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the-mirage-forest · 4 months ago

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Short Story Time!

Wrote a short story last week about Shi and some of his backstory + the aftermath, here's a link: Google Doc

I'm not sure if I'll publish future ones also in google doc, making one long post with it is probably unviable for them, archiving them on Ao3 feels like a decent option but I don't know how tagging would work.

Anyway, because I haven't posted the bios for some of these characters in a VERY long time-some bios getting edits and the almanac unintentionally being hard to access (oops)-Bios and context below the cut! I'd highly recommend at least reading Shi and Saturn's at least.

CONTEXT CUT

SHI & DEATH WELLS

One of the 11 Wielders of The Mirage, Shi is the Wielder of Death. Wielding death itself both metaphorically and literally. Unlike other Wielders, Shi’s scythe is sapient.

On one hand, Shi is a clean freak, judgemental, but intelligent and greatly caring of his family. Usually keeping Death in line and keeping the house where he and his siblings live clean, sometimes babysitting the rest if Saturn is out in public. Spending the rest of his time with Scuro, tends to flub up his english, though Scuro will always be there to correct him.

On the other hand, his scythe is also judgemental, bossy, mocking, and just the (literal) tool embodiment of an a-hole. He can talk and communicate both regularly and telepathically to Shi, usually giving snarky comments and insults towards his siblings.

Shi’s story begins in Mexico around the 1940’s-1960’s, living in poverty and by himself. Shi sees an odd creature, mouselike but not quite. And chases it into a Mirage portal. However, this particular portal was unstable, sending him back thousands of years into the Mirage. as much as Shi wanted to leave. There was a pull that was keeping him there, something was calling him.

So he followed that pull to an old, crumbling crypt. There was where Shi would meet his soon-to-be best friend, Scuro. The Wielder of Shadows, was guarding the crypt. Despite the goo monster at the crypt speaking English (Which Shi didn’t understand), Shi continued on almost robotically. With Scuro threatening to use their powers to throw him back where he came from, but never actually doing so because they don't have the heart to. Quote:“Hey! Go away! I’ll kick you right out of here! I will! I’m not kidding! I will!”

Reaching the crypt, there’s a looming ominous scythe standing by itself upon a pile of rubble. Scuro, quite tired of seeing things die from this scythe. Tackles Shi as he grabs it. Sending off an explosion threatening to collapse the crypt and sending Scuro into a wall. This was Death itself, the Last Trial Scythe. Though accomplishing the impossible of not being turned to bones the moment he touched the scythe unlike those who came before him. It was coming up on Shi, upon being called reckless by this angry scythe. Shi becomes something of a verbal dagger and starts sassing an ancient object until the object asks him to “Take responsibility”. To which Shi, not understanding what this actually meant, said yes. So, Shi got up from this whole ordeal. Becoming the Wielder of death, accomplishing what even The Overseer thought was to be a fruitless waste of time.

SATURN WELLS

I’m not sure why it took me so long to write about the Overseer himself, but it did. This is Saturn Wells, the only Overseer of The Mirage. Very old, very anti-social full-time Overseer and parent. Doesn’t really sleep much, but it’s usually only a few hours long when he does.

5’, birthday unknown, weighing 186 lbs. Saturn’s extremely wise and intelligent at his job. But also a very caring stay-at-home parent, we’re not sure why he cares so much about his own kids. They’re adopted, and he knows they might die and he’ll have to start all over, so why does he even try? According to him “I don’t care if I’ll have to take care of them forever throughout every life. I still want them to live happy lives, every time.”.

His care for the Wielders and the two Starborn are still odd by an Overseer’s standards, though. Most of the time they’re left in someone else’s hands.

��It’s worth noting that he didn’t create the Xiilunes, while only he knows of their origins he simply gains a mortified look and never speaks. Although in the few cases we’ve seen him with the goo(s), he’s unable to control them, much less make them spread.

As said before Saturn’s extremely wise and intelligent. However his knee jerk reactions definitely aren’t the best in the world, often leaving him with large problems. Such as when he took the starborn in without realizing he would have to parent them, though he doesn’t particularly regret that one. He does however, have a tendency to become anxious and reacts very poorly to stress. Even small things tend to put him on edge, while very soft and caring for his family. He hates having to interact with the public otherwise, social anxiety and all that.

Lives in a house out in a secluded area, like a hermit and opposed to going out in public. The house has a special spell on it, whoever walks near it in a three-mile radius is unable to leave without his permission. Instead just walking right back to it.

Has pretty bad stress-eating habits and feather-picking habits, and a fear of abandonment, which has gotten bigger in the last few years. Compared to most Overseers, his poor health has led to his magic being a bit weaker than it should be…

SCURO WELLS

WATAWNA WELLS

The “younger” of the two Mirage starborn, Watawna Wells is technically the 2nd-to-eldest sister to the Wielders despite not being one herself. Despite this, they still treat her more like an aunt figure. As she seems to have picked up on her father’s (Metaphorical) softer side.

7’2”, born a few milliseconds after her sister (Something that’s frequently fought about), Watawna spends her days as a pediatrician (focused on the magic side of things). She seems to have her interests drift from place to place and then loop right back around, unbeknownst to anyone. She was a poisoner for a short time, but quit because unlike her sister, she has a better moral code.

Watawna’s something of a kooky aunt figure, the type of person who collects shiny rocks, the type of person who’d get distracted by all the lost stuff they found while cleaning their room. Yes, she’s those types of people with a side of care and bubbliness. Probably intelligent, but really doesn’t act like it. Personally I think she’s a bit oblivious sometimes…but I’ve heard that if she does get mad she crawls along the walls/roof chasing people like a demon in an 80s earth horror movie. Sadly, I can’t say if this is true because it’s literally impossible to annoy her at all that it's annoying in itself

Being a starborn, she’s extremely powerful in her abilities. Most of her abilities makeup what we all know as Hollowlantern Magic. Just like regular Hollowlanterns, she also needs leaves to power said magic.

The relationship between her and Tempest certainly isn’t tense, they may not act like it but they stick together through and through no matter what. It’s impossible to see one without the other nearby, although fights have certainly happened. Some leaving lots of damage and in some cases, casualties. Both are also of equal strength, although neither really show it. In fact at first glance it may seem more like Watawna is the weaker of the two siblings, but no matter how you cut it. They’re the same in their abilities.

Lives in a house with Tempest that’s nearby Saturn’s house, roughly 4 miles away.

TEMPEST WELLS

This is Tempest Wells, one of the Mirage Starborn. Being 0.00000561 milliseconds older (And more responsible in general, but how petty do you have to be to figure that specific number out?)than her sister, she’s considered the older of the two. Standing at 14’1, Tempest’s just an inch above the average Hollowlantern height.

Born sometime around October 22-24th alongside her sister Watawna. She’s one of the few starborn to still exist in this universe, starborn are beings born from magical forces getting caught in a supernova. Resulting in one or more beings of various forms to be born, however, they’re often highly deformed and weak at birth. Tempest and Watawna were extremely lucky, only being born without faces. Something easily fixed from Saturn’s knee jerk reaction of carving their faces, which (somehow?) didn’t kill them. Out of the two, Tempest is considered to be the unfriendly one. Unlike Watawna, Tempest really doesn’t care about others, not that she can’t. She just doesn’t like to. While definitely brash, gruff, and a bit quiet. She has shown to be much calmer and sometimes has a heart. A much better listener than speaker for someone who needs to vent, as opposed to Watawna, who’s version of comfort is…all over the place.

While not extremely aggressive of everyone around her, she most certainly doesn’t like them, letting her pessimism and lack of tone control. Well, control how she speaks. As you can tell, Tempest has a very pessimistic outlook on life. With Watawna there to “remind” her.

Moving on from her personality, no one really knows what’s underneath Tempest’s hood. It’s so old, and well kept, still holds together pretty well from what I’ve seen. Supposedly she got it as a birthday gift and hasn’t been seen without it since, hell even Watawna’s curious. We’ll probably never find out, because even if it goes down to her ankles it’d still be impossible to sneak up on her much less yank it off.

(I’m not sure if I’ll be in trouble for saying this, but while Tempest is a surgeon at O’Ghost General Hospital, I’ve found some evidence she may be a hitwoman on the side…so if you never hear from me again randomly, that might be why…)

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firstsprinces · 1 year ago

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I can't believe it's already another Sunday (and December!) Thank you @anincompletelist for the tag and I'm super pumped for the birdesmaid fic and to be blessed by 50K more words and story from you!

For this week, I'll be sharing from a WIP I haven't shared yet. I probably shouldn't, but this idea has a complete hold on me and I don't want it to ever let me go! Thinking of a title is making me want to hit my head against a wall repeatedly, but anyway - Here are the only seven sentences I will be sharing from this fic until I post at least one fic to AO3. I also cleaned up my master list post so it’s less chaotic and looks cleaner! I'm just a mess and need to learn to keep quiet about my ideas 🤐

He looks down at the coins in his palm, his thumb slowly swiping over the side with a face on it before curling each of his fingers inward until he has a closed fist. Unlike the currency from his homeland, these coins are all different sizes and colors.

This week's payment is just enough for him to be able to take the train back to where he's been staying, and he'll have a small amount to keep to the side to pay his dues once the month's over. As exhausted as he is, Henry still has the strength to welcome in the relief that he doesn't need to become a beggar on the streets just to get by for tonight. It's humiliating for him to have to ask or do things for coinage, but this is life he chose when he had decided to come to live and work in America.

He slips his fist into the pocket of his long coat and makes sure to keep his head down as he walks to the train station. Sometimes he gives into the pleasure of purchasing a newspaper from one of the newsboys on his way so he can read on the train, but he can't waste any of his earnings for leisure.

This is an open tag tonight as I've been at work all day and have no clue who's been tagged and posted their sentences already! Feel free to edit me into your post so I can check yours out if I've missed it!

#wip #firstprince #six sentence sunday #seven sentence sunday #rwrb #red white and royal blue #i wish i could talk about this fic #like someone should scream about it with me #again hard to keep my mouth shut about this one

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jancy-central · 1 year ago

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Welcome, everyone, to another Spotlight Saturday!

This week we are spotlighting writer @throttlegainwell so read their answers to our ‘Get To Know Your Fic Writer’ questions below the cut. And here is the ao3 link to check out all of their amazing fics:

Reminder: This month’s prompt is ‘soulmates’…

…so please see our pinned post for more info. We have posted a lot of soulmate prompts for those needing some inspiration so check those out as well.

And as always, feel free to message us with any questions, whether you are a fic reader or a fic writer. Both of us write fanfic so we are open to helping however we can. Need a beta? Message us and we’ll either help you or put out a call for beta help! Hit writer’s block? Maybe we can help? Or maybe you just want to recommend a fic? SEND US AN ASK OR A DM!

Happy Saturday! ✍🏼 📖

Spotlight Saturday Questions:

@throttlegainwell’s answers:

1. I guess I prefer one-shots generally, but it's much more satisfying to me to write (and finish!) multi-chaptered fics.

2. A mix of both? There's usually at least some degree of planning for each chapter, but sometimes I just see where it goes.

3. ... It depends on the story. Usually, I'm rushing to slap a bunch of ideas into a document as quickly as I can type (or writing notes on my phone). Lines of dialogue, character ideas, themes I want to address, bits of description or narrative or details to include, plot arcs, whole scenes sometimes... I get those into one doc (which I clean up as I go, if I'm copying them over from my phone), then I create a corresponding doc titled LINEAR that I typically view side-by-side with the fragments/notes doc. I move bits into the LINEAR doc as I work, once I know where they're going or have a place for them (like when I've built the connective tissue), until the first doc is empty; I finish writing in the LINEAR doc. There's usually a brief summary of the story, by that point, in the Synopsis window on the right (I work in Scrivener) so I don’t get too off-track, and I'll probably have some notes in the Notes window, as well as any warnings that will be necessary if I post it (so I don't forget later). But sometimes I just sit down and write, like, an entire story, without thinking about it, or I'll try something stream-of-consciousness or experimental. And sometimes I actually do outline (though sometimes that outline is just a bunch of things that I know need to happen, and I drag those around until the order of them feels like a satisfying arc--I wrote an entire 40k+ story that way).

4. Oh, everywhere, I guess. From the source material, definitely. From books I read, concepts I've studied, themes that just interest me so they tend to crop up in my work or maybe I want to try a different spin on them. Sometimes a story I've written/am writing sparks an idea, or I want to try a variation on it to see where it goes, so I branch off from that. Sometimes I just want something, out of the blue. Occasionally, I browse prompts.

5. Nah. I did the whole concrit thing back in my early fandom days. I'm here to have fun and I assume so is everyone else.

6. Nope! I used to do beta reading, a long time ago, and I've casually edited for fandom friends, but I've never used a beta reader. I don't really see myself starting now.

7. Whichever one is the most interesting for the story or whichever one best serves the story's goals, usually. Sometimes because I haven't tried a particular POV before and I just really want to give it a shot, or because I'm writing it with one voice and the voice of a different POV character just *feels* right or sounds really interesting. But I've been branching out a little! I'm usually very committed to 3rd person limited, but this past year, I've been trying switching POVs a bit, I'm writing one story simultaneously from two different POVs (beginning to end, for each) just because it's such a different story for each character, and I'm writing one from omniscient POV because it was really the only one that would do what I needed.

9. I usually try to! (Not always. But usually.) I don't read a lot of fanfic, due to what I imagine is the very common combination of lack of free time and quite severe concentration issues (though I've always been a big reader and I love it a lot, so this is, needless to say, a massive bummer). It's worse with fiction than non-fiction, so if I actually manage to read a fic, it's a safe bet that I probably took notes during and the author will hear *at length* about all the ways I enjoyed it and what I found really interesting or memorable.

10. I have many WIPs, but blinks only came up in a few. One is too explicit to share here, but here's one: He can’t tamp down a shiver at the thought; he blinks extra hard, resisting the urge to grasp the back of his neck protectively.

11. Ooh. Like I said, I don't read a lot of fic (and I haven't read that many for the ST fandom), but I very much love what maddie_grove is doing with Tonight, Tonight, The Highway's Bright. I wildly enjoyed where the hours bend, by fakelight. And this world is gonna pull through, by scoutshonour, hit just right.

12. I don't tend to expect much feedback. I post because otherwise I'll go back and tinker with fics, and I don't really have the time for that, plus at a certain point it's not fun anymore, but I'm still messing with it. So when it's done enough that I've accomplished what I set out to, I post to free up my brainpower to move on to other things. It doesn't necessarily discourage me to not receive it (usually), but it really does encourage and motivate me when I *do* receive it. If someone enjoys a story and wants to talk about it, I'm likely to write more works in that vein or explore those ideas/characters/fandom more. I’m more likely to go back to a WIP if people are excited about it with me. I've received some truly lovely, thoughtful, analytical, humbling, and memorable feedback, and I hugely appreciate and enjoy all of it.

13. Don’t delete/erase anything. Save it all.

14. I tend to get into a certain headspace to write, but I wouldn't say that I usually feel what the characters are feel. Sometimes, I probably do. (I'm one of those people who moves their lips when they read an emotional scene, so I guess I do get a bit into it while I'm writing! Embodied cognition, what a trip.) I do sometimes draw from personal experience, but typically only in very broad strokes.

15. Happily. :) I've written a LOT of sex scenes over the years, for a lot of different thematic, narrative, and character purposes (and sometimes just for rule of horny, rule of funny, or to explore a particular kink). I approach each one differently, based on the tone I'm trying to set, whether I want it to be particularly erotic or emotional or something else, the level of narrative distance I want the reader to feel, what the characters are like, what the overall genre is. Sometimes I get visual or detailed, depending on what I'm trying to do (and whether I feel those characters would do so or whether it would be a help or a distraction in that moment), but I tend to depict the internal processes more than the physical details. The sensory aspects. The observations, interpretations, and reactions. Connections between characters, if there's more than one. I personally tend toward realism in my sex scenes, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't skirt the edges sometimes or just say fuck it and throw realism out the window for a particular story. But I don't think realism is necessary in smut (or any fiction, when it comes down to it). It's a matter of preference.

16. Omg how many fic ideas am I NOT nurturing right now. Way, way too many. Here's a Jancy one that hasn't quite made it to the WIP stage (still in the synopsis-in-dedicated-doc stage): Jonathan and Nancy break up over the college thing. (It’s not really the college thing.) Years later, as they're both settled into their careers (Jonathan as a photographer, Nancy as a journalist, both constantly traveling for work and hard to reach), they end up sharing a room when they visit for Lucas and Max's wedding. Lots of angst, lots of pining, lots of denial, and ultimately an exes-getting-back together story. Sometimes you just want the cliche done your way.

17. I just don't write, tbh. I try to address whatever issue is preventing me from writing (if possible) or (if it's beyond my control) I just accept that it's not a writing period of my life. I'm happier when I'm writing regularly, and I do think it's good for me overall, but I'm not going to let hobby writing cause me genuine stress. (I've got non-hobby writing for that, ha.) I take it as a sign that something is wrong or that I'm just tired of writing and need to recharge (by engaging some other interest or hobby for a while).

18. Depends. Sometimes the title comes first, sometimes during, sometimes after. Sometimes I really do just fall in love with a title, though. I rarely struggle to title fics after the fact, but when I do, I'll just slap a quick and vague title on there and call it a day. Often it's a pun or something relevant, sometimes an important line from the story, sometimes lyrics. I have a series of art-related titles for some Will stories I want to do and some science ones I have saved for some Dustin stories. Some photography terms for Jonathan. Stuff like that.

19. Turns out it's hurt/comfort! This should surprise no one.

20. Oh, have I ever. Yeah, I've had people read enough of my work to point out themes that I tend to tackle a lot (I'm big on autonomy, resilience, and kindness--you'll see them repeated a LOT in my work, from different angles--and, yeah, I write about trauma a lot), and I definitely have some words/expressions that pop up a lot (and with each passing year, I try a little less to cull them). Also, you'd be hard-pressed to find a story of mine where someone isn't making, drinking, or talking/thinking about coffee. No reason. It just... seems to happen.

21. I had a shared 'verse with a friend, a long time ago. It was a huge amount of fun. We really gelled and produced just tons of material for it that had us in tears laughing and, you know, was also incredibly horny. That was a shared 'verse, rather than a collaboration for an entire story, but, yeah, I'd say that I'd be willing to collaborate. I don't consider myself terribly reliable or consistent, though, so I worry that a potential writing partner would find this frustrating.

22. I used to think so, but, honestly, I've been proved wrong many times, so I'd say no, not really. There's not a lot that I absolutely won't write. There are a few things that remain pretty serious squicks for me, but I'm sometimes able to write about things that I would find difficult to read. Some things also don't necessarily interest me or I would find it technically difficult to write them.

23. Don't worry about making it beautiful. Just get it all down. (You can’t sculpt what’s not there, you know?) And in that vein: write EVERYTHING down. Even if you’re not sure it works. Don’t assume you’ll remember or won’t need it. Just write everything.

24. Anything that's involved regimentation. That just doesn't work for me in every case. It's important to be flexible, both to discover what *does* work for you or to be able to move between different strategies for different stories or at different times in your life. Close second, though: that you should mine your pain to write because that's where true art comes from. That advice is shit. Sometimes art is aliens fucking in a time warp and also there's a ghost with daddy issues. Write whatever the hell you want. It does not have to be profound literature to be a good story.

25. For my ST fics? I think I've gotten a pretty decent response for most of what I've posted, considering it's all very niche and this is a massive fandom (and one to which I came extremely late and very recently). I guess a little more response for already wise, already worn might have been nice, just because it's a weird little experimental story that I think actually came out really neat, but it's *very* niche so I never expected much response. Or possibly Two Steps Forward, just because I think it's an interesting little ghost story that's different from everything else I have posted, and I really do have a soft spot for gen works.

26. For my ST fics, our future foe scenarios is a pretty odd one. We've got Nancy really feeling her big sister duties while also kind of worrying about Jonathan, making out with him, then convincing the Party to let her earnestly and VERY awkwardly talk to them about the importance of consent (and kind of roping Jonathan into helping her, which he's not happy about but dutifully does). It’s kind of clumsy, but she means well.

27. I love when the ideas slot into place, when I know where things are going, I see how it's moving, and I get all the pieces lined up so it's a straight shot to the end. Extremely satisfying. I dislike working out the kinds of technical details that I'd prefer to gloss over but that are sometimes story-significant, like ages and timelines. I'm increasingly just ignoring that shit.

28. Apparently I'm getting several thousand words done a day, on average, with as many as 6-7k some days. But I'm happy if I just do a couple hundred, or a line or two. This has just been an unusually productive year for me.

29. Ideally: I ignore it for a couple of weeks until I've forgotten the shape of it, then I read it over with fresh eyes. Increasingly: when it's written, I go over it for typos, overall continuity, basic coherence, and (if it covers sensitive themes) to make sure that I'm not inadvertently presenting something wildly hurtful or counter to my goals. And then I just call it done.

30. I'd say that I never really polish all that much to begin with, these days. I mostly post 1st drafts, even though there's typically stuff that I would pretty easily catch and adjust if I gave it a real once-over. I've just decided that I'm okay with not fussing with it very much. But I share WIPs these days, some of which are pretty rough. (I did not used to do this that much.)

#jancy spotlight saturday #spotlight saturday #writer spotlight #jancy fanfic #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy

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babedur · 4 years ago

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Max has a nightmare. Maisie couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Spoilers for Peril on Gorgon, up to the HIA building.

Tartarus was always cold. He was in a suit, a suit of armor, he was trying to follow his orders but he was doing something wrong, he was shooting the targets and running their courses but he was doing something so wrong that they brought him to the conveyor belt and shoved him into the machine, a machine that silently but finally forced him into shape, compressing his insides and snapping bones that would not bend-

Suddenly, it was bright, and Max shoved at the machine- but he wasn’t in a trash compactor. He was in Maisie’s room, on the Unreliable, shoving away the blankets. His whole body ached, and he was cold where he’d sweat though his nightshirt.

“Max,” Maisie said, from the foot of the bunk- a place she’d learned to wake him from, the hard way. Too far away by far. When he reached for her, she shuffled up, and the squeeze of her embrace and the warm glow of the MSI lanterns were reminders that he was alive and in one piece, not… not there.

He shuddered.

“ADA,” Maisie said, “Lights to twenty percent?”

The lights dimmed without sass. Odd, that. ADA was never one to pass up an opportunity to crack wise at Max’s expense.

“Did I wake you?” Max asked.

He’d intended it to be a rhetorical question, except Maisie answered, “No, I was already up. Couldn’t really fall asleep.”

“Gorgon?”

She nodded, snuggling into his embrace so that she could rest her forehead on his shoulder. It was hardly surprising.

Max knew, in vague terms, that prisoners from Tartarus getting loaned out to companies for experiments were not precisely getting the gainful employment that they were promised. But there was a difference in turning down a contract with Auntie Cleo, and experiencing the brutal horror of the HIA building.

Someone had designed those tests- fire on command, run for hours on end, and weed out anyone who voiced a word of complaint. Others still had run the prisoners through them. And even more had studied the results and attempted to make meaningful spreadsheets and graphics of the results.

And, somewhere, there had been a maintenance team, keeping the facilities as clean as they could, keeping the doors and lights and trash compactors running as smoothly as they could. How much had they seen? One had to wonder, when one cleaned up liters of blood every single day, where it was all coming from. Did they have to work extra shifts? (And if you’re working extra shifts, what better way to keep alert and active…)

“I keep wondering,” Max said, “if one of the contracts I had been offered during my penitentiary visit had been offered by Spacer’s Choice.”

Maisie’s embrace tightened. “Don’t even suggest that.”

“I never once thought of actually accepting a contract,” Max said truthfully. “On the surface it was all very saccharine- another chance to serve your colony, doing tasks that no one else has the grit and mettle to do, but… It doesn’t take years of studying the Law to realize that a promise to cut a sentence years long to a few months is probably a bad bet. Even so…”

“This is going to sound silly,” Maisie said, “considering I’m sure everyone on this ship knows better now. But never take Adrena-time?”

“Never,” Max said, and the vehemence in his voice startled a laugh out of Maisie. “Laws, never.”

“Good,” Maisie said. “And promise not to laugh at me when I track everyone down tomorrow and make them promise, too.”

Max opened his mouth to say, Of course no one would, no one on this ship is a moron. There’s no need for that, but Maisie knew that already. And she couldn’t sleep, either.

“I promise,” Max said. “ADA, how long did Maisie spend trying to fall asleep?”

“Approximately three hours and eight minutes,” ADA recited dutifully. “After that, she got up to write in her journal and do some bookkeeping.”

“Traitor,” Maisie muttered.

Max looked to the clock- he’d gotten about four hours of sleep before his nightmare got bad enough for Maisie to wake him, and he still felt exhausted and drained. Maisie hadn’t even gotten that.

“You should get some rest,” Max murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Maisie readjusted their embrace, but didn’t reply. He would have to carefully word his next thoughts- he, of all people, knew how pride could make a fool out of someone. “And we should probably take the day off, tomorrow. Make sure our equipment is in order for whatever awaits us in the CHEM labs. It’ll give the crew some time to process what we saw there, as well.”

“You mean, give me some time to process.”

“Would you allow me to try to continue on as normal if I insisted on going out on a ‘hard-and-loud’ mission tomorrow? After the day we just had, and missing an entire night’s rest?”

He could feel Maisie making a face into his shoulder.

“Exactly,” Max said. “On a practical level, it would do no one any favors to have our tactician and leader far from her best. Not to mention that you and I are not the only people being hit by this. Our crew acts tough, but ADA could probably confirm we are not the only ones losing sleep tonight. Someone’s liable to get hurt- imagine how you’d feel if it wasn’t even you.

“On a personal level�� you shoulder a lot on your own. And I understand that- I prefer to keep my own counsel, as well. There are things I tell my journal that I don’t tell you, and I’m certain the reverse is true, as well. But the process of, er, processing, is still… a process.”

“That one got away from you,” Maisie observed.

He scowled. There must be a better way to have phrased that, and he knew it would come to him at a time where it would be absolutely useless and he wouldn’t even be able to write it down. “You’re making fun of my bumbling attempts to comfort you because you don’t have a better argument.”

“…Yeah, I am.” Maisie sighed. “You’re right. You’re right on every point. But… I don’t even want to try to sleep, right now.”

“Tough. We’re going to change the sheets since I already did us the disservice of sweating through them, and then we’re both going to try and get some rest.”

Sometimes, it was all in the voice. Maisie pulled away and glared at him through sleep-beaten eyes, but she didn’t protest. She even got him new sleep clothes to wear and told ADA, “If anyone asks tomorrow, we’re all sleeping in. I don’t expect anyone to be ready to do anything until noon.”

“I’ll keep watch,” ADA promised. “I mean, I always do. But humans like to have the obvious re-stated when they are out of sorts.”

“Thank you,” Maisie said, to the sassy computer program that of which she was so fond. And when she climbed into bed beside Max, she kissed his cheek and said, again, “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, captain, to contribute to the continued well-being of this crew and the longevity of it’s operations-“

She attempted to smother him with a pillow. It felt good, to laugh.

#my fic #i'll probably clean this up and post it on ao3 sometime in the week #and im still working on that thing with ellie and canid's cradle...#the outer worlds #peril on gorgon #peril on gorgon spoilers

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wincestisasincest · 3 years ago

Text

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 9: The Living Would Envy the Dead

Viktor x Fem!Reader slow burn enemies to lovers

x posted on ao3 // WOTS masterlist

Summary: Jayce and Viktor questioning you about your weapon (made with farm-fresh Hextech) is the only thing keeping you from going to jail for science crimes. You and Viktor are literally at each others throats lmao. Also you’re from Bilgewater because pirates are fucking rad

Notes: Hey! First off, sorry if this one is a bit slower than the other chapters. There was just a lot of action and stuff, and sometimes you need slower moments and also I did not have a lot of time this week aerkjthekrjt Also, because this fic is about Viktor, there will be a reference to his past in here that is not confirmed or denied in the Arcane lore, but is (probably) not canon in the League lore. If you're wondering why I did this, it's because it's my story and I can do what I want. With that out of the way, thanks as always for reading <3 and again I'm sorry if this update is not as good as the ones I normally give.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags: @edenstarkk, @modernamilf, @dedicated2viktor, @doctorho, @yeehawbvby, @arcaneparx

A BIG TRIGGER WARNING! There is a dead body in this chapter, and while the deadness itself is not described, the body died of a particular medical condition that will be described for the purpose of the story. None of it is in detail, and its relatively brief, but I'll be beginning and ending with a trigger warning sign, and there will be a summary at the end just in case you want to skip it

Mentions of: Refugees, bad parent-child relationships

Triggers: Lab animals (nothing happens to them but they are there), vomit, coughing up blood, scurvy, death as an abstract, a single dead animal (not described in detail, but definitely thought about a lot), language

“I’ll admit, I have no sympathy for mice, but if you don’t like seeing them suffer, then maybe you shouldn’t test on them in the first place,” you said dryly, slicing a piece of orange with your knife. A gross misuse of something so awesome.

“It was not my decision – our Noxian colleague chooses mice to transport,” Viktor said, “and, for the record, I do not like seeing them suffer.”

“That makes one of us,” Jayce mumbled from the corner, opening the first aid kit and hovering his bloody hand over the table.

Viktor reached his fingers through the cage bars and stroked the back of the brown mouse as it threw up into its bedding. You grimaced.

“You might wanna wash your hands later,” you grunted, “little bastards carry all kinds of disease.”

5 mice had been teleported from Noxus with the help of an Academy associate, setting a new record for how far the boys’ portals could transport a mammal. They’d surpassed their record for plant material yesterday.

You peered over at the leafy table, finding it hard to believe that they had all started at the same size. Some of the plants were in full bloom, swallowing the rest of the plot in their thick leaves like an invasive species. A few were average, and quite pretty with their pale pink petals. The stunted, rotting ones, however, were drained of that gorgeous color as their blossoms expended all of their energy to turn towards the sun in a last ditch effort to survive. All of this over the course of 24 hours.

“I don’t understand why you’re so surprised,” you said, opening the door to the cage and placing the orange next to the mouse, who was just beginning to regain his breath, “it’s consistent with the results that we already have.”

One mouse came through bursting with energy, bouncing around like a firecracker, and chomping down on Jayce’s thumb when he’d tried to move it. Two of them were fine, if a little freaked out. And the remaining two – the brown one that you and Viktor were tending and the white one that you would feet in a moment – were horribly sick upon arrival.

“Not surprised, just… disappointed,” Viktor rested his cheek in his palm and turned in his seat, observing the white mouse cough up more blood.

Red dribbled down its clean coat of fur, and the poor thing was hissing and spitting like it was trying to eject its own guts. You wrinkled your nose.

Viktor looked like a painting of dejection; face in static perturbation as he watched the animal convulse, hand dramatically framing the frustrated twitch in his jaw, and glassy eyes betraying how his mind was running circles around its own failure.

“We should kill it,” you said, closing the door to the brown mouse’s cage, “put both of you out of your misery.”

“It’s not going to die,” he sounded a little offended, “we’ve never lost a mouse yet. They are sick for a little bit, and then they recover.”

“So… you’ve been doing this to them for a long time?” you got up from your seat and poked through the brown paper bag of groceries, deciding to get the mouse something easier to eat than a fibrous orange.

“Again, it was not my decision. But even so, we always test with the goal of making it less unpleasant for them. It just… hasn’t been working recently.”

You broke a piece of cheese from the wedge and dropped it into the white mouse’s cage.

“We’ll try again soon, Vik,” Jayce said, giving his bandage a final press into place.

“We cannot try again until we figure out what the problem is,” Viktor insisted, standing up and straightening his back, “what is it about this distance that is making this so difficult?”

Well, that was your cue to leave.

“Where are the notes again?” you asked as you stretched the kink in your neck.

“My desk.”

“Thanks,” you vanished into the office as quickly as you could without seeming overeager.

Caitlyn called them “single minded,” but this was getting ridiculous. You’d officially been on probation for two days, and you had spent those two days working on the very project that a dangerous gang of pirates with Enforcers on their payroll were after.

You were trying to do better. You’d put it kindly yesterday, suggesting that the Hexgates could be on hold until, at the very least, there was some progress made on the turncoat Enforcer. But nope, Jayce insisted that “there are people who this could really help, and they can’t wait,” while Viktor churlishly said that he would “not be bullied into stopping.”

Apparently, Jayce was referring to a refugee crisis in Ionia, as though this was the only possible way that he could help them. You weren’t even mad at the inaction, it’s not like you were invested in the Ionian refugee crisis, but for people who claimed that they wanted the best for others they were being astoundingly stubborn on doing things their way. It’s not like the refugees had personally asked them for a portal. Hell, they probably didn’t even want to leave their home country.

You were trying to do better, though, so you said none of this. You gave them the benefit of the doubt, assumed that they had thought all this through, and took none of it out on them. “Doing better” meant that you resolved your anger by going outside and throwing really big rocks into the sea until you were calm again. “Doing better” meant that, when you ended up being right, saying “I told you so” would be enough.

But you refused to be involved in this stupid thing beyond absolutely necessary until then. It was dangerous, tedious, and, as far as you were concerned, wouldn’t do the Ionians much good. Unfortunately, now that this was your source of income, you couldn’t exactly say no either, so you had to make do with taking cover in the office during conversation.

You were trying to do better.

The office – your least favorite part of the lab. Gods, what did they even do here besides sit down, think, and write long academic research papers? No wonder Piltover needed you to do their dirty work. Had they tried to stop that fleet Academy-style, they would’ve been halfway through a grant proposal by the time the ships landed.

Perhaps you hated the idea of the office more than the actual room, though. You enjoyed the desks themselves.

Jayce’s had a bulletin board scattered with random notes that probably made no sense even if you could read them. There was a farmed picture of him and his mom in the upper right area, where he wasn’t in danger of knocking it off with his elbow; he was 8 or 9, holding a hammer, a few teeth shy of a full smile, with his mom’s arm around his shoulder proudly. In the margins of all the paperwork was your favorite part – his drawings. Ones of ideas, of things in the lab, even a few of people, like Heimderdinger and Viktor. In your eyes, they were professional artist quality, but maybe that was because he signed all of them.

Viktor’s desk was pushed against the corner of the room, walls filled to the ceiling with scientific diagrams on any and every subject, from stars to plants to magnets to runes. Some of them might’ve been relevant to Hextech, but many seemed to be there because he just liked to look at them. The one that always caught your eye was the… well, you didn’t actually know what it was, but it looked like a mutated axolotl. It was front and center, the first thing that he’d see when he lifted his head up after writing, and looked like it was made by hand via colored pencils and ripped from someone’s journal. Viktor’s own, perhaps, but the handwriting on the diagram was different from his typical craggy letters.

There was so much knowledge stored on those walls, you could’ve spent days absorbing it all. Maybe, when you were done, they’d finally be over this stupid Hexgate.

The pages of Viktor’s spiral notebook were layered with different colors of pen, correcting his previous observations as new data came to light. The one that you’d opened to was recent, with black, red, blue, green, purple, and finally, orange pen – a new color for each revision he’d made. It looked like the ramblings of a maniac, and you didn’t even know what the words meant.

Thankfully, your general understanding was good enough to make up for the gaps between the visuals.

Teleporting something with magic wasn’t the hard part – runes were simple enough – using the correct amount of magic to do so was where things got tricky. Controlling the extent of magic was the advantage that mages truly had over humans. Viktor and Jayce were successful in getting the right measure from the crystals over short distances, but as the portals got farther from each other, the magic became less reliable.

Sometimes, they would use too much energy, and the excess was sent straight into the heart of that squealing, bloodthirsty mouse that was ready to fight the gods themselves.

Sometimes, they would use too little, and the magic would make up the difference by stealing energy from the bodily functions that kept those two mice healthy.

Sometimes, things went perfectly. But, until things went perfectly all the time, their job wasn’t done. You could get behind that, at least.

You flicked through the pages, glancing at Viktor’s wall, then back at the notes. Despite your objections, you had a few ideas to get the magic to cooperate. They were fairly obvious, and you were a bit surprised that they hadn’t occurred to Viktor or Jayce before, but none of the visuals in their notes indicated that they’d even tried anything similar

You gingerly placed the notebook back on the table and left the office, opting to not tell them unless they asked.

“But there must be some way to control it. Mages can teleport that far without consequence,” Viktor said, back turned to you as he argued with Jayce by the window.

They were immersed in their brainstorming. Perfect. You just had to walk to the workshop without drawing attention to yourself.

“Mages control the energy, though, not the field,” Jayce replied.

Halfway there. So far, so good.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. It has something to do with the field. Perhaps, since it is bigger, there is more potential for the outside sources of magic to mess with the charges.”

Three quarters.

“I think it’s more unified than that. Outside magic was always a variable, but there’s got to some overarching constant here…” Jayce tapped his chin.

Behind this wall and you would be out of sight-

“Penny! What’s your take?!” you could hear Jayce’s voice being filtered through a smug smile.

Damnit. You turned on your heel.

Jayce, as expected, was pleased with himself for catching you in the cat, and Viktor was unamused with your reluctance to engage, as per usual. They both knew exactly what you were doing.

“What do you mean?” you were stilted, trapped in a staring contest with Jayce that you both refused to back down from.

“You just looked at the notes, didn’t you?”

“…yes.”

“And you don’t have any thoughts?”

You bit your lip, wondering if you could vaporize out of existence if you waited long enough.

“I may… have a few,” you said quietly.

“Great! Let’s hear ‘em, then.”

You lost the staring contest.

“Ugh,” you groaned, finally getting a moment away from the eye contact, “fine, fine, but… they’re a little harsh, so, y’know, hold onto your egos.”

You sighed, catching Viktor in an eye roll before you began.

“I think you’re wasting time trying to make this run off of exclusively magic. At the end of the day, magic is still just a kind of energy, and we’ve proven that it reacts consistently with other kinds of energy. So… why not just use magnets or heat or electricity or something to get the magic to do what you want? Those are way easier to control, and you’d probably get a lot more mileage out of ‘em.”

“Ridiculous,” Viktor scoffed, “how would adding another degree of separation between our input and the arcane make it easier to control?”

“It was just an idea. Besides,” you tilted your head towards the half-dead jungle of plants, “it’s not exactly easy to control now, is it?”

Viktor exhaled, suffocating the handle of his cane as he reigned his tongue from a nasty rebuttal.

“Well then, you are free to test your idea on your own time,” he said, all too lightly.

“Okay, I will make sure not to do that, then,” you nodded, pleased that you could both agree on this.

“Actually, if you could draft up some blueprints when you get the chance,” Jayce intervened, knowing that you were not busy with anything else, “I’d like to see them.”

You and Viktor glared at Jayce like you were trying to turn him to stone.

“What?! I’m curious,” Jayce said defensively, focusing on Viktor, “we don’t have to use them, but it couldn’t hurt.”

“I cannot stop you,” Viktor said, “but I believe that the point of this whole endeavor was to try to control magic, no?”

“It is. This could just be another way of doing that.”

“A worse way.”

“Penny?” Jayce turned to you, waiting for your verdict.

“Hey, I’ll make ‘em,” you conceded, “no promises they’ll be worth using, though.”

“Than-“

All three of you startled at a siren wailing through the quad. It was muffled as it bled through the lab’s glass windows.

“Shit,” Jayce got up from his chair and grabbed his coat. Viktor followed suit.

“Fire?” you asked as you waited by the door, coatless.

“No. The fire alarm goes off inside the buildings,” Viktor said curtly, hustling into the hallway.

You joined the mass of similarly worried researchers, some still holding their clipboards, as Viktor closed the door and locked it behind him. They were whispering amongst themselves, just as clueless as you were.

On the quad, a sea of students and professors were following blue uniformed Enforcer’s like beacons. The blast of cold air hit you like long fall, and your hair was being manhandled in every direction by the wind.

Two Enforcers leaned against the building, arms crossed and masks stoic. One nudged the other when they saw you.

“You three!” one shouted, advancing towards the door you’d just left through, “Yeah you! Hextech!”

You peered over your shoulder, waiting for a cue from Jayce or Viktor. They shifted nervously, trying to ignore the crowd goggling at the three people who’d been directly summoned by Enforcers during a campus emergency. Oh. They were probably embarrassed, you thought. Sucks to be them.

“We don’t have all day!” the Enforcer barked again.

Hesitantly, Jayce and Viktor moved forward, and you ended up leading the group.

“What’s the problem, officers?” Jayce asked from behind you, doing a poor job at hiding his annoyance.

“You need to come to the station now. We found the body of one of the escapees – on campus.”

*****

! Trigger Warning (see notes) !

His lip was split. Viktor distinctly remembered there being a scar, but when he forced himself to look into the dead man’s face, he saw a trail of congealed blood, young enough to be burgundy rather than brown, oozing from where there was once a burnished line.

The pirate was middle-aged, according to the mortician, but he looked older. His skin fit loosely on his clean-shaven face, and the underbite of his jaw was set in a permanent toad-like frown. His hands were red with rope burn, his big toe poked through the end of his shoe, and his stomach was bloated as he began to decompose.

Red and purple splotches stained his forearms, like someone had spilled wine on them.

“Ew,” a small voice entered the room, catching a whiff of the smell.

“Alex?” Viktor turned around.

The boy was at your side in the doorway.

You’d taken it upon yourself to give him stuff to do while he waited for word from his parents. Viktor felt for the kid – everything that needed to happen was so slow, but the trouble brewing in Piltover progressed like wildfire. According to you, he’d been living alright, and was even making a few friends, but he must’ve felt left out from… everything. Like he was on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.

Viktor would have to visit him soon.

“Uh… I don’t know if this is kid appropriate,” Jayce said warily.

“He wanted to see it,” you shoved your hands into your pockets as Alex approached the corpse, “and it’s not like it’s his first body.”

Alex stood over the pirate’s face, looking down.

“This is the one?” Jayce asked him.

“Yup,” he nodded decisively.

Reaching from the back of his throat, Alex spit directly onto the pirate’s nose. He wasn’t as practiced at it as you were, and it sounded a bit like a snake being strangled, but it was still formidable. A puddle of foamy white saliva pooled between the pirate’s eyes.

“Okay! Let’s not do that,” Jayce looked peaked with strain as he came up behind Alex and put his hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him away from the body.

Alex was concentrating on the body with enough hostility for a whole army, like the pirate could come back to life at any moment and he was the only one who was smart enough to see it.

“Look at his lip,” Viktor said, “that used to be a scar, but it’s reopened. A little odd, no?”

“What are you thinking, Vik?” Jayce leaned against the wall, still latched on to Alex.

“The mortician said that there’s no obvious cause,” Viktor said as you stalked around the body like a tiger, “I wonder if it had something to do with their imprecise use of teleportation?”

“Hmmm… I don’t think so,” you put your fingers on your chin, studying the body from the other side of the table, “I see a very obvious cause of death here. Alex! Pay attention, pop quiz.”

Alex perked up as you circled the corpse again. Viktor sighed, rubbing his temple, but made no attempt to stop you. You were hurting no one, and Alex seemed like he was having fun.

“The body has bruising and internal bleeding,” you began, lifting up his sleeve and revealing the splotches on his forearm to continue all the way up to the shoulder.

“Ugh, don’t touch it,” Jayce winced.

“It’s not like he’s gonna bite,” you rolled your eyes, “and, speaking of biting, look at that!”

You peeled back the pirate’s bottom lip, disturbing the crusted blood from the former scar, and tilted his head to the side. His gums sloshed with red fluid and he was missing half of his teeth.

“Blood gums, reopened wounds, and missing teeth,” you lifted your finger and the lip slapped shut, “and!”

“Please stop touching the corpse,” Jayce tried again, but you kept going.

You lifted up the pant leg, exposing several thick, black corkscrew hairs rising from irritated follicles.

“That is some strange hair growth,” you brushed the pant leg back down and came to the front of the body again, talking directly to Alex, “so, my fellow Rat, can you tell me what this man died of?”

“Scurvy!” Alex had that pleasant smile that he always did when he made a connection.

“There ya go,” you raised your hands up in the air, “honestly, a mortician should’ve noticed that.”

! Trigger Warning !

“I thought there was a cure to scurvy?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There is. People still die from it, though.”

“After a long time, correct?”

“About 6 weeks. Why?”

Viktor inhaled, leaning forward on his cane and steadying his voice. He was not going to argue with you, you were going to calmly suggest the possible cause like adults.

“Because that leaves quite a few questions, doesn’t it? If this man was dying of scurvy, and his signs were so obvious that even a child could point them out, then why would they send him into a foreign territory for a sensitive operation? Did no one think to offer him some medical help? And why would he be on campus?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “but a mystery portal disease death raises just as many questions. How come we have no other bodies? We have no record of anything dying from portals at all, so why this one specifically? If the portals were that dangerous, then why didn’t the pirates notice them? And why did it take two days after the portal transport for it to be fatal? And why are the symptoms so close to scurvy?”

“Alright, alright, point… taken,” Viktor raised his hand to stop you, “it is likely scurvy, but I still find it a bit suspicious. We should inspect the mortician’s findings after a full autopsy.”

“Unfortunately, I will be busy working on some blueprints,” you said coldly, “but you do whatever you want.”

Viktor was about to declare that he wanted to work on the Hextates, but found himself looking past you and at the pirate again. His eyes were closed, but bodies got no peace after they died. First, it would self destruct, as the enzymes that made him human in the first place took it away. Then, the bacteria would not stop picking until he was a set of clean, dry bones, erasing whatever he used to be. Finally, years of erosion from the shitty burial that he was going to receive would grind those bones into dust, and he’d be nothing more than particles mixed into the soil.

Decomposition was not on his side here, and if there actually was something going on with this body, then he would not let it stop him from getting what he needed. It appeared that, until the mortician finished their job, Viktor would get no peace either.

*****

“So, you’ve been here for two- apologies, now three- whole days, and you’ve already pulled an all-nighter at the lab?” Caitlyn’s brows were raised.

You ingested her words with sleepy delay, nodding along but not actually understanding.

“They did too,” you mumbled into your glass of water.

“I can tell,” Cailyn sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “gods, you two are a terrible influence.”

“She was working on her own thing,” Viktor took a stalled sip of coffee, the bags under his eyes trying to pull his whole head down to rest on the table, “her poor decision to stay had nothing to do with our poor decision to stay.”

That was true, at least. You wasted so much time hovering over the body that, should you have a normal sleep schedule, you would’ve had to spend even more time working on this stupid Hexgate. No, you were going to get that thing finished as soon as possible or die trying. By morning, you’d moved on from blueprints and explained a few prototypes to Jayce, who seemed quite taken with your work.

Viktor and Jayce spent the night toiling over their own designs for the Hexgates, with Viktor wanting to have something already finished by the time they got the results from the autopsy so he wouldn’t “be behind.” Behind what? He couldn’t have meant you. There was no way that you threatened him, you didn’t even want to work on this stupid project. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It was nice to feel useful, and even nicer to get paid for it, but you couldn’t help feeling dirty about all the promises that you’d made for your time here. If there was one thing you did not want to be, it was a Piltover lapdog. Where the hell did this sudden moral compass emerge from? You had no idea, but it was making everything harder.

In the end, though, Jayce and Viktor did legitimately think that this would help, and you couldn’t think of a way that it would hurt anyone, even if it was dangerous to be working on with the pirates still at large. So, you let the comfortable cocoon of engineering close around you and blinded yourself to everything else. There was a problem, and you had a solution.

“I suppose that I can forgive you for not wanting to sleep at the station, though,” Cailtyn wrapped her fingers around her own mug of tea and pulled it to her eyes to examine the steam unfurling from the surface.

“Yeah…” you said.

“That bad?” Jayce gulped some of his hot chocolate.

“Oh no, it’s fine, but now that we know there’s a mole among the Enforcers, I’m not looking to get shanked in my sleep,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Ah,” Jayce, even after knowing you for a few weeks, still managed to be caught off guard by your bluntness, “yeah, that would be bad. The Academy might be willing to give you another advance.”

“Nah, that’s not the issue,” you shook your head, “I have enough money, it’s just-“

“For the Undercity, maybe,” Viktor interrupted, “but if I recall, you said that going to Zaun is a violation. A two week advance cannot cover any rent in Piltover.”

“I was talking about Piltover,” you seethed at him, “I can cover rent just fine.”

You could barely keep your head up. You weren’t going to start anything, but you were testy at the lights being too bright and the way the water smelled. There’s no telling how Viktor could rile you up if he wanted too.

“How much?” Viktor said with the first bit of energy he’d had all morning.

“Vik, you can’t just-“

“1800.”

“What?!” Jayce and Viktor replied together, eyes bulging out of their skulls and hands on the table.

“What?!” you mirrored, slightly offended.

“That’s nowhere close to what I got when I started out,” Jayce said, “I got, like, 1200!”

“I got 1000!” Viktor added.

You shrugged.

“Maybe you guys need to be better hagglers.”

Jayce and Viktor shared an utterly exhausted look.

“You don’t haggle a stipend,” Jayce said finally, turning back to you.

“You… don’t?”

They shook their head.

“Oh, well, the lady didn’t stop me and it worked, so…” you paused, “huh, that’s interesting. We haggle everything where I’m from.”

“I cannot believe that you…” Viktor rubbed his eyes with vexation, “and it worked!”

“Mhm. Maybe they just tell you guys not to haggle so they don’t have to pay you better,” you emptied your glass, “but anyway, it doesn’t matter. No one wants to rent to me, obviously, so… I’ll have to figure out something else.”

You sighed, prompting Jayce to finally shake off his disbelief.

“Well, hey, didn’t you do something around this time of year?” Jayce nudged Viktor, who was still reeling, “Cause I remember you couldn’t stay over winter break.”

Viktor blinked.

“Hm? Oh, yes.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Share your wisdom,” Jayce gestured to you.

Viktor gawked at you like he just remembered that you were there. You knew this look – amber eyes still pulsing with the reflection of the light and eyelashes fluttering every few second – he’d retreated into his own head to think. Usually, when you were the subject, the face that he froze with was more aggressive, but you weren’t complaining about the change.

Maybe this was just one of those ‘not trying to demonize each other’ things.

Eventually, his eyelids relaxed as he came to a conclusion.

“Of course,” he drained his coffee, “but I believe it is better if I show you in person. Why don’t we walk back?”

Jayce shifted in his seat.

“Sure, just give me a minute to-“

“No, just us,” Viktor interrupted, still looking at you, “only if you’d like to.”

An uneasiness wrinkled in your chest, though it was easily overridden by your quick tongue and need to save face.

“Uh… sure,” you pushed your glass further into the table and started to dig through your pockets, “how much for water?”

“Water’s free,” Caitlyn said kindly.

“Oh, no shit?” you grinned at her, “alright then, I’m good.”

You awkwardly waved at Jayce and Caitlyn as you walked out the door behind Viktor. They waved back, just as awkward. Alright, so no one knew why he wanted a walk with you alone, then. Maybe he’d finally gone crazy and decided to kill you, and his even temper was a result of this anticipation.

You unsubtly watched him with one eye and hung on your pocket with your thumb, keeping the remainder of your fingers resting on the hilt of your knife.

“Afraid of something, are you?” he asked, head forward as he lead you through the streets.

“Not afraid, just ready.”

“I hate to disappoint, but there is a much less interesting reason that we’re doing this alone.”

“Oh yeah? Cause your story isn’t exactly adding up,” you said, brows furrowed stubbornly.

“Excuse me?”

“I remember – you’re from the Undercity. Wouldn’t you just go there for break?”

He was quiet. The timing of his cane taps were regular, but the sound fizzled on the mottled cobblestone. And there it was again; the thinking face, this time, looking nowhere but ahead.

“Let’s just say that by choosing to go the Academy I forfeited that.”

You wanted to frown, but you just snorted mirthlessly.

“Of course you’d leave your home behind to go h-“

“No, you idiote*, I was kicked out,” he hissed at you, only to gulp nervously as he realized what he’d just disclosed.

Suddenly, you were unable to look at him. Kicked out? By who? You were generally unfamiliar with the concept of parents, but they weren’t supposed to kick their kids out. If anything, Bilgewater parents would be glad to have a son as successful as Viktor.

“I- I didn’t think-“ you stammered.

“No. You didn’t,” he stopped moving, “we’re here.”

You’d heard of this place, though you were too scared to go there lest you get Enforcers called. Bluewind Court – the richest of the rich, and in Piltover, that was saying something. Gods, these weren’t houses, they were castles, stretching into the blue sky with the audacity of mountains and claiming the landscape like it was something they’d conquered themselves. They were uninviting, though; obviously built for humans and unoccupied, but you were not welcome to fill that space. Sitting on that balcony would always be a forlorn dream from another timeline.

Though, at a point not so long ago, being alone, with Viktor, feeling guilty about something you’d said and not immediately trying to leave would’ve seemed equally impossible. It still seemed impossible. What was he trying to do here? Clearly he didn’t enjoy it either, from the way that his eyes focused on everything but you.

Maybe that was your fault, though. You’d made things weird.

“In the winter seasons, the residents here will go on vacation. They like to give this time as a break to their staff too, so they will hire Academy students to watch the property while they are gone. Several students will housesit here over the break,” he started expositing like a tour guide, idly propping himself up with his cane, “there is some upkeep to do, but nothing to extreme. At most, feeding the pets. I used to do it every season.”

“You got paid to live in a mansion?” your eyes widened.

“More or less,” Viktor shrugged, not matching your enthusiasm.

You were edging into a smile, but once you remembered who you were, your expression snapped back into pent up ennui.

“Ugh, but they’d never hire me.”

“That’s why you lie,” Viktor said impatiently.

“You lie?”

“They wouldn’t hire a Zaunite either. So, I just told them that I was an exchange student at the Academy. They didn’t ask too many questions.”

“You’ve got the accent though.”

“Perhaps, but,” Viktor clicked his tongue, “I’m not the only one who does this. All the low-income students lie about their background, accent or not, in order to land the position. No one has been caught yet,” he faced you and lowered his voice an octave, “this is why it demands a certain level of privacy.”

Ah. So, he was protecting people. Or, in a way, he was risking them. Risking them for your sake.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I won’t spill the beans,” you waved him off, uncomfortable with how serious he looked. You preferred when anger was the dominant emotion because you were good at dealing with anger. But sincerity was something that you were still learning.

“If you think you’ll need extra help, though, I’ve heard that getting the maids to recommend you almost guarantees a spot,” he released you from his scrutiny.

“I… might try that,” you trailed off, rifling through your pockets, “so, how much do you want for the tip?”

“Wh- it’s free,” he said, “it has always been free to share among people who need it.”

“Oh,” your arm slacked. Because you supposed you did need it, while Jayce and Caitlyn did not.

You were there, and you did not have the background of a Piltovian, so you were one of them now. Viktor had granted you access to this new community. Maybe that was what trying to nicer to each other meant to him. Either way, it made your brain short circuit.

“Uh, thanks,” you said finally.

“Tchk. A ‘thanks’ is not necessary. Having somewhere safe to live is the bare minimum,” he turned and went back towards the streets, quickly finding the familiar route to the Academy.

The sincerity reemerged, and it made you deeply uncomfortable. It was foreign, especially from him, but you couldn’t get angry. If anything, you were obligated to be civil about it. Some pit in your stomach told you that you still owed him something, despite his refusal, but you didn’t want to stick around. You wanted to leave. Luckily for you, that was the best thing you could’ve given him.

“Um, you know what, I just remembered that I have to go do something at the station,” you lied, “so, uh, I’m gonna go there. You can get some alone time in the lab.”

“Suit yourself,” he granted, not even looking at you.

You darted into the next alley without another word. Obviously, you didn’t go to the station. You didn’t go anywhere. You just walked until the streets became a blur, because you knew that if you stopped, the rest of the world would keep going without you.

*****

Only when it was too late did Viktor realize that this didn’t qualify as “alone time in the lab.” The chilly morning light meant that the mice were awake, squeaking and rustling on the cages. It was starting to get on his nerves.

Oh, and, there were other things.

Viktor was drawn to your prototype, his insatiable competitiveness willing him forward whether he wanted to consciously acknowledge it or not. It was resting on the workshop’s table and staring at him like they were in a standoff.

He spun the contraption around, weaving the wires through his fingers and checking the lazily cast aside blueprints. You were nearly finished. It was good. Once it was hooked up to the mini portal that they used for testing, it would probably work.

Fuck.

He was being civil. He was offering his assistance to people who needed it, knowing that the animalistic urge to make others suffer in the way that he had was just a byproduct of his distaste for you.

But your conversation on the way to Bluewind Court reminded him just how much he gave up to get where he was. You’d fought tooth and nail to leave, and only decided to stick around when they had literally begged you to and agreed to pay you. He’d pushed through so much, but everything was just handed to you, and you were already doing so much better than him. You had a higher salary than when he started out – hell, having a salary in the first place was impressive – and you were just kept from using it by your social status. You were building a Hexgate circuit that was more effective than the one that he’d been working on months before you even saw a hexcrystal for the first time. You were succeeding without even trying, and that pissed him off uncontrollably.

Viktor knew that he shouldn’t be mad at you. There were people who bought their way into the Academy, drifting through life on money and name alone. They were far less deserving of success than you, and they were the ones who happened to get most of it. But you and him were so similar, coming up from poverty and having nothing to show for it but a brilliant mind, and you were zooming ahead of him with no sign of slowing down.

And what was he supposed to do about it? Ask you to stop doing so well? Ask you to become less useful to Hextech? No, he would just have to do better to prove that he could still do things at all. And that would start with finishing his own adjustments to the Hexgate.

The shrieks of the mice drilled into his skull. Perhaps he should feed them first.

He drearily rose and sunk his hand into the produce bag, landing in the cool, leafy tendrils of some kale.

The mice had recovered fully, and were back to being animals; loud, needy, and not fit for cages. Viktor would have to send them back soon or give them a better home before the guilt of keeping them in lifeless metal boxes without a designated caretaker got to him.

He tore the kale into pieces. The mice noticed, eagerly rattling the bars and jumping up the sides of their water bottles to get a better look.

A piece for the silver mouse, the one that had mauled Jayce’s hand. A piece of the black mouse and the spotted mouse, the only two that had gotten out with no damage. A piece of the brown mouse, who was enjoying his now vomit-free cage. And a piece for the white mouse, who was resting.

In his daze, Viktor accidentally dropped the kale straight on the white mouse’s head. It didn’t move.

Viktor wiggled his finger between the bars, trying to get the mouse’s attention. Still nothing.

“Do prdele,*” he said under his breath, hastily opening the bars to prod the mouse with his thumb.

Its fur was cold.

A violent headache thumped in his forehead. He left the door to the cage opened and shambled back to his desk, collapsing in the chair and rummaging through the middle drawer for his bottle of painkillers.

He swallowed two of them dry and hid his face in his hands, letting the pain surge and recede like the tide. Rolling his eyes up, his vision tunneled towards the diagram of Rio.

His big, sad eyes bored into Viktor, soothing to the headache but terrible for his conscience. On all fours, slightly hunched over, with a tail even longer than his torso, Rio could’ve been a bigger mouse. He wondered if the mouse suffered before it died, writhing in agony and holding on just by instinct, or if it went peacefully, drifting into nothing while it slept.

Its body would start decaying soon. The dead got no peace, and apparently the living didn’t either.

He didn’t have time for this. He had to rewire the circuit according to the new plans he’d draw up. He had to do it before you did, he had to keep excavating magic for all that it was worth, he had to show people that his work would help.

Help who, exactly? Not this mouse. Gods, he was losing it over a mouse. That inferno of enmity and determination churning under his skin and he was distracted by a mouse.

And yet, he found himself paralyzed by Rio’s gaze, so carefully rendered by just a few colored pencils but chilling enough to bring back the memory every time. Of what had happened. Of who made that drawing. Maybe that was why he kept it here.

Fuck it. You could win this time. He had more important things to do.

~ End Notes ~

Summary: The dead body of the pirate has a scar that's reopened. Alex arrives with Penny and spits on the corpse, but confirms that it is, in fact, one of the pirates that was looking for him. Viktor wonders out loud if its an adverse health effect from their improper use of portals, but Reader touches and prods various parts of the body to show that he died of scurvy, a common disease in Bilgewater.

idiote ~ "idiot" but in Czech lol

do prdele ~ from everything I could find, it means something like "oh shit"

End credits song: "You're Terrific" by LoudFoxCult

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #jayce talis #mel medarda #mel #caitlyn #jayce #waves on the shore #caitlyn kiramann #Spotify

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thedamageofherdays · 3 years ago

Text

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.

#my reading log #r's reading log #fic rec #stucky fic rec #fics recs #stucky #danbeau #samrhodey #longpost #long post #clintasha #evanstan

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eldritchcreatureofwords · 3 years ago

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Wherein the Council is putting itself back together, Vi is struggling to reconcile her love of her new life and the prejudices and habits of her old one, Caitlyn is falling in love with perhaps the hardest person in the world to get close to, Jinx is suspiciously quiet, and Jayce and Viktor have some Talking To Do. And in the middle of it all, a young girl witnesses the murder of her family and falls under the protection of Vi, bringing back old memories that she's not really sure she's ready to look at. I'll be posting this to AO3 as well! ________________ She never, in a million years, would have pictured herself here. If you asked Vi where she thought her life was going when she was a teenager, she would have told you no where. She would have taken after Vander, proudly followed in his footsteps, probably been dead by the time she was in her thirties or forties. If you asked Vi as a teen where she thought her life was going...she would have laughed in your face because the answer was dead, sooner rather then later, and honestly, she didn't mind it because she wasn't alive. Not like that. Not in there. She shifted, feeling the strange, half-unwelcome softness of Caitlyn's sheets against her bare arms. Better then anything she'd ever slept on before, silken and smooth. She and Powder would have had a ball on sheets like this, wallowing and slipping and sliding- she shook the thoughts from her head. Powder fell down a well.

She shook her head again, burying her face in her pillow. It smelled like Caitlyn more then her, which made sense- she was mostly using Caitlyn's stuff. She didn't really have preferences for shampoos or soaps or whatever; if it got her clean, then it was fine. Between Zaun and Stillwater half the time she was happy if she had hot water and any form of personal hygiene help. Beside her, her partner stirred; murmured in her sleep, reached out for her. She shifted to let Cait's hand find her ribcage; both of them slept clothed, in case they needed to launch out of bed like madwomen, Cait in these pretty light blue silken pajamas and Vi in boxers and a tanktop, or sometimes sweatpants if they were clean. But she could still feel Caitlyn's fingers on her bare arms, let her twine them with her own. Her hand was so much bigger then Caitlyn's. So much rougher. She studied them, pressed against each other, one pale and smooth and the other swollen and scarred. Rolled so that she could free her hand and press it to Caitlyn's cheek instead, making the contrast even sharper. She was so beautiful. So perfect. So sweet. What the hell was she doing with an overly-aggro lump of flesh like Vi?

She stirred, brow furrowing and lips parting for a tiny sigh, leaning into Vi's touch. "Hey. Morning, Cupcake." She whispered, as the long lashes fluttered and Caitlyn came awake with a sleepy murmur. She tried to hide in Vi's chest, a low protest noise escaping, and the brawler chuckled gently, wrapping her arms around the so-Goddamn-tiny waist. "Vi? Mmm. What time is it?" She wasn't actually sure. She fumbled, trying to get a look at the bedside clock. She knew it was 'later then Caitlyn liked', but wasn't sure exactly how much trouble she was in. "Around...eleven?" "Eleven?!" Caitlyn jolted upright, hair making Vi choke as it tickled across her face and into her mouth. "Eleven? Vi!" "You were tired! You needed the sleep, Cait." She tried, but Caitlyn was already on a tear, scrambling for clothes. She rolled her eyes and flopped back down onto the too-large bed. Already Caitlyn's warmth was draining from it, and it felt like an ocean she was in alone.

Ah, well. She'd seen this coming. She rolled over to push up on her elbows, watching the other woman and looking far more like a lazy big cat then she realized. "Seriously. How much sleep have you gotten over the last week?" "Enough." Came the waspish snap that meant she definitely had not gotten enough. "And now I'm running behind on absolutely everything- this doesn't help, Vi, I've explained that to you-" "Tell me that it doesn't help when you're not collapsing on your desk." She muttered, sullen and defiant, like the child she didn't appreciate being made to feel like. Caitlyn sent her a sharp look, and Vi absolutely did not pout into the fold of her elbows. There was a pause, a moment of silence, and then a hand- that tiny, delicate hand- slid over Vi's back, along under her shirt. Strong fingers found old pains, old aches, and dug in, worked muscles and pressed down along her spine while she promptly turned into a twitching puddle, a low moan escaping her throat without her own permission. "That's one way to say 'sorry', Cupcake." She slurred, burrowing into the pillow with pleasure this time. Caitlyn chuckled, pressing a kiss to the skin at the base of Vi's neck. "What can I say? I can't stay upset at you." "I didn't do anything wrong!" Honest frustration filled her tone this time; exasperation. Caitlyn sighed, and the fingers got careless; Vi hissed as they found the softness of her shoulder, pinching, tight pain making her jerk which made it jutter and jam- her hiss turned into a snarl which startled Caitlyn, who yipped and fell backwards. Vi growled, rubbing her arm. "Shit. Sorry, Cupcake. You ok?" "I'm sorry." Caitlyn replied, sheepishly, picking herself up off her butt where she'd landed on the floor; she dusted herself off, straightened her clothes, and offered Vi a small, crooked smile. "I suppose I just- there's a lot." Her smile faltered, a little. "It's...a lot." "I know." Vi sat up, leaning back on her hands, shoulder twinging resentfully. "But you gotta rest, Cait. You're not any good to anyone so tired your eyes cross." Playfully, she did just that, making a silly face at Caitlyn the way she might one of her guys, so long ago. Just like they would, she laughed, rolling her own eyes. "I'm perfectly fine. And I don't appreciate you deciding my sleep schedule." She bit back on the irritation, tried to keep her voice steady and level. "I'm not deciding- I just worry-" "I don't need you to worry about me." Well that stung. She sighed, letting herself flop back down as Caitlyn pulled on her shoes. "Look." She told the ceiling, because looking at Cait without shaking her like a chew toy was hard right now, "I've heard some whispers around about that case you're looking into. Unless you need me-" "Do what you need to." The young Sheriff told her, and that's exactly who she was looking at now- not Cait anymore, exhausted and loving and concerned, but the Sheriff of Piltover, cold and distant, and she hated when this switch happened. Like this, Cait always looked at her like she was never quite enough; looking through her.

Seeing...straight through to the core and finding it wanting.

Don't be stupid. It's still Cait. Yeah? And you're still Undercity trash. You're just a pig in a dress now. It sounded like Jinx. It sounded like Milo. She squeezed her eyes closed and chased it away with fangs bared. "-eep me posted." Cait was saying, and she tuned back in to the reality of the words, the solidness of the room around her and the bed under her. "And don't forget your radio this time-" "I don't forget my radio." She told the ceiling, throwing her arm over her eyes. "I don't want my radio." "And then you get in trouble and you're alone or hurt or worse." The Sheriff told her, eyebrows arching. Then- "I worry about you." Caitlyn added, far more softly. The voice in the back of her head faded into static, then silence, under the warmth of the smile Caitlyn sent her way. "Ah, Cupcake, I can take care of myself." She sat back up, throwing her a cocky smirk. "Done fine this far." "In the time I've known you," Caitlyn replied, "you've been in multiple savage fist fights-" "I get bored-" "Been kidnapped-" "Don't bring that up-" "Been shot, been stabbed-three times-" "At least two of those were stopping someone else-" "Thrown in jail, nearly drowned, majorly concussed-" "Alright, alright, I get it, I'll take the damn radio!" She laughed despite herself, despite her irritation and the lingering sick feeling that Caitlyn was just- humoring her, just tolerating her- Just using you. You're new and dangerous and exciting- Stop it. She cares about you. You care about her. Hah, yeah. And look at what happens to people you care about. Poor stupid bitch. "-i? Vi!" "What- uh- sorry, Cupcake. I zoned out." She offered a grin, trying to make it show in her eyes, tucked her shaking hands under her own armpits. "Say again?" "I asked if you were okay." Caitlyn- Caitlyn, not the Sherriff- leaned in, brow furrowed with worry, pressed a hand to Vi's cheek and then forehead. "You've got this- foggy look." "I'm fine." She batted the hand away lightly, gently, then cupped it in her own. "I just- had some weird dreams last night, didn't sleep that great."

It wasn't a lie. She'd had twisted, confused dreams of fire and crying, dreams where everything that happened was a dream itself, where she woke up and was fifteen again, Powder shaking her awake with concern before she became a huge, horned monster that ate Vi whole.

Dreams where hands dragged her down to hell with them, where she had never left Stillwater- one particularly vicious one where the familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of the Warden's cane had echoed through her head and cell and soul until she'd looked up and it had been Vander standing there, grinning at her like a shark as the door opened and the cane lifted.

She had snapped upright at five in the morning, sweating and shaking, stomach tied in knots and chest too tight to breathe. A few grounding exercises, one trip to empty her stomach in the toilet, and a few minutes of clinging to Caitlin and listening, desperately, to her breathing later, and she'd been better, but going back to sleep was out of the question. "Be careful today, then, ok?" Caitlyn kissed Vi's palm lightly, pulling both their intertwined hands to herself, giving her a light little smile. "I want you back here in one piece for dinner tonight." "Dinner sounds- great." Her smile turned more honest, the familiar little flutter in her chest sparking to life at the thought. Darkness beat back, unable to stand in the face of that...tiny little light, warming her from the inside out. The doubt, the fear, the nightmares...they struggled and failed to hold onto her. She felt her mind calming. "Good." Caitlyn leaned in, paused, and then closed the gap for a soft, shy kiss. She pulled back blushed, and Vi chuckled softly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll see you in a bit then, shall I?" "Yeah. Later, Cupcake." She pushed to her feet, and then, on a whim, with a grin, she reached out to nab one slender wrist and tug. Cait gasped, fell against her chest, and stared up at her with huge, blue eyes, lips parted softly, hair falling over her face. Powder Caitlyn grinned, slightly breathless, and Vi brought their faces together for a real kiss, a proper kiss, one deep and hungry and a little desperate. Show me you're real. Show me I'm here. Show me you care about me, make me forget- The kiss broke, both panting, both flushed. Vi laughed at the dazed, moon-eyed look on her partner's face. "Give you a reason to get done with that paperwork." Vi quipped, tossing her a wink, and then laughed again when she let go and Caitlyn's legs were wobbly for a minute. Cait swatted her arm lightly, rolling her eyes. "Oh stop being full of yourself." She scolded, grabbing her coat and tugging it on, neat and straight as ever. "If anyone kissed me like that I'd be the same way." "Other people going around kissing you, Cupcake?" "Well- no." Caitlyn blushed again. "But it's the principle. You aren't special, missy." "Hurtful." She clapped a hand over her heart dramatically, staggering as if she'd been shot. Caitlyn rolled her eyes and shoved her, chuckling her way out the front door. The light from her stayed in the room, though, stayed in Vi's head, and she hummed to herself absently as she got dressed and yes, grabbed the damn radio. The nightmares had left her head foggy and painful, left a sickness in her chest and stomach- but Caitlyn gave her a reason to fight it off. To shake it off. And that's what she did, slipping out and moving with quick, confident steps towards the city she had called home for so long.

And she ditched the stupid damn radio half way.

#wip #arcane #vi #caitlyn #violyn #multichapter fic

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lord-jen-grey · 3 years ago

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For the writing ask — 17, 29, 72! ☺️

The questions are: Do you have a writing routine? What is something about your writing that you're proud of? What is your favorite writing compliment you've gotten?

Of course, I couldn't keep it short like the questions probably intended.

It felt kinda obnoxious to write some of these, but I wanted to be honest and own my wee space. Enjoy.

17. Do you have a writing routine?

I suppose I have a few routines. Routines for story creation, chapter development, and writing process.

Routine for story creation:

I usually start with the end of the story first. The purpose of it. I try to ask myself what I generally want my readers to be left with when they finish that last chapter.

I make notes on transformations I want characters to undergo and ideas of how I can imagine them getting there. Is there a personal struggle they need to overcome? (Like P.I. Jamie and his self-destructive guilt.)

I take images or scenes that spring up in my mind and jot down notes on those emotional moments and how I would like to see them play out.

I outline the most major events, and each one of those events is a chapter. I truly like each chapter of my fics to be their own story within a story.

I then take those events and develop a working outline. A map. At least 1 whole page per chapter. I plug all the pieces together on that outline, laying the foundation for the purpose, character transformations, and emotional moments FROM THE BEGINNING. This part feels very much like a puzzle that I'm breaking apart and putting back together. It's very satisfying when the pieces all fit.

The reason I leave extra space on each chapter page in my notes is that I add details as the story progresses. Ideas spring up all the time, and I leave myself room to make the story more interesting and robust as I go. I jot down poems, jokes, small events, phrases, tropes, I want to play with as I go. So, while I have a structure to the story, I allow for significant flexibility within that structure. Sometimes, it takes a lot of problem-solving to make sure it all comes together.

My routine for each chapter:

I review the outline/map, then sit for a few minutes (or hours or days or weeks or months) and decide exactly what it's going to look like.

Then I plow through, forcing myself to write. To just put words on paper. My first draft is usually a mess.

My second draft cleans things up and makes them pretty.

Depending on the length of the thing, sometimes I'll leave it for the next day before I post it or submit to a beta.

I rarely use a beta because A) despite what one might think by my meticulous planning, I'm not a perfectionist and can shrug off mistakes B) I hate pressuring or inconveniencing anyone to read over my work in a specific time frame & C) I get too excited to post to hold out for someone else to read it.

After the relief of posting a chapter, I usually crash for a few hours/days/weeks (depending on how draining it was).

Then I start all over again.

My routine for sitting down to write:

Procrastinate with snacks, WhatsApp, and Twitter.

Research rabbit holes.

Get stuck on ONE SENTENCE for far too long.

Power through and write a TON of words in a few hours (usually super late at night when my kids are asleep).

Read over my work out loud and with bad accents.

Put on AO3 as a draft.

Read it over once more.

Then do it all over again until the fic is done.

29. What is something about your writing that you're proud of?

How about a few things?

I take an awful lot of pride in the variety of stories I write, different genres, different themes, different techniques.

I take pride in my humor and filthy puns. My Jamie Sperms story makes my soul happy in a way you may never understand.

I like the way I characterize Jamie, Claire, and John.

I feel like I am pretty decent at creating complex stories and (hopefully) sweeping the reader away into a little universe I've created (with canon's assistance). I actually feel like this might just be my greatest strength.

I think I write pretty freakin good sex. Realistic sex.

I take pride in my productivity and completing stories, even if it takes me a year or more. I've posted 1.5 million words on AO3, and I think that's pretty awesome.

I think I'm pretty decent at making things sound pretty when I want to.

I think my stories balance angst, humor, fluff, and smut fairly well.

A b*tch is humble too lolololol

72. What is your favorite writing compliment you've gotten?

There have been a few.

I really like the ones that start with "Your mind..." I spend so much time in my mind, it's really fun to let people in and see the sights.

I love the comments about how my story has changed a person's life. I've had a few people tell me my story helped them embrace their sexuality and made it a safe place to come out to family or friends.

I love when people tell me they use specific chapters of specific fics to go back and self-pleasure (en-freaking-joy, my friends).

My dear friend (before we were friends) left me a bullet pointed comment once that was a joy to read through.

I love when people make jokes in my comments. I try hard to share a few laughs, and when people do the same for me, I truly enjoy it. Give me all the puns pls.

I love when people get the overall picture and complexity of what I'm attempting to do and tell me they appreciate it.

I think the best compliment I've ever received that that I opened a person's mind up to enjoying something they didn't think they'd like before. I love it SOOO much.

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shatterthefragments · 3 years ago

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I posted 1,516 times in 2021

360 posts created (24%)

1156 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 1,225 tags in 2021

#i shatter queue - 713 posts

#art - 77 posts

#vent - 66 posts

#saved - 64 posts

#video - 57 posts

#quizzes - 56 posts

#uquiz - 55 posts

#yes - 48 posts

#and bc i love your tags: - 46 posts

#things that make me happy - 43 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#on a more serious note i still don’t really think anybody would ever want to date me and that’s probably a sign i’m not ready but alsolonely

My Top Posts in 2021

The Joy In Our Embrace

For @unaestheticbiostudent - Happy new year! Hope you like the art and drabble! :D

Created for @bentomodachi‘s New Year Gift Exchange

Kouhei and Taichi walked to the park, and were the only ones there, despite it being a lovely day. There was a bench over by some trees, and they sat down side by side, curling into each other.

It wasn't long before they were fully snuggled up together. Taichi brought his legs up and draped them over one of Kouhei's. They leaned in to each other. Kouhei's hands rested on top of Taichi's knee as Taichi hugged him from the side. Their heads leaned in towards each other and touched in a lovely head bonk of love. It was perfect.

Find The Joy In Our Embrace on AO3 here!

progress pics under the cut!

Progress pics!

Thank you to Senshistock on deviantart who had the pose reference that I based this off of!

There was an inked photo, but I didn’t like it, so I didn’t put it here. Pencil -> ink -> watercolour pencil crayons -> water -> watercolour paints for the background

Painting is hard, but I am still having so much fun with it, so I hope you like the end result too!

6 notes • Posted 2021-01-06 01:39:06 GMT

tag people you want to get to know better/catch up with!

tagged by @rhubarbdreams and @boutiquetraveltravelboutique

Thank you both! For the doubled questions - doubled answers muahahaha

I got a bit wordy so under the cut it shall go!

Favourite colour: blue? Currently reading: ...like physically or digitally? Physically: Romeo and/or Juliet, but slowly. Digitally: trying to catch up on All The Things (like. I have. Over 600 email subscriptions to TOG alone...)

Last song: Holy by King Princess (as that was my sleep song last night) and before that it's hard to tell because I was queueing to see what I felt like sleeping to that night (I just repeat the song for an hour on the sleep timer) so probably either The Worst [Polyphia] or Soda [Nothing But Thieves] or Sleeping In Waking [Rina Sawayama]

Last Movie/Film: ok ok so. I thought it was Waves. But it might have actually been Wolf. Time is hard. Both of these were Quite Some Time ago now.... but since this is a doubled question: Waves and Wolf! Last Series: Leverage! (I haven't seen Redemption yet though) Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: oooh all of them <3

Tea or coffee: Ahhhh both? I'm currently not having coffee, nor do I go out of my way to make my own tea right now (but I will grab a mug when dad makes it). But during the school semester I'll usually have coffee in the morning (and maybe in the afternoon too if I'm tired) and keep adding hot water to my travel tea mug throughout the day, too!

Currently Working On: cleaning my desk so I can maybe start the art/pictures for the bottom Joe week belated thing haha oops... but who knows maybe I'll be in too much pain idk. Moving upper arm is not fun rn. But also sort of started the writing part of it~ Might make it sexy despite originally wanting to do it non-explicit! (I'm not sure if I'm good per se, but I'm less hung up over doing more explicit stuff after doing the top Joe pornathon) Then once I finish that I'm hoping to seriously rework my Etsy Chronicles (working title) and for that one maybe I'll even try to find a beta? idk. I am so excited for it though!!!!

Currently watching: ummmm nothing? Sometimes maybe youtube a bit? I'll loop a video of music (rn usually Ichika Nito or Tim Henson) for the background... intending to watch Hartenstraat <3

Craving: food: maybe chocolate mousse because I said I would make it as long as mum helped (limited use of the arm I got jabbed in rn wo pain so I just avoid moving it in ways it'll hurt). drink: we were going to get bubble tea after our second dose appts, but bc of the timing, they were closed. So maybe one of the fruity bubble teas!

I forgot to tag initially, but if you have time and want to!:

@alkaysani @caffeinatedbraincell @kiaya @nickydestati @posingasme @randofando-spoonie <3

6 notes • Posted 2021-07-28 06:57:10 GMT

*screams “FUCK” like Roy but like. My voice isn’t anywhere near as fuzzygravelly as his*

Ted Lasso y’all are just fucking me UP I love it and I’m here for it but also it would be nicer if I had access to a counsellor or something right now bc FEELINGS.

8 notes • Posted 2021-11-27 07:00:20 GMT

snapshots // my beloved // my heart

Filled my bingo card (at the last moment of course) for @yusufalkaysanibingo !

A collection of many things - art, drabbles, little ficlets, a poem, and photographic collages! (Little teaser shown above!)

12 notes • Posted 2021-11-01 02:09:14 GMT

SAME IF I EVER WHEN I FIND SOMEONE

13 notes • Posted 2021-05-17 20:04:55 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Shatters’ fragments #long post

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mereth · 4 years ago

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Writing updates and musings.

I'm jittery and less than inspired to write so you get ramblings about writing and everything else while I'm at the metro. Jesus has this week been as long and as shitty for everyone as for me? The "bad" part is that, at an strictly personal level, it isn't going that bad, just you now *waves around* everything else. Sometimes you just want to move to a deserted island or to the moon. I also looked at the synopsis and what I got from Twitter after reading @werepartofthemasterplan post about Merlí and *rolls eyes* I think I want to watch the final scene, be pissed off and that's it. I'll check youtube later. My feelings about MSA are right now at that point when you break up with someone, you know it should be a clean break and process the good and the bad and be done, but you just can't help going back to what ifs and remembering grievances. And this isn't a good mindset to write specially when you are in the middle of a tricky chapter.

As I said I'm not inspired about Merlí and feeling down about *waves around* everything doesn't help either. I dealt with Wednesday and its suckiness at politics, channeling my frustration into fluffy fic and afterwards my inspiration died. You can read the fic here (in Spanish). I wrote it while commuting and trying to not miss my stop so there'll be mistakes. It feels it can be a bit longer so I'll probably end up continuing it and posting the finished version in AO3. I'll warn you if/when it happens.

About Maneras de Amar, I feel like I'm stuck in ch. 7 . To be honest it's more like I'm going to be stuck. I more or less know what I have to write, but I don't know how. Being jittery doesn't help with my focus (is it anxiety? is it my meds? I don't know but I hate not being able to focus). I probably just need to sit and spend time in front of my laptop until I focus and unstuck myself. Sadly I don't have a lot of free time right now and my weekend is going to be busy so I won't get it then either.

The brightest part of my week it's that it's coming to visit one of my 2 favourite Catalan people and (one in my 10 favourite people ever) so at least I'll disconnect. I'm usually the one who goes there (I don't know at what point you stop being a tourist and become a visitor, like a relative you see from time to time, but I reached it even before I lived at Barcelona) so this change of pace is something I look forward to.

Let's hope a weekend of friends and nerdiness non-Merlí related help me to get back into writing. Now I just have to survive work today 🤣😅

#fanfic #maneras de amar #merli sapere aude #ramblings #writing ramblings #real life rambles

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sambethe · 8 years ago

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Captain Book FF: When You Need Directions, I'll Be the Guide

A/N: For @lenfaz, who asked for a smutty re-work of Spinning Wheels and Feet That Run (but They Come Back Home). This fic is as much her baby as mine. The first scenes that were written were born out photo prompts she sent along with an outline of one of the scenes. I'm so glad it finally gets to see the light of day. Thanks go to @tnlph for the beta and reassurance that I’m not crazy for posting this.

Summary: Not all relationships are The One, which doesn't make them any less important. And, sometimes, that is exactly what's needed.

AKA, smutty Captain Book road trip adventures.

Words: 8200 | Rating: Ahoy there be smut | ao3

+++

“Is that the last of it?”

Killian nodded and flung the last of his bags in the trunk. “Appears so. Your satchel was by the front door, so I placed that in the front seat.” He turned to where Belle was leaning against the back door of the car, staring back up at their now emptied flat. “You ready?”

A slow smile spread across her lips, but she kept her eyes trained on the building. “I was about to ask you the same thing. You still sure about this? Boston’s not San Diego.”

He closed the trunk and settled next to her, slinging his arm across her shoulder. “That’s probably a question we should have asked last week when I sent everything off in that shipping container. Or maybe when I quit my job.”

She laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Very true.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked, rubbing his thumb at her shoulder.

“A little. Got my teaching assistant assignment today. Made it seem more real.”

“You’re going to be brilliant. The students will be lucky to have you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and reached into his pocket to fish out his car keys. “Want to drive?”

She reached out to grab at the keys he dangled in front of her, but he pulled them back at the last moment. “Killian,” she whined and he smirked at the small, impatient hop she gave. “No fair offering if you don’t mean it.”

Killian’s smirk morphed into a full grin, but he still tossed her the keys. “Be kind. I’ve only just had her tuned up.”

Their ride into Arizona and then onto New Mexico was mostly uneventful. They sang along to one of the playlists Belle constructed, and Killian regaled her with the highlights of the shouting match with Anna when he told he’d quit his job and planned to follow Belle out to Boston.

“It’s not as if we had the sort of relationship that leant itself to deep conversation.”

Belle snorted. “Are you implying she was only interested in your dick?”

“She wouldn’t be the first, as you very well know,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrow.

She punched his arm before turning her attention back to the road.

They stopped for lunch at a small roadside diner where Belle played him the message her ex, Robert, left a few days prior. He minced no words, stating outright she owed him her position in her grad program and would regret leaving him and the position he had extended at Berkeley.

“It’s not true,” he muttered, stabbing his fork at a fry on her plate. “You’ve earned every last accolade you received on your interview.”

She curled her hand around his on the fork and squeezed. “Thanks.”

Sunset arrived late and they stopped at a small motel across the border into Utah. He dropped her by the front door, leaving her to book a room while he parked the car and pulled out their bags. The room that greeted them was passably clean and contained two double beds. Belle immediately flopped down on the one closest to the door.

“You can take the first shower,” she said with a wave towards the far door.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in his sleep pants and toweling off his hair, he found Belle lounging in the bed she’d left open for him earlier. She had shoved down the comforter but was still on top of the sheets, her knees drawn up and her head flat on the mattress with a book open above her. She’d stripped down to her loose, white button up and underwear.

Killian leaned back against the doorway and ran his hand through his damp hair and watched as she turned a page. “I thought that was my bed?”

She grinned and dropped the book to the bed, rolling to her side to face him. His eye fell to where the swell of her breast peeked from beneath the open placket of her shirt.

“Thought you might not mind the company.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and tossed the damp towel through the open door to the bathroom floor. He made his way to the bed, sitting down next to her and reaching out to run his hand along her hip. He fingered along the lace at the waist of her underwear, giving a small smile at the fact she was wearing a pair she knew he was particularly fond of.

Belle reached out and looped a finger through the hair at his chest. “As I see it, we’re sort of on vacation.” That same finger traced up his chest and ran along his collarbone. “And it’s been a while since we have and I thought you might…”

Killian closed his eyes as she trailed off, his brain helpfully supplying the memory of the last time they were together, both of them drunk off tequila, huddled in a closet-sized bathroom at one of her friends’ parties. She had been on her knees before him, lips wrapped tightly around his cock. He reopened his eyes and nudged at her hip, encouraging her to lay back down on her back. “It’s not like either of us is seeing anyone, apparently,” he offered.

“Exactly,” she sighed as his hand moved across her belly, his fingers slipping open the bottom-most button of her shirt. He slid to lie next to her, his head at her stomach, and leaned to kiss along the skin he exposed as he opened two more buttons. He nosed along the rounded part of her stomach, pulling a breathy laugh from her as he did.

He pulled back and slipped his hand beneath her shirt. “Is there anything in particular you’d like?” He swept his fingers just below her breasts, his thumb circling the next button.

“You’re on the right track.”

Killian hummed and popped the last two buttons, pushing both sides of her shirt open to expose her to him. He traced between her breasts, brushing the backs of his knuckles along the top curves before moving to cup one. “Like this?” he teased, sweeping his thumb around her nipple to draw it tight.

She moaned and he skimmed across her nipple again, rolling and pulling it between his thumb and index finger, watching as her breath hitched. He leaned in, bringing his mouth to her other breast, and breathed out against her skin. “Or how about this?” He dragged his tongue up the side of her breast, circling her nipple before drawing it between his lips and sucking tight.

She gave a breathy cry and then said, “You could aim lower.” She gave a roll of her hips in emphasis and he smirked and kissed a trail the side of her ribs. When he reached the edge of her underwear, he nosed at the lace band. “Closer?” he asked, before biting at the soft skin above her hip.

Belle carded her fingers through his hair and tugged before pressing him towards the center of her thighs.

“Ohhh, is that where you want me?” he drawled, dragging a finger down her opposite side, trailing it over her underwear. He left a string of kisses below her belly, dragging his tongue as he did, not letting his finger dip too low as it drew nonsense loops over the lace.

“Killian,” she whined. He grinned and nipped at the skin just above her waistband.

He dipped his fingers beneath the fabric, inching them down to drag along her clit. “Don’t worry, love.” He curved his fingers, circling, before pulling back. “I think I know just what to do here.”

Belle huffed out a laugh that ended in a moan when he pressed back down, circling his finger at her clit before moving further to slide between her folds. “See?” he teased when he pulled back again, patting at her hip and curling his fingers around her waistband. He sat up and she lifted her hips, allowing him to draw them down her legs and toss them to the side. He ran his hands back up her legs, pausing at her knees and pressing on one to encourage her to open to him.

“That’s it.” He smiled, watching as she dropped that knee to the side. He left one hand on her still raised knee and moved to sit between her legs. He reached up when he was settled, tracing his fingers down her breastbone, to her belly, and down through her curls. He watched her chest hitch when he once again reached her clit, but he skimmed to the side and had to bite back a grin at her frustrated sigh.

He teased at the skin at the crease of her thigh, tracing down “You so fucking gorgeous like this.” He slid his hand from her knee down to her core, teasing open her folds. “Did that fool know how –”

“Doesn’t that mouth have something else it could be doing?”

Killian laughed and then bit at his lower lip and looked up at her as he gave a solemn nod. He bent his head to follow his hand, ghosting his lips down her thigh until he reached her mound. He moved to her center, wrapping his lips around her clit as he slid two fingers within her. The groan she gave as he curled his fingers, dragging them back out before pressing back in, had him drawing his tongue flat against her, wanting to pull another from her lips. He continued, licking and kissing, curling his tongue around her as his fingers dragged in a steady rhythm against her walls. When her thigh began to shake, he held tight to her hip with one hand while curving his fingers within her as he knew she liked. He was rewarded with a curse and a moan of his name. He smirked against her skin and then swirled his tongue around her clit again before pressing flat against it as she came. He continued to stroke his fingers, slowing in time with her breaths, until her thighs relaxed and her hand returned to his hair.

He placed a kiss to her thigh as he withdrew his hand. “Fuck,” he breathed, flopping down on the bed next to her.

“Yeah.” She reached over, her hand scratching at the hair around his belly button. “Not worn out already, are you?”

A slow smile spread over his face as he stretched his arms above his head, giving an encouraging roll of his hips as her hand wandered lower. “I was hoping that might just be the –”

“Stop talking, Jones.”

They should have gone to bed hours ago, but sex had turned into ordering pizza and a picnic in bed, which had turned into another round of sex, all of which finally led to them curled up watching old episodes of Law and Order. Belle’s love of the show would never not make him laugh. After spending days with her nose buried in thick tomes of French philosophy, or the latest Ian McEwan, or working through Effi Briest in German, he always knew he could find her at home, buried chin deep in blankets on the couch, the familiar musical notes clanging on the screen before her.

And he’d be happy to continue to indulge her with all the vapid crime procedurals if it kept that small, satisfied grin on her face. Besides, it left him free to explore the warm skin beneath his hand awhile longer. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he slid his hand along her stomach. She hummed and slowly shifted back against him.

“Oh, lass,” he whispered, “I think I’m going to need to sleep before we go another round.”

Belle laughed. “Don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. How late is it?”

“Late. We should have gone to bed hours ago if we wanted to get an early start.”

She hummed again and grabbed his hand, laying it on the mattress in front of her and running her fingertips over the back. “How is it that we are so good at this but so terrible at dating?”

Killian laughed and slipped his hand from her to drag his fingers at the base of her breastbone. “Who said I was terrible at dating?”

Belle snorted and turned to face him. He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Killian, honey, you are many things – and I don’t doubt that you are an incredibly charming date – but when’s the last time you saw anyone for more than two months at a time?”

He started to object, despite knowing she was right, but the withering stare she leveled at him kept him silent.

“Do not even try to offer up Anna as evidence.”

He ran the back of his fingers up the side of her rib cage and along the curve of her breast before snaking up and along her clavicle. “Eighteen months must count for something.”

“I’m not sure fucking between arguments for weeks at a time and then not speaking for months in between qualifies as dating.”

He grinned at her. “Fair point, but how is this different?” he asked, tracing along her neck.

“Don’t be thick,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “This –” She tapped the back of a finger against his chest. “This has never been even an attempt at dating and you know it. Plus, when’s the last time we’ve gone for more than a day without talking?”

He smiled and rubbed his nose along hers before pulling back and reaching for the comforter they’d shoved to the end of the bed. He pulled it over their shoulders and settled back beside her, his hand at her waist.

“Well, you, at least, must be halfway decent at it.”

She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that left Killian wishing he had a cure for it.

“I guess a few of them haven’t been all bad,” she said after a moment. “But I’d hardly call whatever it was my parents hoped for Gaston and I healthy and we’ll not even get into the mess that Robert was.”

Killian rubbed his thumb at her waist and leaned in to brush a brief kiss across her forehead. “It’s no matter, Belle. Boston’s a fresh start. For us both.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, settling her head at his chest and pressing her knee between his legs.

As he expected, they got a later start than planned but Killian could hardly complain when Belle emerged from the motel room dressed in cowboy boots and a loose, floral sundress. She had opened a button at the top of its low neckline and the hem rode dangerously close to her ass as she bent to toss her bag into the trunk.

“Trying to kill a man?” he asked against her ear as he crowded in behind her once she closed the trunk. He grasped at the hem of the dress and rucked it up while dragging his hand along her thigh.

“Trying not to die of heat exhaustion,” she teased, throwing her arm up and behind his head as she arched into him.

His free arm circled her waist, pulling her tight. “The car does have air conditioning.” He dropped a line of kisses to her neck. “Sure you won’t be cold?”

She laughed and tugged on a lock of his hair. “Quit your whining.”

He growled and nipped at her earlobe before letting her go. “Oh, love, I’m not complaining in the least.”

They had hit about hour two of their drive when Belle finally kicked off her boots and rustled through her bag, pulling out a slim, hard-bound book. Killian smiled, the light blue fabric of the cover giving it away as one from her Shakespeare set.

“Which one?” he asked, reaching down to lower the volume on the radio as she propped her bare feet on the dash. His eye caught on how, with her legs stretched before her, her dress pooled at the top of her thighs. He settled his hand just above her knee, rather than returning it to the steering wheel, as she flipped through a few pages.

“The Tempest.”

Killian hummed, turning his attention back to the empty road before them but letting his thumb sweep occasionally along the side of her knee. Silence stretched between them as Belle continued to read and his hand drifted up her thigh. He would pause every so often, curling his hand so his fingers could drag along the skin of her inner thigh before he returned his hand to her knee and began the whole progression again.

He grinned when on the fourth or fifth time, she gave a soft moan. It was a breathy little thing that could almost be mistaken for her humming at something of interest in her book if it weren’t for the way her knee bent, widening her legs a bit more. He curved his hand at the top of her thigh, the side of his pinky pressing at the cotton of her underwear while he extended his index finger to rub the back of it at the soft skin of her opposite thigh. Belle hummed again, shifting to encourage him to move but he left his hand where it was and tried to keep his attention forward despite the swell of his cock against his fly.

He started another sweep once he heard Belle turn another couple of pages, but when he reached her knee he didn’t pause this time. Instead he circled the tips of his fingers around her knee before drawing his hand back up her thigh and curling a couple fingers to slip beneath the fabric of her underwear. Killian heard Belle’s sharp exhale of breath and he pulled back, returning his hand to her knee.

“Read,” he said with a tip of his chin towards the book she held open against her other knee.

“I’m trying.”

He could see the slight pout of her lower lip from the corner of his eye and he had to bite back a laugh. He was about to repeat his instruction when he felt her shift forward, dropping her book to rest face down on her leg as she lifted her hips and peeled off her underwear. And then it was his turn to moan when she tossed them onto the dashboard in front of him and settled back down with her book.

“Really?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow but keeping his eyes on the road.

Belle laughed and turned back to her book, turning the page with a pointed rustle.

Killian returned to the slow drag of his fingers up her thigh, each sweep a little further towards her core, his fingers eventually stretching to ghost at the crease of her thigh and then the skin just to the side of her folds. He could hear her sigh and moan each time he neared, and when he finally slid one finger through her folds he found her warm and wet to his touch. He struggled not to pull over and drag her across the console to his lap. Instead he breathed deep and returned his hand to her knee.

The road continued to roll past, the reds and browns of the desert landscape blurring together, and his hand continued to drift. He dragged the back of his knuckles along the top of her thigh, pressed his fingers into the curve of her inner thigh, and again slipped them between her folds, only to pull back each time she arched into his touch. He’d begin the wandering circuit again, listening to her stuttered breaths and itching to press his palm into his erection, if only to relieve the built-up tension for a moment.

When he finally paused, his fingers resting at her entrance, he felt her clit pulse against the heel of his palm. He had to bite down on his lower lip to keep his focus. When he steadied himself, almost sure he wouldn’t come in his pants while driving down a two-lane road in New Mexico, he stole a glance at Belle only to find her with her head tipped back against the headrest, her right hand gripped around the book that laid forgotten at her side, while her left hand was slipping open the remaining buttons at the top of her dress. Grateful for the lack of any accompanying traffic, Killian closed his eyes a moment, breathing out through his nose before blinking and attempting to focus on the road once again.

But in his periphery, he could see her tracing her hand between her breasts, could hear her breath quicken, could tell the moment she must have drawn her own nipple between her fingers and pinched by the choked cry she gave. Killian pushed his shoulders back into his own seat, his left hand gripping the steering wheel tighter before he dipped his fingers within her. He held there a moment, enjoying how her thighs tensed, and then pulled back and up to her clit, drawing it between his fingers as best he could given the angle. He drew his fingers along the swollen skin and had to pull to the side of the road when she cried out, her thighs drawing tight against his hand.

She recovered quickly, bending down to rout around in her bag again, and he barely had time to shift the car into park before she was climbing over the console and straddling his lap.

She tugged at his belt, slipping the end through the buckle and making quick work of his zipper. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said against the swell of her breast. “You enjoyed every part of that. You wouldn’t have allowed me between your thighs for that long if you hadn’t.” He lifted his hips and helped her shove his jeans out of the way.

She gripped him and tore at the condom wrapper with her teeth. “Fuck, Belle,” he whimpered as she drew the condom down his length. She leaned forward, resting a forearm on the seat behind him and guiding him to her. He thrust up and groaned as she rolled her hips with him, sliding down and seating him fully within her. She clenched around him and he slipped his arms underneath hers, bringing his hands up and around to clamp down on her shoulders, using the leverage to hold her to him as he thrust again.

Her walls clenched again and he groaned. “Exactly like that,” he said thrusting again, pushing as deep as he could given the confines of their position. When she contracted around him again, pulling him deeper, he gripped her harder and rolled his hips, coming with a hoarse shout.

After a few moments, Belle shifted. “Killian?”

He hummed, nuzzling his nose into her neck, but taking the hint he moved his hand to hold the base of the condom as she slipped off of him and back to her seat.

“Just where are we?” she asked between panting breaths.

Killian turned to see her peering forward to look out the front windshield. He laughed as she shimmied and straightened her dress. He then took a deep breath and slipped off the condom, tucking himself back into his jeans before looking for an empty coffee cup to dispose it in.

“Last sign I remember seeing was for Moriarty, so we’re somewhere east of there. I hope.”

She snorted.

“I’m not the one who threw my underwear on the dashboard, love.” He leaned forward and picked up said lingerie, depositing them into her lap. “Can’t blame a man for being a little distracted.”

Belle arched an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from the man who started this whole thing.” She waved her hand between them. “I was just reading my book.”

Killian grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling it to his mouth and placing a kiss to the back of it. “Your legs are quite fetching.”

She let go of his hand and smacked at his shoulder before leaning forward to pull her phone from one of the cup holders. “Why don’t you just drive, Casanova? I’ll see if I can get this map to tell us anything.”

It was late by the time they reached the border of Oklahoma and later still when they finally stopped outside of Oklahoma City. Belle didn’t bother with the pretense of a second bed when booking the room for the night, a fact that would have made Killian smirk if he weren’t already so exhausted.

He stripped off his clothes and fell into bed as she made for the shower. He could hear the faint ring of a phone over the sound of the shower as he drifted off, but didn’t think much of it until after Belle crawled into bed. She curled into him, her back to his chest, and drew his arm over her waist. He hummed and slipped his hand beneath her camisole, rubbing at the soft skin of her belly as he faded back to sleep. It was only when he heard her sniffle that he realized something was wrong.

Killian tried to shift, to bring her around to face him, but she shook her head and pulled the blanket over both of them.

“You up for driving straight through to Nashville tomorrow and spending an extra night there?” she asked, her voice thick.

He clenched his hand for a moment and then breathed out and laid his hand back flat against her stomach. It took him another moment to pick back up his rhythm of slow, steady caresses.

“Whatever you need, love. I’ve got no timetable.”

“I could use a day off driving. And maybe a drink.”

He nosed the end of her ponytail out of the way and placed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I’ll buy,” he whispered. “As many as you like.”

Belle was still quiet come morning and Killian passed her the keys to the car as they finished their breakfast.

“You drive,” he said, enjoying the smile that quirked at the corner of her mouth.

She twirled as they walked through the parking lot and he grinned while watching her hair and her dress swing around her as she did. He played DJ for her through the first leg of the drive, following whatever whim she requested as they made their way to the Arkansas border. Killian knew it wasn’t a fix to her underlying problem, but still relished in her carefree manner as she sang along to the radio.

They stopped for lunch and he didn’t want to interrupt the smile Belle had on her face since the he gave her the car keys, so he asked after her new roommate. He tried to ignore the twinge in his own gut at the idea that they wouldn’t be living together for the first time in four years.

“I don’t know much. She’s a friend of someone I knew in high school. Supposedly keeps odd hours because of work, but is pretty quiet.” She looked up from her plate and smiled at him as she stole a fry from his plate. “She won’t be Killian Jones, but I have a good feeling about her.”

He grinned back. “Got a picture?”

Belle furrowed her brow and pointed the end of her pilfered fry at him. “No.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and cocked his head.

“Even if I did, Jones. The roommate’s off limits.”

“Oi!” he protested after he swallowed. “Simple, idle curiosity here. I know when to keep it in my pants.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a hard look.

“All right, usually. Usually I know when to keep it in my pants.”

Downtown Nashville appeared bright and still full of people, despite the late hour they arrived. Killian was sorely tempted to take Belle out for that drink immediately, but one look at how her feet dragged as they dropped their bags on the hotel floor had him instead prodding her into bed. She pouted but he handed her the tv remote and she landed on yet another Law & Order episode while he pulled off his t-shirt and unbuttoned his jeans before he fell in beside her.

He could feel himself nodding off when Belle shifted to rest her head on his chest, her fingers scratching at the hair below his navel. He hummed and opened an eye, glancing down to find her still focused on the television. He smiled and placed a kiss to her head, and let himself drift back to the edge of sleep as she continued to run her hand along his belly.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep half-dressed, but when he woke next sunlight was pouring from the edges of the curtains and he could hear Belle singing quietly to herself in the bathroom. When she re-entered the room and found him awake, she smiled. He smiled back as he watched her drop the towel she was wearing and cross to where her suitcase laid open on the floor.

Killian ran his hand down his chest, shoving aside the sheet still covering him and pushing his hand into his open jeans. He started to palm himself as Belle tossed some clothes to the end of the bed. He watched her crouch down, biting his lip to stop the groan that came at the sight of her ass as she stood again.

“Come here,” he asked as he pressed further into his hardening erection.

“Something you need?” she asked as she kneeled on the edge of the bed. She shimmied forward and sat back on her heels as he began to rub his thumb at where the head of his cock pushed against the waist of his boxer briefs.

He lifted his hips and she took the hint, pulling his jeans down his legs and to the floor. He pushed the briefs down and she stripped those off as well. He settled back down on the bed, pulling another pillow behind his head as he wrapped his hand around himself. He watched her watch him as he began a slow slide along his length.

She moved to sit between his legs. “Did you want help?” she asked as she dropped her hands to his knees, leaning in as she drew her hands upwards, stopping when her thumbs reached the skin at the base of his cock.

He shook his head and continued with a languid twist of his wrist before stroking back up to his head. “Touch yourself.”

Belle bit her lip and nodded, moving to straddle his legs just below where his hand worked. She spread her legs open, her knees resting at the side of his legs as she sat back on her heels, her hand sliding through her curls. He groaned and tightened his grip on himself as her fingers worked between her folds and she gave a breathy sigh. He struggled to keep his movements slow and controlled as she used one hand to open herself to his view and the other circled at the hood of her clit.

She began to rock, her eyes falling closed as her hand slipped lower, her fingers sliding to her entrance and pushing inside. He listened to how her breaths shallowed as she drew her hand back, rolling her clit between her fingers. He became mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts, and struggled to control his own breathing when her movements quickened and she began to chant his name. He had to pinch at the base of his cock to keep from coming when she cried out, her one hand stilling as the other reached back and gripped his knee.

Killian started to drag his hand back along his cock when her hand nudged at his, her fingers wrapping around him and gently pushing his out of the way. Her thumb slid along his head, and his attention caught on the sight of himself pressing between her tight fist. He only slowed the rolling of his hips when she loosened her hold and he heard the rip of a condom wrapper being opened. He looked up as she tossed the wrapper aside and dropped the condom to his stomach, letting go of him in order pick it up and roll it down his length.

He groaned as she gripped the base of his cock and shifted forward, sliding one hand to his shoulder as she slowly sank herself on him. He settled one hand at the top of her thigh, his other reaching up to knead her breast as she sought out a rhythm. He cupped the soft skin, enjoying the way the weight of it moved beneath his palm, the feel of her nipple hardening against the sweep of his thumb.

Belle arched forward with a moan, and he brought his other hand up, tracing the undersides of both of her breasts before pulling her nipples between his fingers and pinching down. He smirked as her movements faltered and she tipped her head back and cried out.

“That’s it,” he teased, giving a thrust of his hips, pushing himself further into her as he pinched harder, drawing out yet another cry. He let go, taking a moment to admire the deep red rue the tips of her breasts had taken on, before he dropped his hands to her hips, using the leverage to deepen his thrusts. Belle leaned lean back as she rolled her hips in return.

She bent further, squeezing around him as she did, muttering nonsense about how good he felt like this, how deep she wanted him. He cursed out his agreement as she moved her hands behind herself and rested them on his knees, using the shift in angles to circle her hips and deepen her thrusts. He tightened the grip of one of his hands, picking up his pace as he pressed the thumb of his other towards where they were joined. He circled her clit, hoping to bring her with him as he felt his own orgasm build in the base of his spine. Belle cried out as he brushed at the swollen skin and he could feel her walls ripple around him when he increased the pressure of his touch. When her fingers joined his thumb, he smiled and turned his focus to deepening his strokes, pressing in as deep as he could, chasing the pleasure pooling low in his belly.

The groan he gave when he finally came was broken and stuttered, matching the pounding pulse of his orgasm as it rippled through his body. Killian closed his eyes as it began to fade, allowing the tingling along his spine to continue as he listened to Belle’s own cries as she joined him. He held tight to her hips as she shuddered and then fell forward, dropping her head to his chest.

He hummed and nosed at her tangled and still damp hair. “Can we stay here for the rest of the day?” he asked into the top of her head.

She laughed before rising off him and rolling to his side. Once she landed, she dropped her head against his shoulder and slung her arm across his stomach. “But there are Bloody Marys outside.”

He grinned and kissed her temple. “True.”

“Go shower.” She nudged his shoulder.

“In a minute,” he mumbled, drawing the blanket up, wanting to enjoy the fading waves of his orgasm a few more moments.

It took some more prodding, but Belle eventually managed to get him up and into the shower. He tried to tempt her into joining him, but she shot him a warning glare before she slipped back out into the room.

She delivered on the promised Bloody Mary at their first stop, and they spent the rest of their morning and afternoon wandering town, window shopping and making the occasional stop for another drink. They were tipsy by mid-day and Killian laughed when she pressed him into a doorway and wrapped herself around him.

“Feeling better?” he asked when they came up for air. She hummed and he brushed his lips at the side of her mouth before sliding back over hers again.

They split off at one point, Killian wanting to spend more time flipping through stacks of vinyl at a record shop. Belle laughed and squeezed his arm as she slipped past him in the narrow aisle.

“Meet you in an hour at the bar on the corner?”

He nodded and waved absently as he pulled a record from the bin, his eyes scanning over the back cover. He didn’t have to turn to her to know she was rolling her eyes as she pushed open the door of the shop.

When he found her at the bar, Belle had a mostly empty glass in front of her and a frown on her face as she poked at her phone. The bartender was sliding her another glass as Killian sat on the stool next to her and raised an eyebrow at him in question.

“Bourbon, neat,” he answered and turned to Belle. “All right there, love?”

“Another voicemail from Robert,” she replied with a sigh and picked up the nearly empty glass, finishing off its contents. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if he continues once we’re settled in Boston.”

“Blocking his number would be a start,” he muttered, nodding to the bartender as she dropped off his order.

She shook her head. “You’re right. I don’t know why I haven’t.”

“You could give it to me and I’ll do it.” He held his hand out and watched her hesitate before shaking her head again.

“Not just yet. I don’t think he’d seriously do anything to wreck my career, but at least I might have an early warning if he does plan to do something.”

“I still think you should have told –”

She waved him off and picked up her glass, nodding for him to do the same. “I don’t want to argue about it. It’s done. He’ll move on. Let’s toast.”

Killian picked up his glass. “Aye. Here’s to two thousand miles down and another 1000 to go. And to all that might await there.”

“For all that awaits,” she echoed.

Belle seemed determined to ignore everything as she ordered another round, and Killian was just as determined to aide her in the endeavor. By the time they returned to the hotel that night, they were barely managing to hold one another upright and steady, and both collapsed into their bed fully clothed.

“One of us should grab some water,” he muttered, winding his arm around her and pulling her close.

“Uh huh,” she replied, but neither made to move.

Killian woke before she did come morning with both a dry mouth and a splitting headache. He slipped from the bed to pull the curtains shut and go out in search of coffee and ibuprofen.

Belle was still sleeping when he returned. He dropped her coffee cup on the table beside her and tucked in the blankets around her before stripping out of yesterday’s clothes and making his way shower. The steady, hot stream of water was welcome against the tight ache in his neck and shoulders. He groaned as he stood beneath it, willing his muscles to relax and unknot from both the drinking and the hours on the road.

When he finally left the bathroom, Belle was still in bed but she was watching from beneath one barely cracked eyelid.

“How are you feeling?”

She groaned and shifted to her back, running her head across her forehead.

“There’s coffee.” He tipped his chin to the bedside table and watched a smile quirk at the corner of her mouth.

By the time he was dressed, Belle had sat up and was cradling the paper cup between her hands, her nose hovering over the steam rising from it. Killian sat down next to her, offering some ibuprofen, which she took and swallowed before returning her attention to the cup between her hands.

“Can we get pancakes?” she asked after a few minutes, half her coffee drained and her eyes seeming brighter.

“Anything you like, love.”

She smiled and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Give me twenty minutes to get dressed? Then we can pack and hit the road?”

Belle was quiet through breakfast and most of the morning drive. Killian let her focus on maintaining the morning’s playlist and left her to her thoughts as his own drifted to the house and the brother that awaited him in Boston.

He hadn’t been back since he left to finish out university in San Diego. It wasn’t something he had intended, but Liam had let him get away with it, using excuses of weather and the want of seeing the Pacific as a means of indulging Killian in his avoidance of returning home. And Killian loved him for it, even if he knew they both allowed it to go on too long, that he had delayed returning and facing everything he’d lost.

A fresh start was what he promised Belle the first night of their trip, and he meant it, even if it was a homecoming of sorts for him.

“What do you think you are looking for?”

They were sitting in a diner in Virginia, Killian lost in thought with his sandwich while Belle poked at her food.

Killian glanced up to find her focused intently on him, her eyes scanning his face as he tried to determine where her question was coming from. “Pardon?”

Belle shrugged and looked back at her salad. “From your next relationship? What do you think you want?”

He shifted in his seat. “Who says I want one?”

She frowned at him and the wrinkle of her brow had him regretting blowing off her question.

“Honestly?” he asked and she nodded. “Where’s this coming from?”

She shrugged again and he hated how small she looked as she made the gesture. “Even after everything that happened with Robert, I’m trying to imagine life and grad school without him. And I can’t. He’s been so much a part of who I thought I was these last few years that I don’t even know how to imagine a relationship that doesn’t look like the one we had. And I know that’s fucked up.”

“Belle,” he whispered and reached across the table to wrap his hand around hers.

She shook her head and continued, “I know what you lost when you lost Milah was completely different. I’m not trying to compare, but I’m hoping if you can tell me what it is you can see when think about it. That maybe it will help me see what I am looking for.”

Killian sighed and took a bite of his sandwich, using the time to gather his thoughts and keep his own voice from breaking when he finally spoke.

“Whoever she is, she’s going to have this spark, that much I know.” Killian could feel a wistful smile creep at the edge of his mouth despite himself. Belle shifted the hand of hers he held, threading their fingers together and squeezing to encourage him to continue. “She’s going to be the type of woman who takes no shit, especially mine, but at the same time will also get it.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and gave him a smile. “That’s a tall order.”

“Indeed. But in return she’s going to be a host of contradictions, and I’m going to love her for it as much as I’ll be frustrated by it.”

“You know,” Belle teased, “most people would just tell me something simple – the color of her eyes, her sweet disposition. Leave it to you to give me the complicated.”

Killian laughed. “When have you ever known me to be simple?”

They stopped for the night somewhere after crossing the border into Maryland, finding a small chain motel to throw their things in for the night before setting out to once again feed themselves pizza and plan out the route for their final leg into Boston.

As they came up on the city limits the next evening, Belle pulled her phone from one of her bags, glancing at the clock before opening up the map to get the route to her apartment.

“What time is Liam expecting you?”

Killian shook his head as he pulled off the highway. “He’s not. He’s out on a charter to North Carolina. Not due back until next week.”

She hummed but turned her attention to the view out the passenger side window. “The shipping container is not due until tomorrow. Think he’d mind if I crashed with you tonight, seeing as I’m still lacking a bed?”

He reached out and squeezed her thigh. “You know he wouldn’t. He likes you better than me anyway. The spare room is yours, always. You know we’d have been glad to have you move in.”

He could see her smile in the window’s reflection. “I know.” She fell quiet and Killian let her. They’d discussed this all before. He knew her reasons for wanting to strike out on her own, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss having his friend just down the hall.

As they neared her new apartment, Belle rattled off the last of the directions. The twisted, narrow streets and roundabouts brought back memories and he felt a sudden pang for San Diego’s wide roads and brightly colored houses.

“It’s that one,” she said, pointing out a two-story, brick building as they finally made the last turn. Both floors had a porch than ran the length of the front, the upper one lit with a few strands of dim, flickering lights in the fading light of dusk. “Emma said to park in the driveway.”

“Emma?”

“The roommate.”

“Ahh, so the mystery lass has a name.” He grinned as he threw the car in park and unlocked the doors.

Belle stuck out her tongue and grabbed her bag. “Just because I didn’t give you her Instagram profile…” He laughed and she nodded towards the trunk. “Will you get the bags? I’ll go see if I can get my keys.”

Killian fished Belle’s bags out of the mess that had become of the trunk in the last week. Shouldering the largest, he waited, leaning against the hood of the car for her to return. When she flew out the side door of the building, waving at him to go up but chattering away on her phone, he smiled. He had no idea who she could be talking to, but he was happy to see her laughing and giddy, especially after her sullenness since they left Nashville.

He poked his way into the door and started up the stairwell, only to be brought up short by a woman leaning against the rail of the first landing. She was dressed in a fraying pair of capri length sweats and a loose t-shirt, the decal ironed to the front long since faded and peeling. Her blond hair was piled in messy bun on top of her head and thick, black-rimmed glasses perched at the end of her nose as she stared at her phone. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, or off the couch from an hours long television binge-watch, and she was stunning. He was going to curse whatever god was needed if she was Belle’s roommate.

He tried to take a step forward, to push himself to move, but misjudged the height of the step and stubbed his toe on the lip of the stair. He caught himself before he fell or dropped any of Belle’s things, but not without a large grunt on his part.

The woman looked up and took a step back as he righted himself and tried to take the next few steps without mishap.

“Hey?” she offered as he stepped onto the landing with her. “Can I help you?”

He shook his head. “Just helping my friend with her things.”

“Ah, you must be Killian.”

He would have smiled at the fact that she already knew his name, maybe teased her a bit, but her attention was already turned back to her phone, her thumb swiping along the screen. He gave a small nod instead and turned to take the next flight of stairs, biting back a sigh he knew wasn’t warranted.

“Oh, by the way,” she called as he reached the top. “I’m Emma.”

Killian turned and gave her a small, crooked smile and another nod. “Pleasure to meet you, love.”

“Not your love,” she replied, arching her eyebrow as she glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses.

Killian’s tongue played at the corner of his mouth as he waggled his own brows in return and tried to keep his own smile from broadening. “You and Belle are going to get on just fine,” he said before ducking into the apartment.

Tagging a few people who were encouraging as I wrote this or otherwise expressed interest (even if somewhat skeptical). Hope you’ll forgive the indulgence as I know the audience for this won’t be wide: @justanotherwannabeclassic, @phiralovesloki, @bleebug, @katie-dub, @shady-swan-jones, @sdmh1977, & @lifeinahole27.

#captain book #captain book ff #cb smut #killian jones #belle french #my ff ouat

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