisiting old writing. This story still delights me.

Anyway, I’m putting Sara and Felice’s first interaction (at least via notes they are writing one another) beneath the cut on this post, in case you want to experience it with me.

Background: It’s 1808! This is a regency-ish AU and there’s a war going on. Felice is the eldest daughter of a wealthy family. Sara has been hired by the Ehrencronas as a governess, and looks after Felice’s two younger sisters. Felice is engaged to August but isn’t really into it.

Oh, and F. Lind is the story’s mysterious translator and compiler. You have to read the story if you want to find out who she is.

Anyway, I miss them. I miss them all so much!

A note of interest:

The following were written on scraps of paper that had been folded and creased, likely so they could be hidden among sewing supplies, between the pages of books, and underneath pillows. Based on references to the weather and other events, I can surmise that they were written in November of 1808.

—F. Lind

September 1831

Fröken Ehrencrona—I believe I made a terrible error today and accidentally took one of your bridal linens. Your sisters had finished their lessons and were in search of a burial shroud. I saw the linens laid out in the parlor when you and your mother were talking there, and assumed somehow that it was freshly washed laundry. Only later did I remember that you and Fru Överstinna Ehrencrona were discussing your engagement. I cannot believe that I did not make the connection until now, but I was so focused on finding a shroud that was the appropriate size. This is one of my faults: that I sometimes become so absorbed in a task that I do not understand the words being said around me. Here is your linen back, only a little wrinkled, returned with my deepest apologies. I hope you can forgive me, although I understand if this undermines your confidence in my abilities as a governess.—Sara Eriksson

Fröken Eriksson—Thank you for returning the linen. If you don’t mind, I think we can keep this between the two of us and not tell my mamma what happened, as the error in question was minor. I can pass along the linen to our maid, and she will press the wrinkles out without saying a word. Please don’t worry over it too much. Mamma has collected so many bridal linens for me, that one wonders: is there any cloth in Finland at all? Must we bring everything with us? Of course, I am indebted to my parents for arranging my betrothal, as they have made an advantageous match on my behalf. Let us keep these notes a secret from my parents so that they do not think I am ungrateful or hesitant. I do not think I am either of those.—Felice Ehrencrona

Fröken Ehrencrona—I will not tell your parents of our notes. From what I’ve observed, you do not seem ungrateful or hesitant when you speak to them about your engagement, only brief and polite. You are their eldest and most perfect daughter; subsequently they adore you. Also, I believe you may have been asking rhetorically, but there is cloth in Finland. I have never been there but there is no reason they would not have cloth. I have no opinions on your match but I am glad for you that you will get to see other parts of our empire as a result of it. My younger brother has seen more of the world than I and it sometimes stings me with jealousy.—Sara Eriksson

Fröken Eriksson—I was asking rhetorically about the cloth. And didn’t Agata and Sofia tell me you lived in Göteborg for part of your childhood? Surely you saw glimpses of the wider world there. I should like to hear about Göteborg sometime, if you’re willing to tell me. Something else weighs on my mind as well. I must ask you: why were you in search of a burial shroud?—Felice Ehrencrona

Fröken Ehrencrona—I do not wish to explain to you about my time in Göteborg. I will answer your second question instead. To explain, the burial shroud was meant for a doll. Sofia and Agata were holding a pretend funeral. All was going well until they got into a quarrel about who made the better mourner. Still, a pretend funeral is better than the pretend executions they enacted on their dolls three weeks ago. I am not sure I should tolerate such play except that it is impossible to keep them focused on their studies all the time.—Sara Eriksson

Fröken Eriksson—How amusing that my sisters were holding a doll’s funeral. I admit reading your last note gave me the first laugh I have had in a while. I fondly remember my friend Madeleine and I doing something similarly odd and morbid with our dolls when we were children. Did you ever do the same? Don’t tell Mamma, but I miss being an odd little girl sometimes. —Felice Ehrencrona

Fröken Ehrencrona—I never played with dolls, only wooden horses. I never held pretend funerals for them because I cannot think of anything that makes me cry more than a dead horse. I am odd, however, and I did make my horses speak in human voices. Perhaps this is sharing too much, and my brother Simon would chastise me for it. (He would do so gently, at least.) I suppose I only have one more thing to say. Over the past few notes, I have reflected on using your bridal linens as a shroud, and I think they were a poor choice. You have embroidered them too prettily. I wish I could embroider pretty things of my own choosing, but I am so occupied with teaching your sisters to work their samplers during the day (when they are not executing their dolls) and at night my hands grow so cold. I imagine your hands must be far warmer than mine, for you to embroider such beautiful work! —Sara Eriksson

Sara Fröken Eriksson—First of all, please ignore what I have scratched out. I did not mean to address you as just Sara like you were one of the maids. In truth I wrote to you with your Christian name because for a moment I’d given myself over to the fancy that we were intimate friends. Forgive me. So… you like horses, do you? Perhaps you can help me with mine. He is somewhat fiery in temperament and I’m uncertain how he will be kept calm if the war goes well and I am able to sail off to Åbo after my wedding this spring. A boat seems such a confining place for a horse, doesn’t it? As for cold hands during the night, try wearing these old gloves of mine. They are two years old but still in fine condition. Moreover I think their style would suit you better than it does me. —Felice (You may call me Felice, between the two of us, in these notes.)

Fröken Ehrencrona Felice—My deepest thanks for the gloves. It is truly a kind gesture. I shall wear your gloves to sleep, if that is permitted, for my room is often beset by a noticeable draft. Not that your family does not provide ample blankets for me. Please do not get the wrong impression! In regards to your other request: what do you wish to know about your horse? When I write next, I will share whatever expertise I possess. (At the risk of being immodest, my expertise is considerable.) —Sara

Sara—When you write next? My new and dear friend, why not come across the hall to converse with me face to face? Consider this your invitation. It is an observable fact that your room has a draft that leaves it intolerably cold. My room, by contrast, is warm, and will be warmer if we lie two abed as my younger sisters do. (To tell the truth, I have always been jealous of them for being a year apart and having one another to talk to.) I would, in addition, love to hear more about you or perhaps your family. Agata and Sofia related to me a tale about your mother escaping a Catholic convent, though I wonder if the part with ghost nuns may have been exaggerated. Still, you do have such a tragically romantic expression, and I wonder what stories might be behind it. Please visit me across the hall so that we might become better acquainted? —Felice

Felice—No one has called my expression tragically romantic before. I pray that you are not secretly ridiculing me. People have teased me often because of my odd habits, and sometimes they tease with compliments. The girls who used to live on our street in Göteborg would pretend to offer friendship, but secretly write awful things about me in their copybooks in school. The boys, meanwhile, would dare one another to propose marriage to me before they’d run away laughing. It was so frightfully confusing, so you must understand that I do not mean to distrust you. I want to trust you, and your lovely gift of the gloves makes me think that I ought to. If you do truly wish for my company, then I would like to become better acquainted. —Sara

Dearest Sara—I am making a solemn promise to you that I will never tease you in such a fashion. Those children in Göteborg were awful creatures and should be ashamed of themselves. My door is open if you are inclined to visit, although I do understand if you’d rather limit our interactions to written correspondence for now. But do keep leaving more notes for me. I am longing for someone to converse with about something other than linens and bridal gifts, for that is all Mamma seems able to speak of right now. Rescue me and be my savior? —Felice

#heart and homeland #i! miss! it!

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ussjellyfish · 1 year ago

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20 questions for fic writers

thank you, @mylittleredgirl for tagging me! Have I done this...perhaps. Will do it again! It might also be new? the questions are fun.

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

423

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

2,817,922 (hitting 3 million should be fun). I average 6661 words (ha) per fic. Which is interesting. I have 43 drabbles and 7 fics over 100,000 words so they must even out.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Once Upon a Time (though not for years). Star Trek the Next Generation, Star Trek Voyager, Star Trek Discovery. Stargate Atlantis and Agents of SHIELD. many other things, but not a lot of fics. (12 or less).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Stray Feathers and Scales (Emma Swan/Regina Mills, Once Upon a Time) I almost listed this one as Maleficent/Regina, which it isn't..kind of is, could have been poly if I'd thought about). This fic has HUGE stats for me and I haven't reread it in years. Parts of it are really detailed though, and it's VERY me. It's all the tropes.

Lost Leaves of Autumn (Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Game of Thrones) This one is very soft and doesn't really belong in the GoT universe, which is so brutal, but I really love Catelyn.

Thawing Deep (Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Game of Thrones). They could have worked! I haven't read this one in ages either.

Her Majesty's Mercy (Maleficent/Regina Mills, Once Upon a Time) The best Once fic I wrote, in my opinion. I remember the fun of writing this one.

A Funny Thing Happened at a Stark Tower Gala (Melinda May/Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD). Maybe this got recced somewhere? Maybe AoS fandom was just big that year? It's cute and fun, and for some reason has a bunch of kudos.

(this is long)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to? If it's a fic that I'm really into I'll reply. I'm kind of giddy about comments on the ones I'm writing right now. If it's an older one that I am sentimental for I try to reply. If I'm not into it at the moment (I am kind of burnt out on Once Upon a Time, and I haven't been into Chakotay lately so I've been kind of meh on my own Janeway/Chakotay stuff). I try to, but I am fickle.

I did just have this really positive experience where I posted my chapter of Quantum Variations (which is my long Disco WIP) and the chapter was kind of a mess, but I was so happy to post it, I really didn't care) and people found things for me to fix and were really kind about it. It felt good, for a chapter with a bunch of errors.

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

I killed Elizabeth Weir once, but she came back, so the ending was pretty hopeful. I don't write much angst without a happy ending.

I have Janeway rather self-destructively run off with the Borg Queen but... uh...it wasn't that angsty. Dark, but she kind of wanted it.

There's probably something really angsty I'm just not thinking of, but I don't reread my really old stuff often. (some of them I honestly have no idea what the fic is about).

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

there's a really sappy SGA one where they have a bunch of kids.

Firefly (Star Trek Discovery, Philippa and...learning to have feelings). maybe? Considering how messy Philippa's feelings are, she ends up happy, and more human, and she goes on a very long journey about it.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Not lately. I did, I have, but it's been years. Once Upon a Time fandom you were a wild ride.

I did make massive drama back in the day with Janeway/Crusher, because I really wanted to get to play with them in the fandom space I was in, but that was not the space for that.

9. Do you write smut?

Sometimes! I'm on a somewhat lazy sort of fade to feelings place at the moment. I wrote a somewhat detailed one awhile back, but it was pretty tame. The fic is good though! I really like that one. Trapped in a turbolift and then later they have sex.

Migrations and other recurring phenomena (Star Trek Discovery, Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak). Happy Birthday, madame captain...

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not often, I do have a SGA and TNG crossover where the Enterprise turns up at Atlantis, which is odd but fun, and for some reason (there's a space battle) it got outside my usual audience. I really liked the challenge of all the characters meeting each other.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I recall.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I think a OUAT one? maybe two? It has happens but...I don't remember which fic it is.

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

Yes! Jackie and I wrote two really long ones together (which were a blast). I don't think she's still on tumblr but, @shinewithalltheuntold, I love you).

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I am really into whatever I am really into at the moment, because I get REALLY into things.

Right now it's Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak, underappreciated ship of my dreams. Michael gets to date the president of the Federation, as a treat. fun bonsu for me is that they have scenes together! and a relationship arc and that's really fun. (even if it's not romantic, it's something and I adore them, so I'll take it).

All time ever? Kathryn Janeway/Beverly Crusher, which made drama, ruined some of my fandom relationships, but really gave me something I needed.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

I have a few that I just ended, which I'm okay with. I've taken longer hiatuses than I'd like, lately. (life's just been a lot).

I have three right now. Only one is posted and I'll finish that one! (Quantum Variations on a Love Theme (Star Trek Discovery, Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak) is my favorite. It's my heart right now. It's long and it's sometimes hard to write and there's backstory and plot threads BUT I love it.

And it has it's own little following and really that's all a really long fic needs: a handful of people who read it.

The other two I need for Year of the OTP so I should get those done too. (Firefly universe crosses over into canon-adjacent universe and Michael rescues sick Laira fic).

Hopefully they all get finished. (I'm fairly certain they will. I am not answering the question well).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. Soft feelings. Incremental character growth. Long, slow, introspective character journeys. Friendship and found family moments. (there are some Tilly and Philippa moments I really like in Firefly, and Tilly and Laira and Tilly and Michael and...people having loving conversations is fun).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Description. (I feel like I'm really lazy with this most of the time. They're there, you know what they look like).

Urgency. (my fics do not move quickly, or really with a lot of certainty in their direction).

Plot. (frequently feels like an afterthought so people can have feelings).

Focus? I drop plot threads, all the time.

Writing by myself is hard. I ALWAYS want to show whatever I've just done to a person and sometimes people are busy and I am so unmoored by that. (post it anyway, dammit). I adore having someone tell me it's good before I post it.Sometimes I have to post it anyway...

I also write the thing I want to write, over and over in different fandoms and with different a characters and I've written my own variations on "pregnant person goes on a journey with her feelings and grows as a person" at least 10 times.

and I'll do it again.

And I love midly sick character, which I will do again.

I feel bad and don't feel bad? It's what I want to read so I have to write it so I can read it.

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

I google translate, or skip around it, or switch POV so I don't have to deal with it. It's hard to do and I can usually avoid it. I use a lot of fantasy name/word generator for alien words.

It's mostly [alien name goes here] and hopefully I put something in.

I borrow words (or spelling conventions) from languages I know little pieces of (Finnish, German, Welsh) when I need to for alien things.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek the Next Generation. (Stranded, Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard, Will Riker/Deanna Troi, adorable future children who are lesbians). One of my oldest fics is ON Ao3! it is like 22 years old I think? it's a mess and I should fix the formatting but it's SO LONG... It's fine. It's there. It's really not bad for my first long fic.

It's fun to see how far I've come. I wrote that one so long ago that I wrote it under my real name on a usergroup. Then posted it on my own website that I made with html on geoctities.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Whatever I'm working on right now is usually my favorite. I have fics I am especially fond of.

Her Majesty's Mercy. (Once Upon a Time, Regina Mills/Maleficent) one of the darker things I've written for them, that has a very happy ending it's just...kind of all raw messy feelings)

When I the Starry Courses Know. (Star Trek Voyager: Kathryn Janeway/Borg Queen) very depressed Janeway gives herself up to the Borg Queen, which kind of a Faustian twist to it. It's one of the better things I've ever written).

Fedvision (the Federation does eurovision, with Beverly Crusher/Kathryn Janeway and most of Voyager and TNG at their party). Fedvision is wonderful I should write it again, because it should happen every year. (Disco needs it). This fic is full of bubbly happiness and hats and love. It's full of love.

Firefly (Star Trek Discovery: Mirror Philippa Georgiou and Michael Burnham, and feelings, and learning to trust people). I used to live in a state of angst waiting for someone to comment when I posted...this fic has chapters without any comments at all. I had never written anything this long that didn't depend on a romantic pairing, this one doesn't have one in the center. I took huge break...and came back! I didn't have a beta or an alpha and I lost friends in the time it took to write it, and it still turned out. I grew as a writer and poster with this fic.

Quantum Variations on a Love Theme (Star Trek Discovery: Michael Burnham/Laira Rillak) is my favourite right now, because it's a me fic. It's a long meandering jellyfish fic and Laira's pregnant and I love it. It's the most fun I could have. It has really good parts. (not all of them but, there are some stellar bits). Also it has some detailed world building, and that's fun. This is the me fic that owns my soul at the moment so of course it's my favourite.

I'll just have five...

Tagging @aleksandrachaev @that-one-curly-haired-chick @purlturtle, @winternightjewels @regionalpancake @galactic-pirates @jackabelle73 @holdouttrout (if you fancy it)

and you, if you feel like it, person who made it all the way to the bottom!

The questions!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

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

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

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

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

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

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

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

#long post #20 questions for fic writers #about me #so much about me

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aaronstveit · 6 months ago

Note

20, 40, 59, 60, 72, 74! have a whole load!

omg hi bestie!!!! thank you sm for asking omg 💛💛

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

oh boy SO many patterns. i have a habit of rereading my own fics almost obsessively after posting them to try and think like what could be better, what do i wanna use again, etc and i pick up on a lot of things i almost wish i didn't </3 i write a LOT about craving intimacy but shying away from it, even fighting it, so that's cool. i also seem to describe directions three times. like "down, down, down" or "away, away, away." absolutely no idea what that is about but i can't stop.

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

oooooooh this is such a good question. maybe the face painting scene from you can handle me! although honestly if anyone ever made a fanwork of any scene from anything i've written, ever, i would probably cry forever and ever

59. Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

no they do not! i probably wouldn't tell anyone honestly because i keep fandom very separate from my personal life i guess? which for the record has very little to do with fandom in general and much more to do with me not liking people to know things about me

60. Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like?

well yes of course, you comment on my fics and it always makes me smile!! like genuinely makes my whole entire week <3 you are always so kind and you always manage to pick out a line i was really proud of :')

72. What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

in a oneshot i will write chronologically but in a multi-chapter it's.... very different. like for deep end i wrote the first chapter and then a lot of the later scenes and now i'm going back in and zero drafting (mostly) chronologically now that i know vaguely where i'm going. when i get a scene idea for later though i write it immediately or else i WILL forget and i will be sooooo angry with myself. once i get to work on the first/second draft though i will only go in chronological order so that i can start really ironing out continuity errors/metaphors/motifs etc.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

i honestly think coco would be able to guess just based off straight vibes. as for anyone else..... see this is a hard one because i do think i have a vaguely distinct style of writing but it's hard to actually describe it, and a lot of the things i associate with my own writing (excessive em dash usage, too many commas, an alarming amount of adverbs) are really not that unique, especially not in fic. i don't mean this in a self-deprecating way btw i do actually like my style of writing but it's not what i would consider particularly Unique. maybe i would give myself away because i seem to be completely incapable of not making jokes about murder in my exr fics? that's genuinely all that comes to mind which is a bit alarming but here we are <3

get to know your fic writer!

#thank you sm!!!<3333333 #mutual: televisionbodies #television-bodies #answered #love letters only💛

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hushroomloser · 1 year ago

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Chris Evans short story part 7

Pairing: ReaderxChrisEvans

Request: Meeeee

Prompt: “I’m sorry I thought you were somebody else”

Warning(s): I’m a first-time writer

Word count: 1171

A/N: Hey online strangers, I wrote the first part a while back and have the rest of the story in my drive but have never posted it. This story I wrote way back in 2019 :'(. I will be posting at random times if you stay and read it thank you so much. Enjoy xoxox - I have no idea how many parts this story and technically I haven’t an ending yet.

I honestly to god have no more inspiration so this story will just be here for another 3 more years.

Here I am, whoever is reading this thank you. Because honestly I have reread the other parts and the amount of errors would make my high school english teacher blush.

Anyways as always enjoy and please if you have any criticisms bad or good I am all ears.

Kiss from someone who should be writing her thesis right now.

Bye

… I am back lol. I have no idea who even is enjoying this but yeah. I wrote this during finals so please excuse everything from it. From the grammar to the plot lol. I shall maybe edit it or something. Honestly didn’t this story needed more parts or anything and plus I am trying my hardest to make into a your name type without writing yourr name cause I never found it cute and plus whenever I read a yn i read out the yn has like yoon for some reason. So yeah

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“For me?”

Lowering his gaze, the whole ordeal made him realize that he was not as confident as he initially thought this morning, in front of his mirror, he had prepared such a speech that still made him blush now. And yet, he couldn’t say anything but mumble, “These are for you, to thank you. Yes, to thank you for bringing me here to see a doctor.”

“Uhm, thanks but it was my fault in the first place.” She giggled and took the flowers. “They smell nice.” Not knowing what to say, they each stayed quiet.

That silence between them did not feel awkward or anything, it felt good. They each look into each other's eyes knowing how they felt but unable to word it. How could they? They both felt like they were going after someone out of their league. A superstar and a doctor. Their attraction seemed eternal, their need for each seemed as if it could never be burned out. They wanted each other. How could they say; Hey this may be weird but I think I love you. I do not know you but you would fit in my life so perfectly. You would be so right, so perfect and so everything that words could not describe it. How do they tell each other that they mean everything? So, they didn’t say anything, they kept looking at each other. Hoping that the other could feel it.That they could feel their wants and needs for oneself.

“Code Blue, in room 305, code blue in 305”. They both shook their heads and broke their gazes away.

“I guess you have to go”, Chris said, a little bit sad that she had to leave.

“I don’t deal with codes”, looking at him, she wondered if he could sense the need. He should ask her out. Seriously! Maybe she should woman up and ask him herself. She’s an independent woman, it is not that hard. Just say the words. Would you like to go for coffee? See it is easy. Easy in her head, but in rel life, no. It would take so much courage to ask him. But she has to, if she did not he might not come back? He might just leave her, and she did not want that.

So she took all the courage she had, all the courage she had saved up all those years, even after entering her field. A field that was very much dominated by men. A field that made her rethink a lot of the way she acted, the way she would dress and even speak.

And she asked him, a bit nervous,

“If you aren't busy, in like 15 min or so would you want of course and if you have the time to grab coffee that is if you are free and available but if you aren’t I would totally understand. You are a busy man. Asking you to coffee would properly mess up your schedule. And all plus you are filming a movie right. I guess you do not have the time. Yeah, it is fine you should not come.” She had managed to say all of that without losing her breath.

Chris was smiling through it all, he though she’s cute when she’s shy. Acting like it didn’t matter. It surprised him at how well he could read her, especially the lack of knowing much about her. Seeing that she did want to see him agin he did wait much, honestly he was about to ask her out too but she beat him to it.

“I would love to have coffee with you.”God that smile could cure all the sick she thought.

“I will wait for you at the entrance is that okay.”

She couldn’t say anything after that monologue, not only was she out of it but she had just realized what she did. She asked him out.

Him.

God please if you are here and listening do not make me awkward, which had been a horrible start. Please make this elegant independent woman. Please make me gorgeous in every way possible, make me eloquent. PLEASSEEE MAKE ME PERFECT, she pleaded.

She could just otter yeas sure awesome before he left to wait for her. It had taken her a solid 5 minutes to realize what had happened. Another 5 to manage to look presentable and the last five to be convinced by Lizzy, which managed to be at your office and force you to tell her about what happened. She was ecstatic, the understatement of the year. She was what we would say out of this world with joy. God, she was giggling and murmuring about whatever future she had imagined. You didn’t even register half of it and for the other half, you had been rolling your eyes stating that it was just coffee.

You always had makeup in your work bag and an extra outfit in your locker in case you had to present something or if you had arrived in scrubs at the hospital. Always be prepared you remembered your mother telling you. Your mom has been the most influential part of your life, from the clothes you wore to what you studied at school. Men come and go but a degree is here to stay, she said. Not only did she make you study hard in school but always be dressed the way you wanted the way that made you feel extra amazing which happened to be wearing skirts or dressed and heels for everything and when I mean everything I mean even on a lazy day going out for groceries. If they had made running shoes that were also heels you would be the first and probably the only on to wear.

Dressing up and doing makeup and all that extra girly stuff, as your dad would say, did not take away from your achievement nor what you strived in life. You liked to look good getting those diplomas and all.

“I think I will wear this.” It was a long pink dress jacket you had been saving in your work closet inside your office in case of emergencies. And this was the upmost emergency of all. Chris had shown up on one of those days that looking cute was the last thing on your mind. Sleep was and always has been your true love and on that day, you needed an extra hour.

“It is perfect.” Lizzy smiled at the way you had semi-transformed yourself. “Like a medical legally blond without the blond part.” she giggled at your joke that was not as funny as she may have thought.

“How does my makeup look, and everything. What about my hair? Maybe I should cancel and say I had an emergency to attend to.”

“Stop. Breath. You look perfect.”Lizzy shook you into a reality that had been hard to accept. Beauty. Was I pretty? The question that is worth a thousand no a million dollars, honestly even a billion dollars.

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I did not know how to end it so lol this is part 7 please enjoy and also constructive criticism is as always very much appreciated.

Thank you

xoxox

#my wriring #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #creative writing #writing #fanfic #chris evans #short story #fanfiction

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toughtink · 2 years ago

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a long time ago i made a guide to keys in Gideon the Ninth. i said i’d do some more Locked Tomb notes in the future, so i’m back to do that! these posts are pretty much my personal notes taken during my last reread, perfectly prone to errors, so feel free to add on if you spot any inconsistencies. also, the citations are specifically for the american paperback versions of the books. and i haven’t put much from nona in this list yet; mostly this one focuses on Harrow the Ninth info.

The River Sections in The Locked Tomb Series:

The Riverbank—seems to have many of the things you’d find on an actual real-world beach: silvery sand, dried wood, colored stones, long feathery plant stems and willow-like branches washed up on the shore, salt wind.

Epirhoic—Uppermost, near the banks. Where the lyctors plan to fight RB 7. Where folks always hope their ghost travels (“may your spirit travel high on the River” or smth), where Abigail assumes Isaac and Jeannemary’s spirits will travel given their youth and goodness ( “[They] never did anything wrong other than the time they tried to pierce each other’s tongues, should have travelled lightly through those waters.” —Abigail, htn 397).

Mesorhoic—middle, i guess. some ghosts.

Bathyrhoic—where the swiftest fight against a RB (8) took place. much fewer ghosts.

Barathron—very few ghosts sink this low. Jod says if he believed in sin, he’d say they died weighted down with sin, placing them nearer the trash space. deeper portions have pressure similar to water pressure in deep ocean (htn 494), but they never figured out what the River’s made of. Apparently there’s also rocks down here??? Because the Mithraeum gets caught on some rock face when dropped into the River (htn 496).

Stoma—Super hell? Opens & closes. Ferocious gravitational pull. Mouth to Hell. “A genuinely chaotic space—chaos in the meaning of the abyss as well as unfathomable…located at the bottom of the River. The Riverbed is studded with mouths that open at proximity of Resurrection Beasts, and no ghosts venture deeper than the bathyrhoic layer. Anyone who has entered the stoma has never returned. It is a portal to the place I cannot touch” (Jod, htn 240). Jod’s rubbish bin 🗑️. When a hole opens, it’s enormous with huge human teeth at the edges, each tooth “six bodies high and two bodies wide.” Gideon also describes it as “an eaten-away tunnel of reality.” (htn 495) Also, thousands of tentacle-y tongues come out (htn 496). Stoma is Greek for mouth, and though medically it normally refers to a hole in the abdomen used to expel waste, if we think of it as a mouth (which like, teeth + tongues sounds pretty mouthy), it could be compared to the mouth of a river, aka where it meets the ocean. Is “The Beyond” (in the next section) that ocean?

The River Beyond—what lies beyond, believed in thousands of years ago, but pooh-poohed now, and researched/believed in by Abigail Pent (htn 397), aka where spirits are attempting to cross to without being dragged to the depths of the River or going insane. Abigail believes there is a whole school of necromancy still undiscovered because of a lack of studying The Beyond (my capitals, not hers) and that something has gone terribly wrong in the River.—Personally, it feels like the system has been gummed up by necromancy, souls coming and going and causing problems when they really should have been going in one direction. Alecto asks Jod where he put all the children in ntn, so maybe normally those souls go directly back to their planets/nearest cosmic bodies? But killing the planets has made that impossible so now they’re stuck in a subspace Purgatory occasionally getting sucked into Hell ala The Good Place where OOPS! No one’s been able to get to Heaven for 10k years!

some miscellaneous thoughts about the river:

perhaps the river was never meant to exist at all? could the destruction of the solar system have created it? and what’s with its use as subspace travel? it’s plot convenient, sure, but is that a feature that can be expanded to all souls, living and dead? or is it the spiritual dimension being sucked into some kinda worm hole that was already in space or something? idk, it’s very weird as you can be there spiritually but not physically or you can be there physically too as evidenced by the very physical kinds of rocks and stuff as well as whole space ships getting dropped in. it’s certainly a fun take on the river styx, and i do think we’ll be going beyond the stoma in alecto. maybe it’ll really lean in to the greek mythology connection this time and we’ll get a bit of an orpheus and eurydice moment with a certain saddest girl in the world going in to rescue a certain goth nunlet?

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #gtn #gideon the ninth #nona the ninth #ntn #the river #capitalization is a funky lil thing on this post #because it got written at different times and was all about the Current Vibe #tinks tlt notes

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graceshouldwrite · 1 year ago

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How to Edit Your Novel (Pt. 1)

If you haven't finished writing your first draft yet, feel free to save this for future use :) If you HAVE finished first drafting (BIG CONGRATS! That's a massive accomplishment, and I hope you're super proud of yourself ❤️ ), I really hope this helps you!

There's a lot to get into regarding editing, so this post will focus on more macro edits while part 2 will focus on micro edits.

Reread

In my opinion, one of the MOST IMPORTANT parts of editing is rereading your own book.

I highly recommend printing out your book into a physical copy. Generally, you can print out hundreds of pages at the copy or stationery shop (e.g. Staples), and then put them in a 3-ring binder.

For presets, I highly recommend at least 12 pt. font and DOUBLE-SPACED!!! This is so you can annotate easily DIRECTLY between lines on the paper while you're rereading. For me, I annotate with a red pen. The biggest things to focus on for a first reread are:

Plot + subplots! Example questions:

What things don't make sense?

What things don't you like?

(Spec fiction specific, mostly) Any worldbuilding issues, like no introduction to the cool fantasy gadgets, lore not matching up, or no logistical possibilities (e.g. how do gladiators in your book use modern flush toilets when the world is based on Ancient Rome?)?

Is anything too confusing?

Unnecessary scenes?

Issues with important plot beats (e.g. inciting incident too late, climax too early, etc. depending on how you want your story to flow)?

Characters! Example questions:

Is the development clear?

Are their personalities, motivations, and backstories fleshed out?

Do they have distinct voices that can be relatively easily distinguished in dialogue?

Are their names/appearances/personalities too similar, causing confusion?

Do you have too many or too few characters?

Are the character/group dynamics organic, significant to the plot, and enjoyable to read?

Other things to get picky with include:

tone, mood, voices, general atmosphere

prose issues like dialogue, description, etc.

plot discontinuities (e.g. John has blue eyes in Chapter 4, but in Chapter 6, he has green eyes)

grammar

Go in with your red pen and do whatever you want, as long as you can clearly read what you scribble. Let yourself go wild with *circle* "GRAMMAR ERROR!" or *underline* "STRANGE CHARACTER INTERACTION" or *large bracket spanning paragraph* "BAD SCENE!" Don't worry about making it look "aesthetic," just go for it in whichever way is most efficient for you.

However, for your first reread, or just an earlier one, focusing on the big picture things should be your first priority! Imagine tweaking the prose in one chapter for it to read like the love child of Victor Hugo and Charles Dickens, but then you realize the chapter doesn't serve the plot at all and needs to be cut...

Revision

After rereading, it's time to revise. Revision is the BIG PICTURE, GENERAL edit! Remember those issues that you found? Now, you're actively brainstorming how to fix them. This is not the REWRITING stage yet—that comes after!

Refer back to the list of questions above, and find solutions. I like to do this in a systematic method where I make a table (in this case, using Notion):

You can make this in any spreadsheet software, or even just create columns in a doc or on paper. I sort it by the ISSUE, SOLUTION IDEAS, TYPE OF ISSUE (e.g. character development, worldbuilding), and STATUS (done?).

Of course, doing this in a linear fashion is also fine, where you directly go down the chronological plot order. However, I would suggest separately brainstorming for each issue before you begin this step.

For example:

ISSUE: Heist is too easy and underwhelming

IDEAS:

Increased number of trained security personnel + improved tech (e.g. city hired guards who were former thieves themselves, security cameras, classic laser beams protruding from walls, a door with more locks and a very hard constitution)

In the thief group, more tension between each other -> harder for them to all cooperate and coordinate, leading to some things going wrong

Decreased competence of certain thieves, or just careless mistakes (e.g. tripping, coughing because of dust and attracting attention, not scaling a wall properly, etc.)

After you comb through all the issues like this (or however much effort each issue warrants), you'll find yourself at the REWRITING step! We'll cover that next time :)

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

I used to dread revising, especially after I'd finished the first draft of my first novel, but now, I quite like the process :) Yesterday, I just finished re-plotting an improved version of my story after LOTS of revising through 4 drafts! I can 100% say that no matter how difficult it is, a thorough revision is totally worth it!!!

OH! Also, goes without saying, but that spreadsheet revision example is NOT a real project hahaha

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated :)

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

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galaxythreads · 5 months ago

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Hello. Ahhh this may be an odd ask so apologies for that. And apologies for the gazillion spelling errors throughout.

But i wanted to tell u that u r probaly one of my favorite fic writers. Esp within the marvel fandom. Ive reread your fics more times than i can count and greatly enjoy your writing style. So with that in mind please know im trying to say this kindly.

You are my favorite fic writer . But Im also physically disabled. Your works frequently vist topics of disablity- physical and mental. And even more frequently do u use the word cripple in each work.

Cripple is a slur agaisnt physically disabled people. It always has been. I understand that its a word that has become very normalized and so phrases like “crippling anxiety” or “crippling debt” or other variations are incredibly common. But its still a slur. And if you are not physically disabled you shouldnt be using this word to describe anyone, but especailay physically disabled charcters.

One line that i think about quite frequently is in stygain where a charcter remarks that “this disablity had crippled the asgardian” and that is far from the only time something simillar is thought or said about loki, who is blind and physically disabled in this work.

Frankly Its hard for me to overstate how frequently cripple pops up in your other works too.

I understand that this probaly comes from somewhere of ignorarance or just not knowing. But its frustrating to watch such a skilled authour constantly use words that cause serious fucking harm to me and my community. Its very isolating.

i also know that you are (or were) in the process of rewriting stygan. A work prominantly featuring a disabled charcter. And i am asking you to please consider us and the words you chose as you write.

Again im sorry for the typos or if this is not as perfectly clear as u and i would like it to be. I recomend that you look around more on tumblr or elsewhere for disabled perspectives on this.

Heres one from a disabled authour:

https://cy-cyborg.tumblr.com/post/726304244629749760/cripple-is-a-slur/amp

Thank you for your time, and thank you for your works. I hope you have a good day or night.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. No, I was not aware that it was a slur. It was my understanding that it was a reclaimed slur, or that most people used the first definition of the word rather than the second, but I can definitely see why it would be extremely frustrating to see that repeated everywhere.

I imagine this is a bit like me and suicide jokes. I can't stand them. They feel insensitive to me, as someone who has attempted, to the point that I have to leave the room/chat when someone makes a joke about it. I'm working on emotional regulation for this - because it is impossible to escape haha - but I can see where you're coming from. Like the squishy Bad feeling. And I don't want to give anyone the squishy bad feeling. I feel really sad that I did.

Any use of cripple has been removed from all of my works - i've double-checked everything, but if you see any more feel free to point it out - and I will be more careful with my word choice in the future.

If you are referring specifically to the blodig skog - which is, haha, filled with internalized ableism - me and another disabled anon have had a long discussion about that work and we came to an understanding about the content in it. I'll give that to you as well, and maybe I'll leave a note at the beginning of the fic, because I know that one goes really, really hard on internalized ableism, which is a very sensitive subject for so many people.

I don't know if you're aware of this, but my left leg is. Not right. I caused some severe damage to it over the course of my eating disorder - damage which has slowly been getting better - but at the time I wrote it, I could barely walk, the pain was debilitating at times, and i was extremely miserable. That work is me Projecting Very Hard Onto Thor, which is why it's like that. As that was a deeply personal experience to me that I was sharing the feelings of, I'm reluctant to change the content inside of it, but I did change the language so everyone can be more comfortable.

Again, thanks for bringing this to my attention, I am sincerely sorry that my ignorance caused distress, pain, or whatever word we want to put here. I take full responsibility for this. I should have double-checked that my understanding was correct, but I do know now, and I promise I will be more careful because i want everyone to feel safe and respected when they read my work. It was never my intention to harm, but that doesn't mean I didn't.

Thank you for the resource, I'll make sure to look at that.

All the best! <3<3<3

-Galaxy

#anon answered

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 6 months ago

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The ones I like most or are most invested in are:

1. Just take it (I’ve read this an embarrassing amount of times)

2. art of etiquette (I just can’t wait for the smut at this point, they’ve been dancing the tango for so long 😂)

3. still with you (I get the feeling JK is gonna find out in the worst way about the Jimin sleepover and damn I can’t wait for the stalker reveal or how much worse it’s gonna escalate! Can you tell I’m getting more invested in this one?)

4. he doesn’t deserve you. (I hate taehyung in this one, he’s evil!-no hate though I love your writing!)

I honestly should circle back to your master list and give falling and semantic error a shot. I’ll probably read seven days to fall again once it’s finished since you only have one more chapter)

I think I found your blog because of do it for him and that story is really unique and so good but damn JK is a terrible human being in that one 😂

Happy early birthday and hope you have fun in TX. I would give you recommendations but that’s the one part of Texas I haven’t been to lol

🧜‍♀️

Oh my gosh I love this

I love that you reread my stories that so wild to me! Thank you for doing that 🥺

Yeah that one is the definition of a slow burn but like they clearly like each other but his position as her teacher is really holding them back but their self restraint is slowly diasapting

I'm so glad you're getting more invested cuz yeah let's just say it's gonna be a bumpy ride for sure.

It's okay babes he's there to be the villain so you can hate on him as much as you'd like 😂 (I love Tae irl tho like he's my little bean 🥺 meanwhile TYPE 1 🫠)

I mean yeah if you'd like to you definetly can! I'd love to hear what you think about those two as well!

Semantic Error is inspired by the bl kdrama/manhwa 'Semantic Error' but I changed it so oc is a female and both of the people who are going after her are guys (Jungkook and Jimin...again lmao) I read it and I really liked the dichotomy of the personalties of the two main characters so yeah I'm excited to get back to that one at some point lol

Falling is one that was supposed to be a one shot but then I started building more of a plot around it after I posted it. I just loved the idea of an Angel Jungkook becoming a Fallen Angel but is still in love with Guardian Angel oc. I love it but ngl I almost feel like I want to rewrite it. I don't know though we'll see but I'm going to continue the story either way.

Seven Days to Fall Again has two more chapters left but yeah I don't blame you if you wanna wait so you can read everything all together haha.

Haha oh gosh yeah I think a lot of my followers found me because of Do it for Him and I'm super grateful to the person that requested it because yeah it really was unique and I really liked experimenting with that kind of plot line.

Tbh Do it for Him really didn't get too much attention until like a month or two after I posted it. Like it just blew up over night which was absolutely insane!

I got so many asks (as you can see from the masterlist lol) and it was so freaking cool! I owe that story a lot since I feel like it really brought me a great audience and I'm so thankful to everyone who has supported me even after reading Do it for Him.

Jungkook is a horrible person in that fic but I'm happy I was able to do that since he's supposed to be a yandere character but the part that scares me is that people wanted/thought they were gonna end up together.

I'm like wtf no way he's a psycho and she despises him! Why would she want to stay with him? But yeah I'm still glad that people loved him despite all of his madness 😂

Thank you love 💜 it's on the 14th so I've got a little while left to enjoy being quarter of a century lmao. I still can't believe I'm that old lmao I still feel like I'm 22 or something 🫠

Ahh I'm so excited like I spent a good part of the night planning and it's gonna be so fun!!! And no worries love! It's the thought that counts haha

Love you sm 🧜‍♀️ and I hope you enjoy my other stories as well if you end up checking them out haha

#ask

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tarabyte3 · 2 years ago

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Title: Wants, Needs, and Clerical Errors

Fandom: Andor

Characters/Pairings: Kino Loy, Kino Loy x F!Reader

Chapters: 3/3 (8.8k words)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 Link | Playlist

Summary: You're only on Narkina 5 due to a mistake on your transfer paperwork and no one in charge seems to care. The work is horrific and being the only woman there is a nightmare, but Kino Loy is... intriguing. (Okay, he's hot. He's very hot.)

Tags: Explicit rating, smut, prison, prison sex, sex, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, attempted sexual assault, fear of sexual assault, violence, blood, minor character death, fluff, happy ending

A/N: In terms of writing style, chapter 3 is my favorite. 🥺 If you've read this fic before, if you're reread it again because of this post, or you just discovered this fic for the first time: Thank you. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Chapter 3 - Like a flower waiting to bloom, Like a lightbulb in a dark room

Like the desert waiting for the rain Like a schoolkid waiting for the spring I'm just sitting here waiting for you To come on home and turn me on - Norah Jones, "Turn Me On"

You get out first.

You have two hundred and thirty eight days without him, which is fewer days than you had with him, but it still feels immense. Before, you had guards and work and routine keeping you apart, and now you have time. Though you're free and can move about as you please, or sit and do nothing if you want, there's still a weight on you that's holding you back from truly savoring it. As if a part of you is still in there, and, in a way, it is.

You have two hundred and thirty eight days and so you wait.

Your first stop is home to collect your meager possessions. You didn't have much to begin with, and, over the years while you were in prison, you ended up with even less. You don't blame your former flatmate for slowly downsizing your belongings. You're grateful she kept any of it at all. And she did keep the important stuff, like most of your clothes and gear, as well as a few sentimental items—the most important of which is a trinket box with a false bottom that holds credit chips you'd squirreled away in case of an emergency. It isn't much, but it's something.

No, having fewer things means there's less to get rid of yourself. So you grab your belongings, make the most uncomfortable attempts at small talk in which she intentionally avoids asking about or mentioning prison at all, you say thank you, and then you leave. And you don't look back.

It's all very anticlimactic. You imagined this scenario many times in your head your last few weeks on the inside because you weren't sure how it would go, and you couldn't exactly message her to let her know you were getting out. Now that it's over so quickly, you have no idea why you were worried. Even as you realize you'll never step foot here again, you feel nothing. No lingering sadness or regrets. No yearning to give the building one last look. That place stopped being home a long time ago.

You go directly back to a transport and purchase passage off planet. You and Kino had discussed this part many times. What you would do, where you would go, and where he would meet you. You'd settled on a colony in the Mid Rim that you both knew of, one with less Imperial control than some of the others—or last you heard anyway. It had plenty of people and industry so it wouldn't be too difficult to blend in and make a living. Two days after he gets out, you'll meet him at the station in the capital. It's a long journey to get there from Narkina 5. Your first flight doesn't take you all the way to your destination, either, but it gets you closer.

It also takes you farther away from him.

You'd wanted to stay close so that when he got out, you could travel to your new home together. But Kino had insisted you go ahead and settle in. Get as far away from Narkina 5 as you could. While you understood why he wanted that for you, you didn't have the heart to tell him there is no way you can be comfortable anywhere until he's with you.

Because leaving him behind means not knowing. Things can go wrong in a prison. Accidents, illness, over eager guards. Thinking about it makes you feel helpless and also a little pathetic. He had survived just fine without you. He isn't helpless. He's smart and he's good at his job. He's going to get out.

You repeat that to yourself the entire time on the transport while you're trying to avoid the gazes of the other passengers. The last thing you want is more uncomfortable small talk. You aren't sure you remember how to do it anymore. "How's the weather? Where are you headed? Oh, do you have family there? Have you heard about the news out of the Senate?" You'd rather be building parts.

Your next transport is longer and you have a cot that folds out from the wall. It's more comfortable than your prison bed, but that makes it rather uncomfortable. Your body doesn't fit in the dips the way it should, and the softness of it makes your right shoulder ache so you can only toss and turn instead. You've been out for nearly two days, but you haven't slept more than a quick doze in your seat. The adrenaline of freedom and a plan is forcing your body to keep moving. Now, maybe, you're overtired. Even the air feels wrong. Heavier somehow.

It reminds you of your very first night in prison—the women's prison. You had cried, feeling scared and sorry for yourself, because everything around you seemed so hostile. You had to sew, press, and wash uniforms all day—three different shift rotations—and your hands hurt and your back ached. The dormitories were rows of bunk beds in an open room, not the isolated cells of Narkina 5. The guards had locked all of you in at night without a care of what happened inside. There wasn't anything for the other prisoners to steal or any reason to be violent, but a few of them were just cruel and bored. That was how you learned to fight. It was all you had outside of work and you were eager for the distraction. Some way to protect yourself and the more vulnerable women in there. To feel like you were doing anything that meant something. You didn't sleep much those first few weeks, but the first night was the worst.

When you do finally sleep in your transport cot, you wake up in a panic because nothing is familiar. There should be masculine voices throughout the hallway and the sounds of people getting ready for your shift. Instead the only thing around you is the hum of the ship and soft whispers of casual conversation, and it's so dark. But then you remember, and you're relieved and heartbroken all over again.

You wonder what Kino is doing at that moment. Based on how long you've been traveling, it's evening there. So you imagine Kino sitting on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him and hands folded in his lap as he leans against the wall. Maybe he's talking to your replacement. Telling him all the things he needs to know to survive and help keep the shift moving. Or maybe he's sitting quietly and thinking about you, too.

"If we met in a different life, do you think we would have still ended up together?"

He turned to look at you sitting next to him. "What do you mean?"

"If we weren't in prison, but we were in, say, a cantina, and you saw me across the room. Would you be interested?"

"You're serious?"

"Yes! There's nothing else to talk about in this bloody place, so this is what I've got. So. Would you hit on me?"

"Absolutely not! I wouldn't think for one second that you'd look twice at me, so I'd sit there like a coward and steal glances at you all night."

"Kino! You're one of the most determined men I've ever met, you're not a coward."

"I am when it comes to beautiful women." You scoffed, but he continued, "Did I or did I not run away from you in the locker room?"

"I thought that was because you thought it would be inappropriate."

"It is inappropriate, but I ran because I was terrified."

"But I was practically begging!"

"And I still thought it was because I'm floor manager! Not because of me."

"I can't believe this."

"You asked!" He gave a quiet, gruff laugh. "What about you? Would you hit on me?"

"Yes! I would see your dour, grumpy face sitting at the bar and immediately want you, just like I did looking down at you from the lift—before your charming speech, by the way, so before I ever knew you were the floor manager. Then I would go stand next to you and make a fool of myself giving you heated looks and biting my lip until I had your attention." You looked him up and down with a heated gaze as a demonstration. Then you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes with your best flirty smile, and gently bit your lip as you let your eyes roam hungrily over his face. "Like that."

He exhaled, long and ragged. "That would have been effective."

"Then would you've flirted with me?"

"I probably would have been scared shitless, if I'm being honest."

You gave a fake, exasperated sigh and thunked your head back on the wall behind his cot.

At the next transport station, a man walks by you and, as he passes, he tries to steal your pack. That's when you remember you are still capable of surviving on your own. Your heart aches, yes, but you're still alive and still in the best fucking shape of your life.

Your grip on your strap tightens as it's pulled away, keeping it held in your grasp. He seems caught off guard that his momentum doesn't carry him forward with his prize like he planned. So when you turn and your fist meets his stomach, he doesn't see that coming, either. He doubles over, collapses to the floor, and curls in on himself, his hand falling from your bag to clutch at his middle. You stand patiently over him as you settle your pack back onto your shoulder.

There's a guard there in moments.

"What's going on here?" He shouts. He has all of the puffed up entitlement of someone that thinks they have authority, so you give him a placating smile.

"I'm so sorry, sir! It's really nothing. This gentleman and I bumped into each other. Must not have been watching where we were going! I can't believe it." You plaster a look of concern on your face and bend over who you now realize is a young man that can't be more than twenty years old. He's still groaning slightly and rubbing over his stomach where you punched him. "Are you alright?" The concern in your voice is genuine, you realize. "You hit my elbow pretty hard while you were hurrying. I'm so sorry about that! Let me help you up."

You hold a hand down to him, and he looks between it and the guard with suspicion before hesitantly taking it. With a tug, you help him to his feet, though you make a show of it being at least a little difficult. He's scrawny, all long limbs, and weighs barely anything. His hand feels small in yours. Fragile against your calluses. He's still just a dumb kid. You feel a twinge of guilt for how hard you hit him. However it is outweighed by the fact that he just tried to rob you.

"There you are. Good as new." You wipe off his shoulder and give him a forceful pat. He jumps at the contact. Then you level your demure smile back on the guard. "Thank you for the assistance, sir. I think we'll be alright."

"You're sure?" He doesn't look convinced. He probably wants an excuse to do more. To throw his self importance around and have one of you arrested for some reason or another so someone can tell him he's doing an excellent job keeping the peace. But you've gotten quite good at defusing these situations. Of handling men like him.

"Oh, absolutely. No trouble here."

"Alright, but in the future you should both be more careful. Watch where you're going or someone could get hurt."

You give him a serious nod. "Understood. Eyes forward at all times from now on, promise. Have a good rest of your day, sir."

He looks between you one last time and, with a grumble, returns in the direction he came from.

Once he's out of earshot, you turn on the would-be thief and hiss, "You have no idea what I just saved you from! How lucky you are. Trust me when I say the places they'll send you aren't worth a few credits. You'll be my age by the time you get out. So either be smarter or knock it off. Got it?" He just stares at you, wide eyed in confusion, so you press closer with a look of fury and keep your voice low. "Answer me! Got it?!"

"Yeah, okay!" He takes a step back, cowering slightly, with his hands raised in submission. "I got it."

"Good." You relax your posture and adjust your pack one last time. "Now fuck off."

He doesn't need to be told twice and scampers off so fast that he trips a bit on his own feet. The encounter lifts your spirits somewhat. Not because you enjoy punching people, especially not kids, but because it reminds you that you could protect yourself if you have to. It makes you feel confident you can get through this—physically, at least. Plus, hopefully you just scared some kid straight enough that he stays out of prison. If not, he'll have plenty of time to think about what you meant and wish he'd listened.

You're suddenly starving. You buy your first real, solid meal of a kebab, a savory hand pie, and purple chips from a kiosk, instead of just downing a quick protein bar out of necessity. You eat exactly like a person that hasn't properly tasted food in years. Which is to say you shovel it into your mouth with so much enthusiasm that you don't savor it and the pie burns your tongue, but it's the best thing you've ever eaten. Nearby, a couple watches you with concern and trepidation, but you just smile back at them, wide and uncaring, between bites. Nothing is taking the joy of this moment from you.

"And you're sure it's what you want?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"I can't cook very well."

"I don't care."

"I leave my towel on the floor sometimes."

"I don't care."

"I get distracted halfway through doing something and leave things sitting out in a mess until I remember what I was doing and go back to it. Sometimes for days."

"Oh." His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

There it was. The other shoe dropping. You braced yourself, ready for the distancing and the apologies to start, but then he smiled and pulled you against him. He kissed your hairline and murmured against your scalp, "I don't care. So stop trying to talk me out of it."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it, I'm giving you full disclosure of what living with me is like." You thought of sitting with him on a couch, curled under a blanket as you both watched a holodrama together. You wanted it so desperately that you were almost afraid to hope for it.

"It sounds perfect to me."

You get a place within walking distance of the station. It's a long walk, but it's the best you can do. The flat is nice—it even has a little balcony overlooking the street—though you aren't sure if it's actually nice or if you are just grateful to have space and furniture again. Still, it's comfortable and roomy, and it has potential. You walk through it and see the foundation of something you can build on. You and Kino.

Paying the first month of rent uses up most of the remaining credits you had saved up. It's okay, though, because they had served their purpose. Gotten you this far. The rest is up to you, and the thought isn't as scary as you expected. You're truly on your own, but you've been through worse. You are strong. You can do this.

You buy some paint and a large piece of scrap and make yourself a calendar to lean against the wall. You carefully draw out the months and days in neat grids. Inside each square is a number. It starts on the day you got out, because you wanted the relief of crossing those off, and ends the day he should be here with you. All two hundred and thirty eight of them—now two hundred and thirty three. Every night, before you go to bed, you mark off the day and look at how many are left. Some days it surprises you how much time has passed, and other days you lament how many little squares there still are. They pass regardless.

You get a job at a small factory that builds transport and mining vehicles. They had laughed at you initially, until you told them you had over two years of experience building heavy machinery parts on an assembly line. Technically. Before prison, you would have grimaced at the thought of a factory job and missed the shop you used to work at, even though you had been accused of stealing. It hadn't been you, it had been your co-worker—the owner's son—so your innocence hadn't mattered when you were arrested. But for now you need something to keep yourself busy and the pay is decent. Plus, the work is just strenuous enough to stop you from feeling something that seems too much like homesickness for your liking. You know you shouldn't miss that place. It isn't healthy.

However, the work's still not nearly as labor intensive as what you're used to. Maybe because they put you on lighter machinery. Most of your job is operating lifts and welding vehicle frames, and you find, after training, you're actually quite good at the steady precision needed for the work. You even come in and practice on scrap to get better. Or maybe it just seems easier because the intense pressure to produce, to keep moving under threat of pain and death, is finally absent. You even get weekends off and leave days.

Some of your co-workers invite you out for drinks at the cantina down the street after work. At first out of interest, and then out of concern because you don't have anything resembling a social life. A few of them even hit on you in the beginning, but you tell them bluntly that you aren't interested. That you have someone. One of them asks where he is, and the broken look on your face when you say, "he'll be here soon," puts an end to any attempts to flirt with you. They don't ask again, and you don't offer anything more.

Thankfully that allows room for casual friendship, the kind you once had with the men at your pod on Narkina 5, and it's nice. It feels less lonely, though that ache in your chest never goes away completely. It follows you around like a constant companion. Wraps its way up your throat, even as you laugh at a joke. You do go out for drinks occasionally, but mostly you go home, read a romance holonovel, and wait.

You masturbate a lot, as well. Every night, you lie in the large bed and think about finally having him there with you. About all the ways you'll kiss and touch under the covers. How he might bend you over the bedside and fuck you from behind, or sprawl across the middle while you climb on top of him and ride him, his hands on your hips and your toes bracing against the sheets. You think about all the ways he touched you before, a slideshow of memories while your fingers work between your folds and against your clit as you desperately seek a release that makes you feel a little closer to him. You climax moaning his name.

Your last night together had been tender. Everyone cleared out of the showers early and left you alone for longer than you usually had together. They all knew what was happening and what it meant, and it was the one thing they had to give you as a going away gift. He braced you against the tiled wall of the shower stall like he had the first time you'd had sex, but this time he had been so gentle. You both relished every touch, every kiss, every slow, deep thrust of him inside of you. You made love like you would never see each other again, though you would never say the words out loud. Never give voice to those worries, even if they hung unsaid between you. Afterwards, you had sobbed as he held you and whispered that everything would be alright. You clung to him like he was a rock in a storm at sea up until the very last minute you had. You'd been so afraid that if you let go of him, you would drown.

But there you were, going through every day. Surviving and waiting.

"If you find someone else, I'd understand."

"Kino!"

"Someone young and attractive."

"You're crazy."

"I'm realistic."

"You're not." You climbed into his lap on his cot, uncaring who was watching, and straddled his hips. He hissed a protest, but you ignored him and held his face in your hands. "There's no one in the whole galaxy that can hold a flame to you, do you hear me? When I'm out of here, the only thing I'll be doing is working and waiting for you. Because I love you." You leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "And you're so goddamn sexy, why would I want anyone else? If the floor was asleep right now, I'd be on my knees showing you just how sexy I think you are." Then you placed a kiss on the scruff of his cheek. "And you're brave," a kiss on his temple, "and brilliant," a kiss on his nose, "and noble—"

He interrupted you with a kiss on your lips and you smiled into it as he wrapped his arms possessively around you.

Months pass. Five, then six, and finally there's less than a month before he's there. Your mood picks up and hope fills your lungs. You catch yourself smiling and humming at work. Your co-workers, the ones you occasionally think of as your friends, notice. When they ask what's up, you smile, maybe the first true smile you've ever given them, and say, "Kino is going to be here in twenty days." And that is enough of an explanation.

You haven't talked about him often. Not because you're ashamed, but because it hurts. And because, selfishly, you want to keep all of him to yourself for the time being. But they know the general idea of your circumstances. That'd you'd been in a men's labor prison due to a clerical error. The only woman—or at least you had been when you left. That he's still there. That you'd risked your lives to be together. That he's a good man that tries to keep everyone going and out of trouble so they can get out. That now you're waiting for him.

A few of them seemed skeptical about your story, whether it's disapproval that you met someone in prison or disbelief that he'll actually turn up when the time comes. You didn't care then and you don't care now. All that has ever truly mattered is that date, looming in the distance and drawing ever closer. The others were—are more supportive because when you do talk about him, you know your face lights up. The clouds of your gloom part for the briefest of moments with his name on your tongue. So twenty days is revelation.

You start to fret that you haven't made your flat welcoming enough. That he's going to come home to something just as sterile as what he left behind. You buy better sheets, a comfortable blanket to drape on the couch, a vase for the table, good towels, any luxury you can think of that neither of you had on Narkina 5. You have the credits for it. Other than rent, food, a few necessities, and the occasional drink out, you've saved everything. You want to enjoy it with him. To build your home and your life with him. Plus you have to admit, while standing in a street market, looking at baskets and rugs and decorative hangings, you aren't even sure what he likes. The thought makes you laugh.

You count the squares.

19.

You get promoted at work to a senior welder position. It's fast, but everyone has to admit your work is high quality. A natural talent. You relent to a last drink out to celebrate. You still go home after one.

13.

You buy a nice dress to wear to the station. Something that flatters your frame and waist, in a color that complements your own coloring, and it dips low between your breasts. You hang it on the wall of your bedroom and admire it every time you wake in the morning.

You get a haircut. A proper one, not just a trim so you can keep it tied back and out of your face while you work. It's layered and feminine, and it's the first time you're reminded of the person you had been many years ago. Though looking in the mirror now, you're still so different. The rounder, softer features of your youth are completely gone and have been replaced with high cheekbones and a graceful jawline. Getting older suits you. Reflects the new confidence you have in yourself.

You buy a bouquet of flowers to set in the vase on the table.

You clean. The place is already tidy because you don't have or do much, but you're so full of nervous energy that you're starting to fret over the small things. It has to be perfect.

You're convinced you're going to pace a permanent line on the floor. You beg your supervisor to let you work overtime, but they don't need the extra hands. He tells you to go home with a knowing look.

Tomorrow. He gets there tomorrow. You want to crawl into bed and sleep as long as you can to make the time move faster, but you're too excited to sleep at all.

You have an entire week off. You'd traded shifts, worked a few weekends and longer hours when you were needed to build good will, and never took a day off your entire time there, so your supervisor gave you the whole week. A whole week with just Kino.

You get to the station early because you have no idea what time he'll get there. Or which transports he's taken during the trip, so the screen that displays times and ships is no help. You're in your dress with your hair done and just a hint of makeup to accentuate your features.

You alternate between sitting on the bench and pacing around. Whenever a new crowd of people appears, you stop to anxiously look for his face, only to be disappointed when he isn't there. You smooth the fabric of your dress for the hundredth time. It's plenty smooth, but you don't know what else to do with your hands.

He arrives early in the afternoon. You've been waiting for over seven hours, but in your anxiety and impatience, it's felt like an eternity. Your feet hurt a little because you aren't used to the nicer flats, just your work boots, and you're so glad you didn't pick out heels.

You see him first.

He's in a blue jacket and a black shirt and pants, and you realize you've never seen him in anything other than the white and orange uniform. You also realize the uniform hadn't been as flattering as you thought. Because right now, surrounded by so many colors, flashing ads, and the warm station lights, with his beard a little longer and his hair relaxed from travel, he looks stunning. The most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. If you weren't already madly in love with him, you would have fallen for him completely the second you laid eyes on him.

His expression, however, is grave as he scans the crowd, and you note the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand is nearly strangling the handle of his bag. It occurs to you that he's worried you won't be here. Because just as you didn't know what was happening to him in there, he had no idea what was happening to you out here. He didn't get to see how you had survived and waited and built everything for this moment. The thought causes a pang of heartache for him that you feel like a punch in the gut, and your eyes sting with tears.

Right then, as if he can feel your gaze on him, he turns to you. You see the recognition on his face the second he lays eyes on you, and your breath catches at the way his uneasy expression gives way to relief. You both stare at each other, absorbing the moment. Processing that this is real. He's right there and you're right here. It's finally happening. The noises of the station fade away and the only thing you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Then the moment passes and your feet are moving. You're running towards each other as if you're both terrified the other one will somehow disappear if you don't. That, in your desperation, you somehow imagined this. Someone is shouting at you to slow down as you run by, but it doesn't matter because you fall into his arms and then that's the only thing that matters. He drops his bag at your feet and hugs you to him so tightly that he nearly lifts you off the ground, which is good because the relief of his touch makes your legs unsteady. You're surrounded by his arms, his warmth, his scent, and you think it can't get better than that, but then he's kissing you with two hundred and thirty eight days of pent up grief and passion.

Every part of you feels like it's being ripped from a deep sleep. You feel it in your throat, in your chest, your fingers, down to your belly, where it finally pools to your core and you ache. Of course you had touched yourself at night while you thought of him between your legs, but having him in front of you once more is a jolt to your system. You feel alive.

You finally pull away because you want to see his face and hear his voice, to learn the new feel of his softer beard beneath your fingers, because you've missed him—all of him—so much. There are tears in his eyes and he gives you a watery, joyful laugh as your hands run over his cheeks and chin.

"My god, you're beautiful." He finally says in his low, gruff voice, and fuck have you really missed that.

"Kino," you sob because you have a million things you want to say to him, but you're so overwhelmed that you have no idea where to start.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here." He caresses your face back, and swipes his thumb over a tear on your cheekbone that has escaped your eyelashes.

"You are. I almost can't believe it! I've missed you so god-damned much. I–" You take a trembling, calming breath and look into his eyes. They're so blue and warm. His hand on your jaw and the feel of his beard beneath your fingertips is comforting. It grounds you. "Welcome home."

He kisses you again, right in the middle of everything, as people continue to part and file around you in irritation. It quickly turns desperate and heated. Your hands tangle in his hair while he moves to grope along your ribs, and you convey every ounce of your yearning against his lips and tongue. But you know this has nowhere to go. Not here. So you force yourself to part from him again, placing a few final kisses on the corner of his lips as an apology. Because when you start this, you want to finish it.

"We have several blocks to walk home. We should do that now before we make everyone uncomfortable. Besides," you place a kiss on his temple, "we have a rather nice bed waiting for us when we get there."

He groans your name into your hair, but doesn't need any further convincing. He picks up his bag, and you take his free hand and lace your fingers together. It's the first time you've ever been able to casually hold his hand, and even this, something so simple, is a balm on your tender heart.

As you walk through the city, past store fronts and food stands, the two of you finally get the opportunity to talk. You tell him about your job and how you surprised yourself by enjoying it more than you expected. How you'd just gotten a promotion for your skill. At that he stops to sweep you into his arms again and to tell you how proud of you he is. You beam at his praise. Even now, it still means more to you than any incentive or reward you could ever get. You tell him about the co-workers that have been nice and are eager to meet him, though you leave out how, in your misery, you've kept them at arm's length. When you're both comfortable and settled in together, maybe then you'll pick at that wound. Or maybe, with him here, that wound will heal. You'll let your walls down and you won't have to.

You ask about what happened after you left, and he says there isn't much to tell. Other than someone from table one also getting out, things had continued on much the same—just without you. Your replacement hadn't been as fast at the delicate work like you were, though, so your table hadn't gotten above third place after you left. You try not to feel smug about it because you do feel sorry for your old pod. And even for the new man because you know it isn't easy. You know how scary all of it is. For a moment, you also feel a pang of guilt that you hadn't thought as much about them as you had about Kino, or wondered how they were fairing. He can sense the slight shift in your mood and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't need to say anything because you can hear his words in your head: "None of this is your fault." You give him a small, grateful smile.

You stop him when you finally see your building down the street, and bring his hand to your lips and place a kiss on his knuckles. "See that building right there?" You point to it and he follows the line of your finger to the corner. "That's it. That's where we live."

He looks at it with awe, and it softens him. He always looks younger when he isn't frowning or so serious. As you watch his face, you realize how overwhelming all of this must be. It had been for you, too, but you had something to do—to focus on—to help you process the emotions. You were also the one paving the way, so it happened for you in steps. He left Narkina 5 and then walked into a whole new life.

"It's perfect." His voice is shaky, far from the commanding shout of Kino Loy, shift manager, and you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder so you can admire it with him.

"I think I appreciate it a lot more right now." You stand there with him, holding his hand and offering him comfort, until he's finally ready to move on.

You both make it up the stairs to your second story flat while he absorbs every detail of the short trek. Inside, you expect him to look around some more, to take everything in and explore the rooms after you've removed your shoes. Instead he drops his bag by the door, closes the space between you, and pulls you in for a deep kiss. In the privacy of your home, you finally allow yourself the low, shameless moan that has been building up inside of you. It feels like its own release, an expression of the longing you've felt all the way to your core.

His arms roam your back, slide down to cup your ass and squeeze over the fabric of your dress. He uses the grip to pull you flush against him and you can feel the firm thickness of his arousal straining against his pants. Your hands slip inside his jacket to run over his chest, along his sides, and around to the planes of his back. The shape of him feels familiar, and yet it feels different. The fabric of his shirt is softer, clings to him in a way the uniform hadn't. So you appreciate his form in a new way with your exploring touch, and it feels like rediscovery. Relearning how you both fit together now, and the thought is exciting.

"You look incredible," you murmur against his lips. "You didn't warn me you look so fucking hot in blue."

He chuckles, deep and rich, and the vibration tingles your chest. "I didn't know. No one's told me before."

"Galaxy full of idiots," you grumble.

"What about you? God, I love this dress. Look at you," he growls.

"I'm glad. I bought it just for you." You give him a heated look and whisper, "So that you can enjoy taking it off of me."

He sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes flutter closed. He takes a second to center himself. When he opens them again, he levels you with the commanding, determined stare that you're so familiar with. The one you can never resist.

"Show me the bedroom."

You take his hand and press it to your chest. The heel rests against your cleavage and his fingers brush your collarbone, covering your pounding heart. You walk backwards, slowly, not taking your eyes off of him, and pull him down the hall with you. It's a straight shot until you reach the door, but you take your time and the effect it has on him is palpable. He stalks after you, frame tense, predatory and hungry. It sends a thrill down your spine.

The room beyond the doorway is tidy, the sheets and blankets are clean and fresh, and the bed is made. You had only added a rug and airy curtains, so it's a little sparse, but it's light and cozy in off whites and peaches. More importantly, it's yours. Before you can say anything, he scoops you up into his arms. You almost forgot how strong he is. How effortlessly he can carry you around. It occurs to you that you can finally explore the implications of that now. You have that freedom.

He walks you past the threshold, across the room, and sets you down on the edge of the bed. Rather than push you back against the covers, he straightens to stand in front of you. You look up at him expectantly and he brushes the back of his knuckle down your cheek.

"I want to appreciate this. Truly, I do." He begins to casually take off his jacket. He pulls his arms out of the sleeves, unhurried, as if he's getting undressed after a long day. Then he meticulously folds it over his arm and tosses it to the floor without looking. "But that will come later. Right now, I just want to fuck you."

There's a responding throb of wetness between your legs. You nod eagerly and choke out, "Yes."

"I want to show you how much I've missed you." He starts on the buttons of his shirt. You wonder if you should be helping, but your hands are trembling. You're not sure you can work a button right now without ripping the threads. You aren't sure how he can work a button right now. He only pauses to pull the fabric from his waistband. Otherwise his pace is infuriatingly steady. "I want to hear how much you've missed me when I do."

"God, Kino." You reach out to greedily touch his exposed skin. You didn't think his outfit could get any hotter, but now his shirt hangs open and untucked from his pants, leaving his chest and stomach bare, and you couldn't have been more wrong. You want him to walk around like that from now on. You imagine him standing in front of the kitchen sink, barefoot and shirt open as he washes a plate. Him on the balcony at dusk, leaning against the railing, looking out across the city with those piercing blue eyes as his hair is ruffled by a breeze and he's bathed in rich, fading sunlight. Him entering the bedroom, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves on his undone shirt, pleased to see you lounging on the bed and reading, and his trajectory changes towards you as—

His finger under your chin pulls you from your thoughts and you note the hint of amusement on his face. As if he can read your mind. You flush and, with only a small amount of regret, help him push the shirt off of his shoulders, letting your hands skim across his arms as you slide it down. You can feel him shifting beneath your palms as he moves to pull it off the rest of the way. It joins his jacket on the floor.

As his hands move to work on the button of his pants, you climb to your knees before him. You're eye level now and it helps you feel more in control instead of at his mercy. He stops to watch as you reach behind yourself and unzip the back of your dress. The fabric relaxes on your body, no longer pulled taught around you. You don't take it off, though. You still want him to do that.

He doesn't pull it over your head. He pushes it off your shoulders and drags his rough hands along your arms as he peels it down, just as you had done to him. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Soon it's pooled around your waist and your top half is exposed. He hungrily takes in the sight of your naked breasts and stomach, but doesn't touch you. Your body has softened while you've been apart. There is still strength there, but your curves are rounder without the constant demand to work or fry. You think it's the perfect balance of toned muscle and feminine figure. He clearly agrees by the way he almost loses his composure. Almost.

"Lie down." His voice is still low and steady. At his command, you sit back down and lay onto the covers. He braces a knee next to your calf and grips the sides of your dress. You raise your hips to give him better access, which earns you a grunt of approval. As he slides it down your legs, he's very focused and gentle, taking care not to rip or damage it, then he lays it on the floor with more thought than he had given his own clothing. It's only when he turns back to you that he realizes you aren't wearing any underwear. And you've let your legs fall open. He groans at the sight of you.

"I just got here and you're already trying to kill me." His gravelly voice rolls over you and you let out a faint whimper.

"No, I'm trying to encourage you."

"Like I need any encouragement." But his eyes continue to linger on your damp sex.

"You're still wearing pants." You spread your legs wider, exposing more of yourself to him. Reluctantly, he looks down at himself, as if he's only just remembered, and he quickly pushes his pants and underwear off in one motion. You can't help but notice that he still carefully steps out of them, an echo of his previous control, which is rapidly dissipating. Finally, he's completely nude before you.

Your memories hadn't done him justice. Hadn't captured the way his muscles flex as he moves or how his chest rises and falls as his breathing quickens at the sight of you. The mesmerizing pattern of grey in his beard and hair. The little curls at the nape of his neck that refuse to lay flat. Hadn't captured the play of light on his skin and the shadow at the hollow of his collarbone, or the lines of his hips when he's poised and ready to climb on top of you. Hadn't captured the view of his thick erection framed by your own legs. Or the way the wrinkles on his forehead deepen with stern concentration when something has captured all of his attention, like the way you're drawing your fingertips along your inner thigh.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" You sound far needier than you meant to. It's almost petulant, but you've waited so long for this and you do need him.

"I'm making up for lost time." His heavy gaze rakes across your body as he drinks in the view.

"Would you like a show? Or would you like to make up for lost time in a different way." You trail a finger from your thigh towards the mound between your legs.

His hand twitches and his jaw clenches in thought as he weighs his options. Or he's waiting for you to beg, and you're getting close to that point, but you want him to just take you.

"Because I can give you a show." You inch further down, barely brushing along your folds, and you watch his length twitch with interest. "I can show you what it was like for me here every night. How I touched myself as I thought of you." You press your finger so it's just breaching your entrance and you react with a tiny gasp.

At that, he stares down at you, lips parted in agony, torn between wanting to watch you and wanting to be the one pressing inside of you.

"How badly I wanted you." You drag your moistened fingertip up across your bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, seeking out more contact, and your head lolls back as you moan out, "Kino!"

The mattress dipping as he presses a knee onto the bed is the only warning you get before he's on top of you. You pull your hand free just before he dives forward and buries his face into your neck. His erection is pinned between you, laying flat against your stomach. You immediately wiggle your hips, trying to bring your arousals closer together, but he's strong and unyielding above you.

"I almost forgot how little it takes for you to drive me absolutely fucking mad," he says against your throat. He nuzzles where your pulse flutters beneath your skin, and you continue your vain writhing beneath him. "I hope you're prepared to not leave this bedroom today."

You want to give him a smug grin, but are incapable of doing more than reacting to the attention he's lavishing on the spots he knows get the biggest rise out of you. Because driving him mad had been your intention and you're getting exactly what you want, but you also forgot to mention: "I have the whole week off of work."

He stops for a second, lips frozen below your ear, and then he pulls away to raise himself onto his hands so he can look down at you. "A week?" His expression is intense and inscrutable, which accentuates the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

You nod, still breathless. "And the weekend."

Without another word, he moves and positions himself between your legs—exactly where you've wanted him this entire time. And for a brief moment, right before he plunges into you, you're nervous. It's ridiculous, you think, but it's been a while. And this feels so much more real compared to sex in a closet, which had also felt real until you could compare it to this moment. This is your first time together in your home, on your bed. It feels significant. Transformative in a way you weren't expecting. As though every decision you've ever made led you to this moment.

You're so full of desire and nerves and anticipation about finally getting what you want, and it blurs together in a heady mix. Then finally, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, he buries himself into you with one hard thrust. At his deep groan, the noise and static in your head are silenced, and all that's left is him.

"Kino," your voice is pleading, desperate, but you don't have to say anything more. Don't have to beg because he's rocking into you at a frenzied pace before his name even dies on your lips.

His lips find your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. He kisses and bites, causing you to gasp and cry out, and his beard rasps your skin. You hope all of it leaves a mark—that you're a canvas of bruises and burns later. His.

You grip his shoulders, hook a leg in the crook of his knee, and curl the other around his waist so that you can hold on to him. It's all you can do to keep yourself steady while he fucks you. Every snap of his hips sends a spark of pleasure through you that continues to build, wave upon wave.

You want it to last, to stay in that heightened state of arousal, wrapped around him, full of him, skin burning—but then you hear the low rumble of his voice.

"God, I've missed you." You can feel his hot breath on your cheek and his voice in your chest. "Missed fucking you."

You turn to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss. He grunts against your tongue and it's all you can stand. You surrender to your climax, unable to moan or breathe until that first peak finishes rolling through you—and then you are gasping and sobbing his name. His hips pick up speed, relentless through your pulsing and clenching around him. He has a solemn look of concentration and his jaw clenches from the effort. Finally, his whole body stills, tenses against you. Then he follows you over that edge, his face slack with bliss, and spills himself inside of you with a moan that sounds like your name.

Every part of you is satisfied and at peace. The sex was fast, and hard, and desperate, but it was the best sex of your entire life. It was two hundred and thirty eight days ending. It was both of you free of that place. Free of the masks and roles, and never having to keep your distance again. It was the two of you as you are and as you can be from now on.

You pull him down and into your arms. He goes willingly into the embrace, bonelessly tucks himself against you and under your chin. You run your fingers through his thick, grey locks and feel him give a content hum. Your poor heart, which is still trying to calm down, lurches in your chest.

"Kino Loy," you smile, "I think I might be completely and hopelessly in love with you."

He tilts his head to give you a tired hint of a smile back. "And I think I might be desperately in love with you, too."

You continue to lay there, nude and intertwined, because you can, and say the words back and forth to each other, each phrase more certain than the last, until you fall asleep.

"I suppose I should get rid of this now."

"Get rid of it? Why?"

"I mean, I don't need it anymore. You're here."

"Why don't we hang it on the wall?"

You look at him in confusion. "Why?"

"Because it shows what we both went through to be together. Every X is a day we survived so we could get back to each other."

You love it. Suddenly the visual reminder of the time between you was a reminder of a time passed. It didn't seem quite so depressing anymore.

"Plus, it's cute. You made a calendar, love. For me. And look at the little heart over today!"

You blush, a little embarrassed. "I told you all I was going to do is work and wait for you."

"You'll never have to wait for me again. I'm here and I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"Hmm," you pretend to think, "I don't think either of us will live that long. Forever is a long time."

He laughs deep in his chest, his eyes and nose wrinkling in amusement, and, finally, you're home.

#kino loy #wants needs and clerical errors #kino loy x f!reader #kino loy x reader #andor #andor fanfiction #fanfiction #andy serkis #posting from ao3

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