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danae-c-y · 11 months ago

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Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Formalist Symbolism of Shot Composition

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The series, Avatar: the Last Airbender, remains one of the most critically acclaimed animated shows over a decade after its original debut in 2005. Intricate world-building, an immersive score, and themes of genocide, totalitarianism, Stockholm Syndrome, redemption, and spiritual balance are partially what cultivate and cement ATLA’s memorability to a degree that prompts recognition from outlets such as Vanity Fair, IndieWire, and general audiences years after its premier. It is a heroes’ journey about restoring balance, cross-cultural understanding, and peace after the Fire Nation waged war. However, it is also filled with striking visual storytelling, its awareness of semiotic significance and the delicacy through which it handles visual rhetoric.

While lighting, camera angles, and shot composition are used as formalist signifiers throughout the entire show, I will specifically be focusing on the scene where Zuko visits Iroh in the jail cell. For context, Zuko has been accepted back into the Fire Nation by conforming to their current ideals of ethnocentrism and helping their efforts in the war. Simultaneously, Iroh has been othered and imprisoned for treason because of his rejection of these same ideals. Thus, we know contextually that the two characters are performing and interpreting their racial identities differently. The composition of the scene through its lighting and camera angles, however, adds another layer of commentary to the duality of these two characters. It communicates that while Iroh is physically othered and imprisoned for his enlightened perspective on what it means to perform his racial identity, Zuko is embraced and accepted for his antithetically ignorant perspective on the Fire Nation.

Through its use of light and dark imagery as symbolic concepts within the scene, ATLA demonstrates what Sergei Eisenstein describes as “a cinema that seeks the maximum laconicism in the visual exposition of abstract concepts” in his article, “Beyond the Shot [The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram].”[1] The light streaming in from the small window in Iroh’s prison cell represents the concept of enlightenment and awareness while Zuko kneels helplessly in the shadows. This is a subversion of expectations, as Iroh is imprisoned, looked down on, and othered within his nation, yet the light implies he should be treated antithetically. The role reversal between the isolated yet enlightened prisoner and the idolized yet ignorant prince is further emphasized through the stark duality of light and shadow. Eisenstein describes the composition of shots and visual symbolism as a necessary type of collision, writing “What then characterizes montage and, consequently, its embryo, the shot? Collision. Conflict between two neighboring fragments. Conflict. Collision.”[2] Few visual elements mirrored across hundreds of years of symbolic imagery more aptly demonstrate conflict and collision within a shot than the light and the dark—the collision, conflict, and interplay between shadows and the sun that expels them.

Applying the argument for collision within a shot to lighting specifically, Eisenstein states, “The same applies to the theory of lighting. If we think of lighting as the collision between a beam of light and an obstacle, like a stream of water from a fire hose striking an object, or the wind buffeting a figure, this will give us a quite differently conceived use of light from the play of ‘haze’ or ‘spots.’”[3] Through this framing, there is not only the existence of light and shadow within a shot but a battle between them—an apt description considering the broader plot of war between ethnocentrism and cross-cultural unity that permeates Avatar’s world, as well as Zuko and Iroh’s representations of these ideologies respectively. Light and shadow can coexist, yet this coexistence is constantly implicated with the power struggle between the two. Avatar’s shots in the prison scene put light and dark imagery similarly in conflict, further explaining why one must be othered and the other accepted by their nation.

Eisenstein explains, however, that these abstract concepts necessitate an intertextual basis that grounds them in signified meaning. Speaking to how visual signifiers develop culturally understood meanings over time and in relation to the context clues around them, Eisenstein writes that within forms like the Haiku and Tanka, “The method, reduced to a stock combination of images, carves out a dry definition of the concept from the collision between them.”[4] Avatar’s visual rhetoric plays out similar to poetic communication, drawing on the idea that shadows and light, when placed together create meaning. Bolstering the significance of this collision with the shot is a history of cultural ideas and philosophical texts that perpetuate similar associations. Eisenstein recognizes how this type of intertextuality strengthens symbolism, writing, “The same method, expanded into a wealth of recognized semantic combinations, becomes a profusion of figurative effect.”[5] The integration of atramentous and brightened hues into common modern cultural perceptions is seen through how it manifests in language, with common expressions like being in the dark.

One may question how the depth of the scene's commentary about enlightenment and ignorance can go much further past this stark dichotomy, as the conceptualization of light and darkness arguably only allows for a black-and-white interpretation of Iroh and Zuko's characters. However the meaning behind the use of shadows is strengthened even further when considering what is perhaps the most famous use of dark and light symbolism across millenia—Plato’s acclaimed allegory of the cave. Plato paints a visual picture of prisoners who live in an underground cave and can only see a wall where the shadows of various objects are projected. Thus, they believe shadows to be reality. Once a prisoner escapes and sees not only the objects that were originally creating the shadows, but also the sun above, he is described as enlightened, having a fuller view of reality.

The shot plays on this symbolism by intentionally depicting Zuko staring down at the shadows of the prion bars while Iroh stares at Zuko directly. This indicates that, much like the prisoners in Plato’s allegory, Zuko is shrouded in ignorance, unable to see how his compliance with ethnocentrism is not inherently necessitated by him being the prince of the Fire Nation. Iroh, on the other hand, sees the real prison bars and from his perspective, Zuko is the one behind those bars, as is emphasized by the camera angles in the scene being shot from inside the cell looking out. Iroh sees a clearer version of reality, understanding a racial performance detached from the Fire Nation’s current culture, and realizing Zuko is mentally imprisoned.

The prison scene is a poignant example of the type of formalism that Eisenstein explores. ATLA’s montage demonstrates “precisely what we do in cinema, juxtaposing representational shots that have, as far as possible, the same meaning, that are neutral in terms of their meaning, in meaningful contexts and series.”[6] The series of shots that comprise this scene strengthens its visual storytelling, as each shot—its perspective and composition—further emphasizes the dichotomy between the two characters within it. Astoundingly, a 3 minute scene has the capacity to communicate the “collision” of othering versus acceptance; cultural enlightenment versus ignorance; and ethnocentrism versus global unity personified between two of the show’s protagonists.

[1] Sergei Eisenstein,“Beyond the Shot,” Film Theory and Criticism, (2009): 15

[2] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 19

[3] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 21

[4] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

[5] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

[6] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

@theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyspeculativetv #speculativetvanalysis

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maskedemerald · 1 year ago

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Incorrect Quotes Tag Game

Once again I was tagged twice! Which is great because that means I get to play with both my WIPs characters! Thanks for the tag @the-down-upside-finch and @card-queen as always right now with these tags we're going colour coded. A Curiosity Piqued is in Blue and Magic Act is in Red.

Rules: Use this link to generate incorrect quotes for your OCs!

Tagging: @pb-dot @sam-glade @ashwithapen @callahanscorner @cat-esper @taveren-writing and anyone else who feels like doing it! Its really fun and you should do it!

Arnvaldr: I need you to come meet me, and I need you to come alone. Aelfraed: And I need you to be less vague and weird.

(This about sums up any time these two are going to have to work together.)

Aelfraed: Your problem is that you’ve got no common sense. Arnvaldr: I’ve got plenty of common sense! Arnvaldr: I just choose to ignore it.

(Perfect Arnvaldr)

Aelfraed: What the fuck is wrong with you?? Arnvaldr: What? No good morning? Aelfraed: Good morning, what the fuck is wrong with you??

(Aelfraed wouldn't say fuck but this! Like Aelfraed is going to be like this at some point in the story after Arnvaldr handles cursed items irresponsibly.)

Arnvaldr: I was arrested for being too cool. Aelfraed: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

Arnvaldr: Pardon the intrusion, but- Aelfraed: On this moment or just my life in general?

(Too polite for Arnvaldr unless he's being sarcastic but yeah Aelfraed I'd be lying if I said sorry for the continued Arnvaldr encounters.)

Arnvaldr: A banker? Me? Aelfraed: Yes, Arnvaldr. Arnvaldr: But I don’t know anything about running a bank! Aelfraed: Good. No preconceived ideas. Arnvaldr: I’ve robbed banks! Aelfraed: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

(The working together scenario but this time its Aelfraed who needs help lol. I can really see something like this happening later on in the series.)

Arnvaldr: My head hurts. Aelfraed: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.

Arnvaldr: I got an idea! Aelfraed: Does it involve breaking the law? Arnvaldr: By now don’t you think that’s a given? Aelfraed: I was just trying to be optimistic. Arnvaldr: Don’t bother.

Okay that's it for Medallion Heist now on to Magic Act! If you want to see Aelfraed in his first outing you can pre-order the book here: A Curiosity Piqued – The Last Straw Novella – Masked Emerald

And if you want to see more Medallion Heist I'm writing it for NaNoWriMo so follow and you'll see more!

Night: Go big or go home! Magician: Please, for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. Go. Home. Night: I'm going big!

(Night the ultimate cause of chaos, Magician wishes they wouldn't lol)

Night: What are you talking about Magician? You love it here! Magician: I'm not sure I do, I think I've just developed Stockholm syndrome.

Night: So… what would you do if you were in bed with me? Magician: Depends. Is your bed comfortable? Night: Yes. Magician: I'd sleep.

(That moment when I remember that technically this story has the one bed problem... Night is hiding Magician in their room and Magician just wants to sleep... well technically some of it is passing out.)

Magician: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you… Night: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

(More second book dynamic but yes!)

Night: Magician, I sense hostility. Magician: Good, because I hate you.

(Definitely more the first book dynamic)

Night: Magician and I are no longer friends. Magician: NIGHT THAT IS THE WORST WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT WE’RE DATING!

(Depending on who they're telling the response might be "Wait when did you two even meet!")

Magician: Night, are you drinking… drinking hydrogen peroxide?! Night: It says H2O2! That means it’s the sequel to water!

(This made me laugh, I world built that my fae have poison as a spice so maybe Night could really drink that. Magician really needs to be careful about what he eats.)

Night: Hey, Magician. What kind of flowers do you prefer? Magician: I like sunflowers. Night, pulling out a bouquet of Venus Flytraps: Well, shit-

(I love this, Night trying so hard but not really getting how humans do things!)

I'm also working on Magic Act during NaNoWriMo so expect more awkward crush shenanigans and some creepy fae and Night chaos being shared.

#writing #writeblr community #creative writing #writeblr #writer #magic act novel #Medallion Heist Novella #A Curiosity Piqued Series #wip #current wip

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juminsfakecat · 6 years ago

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don’t get me wrong i love jihyun/v....... but i hate that the takeaway from his character isn’t that his passive aggressiveness/self-sacrificial tendencies may not have been as bad as rika’s actions, but he did enable a lot of of her bullshit & despite his wanting to hurt innocent lives, he indirectly did because of his actions/decisions. i think he’s a very good character, and his resolution that his relationship with rika being toxic is very important, but still.... i guess i just wish that instead of the “babyboy uwu!! must protect!!” attitude towards him, there was just more (i guess?) accountably?? yes, he was in love/obssessed, but that’s not an excuse. rika didn’t manipulate him. he was always beside her by choice, regardless of his intention to protect the rfa or not...... and just??? i get that he treats himself poorly but am i the only one who just doesn’t pity him for any of it?

#i love him i do but his attitude just annoys me because yeah you cant really be mad at him for having his reasons or whatever #but if mc can call the cops and order fried chicken within 30 mins of that whole ordeal lmao goddamn #im being sarcastic but maybe bc i know that if the roles were reversed & rika was the enabler to v’s involvement to mint eye like no one #would let the either of them live lmao like its not stockholm syndrome; a lot of these are very active choices and its just!!#intention doesnt matter if what youre doing and what it leads to is still bad! its all bad!#maybe bc im a jumin stan that im not being as empathetic but fr sometimes #a toxic relationship isnt just one mistreating the other (thats abuse); but a toxic relationship is when they make each other worse #idk i guess im just upset because ive been in the situation and god i just hate that the assumption dat his martyr ways = self responsibilty #its not its being posionous to himself and everyone around him while simutaneously inviting posion in you know lmao #like i love him but unless he callin the cops on rika as well.... even though HE would get in trouble as well..... i dont feel bad for him #in the slightest of bits like i really dont #and i hate this shared fanon of him being a victim bc yeah honey got stabbed a few times but its still... his choice.... to be involved #and i know i sound like an asshole but just—hE LETS HER GET AWAY AND I JUST CANT #this is why im a jumin stan lmao he may be arrogant and sometimes emotionless but he cuts through the bullshit and sees it as what it is

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inkyquince · 3 years ago

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ayup! so lately i have been thinking ab giving the LIs the remote to a vibe inside the PC so I am here to beg for crumbs plz \(u.u)/

my guy you gotta know that's a bad idea. look at your line up. This isn't gonna be a hot steamy piece like you're gonna get for like, the AOT guys or sumn.

content warning. Kylar being a creep, exhibitionism kinda, voyeurism, rough sex, implied dubcon/noncon.

You're gonna get a couple of hot bitches and the rest deserve the death penalty.

For example, Robin? Low confidence means they're gonna be sitting there, sweating their little sweat and SHAKING. Fully won't do it. Maybe turns it on once and quickly turns it off. It's like when the nerd couldn't even sip the tiddy milk. High confidence is more fun, but nothing will happen at school. You ever tried to masturbate next to high confidence Robin? AT LEAST KYLAR AND WHITNEY APPRECIATE THE SHOW, let me touch me peepee >:(((( (Doesn't help that im tryna seduce Winter while im doing it and Robin WON'T LET ME FUCKING-) Best you're gonna get is that you're going to absolutely suck ass when you two play on his console and they turn it way up when you're just about to beat them. Or during the movies. Maybe on a slow day at the stand.

Look, we all know Whitney is hot. Mean asshole, weird obsession with parasites, prime step-parent you hate material, the world's worst ex and partner. Yes I have a soft spot for @angrelysimpping's House Husband Whitney, yes, I love the thought of ex husband Whitney who is the worst, we exist... Where was I going with this?

Anyway, why would you do this. Whitney has one mode and they're also just gonna use one mode with the vibrator. Full speed, fastest mode, it's gonna be jumping around inside of you, its so likely that it'll run out of batteries before the day is out. Worst is when they get a lightbulb over their head on a friday morning and will have it on low during the first half of the lesson and then on fullspeed during the exam.

"What's that fucking buzzing noise?"

Whitney wants the attention on ya, they're gonna be the reverse version of that one asshole kid who reminds the teacher they had homework, except they're gonna be bugging River that they swear they can hear something. River gonna fucking think its your phone and demand you hand it over. When you explain you can't fucking afford a goddamn phone, you have rent due, you better hope that River just thinks Whitney is disrupting the exam instead of even thinking of a vibrator up you. Why? Because they will faint again and they're gonna come down and bust they head. Good work. You killed your FUCKING teacher.

Look, Eden's hot. Eden is also proud. More like your annoyed grandpa with technology. Will put on some half spectacles and squint at your phone when you're showing them a funny video. No, Eden, I don't know this person in the video, just watch the tiktok! Huge technophobe, which is neat cuz if you ever make them in the Sims 3, you can finally use that fucking trait.

Anyway, what are you tryna achieve? Yes, they like looking at you when half naked. No, they hate you getting pleasure from something other than them. Ever tried to masturbate in the spring? They're on that real quick. Smacking your hands away and all. Unless they're the one gripping the dildo that's obliterating your hole, or stuffing ya with anal beads, they're not gonna have fun with this. Unless you've been bad. Cuz then it's a punishment.

Oh, its before the stockholm syndrome era? Every time you fight that hunter, you gotta make a gamble that they haven't heard of sex toys yet. Gonna stuff you with the vibrator and leave you on the leash while doing their shit. Gonna have it on so hard that you're gonna go numb at some point.

After you think they're just lonely <3 it's... Better? You stayed away too long? Well, they're more in love and they just missed ya really. Also their property should stay on their fucking land. Go away too long and they're gonna stuff a vibrator in ya and spank ya and then go hunting with you still on the floor, buzzin away.

Also no, they won't take you with hunting with that inside of you. The deers will hear the buzzing and run away and you'll both be hungry.

Kylar is Kylar. Greasy little rat who asks for feet pics at 3 am, but you're asleep so they break in to take feet pics themselves. Won't even leave money in exchange. Also, sidenote, would pay for your onlyfans.

Anyway, they would almost drop the fucking remote when you give it to them. Dumbass. Probably says some whack shit like "I want to be the vibrator inside of you <3" and now you're thinking he either likes micro/macro or they're gonna break in and paint your vibrator to look like them and you're gonna get acrylic paint poisoning and you're going to explain that this all came from a terrible idea to your goddamn doctor. You want to be bending over for Harper while they stare at a rash that developed from chemical burns? No, didn't think so.

Worst of all, they're going to be a jealous little cunt and turn it way up when you sit with others. It's a reminder of them inside of you so you could be hanging out with Robin or Sydney and then the vibrator sparks to life and makes this the worst lunchtime in the world. It's their way of reminding you that you gave them the remote, that they're watching you.

And it's kinda cute. Until it buzzes to life while you're entertaining someone else in your room. They're watching you after all.

Avery? Babe, Avery has got you covered.

Like, they're not gonna use the vibrator when angry, so while its buzzing away, you know ya safe. When Avery's angry, they're punishing you and it's not a fun, teehee, punishment. They're gonna march you up to your goddamn science teacher and buy whips and flogs and take you back to the hotel and fuck ya up for making them so angry.

Anyway, the vibrator is gonna be switching between all modes at dinner, in the hot tub, on bed sheets, in the car, but not at the party. They're tryna win the goddamn dancing competition and loosing because you stumble over your feet with the vibrator buzz-buzz-buzzing away inside of you would be kinda funny but Avery likes their image too much.

Avery does love the vibrator. Really proves that you're theirs mind and body to play with and you giving the remote to them so readily puts them in a fabulous mood. They own you and they get to prove it with the vibrator.

Alex is busy, so ngl, they might forget about it. You'll be all teehee, they're playing the long game, and the farmer is legit wrestling a pig to stop it from eating their damn shorts.

But it's great payback when you usher him out of the shower when they walk in on you and you give a lil show but won't let them wash you. Also excellent when you give them head while they're on the phone.

Alex mainly gonna abuse that toy when making/eating breakfast with you, when you make them a cup of tea and when watching TV and snuggling. While also suddenly remember it when you're lounging under the tree and just !!! and turn it way up. What an asshole. Does make sure it's off when Remy is around. What a sweetheart.

Sydney, my beloved.

Pure Sydney aint touching that fucking thing. What did you expect. You'd give them the remote and they'd scream and throw it and faint and give it to Jordan to destroy in the fire. Sirris will tell them off, I have to give them a refund for their toy now! But Sydney will have no qualms and snuggle into bed with a clear conscious.

Corrupt Sydney? Fuck yeah. When you're giving them head under the desk in the library, when Leighton spanks you when you share the stolen book punishment with them, praying at the temple, its going to be buzzing away inside of you. Sydney will also be genuinely happy that you did this that they will randomly drop a kissy onto your lips. Asshole will also working their shift at the sex shop and brag to customers that "Yes, this model is very good, it's been inside my beloved the entire day and has yet to run out of batteries!". What a salesperson.

#im sorry for this #all i had today was apple juice and gummy bears #also im sorry this but this was never gonna be hot in my hands #because iM A PROPHET A PROPHET #I PROPHESISE #and you're gonna get some hot shit and then some not to so hot #anyways #quinceyeasyspeaky #nsft #quincewrites #dol #degrees of lewdity #robin the orphan #whitney the bully #kylar the loner #avery the businessperson #alex the farmer #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen

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justasimp1 · 3 years ago

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Brahms Heelshire x Reader.

Diary ; Living With Hell

Week 1:

Ever since I found out about Miss and Mr. Heelshire leaving me for Brahms to deal with I've been on edge. He was always around a corner, watching. I feel eyes drawing holes in my back.

After all this time I still hold the doll close. Of course I'm not doing the unnecessary task anymore.

Your fingers stretched into his dark curly hair. The shampoo tipped over the edge of the mask. You quickly stopped the sud from reaching his eye.

"Down" You quietly peeped. Brahms dipped his body down into the bubble bath. You watched his figure disappear. Your hands gripped the edge of the bathtub, it would be so easy to drown him right now.

A panting Brahms engulfed out of the water. Droplets trailed in and out of the holes of his mask. A soft chuckle left your mouth. Why was he so obedient and comfortable around you? When you could have already ended his existence.

Why haven't you? Maybe you enjoyed his company, the same with the doll's. The only reason why you accepted the job because you were sure you had nothing back home. Brahms blinked up at you. Is this a simple case of Stockholm Syndrome?

"Get dressed. I'll make dinner" You swallowed, standing up. "Aren't you gonna bathe too?" A warm wet hand clasped against your wrist. "Later" Brahms let go of your wrist. You walked out of the bathroom. Your back pressed on the wood door, your heart pounding on the bone cage surrounding it.

Week 2:

He kissed me...I caught a cold. I was having many hallucinations of warm temperatures pampering me. But this time it wasn't fake. His face is blurry to my memory but I can make out his broad figure. Lips hovered over mine until they finally started moving. It was short. My temperature ran right up after that...maybe for different reasons though.

"B-Brahms" You muttered after a mute cough. You raised a hand to grabbed at the mush of color, you assumed was a face. Your fingers met back with your palm. You tried grabbing again only to be met with the same response.

A soft force pushed your hand back down. Your eyesight was focusing on small things, unable to reach your goal. Brahms came into view, this time he was wearing his mask. Your face was to tired to display confusion.

Week 3:

Maybe I have grown something for him. It would be the possible answer for all of my questions. Having Stockholm Syndrome wasn't the best, my heart started pumping too much blood when he came around, my breathing stopped, and all my insecurities started leaking through.

You dipped the sponge under the warm faucet. The pearly white plate glimmered under the soap suds. A hard tall presence stepped behind you. Your breath hitched, heart starting to beat faster like it was a race. "Like this"

Brahms hummed, he grabbed the sponge out of your hand. He flipped the sponge around to its abrasive side, doing slow circular motions on the plate. It was like the roles were reversed, Brahms was teaching you how to do simple things.

It was a little embarrassing feeling like a child who couldn't do simple things. The stain on the plate soon faded. "It's passed 12" He blankly stated. "Sorry" You sighed. Brahms lead you up to the bedroom.

You tucked him in the covers. You were about to stand up when Brahms pulled you back down. "Sorry" You whispered, leaning down, placing a lazy kiss on his mask's forehead. Brahms rubbed the dark circles settling under your eyes.

His hand snaked around the back of your head. You swayed down on his chest. Your legs shuffled onto the bed, tangling with Brahms'. As soon as you hit the chiseled surface the weight on your eyes dropped. The blackness drew you in, making you dropped down in a deep sleep.

Week 4:

The month is coming to an end and I officially feel in love with a wall mole.....

Master list

#fanfic #brahms heelshire #slasher x reader #slash fanfiction #slasher imagines #slasher headcanons #slasher fucker #slasher fandom #slasher community #slasher x you #slashers #slashers x reader #brahms x you #brahms the doll #brahms imagine #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms hillshire #brahms fanart

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titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years ago

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Mr. Sandman (Chapter 8)

Summary: Felicity Burgess, the adopted daughter of Alex Burgess and Paul McGuire lived a sheltered life from the dark secret that lay beneath her feet. But what happens when that secret is now her's to keep? Will her love for her family keep her from doing the right thing or will Mr. Sandman bring her a dream worth sacrificing everything?

Chapter Triggers: Slight fluff

"Dreams are more profound when they are the most crazy." - Sigmund Freud

Click here for Chapter 7

Wonderland's Workshop

It was sad. Seeing the castle the way it never should have ever been. It looked terrible. The throne room itself could have been something extraordinary in its full glory. Large rocks of stone crumbled and piled upon each other on the ground. Shattered pieces of colorful glass came from the floor-to-ceiling masterpiece of a mosaic window behind the platform where a throne once sat. It was dark and gloomy inside this room as if it sat forgotten for centuries. It did, now that she came to think of it. She imagined this room once was something grand. Did parties get thrown within this very room? Guests of the Dreaming dancing, laughing, and feasting together? Was there a happiness that once made this room glow with laughter and peels of the joy of others' company? Would she ever know? She should not feel the guilt that dug its clawed into her heart the longer she looked around the room. The faint light from the remaining glass windows made this place look like the pathetic ruins it was. She knew it was not her fault; she wasn't born when Roderick Burgess captured Dream of the Endless. But it was still her family that did him wrong and as one who bore the name; she too felt as if the crime against him was her own.

Glass crunched beneath her boots as she cautiously stepped inside. She could almost think she could feel the very castle itself weep with the hope of another living soul entering its halls after so long of an absence. The sigh that left her lungs was heavy and echoed in the open space. She sat on a large crumbled stone that once was a piece of this place and drew her knees to her chest. She was struggling to understand the events that had transpired recently; the identity crisis was a real thing at that moment in time as she wondered what everything meant. She could chalk everything up to just being some misunderstanding at the end of the day. But the way Lucienne and Morpheus spoke about the very idea she, Felicity Burgess, did not exist made her skin crawl as if she was not even human. Was she human? Of course, she was! She ate, slept, cried, and experienced life just like every other human in her world. But there was still so much she didn't understand about Morpheus's world.

It made her think back to the interactions she'd had with the Dream Lord. Not only just the interactions, but the pull they seemed to share. It was not normal. Did she have some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome or something? Falling for the prisoner instead of the prisoner falling in love with their capture? But she was not Morpheus's captor. She was just a girl who had been dragged into all of this. Now, she was told she may have more purpose than she truly thought. If they can find her origin story that is.

She did not hear him come into the room. She was so lost in thought she had not felt him enter until his voice broke through the silence of the open space around her. Echoing in just a way that reminded her of something old and hauntingly ancient.

"I believe I owe you an apology."

She was startled looking over towards the door to find his tall frame slowly sulking from the shadows and into the pale light as he drew near. His features were troubled with something she could not place but she was secretly happy that he was coming to apologize. At least he had some sort of manners. She knew the little flutter in her chest wasn't just happy to hear him say sorry but just from the mere presence of him near her; of him seeking her out to talk to her.

"Glad we are on the same page. Because that was a dick move earlier Morpheus." the curse falling from her mouth made the man blink at her in mild surprise but he did not say anything about the crudity of it; she was troubled right now and it best not to get on her bad side while he was here to apologize.

"I acted irrationally earlier. I do admit." he took a step closer as if gauging her approachability. "I feared perhaps I had trusted the wrong people again and placed my realm in even more danger."

Felicity sighed then and dropped her feet back onto the floor; palms leaning against the cold stone of the rock she sat on and leaned towards him. "I'm not mad as I was before Morpheus…but I suppose Matthew did have a point." she tilted her head watching him. "You've lost a lot all because of my family's greed and selfishness, I can understand that having my presence near while I bear the Burgess name can be a bit difficult."

She rose to her feet and waved her arms around idly as she walked further into the room. "I feel as if I should be the one telling you sorry for everything. You were only doing what you thought was right at the moment; can't fault you for that," she replied smoothly; she didn't want any more doom and gloom in this space already possessed.

She could hear the crunch of stone and glass beneath Morpheus's boots as he followed her deeper into the room. She stopped by the steps and looked up at the crumbling throne for a long moment before she shot the Dream Lord a glance over her shoulder before she was skipping up the steps quickly. When she got to the top she spun around to face the front of the room and gawked.

"Damn Morpheus, I see why you like to be king. Nice view." she teased only half joking.

She could only imagine how it must have looked from his eyes on days that were filled with peace and prosperity. She watched from her perch as the lord of the castle slowly; with measured steps almost as if he were stalking prey, strode up one step at a time with purpose until he stood with one foot braced on the top step and he peered up at her in a way that made her hold her breath. She didn't imagine the Lord of Dreams often allowed himself to physically be on a lower level than others.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked suddenly as she scanned his face. Her voice was soft but there was an intensity about her gaze that was desperate for answers.

He paused with lips parted slightly as if he was lost for words. Instead, he turned and sat down on the steps with his arms braced on his propped legs. He was silent for so long that Felicity thought that he would choose to ignore the question. But when his voice slowly began to speak with purposeful she was keen to listen.

"I do not make friends. I do not understand humanity in the way my sister Death does. For this, I often falter when it comes to interacting with those of my creation and those from the Waking World."

The girl mulled over that information before she slowly allowed her body to sink onto the step next to him. "You know," she began softly as she looked ahead at the rumble below them

"When I was going up, people would often turn away from me and refuse to allow their children to play with me all because I had the last name of an old man who was scorned and cast aside for his ideals and practices. They said I would follow in his footsteps and practice magic," she said slowly.

"I never understood how humanity could so easily throw people away because views did not match or…or people just wanting to live their lives in ways that were not those of common folks with the same clone minds, you know?" a sad smile graced her features as she looked over at Morpheus who was watching her with an expressionless face.

"W-what I'm trying to say is…humanity has many layers to it. A lot of the time history will repeat itself because people fear taking that step to break the cycle that our ancestors have created for the future. The thing is, history is the past for a reason; it's like a mistake you know. It happened and we can choose to either learn from it or repeat it until we do learn it. But that does not mean that there are not good people out there Morpheus." she swallowed and raised a hand to slip it beneath his arm to lightly grasp hold of his bicep.

"Hope never dies because there are far too many opportunities and people out there to be able to kill it. So, if you don't understand humanity now doesn't mean that you cannot be taught." she smiled softly at him before she rose to her feet and took one step down the stairs before her wrist was caught in a cold palm making her turn to look up at Morpheus who was staring at her with this almost…soft look on his face.

"Will you teach me?"

The question came out as a surprise to Felicity but her lips curled up into a smile regardless as she felt that buzz thrum in her chest even stronger. Letting out a soft laugh she leaned herself down to be eye level with him; her smile turning a bit teasingly as she tilted her head, her auburn locks falling over her shoulders

"Only if you admit we are friends." she squinted at him playfully and she was rewarded by the tiniest of smirks on his lips

"I don't have friends Felicity."

she pouted and straightened up again pretending she was going to leave as she turned. "Well, then I guess we don't have a deal," she replied

She felt him more than she heard him as he rose to his full height and his hand reach out to grab her arm; spinning her right back around only this time he stood only one step above her and she had to crane her head up to meet his blue eyes as they stared down at her through half-lidded lashes as if he was trying to communicate something with his eyes that his words could not express fully.

Biting the inside of her cheek she tapped his chest lightly with a finger. "How about this, you help me find who I am Morpheus, and I help you find your tools with whatever I have at my disposal. After we are both happy with the results; you can decide whether I'm worthy of being called your friend." she offered as she studied his features.

They slowly darkened but she didn't let him argue with her. "You need those tool to rebuild this realm and frankly you can use all the damn help you can find considering the only people you have on your side right now is a librarian and a raven," she told him with eyes darkening in return. "You don't have a choice and frankly, neither do it. It's mutually beneficial to each other."

He seemed to take a breath as he mulled over her words. Finally, he nodded silently and allowed her arm to go. She gave a big grin and turned around again to descend the stairs.

"Great! Come find me when you decide your gonna go hopping off somewhere in search of your tools!" she called cheerily

She didn't see the way Morpheus's face darkened and his body stiffen as he slowly returned to his seat on the top steps staring at the door where the redheaded spitfire had disappeared seconds before.

She should have known it wouldn't last long. The feeling of trust. The feeling of safety. The feeling of belonging. Because just as she found herself getting comfortable in the Dreaming realm thinking everything would be sorted in due time; she could trust Morpheus. He decided to pull this stunt. She thought they were making progress. Felicity sitting in the Library of Dreaming; pouring herself over one of the volumes about the creation of The Dreaming she found so fascinating. So pulled into the words well written on the pages in front of her she didn't hear or register the sound of rushed footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Felicity! Felicity, come quickly! Morpheus has returned!" Lucienne seemed excited as she pulled herself up to the top step.

The auburn-haired girl turned her attention to the librarian a bit startled to see the woman out of breath. Lucienne never rushed anywhere even in haste. But there was something within her dark eyes that made Felicity's heart rate pick up. What had gotten the woman so excited that she dared to run to find the girl? Gently, she closed the book and rose to her feet. She did not bother to put it back if the Librarian was in such a rush.

"What are you talking about Lucienne? What's gotten you so excited about Morpheus's return?" Felicity laughed a bit even when the feeling of curiosity shone through her gaze as she met the woman at the steps

"He and Matthew have just returned from the Waking world. They have found your necklace!" the woman pressed in urgency; eyes wide with pleasing nature.

"They found it?" the words came out of a breath of awe. "I...I didn't think they'd ever find it!" she gasped to herself.

"Come!" Lucienne urged with a hand on the girl's arm as she led her down the winding stairs and out of the comfort of the Library.

They were speed walking as they could without full-on sprinting across the hallways towards the outside doors. When they opened Felicity could make out two black shapes in the distance just appearing as the large ivory doors growled to a close behind them. She felt her heart leap in her chest in the same excitement the librarian had shown minutes before and she decided since it was her mission; she should be the first to intercept no matter how curious and quick Lucienne wanted to get her hands on the necklace with the ring. So she was quick to push past her friend to full-on run through the dunes of sand towards the man and raven.

"You found it?" she called as she got near hearing distance.

Matthew soared in the sky and circled above her before following her as she met up with Morpheus. But there was something wrong in his face when she caught sight of it. Something troubling made her pause her excitement. The smile she had on her face tightened a bit as she tried not to fight the pull of panic in her chest at his expression. Did he not find it? Was something wrong with it? Did he have to pull it out of Paul's dead grip or something? She prayed not.

"Morpheus...what's that look for..." she trailed off

The man did not say anything; merely glanced her way before passing by her to meet with Lucienne at the bridge. He ignored her. It's never a good sign when he ignores her. The panic was beginning to rise faster now as she lifted her gaze to Matthew; one arm extending above her head to allow him to perch on her wrist before drawing him in front of her face.

"Tell me..." she demanded staring the bird down grimly. "What. Happened?"

The raven ruffled his feathers a bit and cocked his head as if to look over his shoulder at his master. "I-I can't tell yah kid." his voice was apologetic as he hopped in place on her wrist. "It'd be better if the boss told you."

And with that, he took off towards the pair in the distance that was beginning to make their way inside the castle once more. Felicity, feeling left out at that moment fought the childish urge to just run away. But she knew she shouldn't; this after all was her doing. She had asked for Morpheus and Lucienne's help even if she was a little salty that they were not telling her everything. So she tucked that stubborn streak back inside of her and bite her tongue before she rushed towards the castle.

When she got inside she saw the elder pair standing talking in hushed voices in the lobby but upon seeing her entry zipped up tight. She squinted at them before stalking over and holding her hand out.

"Where is it?" she demanded

Morpheus looked down at her empty palm and then at her with a cocked brow. "You will not be getting the ring back. Not until we have sorted some business-"

"It's my ring Morpheus! You don't have the right to reject my demand."

His voice was a growl as he leaned over her. "I said what I said, Felicity."

Her mouth dropped open a minute before her open palm smacked him on the chest. The action resulted in Matthew squawking in surprise and a startled gasp escape the librarian who placed a hand to her chest as if she was gobsmacked that anyone dared hit the Lord of Dreams. Felicity on the other hand could feel the silent rumble coming from the dream lord as his hand shot out to grasp her wrist tightly. He turned to her, his body pressed just centimeters from touching her as his blue eyes nearly turned black.

"Dare to touch me again and there will be consequences." the threat was clear even if said punishment wasn't.

But Felicity knew angering this man was never a good idea, and she had done just that. The second, or was it the third, time since she'd entered the realm. The palpable power that radiated off of him was like a fire scorching her skin and a whimper left her lips unbidden. At the sound, Morpheus's gaze shifted and he withdrew a bit and allowed his grip to ease on her wrist. He realized too late that the skin beneath his fingers was turning red. Swallowing down his pride he let go altogether before speaking in a softer tone despite his anger

"Go wait in the library. I will seek you out shortly."

Keeping tears from her eyes, the girl took a step away from him; stumbling on her second before she was quick to spin around with a flurry of auburn locks and nearly run from the room. The echo of her rushed footsteps was loud in Morpheus's ears.

"Sir...what..." Lucienne tried to find words

Without a word, the dream lord slid a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long chain. It was a delicate silver; sparkling in the feeble light shining through the windows making it look like starlight weaved through the chainlinks. But it was the ring that hung from the end that captured the pair's attention. It was most definitely not a feminine creation. It was large and it was chunky gold metal. The band was thick and there was a gold octagon shape plate that had engravings in the metal that surrounded a jewel set in the middle. But the problem was, it was no human-made jewel that resided inside the ring. But it shone the deepest of red that looked like a droplet of blood and inside the hardened case of the jewel swirled something liquid inside just beneath the surface as if it carried real blood within it.

"Is that a...?" Lucienne breathed horrified as she recognized the ancient language that was engraved in the gold medal.

Morpheus held the dangling ring in the light a bit more as he spoke. "It's a binding ring," he murmured. "And I know I have seen such as this before. For it's that mortal man that refuses to die who possessed it once in time. Though, it did not have the essence it carries now."

"Do you speak of Hob Gadling, sir?" Lucienne asked with a frown as she looked over at her ruler.

"I do." he met her gaze seriously. "and I believe it's time I visited my old acquaintance."

Click here for chapter 9

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bokunosimpfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt 3

A/N: Since y’all demanded a plot that’s what you’ll get. Will it be good? No. I’ve never written anything with a plot in my entire life. Ever. Not even when I did Nanowrimo or whatever. I just bullshitted the whole thing. Like I’ll do with this fic. Y’all are going to have to remind me to update because I have the attention span of a goat. I’ll try to update this on Saturdays??? IDK at this point. ALSO, WHY THE FUCK IS THIS SO POPULAR?????????? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NOTES THIS HAS ON AO3???? 69????SIXITY FUCKING NINE??? I HATE EVERYTHING MY LEGACY WILL BE READER CALLING HEISENBERG DOOFSCHMIRTZ I HATE EVRYTHING DSHFUGSADFJ

Synopsis: You have totally, %100, given up on escaping. Totally. You haven't been gathering supplies for one, final last hurray. Nope. Totally not. All you have to do is persuade Heisenberg of that so you can change your mind at the last minute. Y’all know the trigger warning for this series but if you don’t tw:kidnapping (implied)

Taglist: it’s exclusivly @localdepressedvampire so if you want to be on it for just this story or for all my pieces fill out the google doc in my pinned post or dm me and I’ll put you on it. :)

You’ve made a breakthrough in your long-term plan of escapism. Even with the mini escape attempts that were really about exploring the factory and less about actually trying to get out, you hadn’t made a lot of progress: until now.

Well, two, really… Okay, maybe 1 ½. Firstly, you found a sawed-off two-barrel shotgun. With ammo. In fact, there was a various amount of ammo around the factory, but no actual gun. Until now. The second discovery, which is nowhere near as useful, was a window. Which was probably 50 or more feet up from the ground. You didn’t get a chance to inspect it that much, considering as soon as you saw it and got a glimpse at the far-off ground, you had to run again from Lycans.

Which gives you a basic idea of a way to escape. You knew where the ammo was, you knew where the gun was and had a route to the edge of the building, and hopefully could find stairs at the end of the hallway. Now all you had to do was find a time where you could be gone long enough to get a decent head start before, he notices you’re even gone. Even when he was in the workshop, he kept a close eye on you, keeping you in arms-length to the point where it taxed on both of your mental health.

And even then, in that chair in the small room, you watch him work in the finer details on something the size of your head and torso. You try not to look at the phone in your lap, he doesn’t even know you have it, much less how great the reception is in the building. How did he not know about his old phone that was still working fine? Oh well, he doesn’t need to know you’re looking at memes and reading feel-good wolf-star fanfic on ao3.

The best idea you had was to leave him while he was asleep, but there were two some issues with that: he clung to you like his life depended on it, your back to his chest and arms around you almost tight enough to keep you awake; it was dark as hell in the hallways of the factory as is, but it would be impossible to navigate safely with the lights; and the Lycans were most active outside at night, which was where you were trying to go. They’ve tried to eat you before as they show no discrimination on food.

The only way to get a good enough head start would be to leave while he didn’t notice you were gone, and wouldn’t notice for a long, long time. And that when it hit you. The only time he ever left you by yourself was when he had to deal with the other three lords. And while he left you in that basement that you originally woke up in, you had memorized your way out and found that going up five flights of stairs took you to that faithful widow.

Would you have enough time to explore and look for an actual exit/entrance, or should you play it safe and find a way to go out that window. You wanted to laugh to yourself, you’d never think that going down a 50ft plus drop would be considered safe, but here you were, kidnapped and held hostage by one of the people your late grandmother warned you not to associate with, or even go near. The letter you received directly quoted “the four lords and their mother, Mother Miranda, are not to be approached or associated with at any costs. You’ll know them when you see them, they smell like death and money. See them and run.”

You can’t help but find that ironic, considering that you did try to run, heeded her warning, and still faced the consequences that were far worse than she had warned you about. You regretted coming here, to this small village, when you first arrived: no friends, and even those you tried to approach held you to her standard and expected them to be just like her. You were far from her kind and optimistic nature (at least that’s what you heard of her; you hadn’t even known of her whereabouts until she was dead).

Even the duke, who had helped smuggle you into the village, didn’t seem fond of you. It was a shame, you tried so hard to impress him. But he saw you to a point where you could easily reach her old cottage without having too many issues, turned his cart around, and left without a good-bye. It bothered you to no end that your only companion for about a year or so was an elderly outside cat and the creaking noises the walls made at night.

And then the cat died and not even a week later you got kidnapped. You never considered yourself lucky, but damn if that wasn’t the worst streak of luck you’ve had in a long time.

You pretend to turn a page in your book and scroll through your Instagram feed, seeing friends having fun at the beach, or studying at the library, or your old best friend taking selfies in provocative clothing to your ex-boyfriend. Did she forget he cheated on you? She wasn’t always the smartest, but she brought that heartbreak upon herself. You see a photo of your mom, she had posted a picture of a black and white photo of her with her mom, you’re guessing, you have no idea who that old woman is.

This is the last photo I had with my mom before she died. We lost contact after I moved out. I wish we parted on better terms, Nana.

She’s in a prairie dress, holding an ancient-looking key in one hand, and the other wrapped around her mom, a middle-aged woman with long hair in two braids and a face that had too many stress wrinkles. You guess your mom was as bad as you were in college. The background looks dreary. You would have guessed it to be the quality of the photo if you hadn’t recognized the house behind them as the house you lived in used to live in.

The loops on the handle of the key look familiar. You spread your fingers apart to zoom in and see the blurry engravings on the side. It was the payment you gave to sneak into the village. You thought it was a worthless family heirloom at most and found it strange that he had even found interest in the key, or even valued it deeper than money in general. Maybe this photo or other photos of you and your family would help out.

Why is that key suddenly piquing your interest? Were you that bored, as to sit there and think about a key that was at least twice your age? A key that you didn’t even have. You needed a hobby besides escapism and rejecting your captor’s sexual advances. You look up at him again, only to find him leaning against the desk, hat off and sunglass placed on his forehead, his gaze on you. It wasn’t his normal piercing one, that studied you and calculated your every move, but soft and lazy. His current gaze was dreamy; he was daydreaming about you. You found that equally undaring s it was unnerving.

“Karl.”

“Yes, Sweetiepea?” Honestly, what the fuck.

“Firstly, why are you staring at me like that? Secondly, that is the most disgusting way to use that pet name. I need to take a shower after you called me that.”

He chuckles light-heartedly. Even his softer more genuine, happy chuckles are booming and loud. “Okay… Sugarplum!” And he busts out laughing.

Clearly dodging the first question and focusing on the second. You can’t believe you gave him ammo for his annoying-you-gun. And you thought you’d grown immune to most of his… less-savory traits. Were you growing used to him? Next thing you know you’re going to like him and develop Stockholm syndrome!

“You’re a shit head, hobo magneto…” You turn your head away and let your hair cover half your face so he can’t see you smile. You’ll miss him when you escape and get the duke to smuggle you back to your home in Bucharest. But only a little. Just because calling Heisenberg these names are funny.

“Why don’t you call me by my name, I know you know it.”

“You sure about that?” You quip back.

“You’ve lived with me for at least two months now!”

“Hm…. I think I know your name! It’s uh…” You are totally faking not knowing his name. “It’s… Heidi Carlson? Yeah, that sounds about right!”

“It’s Karl Heisenberg!”

“Quit being so silly, Heidi! Maybe it’s nap-time!” This was a little too fun.

He looks back at his project for a moment and genuinely considers it. “I know you’re being antagonistic but you’re probably right.” And with that, he walks towards you and goes to scoop you up. You have to shut your book quickly in order for him not to notice the phone in between its pages before you let him pick you up.

He immediately notices that. “Are… Are you sick?”

“No! Of course not!” Because you genuinely aren’t sick, and he’s already up in your business as-is, you don’t need him dotting on you because he thinks you’re sick or something. You’ll go fucking crazy.

“You’ve put in zero effort into anything remotely physical since your last little failed escape attempt.” He gave it a little bit of thought. “You’ve given up, haven’t you, and you’re just depressed about it aren’t you?”

You want to say no, you really do, but if Heisenberg thinks you’ve given up on escaping, perhaps it’ll give you enough space to plan the big one. The reverse heist so to speak. “No- I… okay maybe I have but I still don’t like you.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Good girl. Now let’s get us that well-deserved nap.”

You plug your nose and turn away as a joke. “You’ve gotta take a bath first, you smell like oil and sweat.” You don’t fight it, because you have to play the part, but you still have to act a little bit like yourself.

“Okay, fine doll, but don’t think you’ve escaped my barrage of affection, because as soon as I get out of the shower-“

You bonk him. And he looks at you so confused before he smiles and leans down to nuzzle his nose against yours. You try to hold the bile back in your mouth and lean forward and peck his lips before leaning back. You failed at trying to not visibly gag.

“Ew… I can’t believe I just kissed you.”

“Well, I guess someone caught feelings… Didn’t they?”

#Karl Heisenberg #yandere Heisenberg #yandere resident evil #resident evil x reader #yandere heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #tw: kidnapping #fluff #well it's as fluffy as it gets with sarcastic reader-chan and yandere heisenberg #he thinks this is fluffy #because he's fucking delusional

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firewoodfigs · 3 years ago

Note

and A and B collapsed in it, exhausted

ERI!!! ILY 🥰💕

VADE ILY MORE <3 tysm for the prompt and I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to it, but I hope you enjoy!! :')

(side note: this kinda spiralled out of control so it might be a better idea to read it on ao3 instead LMAO)

xxxxx

There are a few things that her mind manages to dimly register before it loses focus.

One, the ongoing chaos around her — the yelling and screaming and the achingly familiar smell of smoke. Riza hopes that means the unit is safe, that the mission has succeeded. Adrenaline rushes through her veins as she struggles to remain alert, but her faculties are stubbornly uncooperative, and the only thing it really manages to absorb at the moment is pain.

Pain. Her hand is drenched, sticky. Riza inhales shakily, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. She’s bleeding from her side, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out as she presses down on her side. Her efforts are in vain; blood continues to drip on broken cobblestone like water from a leaking tap. She’ll probably need a blood transfusion or two. Riza just hopes she hasn’t punctured a lung (though she can certainly feel the makings and telltale signs of a broken rib or two).

The last thing she hears a voice she’d recognise anywhere — Hawkeye, stay with me. Stay awake, you hear me?Instinctively, Riza tries to obey the command, but it’s hard when pain is spreading through her chest like an exploding star; when she can barely catch her breath. She picks up on the desperation in his voice as he lapses into informality — Riza, stay with me, please. You’re going to be okay— and manages to choke out an apology before her consciousness flickers like a spoiled lamp. She wants to tell him to not worry, to tell him how she’s truly felt for the past decade, but the last spots of light in her vision seems to fade away, somewhere far beyond her reach, and —

And then her world turns to black.

—

When she finally wakes, her world is an astonishing shade of white.

Riza blinks groggily. She would have pushed herself into a sitting position, but the dull ache in her side seems to hint that that would be a spectacularly stupid thing to do. So she continues lying down, feeling very much like an invalid. Her nose wrinkles at the nauseating stench. Antiseptics. Disinfectants.

The hospital.

Riza bites back a groan and, this time, fighting any sense of rationality and self-preservation, attempts to seat herself up. She hears a matronly voice fussing over her predicament — something about her being as stubborn as Colonel Mustang had described her to be, and would have snorted aloud at the hypocrisy if the morphine hadn’t done its job so expediently.

Riza falls back asleep, the pain slowly ebbing away as a hand reaches out to gently stroke her hair.

—

The next time Riza wakes, her world is spinning, tilting on its axis to create an indecipherable blur of colour. There are, however, blobs of light swimming in her vision, warm and golden — daylight? It must be daytime, then.

Riza swallows a pained groan and forces her eyelids open. Her vision is hazy, but she notes, to her dismay, that the ceiling is still conspicuously white. That must mean she’s still in the hospital. She clears her throat and blinks, hard, thinking it might just be a hallucination or a side effect of having too much morphine in her system, but her surroundings remain the same.

The only difference this time is the voice that greets her. It’s deep and decidedly masculine, one that she would recognise anywhere. (One that has been haunting her dreams.)

“Are you awake, Lieutenant?”

“I am,” Riza mumbles. She will never understand how her body can be so tired even after she’s slept so much. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been out for. “How long was I out for?”

“Nearly two days,” Roy whispers, and she immediately detects the worry in his voice. She wonders if he’s gotten much sleep over the past two days; the dark circles lining his concerned eyes tells her that he hasn’t. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

Riza shakes her head lightly in an effort to dispel some of the dizziness. Slowly, she tries to ease herself into a sitting position, wincing as a sudden wave of pain surges through her abdomen.

“Lieutenant!” he half-yells, chidingly. Riza winces again when he circles his arms around her torso without any warning. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Hypocrite,” Riza manages, weakly.

Another burst of pain renders her speechless soon enough, and then she’s gripping onto the bed rail like it’s a lifeline.

Roy ignores her comment well enough. Gently, he adjusts her back into bed, the hem of his black wooden scarf tickling her cheek as he does so. She mutters something about propriety and regulations, but Roy ignores that as well, instead bringing a cup of water to her lips. Riza sips at it slowly. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was; it makes her feel like she's just swallowed sandpaper. Like she’s back in the desert.

Riza mumbles a thanks when she’s done and leans back against the hard pillow, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunrays. She is so very tired. She thinks she could use another shot of morphine, possibly another day in bed, but there are bigger, more important things at hand, like —

“How did the rest of the mission go?”

“We’ve managed to sort everything out, Lieutenant,” Roy reassures, frowning at her priorities. “Don’t worry about it. Worry about yourself, first.”

“You’re being hypocritical again, sir.”

“Maybe, but we can save this argument for another time.” His tone brooks no disagreement, and before Riza can so much as protest he’s already taken the liberty of laying her back down. “For now, rest.”

“I’ve been resting for two days, sir.”

“Clearly, you haven’t had enough,” he says, smirking in a way that makes her want to pull the trigger on him. Regrettably, though, the hospital has a no-arms policy, and she finds that even the pistol that she always keeps hidden on her thigh has been removed. Riza huffs. “Since you haven’t shot me yet for putting you in bed.”

“I will soon enough,” Riza mutters, but the words sound tauntingly hollow to her ears. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy again. She can feel herself slowly ebbing away, drifting back into a void.

“I look forward to that. And Lieutenant?”

“Yes?”

As much as she tries to fight it, being awake for the past ten minutes has taken a toll on her still-battered body, and she’s unbelievably exhausted. Being so drugged up probably doesn’t help, either.

“Do not, under any circumstances, risk your life like that for me. Ever again.”

That’s what a bodyguard is for, is what Riza wants to say, but sleep reclaims her before she can properly protest, and it’s dark again. (She thinks she’d managed to articulate a resolute no, though.)

—

The rest of the unit, along with Rebecca, visits her the next morning.

Riza manages to remain civil and courteous throughout the entirety of their fussing — which is a miracle, she thinks, when Rebecca and Havoc are sobbing like she’s actually dead. (Riza rolls her eyes and pats Rebecca on her hand when nobody’s looking, hoping the contact will provide some confirmation that she is still in fact among the living.)

Falman, Breda and Fuery are, thankfully, a lot more composed than them, although Fuery himself looks like he’s well on the verge of crying too. Riza distracts him expertly with questions about Hayate’s well-being, and he perks up immediately at the mention of her beloved pup (who’s presently under his care, because he’s the only one she can entrust Hayate with).

“Alright, alright, the Lieutenant needs her rest,” Roy announces at last, much to her relief. As much as she appreciates their concern, she does need her rest, and she will probably need an extra dose of morphine, too; Riza can feel the ache in her side starting to flare up again. “It’s time to go.”

Riza hears a chorus of get well soon, Lieutenant, mingled with a couple of tearful goodbyes. (Rebecca mumbles something about Roy being a selfish prick who’s kidnapping Riza for himself and warns Riza against Stockholm syndrome. Riza rolls her eyes and tells Rebecca to stay away from shitty soap operas.)

Riza waves at them as Roy ushers them out. When the room is empty again, he turns his undivided focus back to her, and asks, “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?”

“I’m fine,” Riza insists, although her mind is already devising a way to ask for morphine without him noticing. She’s sure that he’ll kick up a fuss if he realises that she’s in pain; the last thing she needs is him moping around day and night like a kicked puppy.

Slowly, like she’s testing the waters, Riza eases herself up - with some uninvited assistance from her commanding officer - and breathes heavily, resting her head on the pillow. She notes the weird contraption around her waist and stifles a childish groan. The fact that it’s still there means that she’ll probably be wheelchair-bound for a while, but she’s already starting to feel restless from being stuck in bed for so long. (Riza wonders if this was how Roy had felt, when he had been hospitalised after his affray with Lust. She thinks she can better empathise with his decision to recklessly discharge himself now.)

“Are you hungry?” Roy asks suddenly. Riza shakes her head, but he continues anyway. “I made chicken soup.”

Riza watches, somewhat nonplussed as he extracts a thermal flask from an insulated bag and sets everything up on the overbed table. The sudden role reversal discomfits her a little. Riza feels strangely out of her element, being cared for like this (when it’s normally the other way round).

“Thank you, sir,” she says, both embarrassed and touched by his concern. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself —”

“It’s no trouble at all, Lieutenant,” he interjects gently, smiling.

Riza shrugs and sips at the homemade soup wordlessly. The warm liquid glides down her throat easily enough, and she lets out a hum of approval, pleasantly surprised by the sudden display of culinary talent from her commanding officer.

“This is really good, by the way. Since when did you learn how to make such good chicken soup?”

“Since ten tries and a burnt kitchen.”

Riza almost sputters. “What?”

“Just kidding. I’m not that bad of a cook,” he says, grinning as he ladles out a bowl for himself. Riza stares at him disbelievingly. Burning down a kitchen is not something altogether impossible for him, considering his track record of culinary mishaps. “Really, Lieutenant. Give me some credit. I’ve improved quite a fair bit since my days as a teenage boy.”

“Well, this proves it, for sure,” she says, and his grin widens.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Riza offers a small smile of her own in return.

“I do, thank you.”

They eat in companionable silence. Riza is relieved to note that his mood has improved somewhat. since the last time she’d been awake. She might’ve been too drugged up to fully comprehend her surroundings previously, but she had been conscious enough to note the anger and frustration, the worry in his tone when he’d reprimanded her for her recklessness. And it’s easy to understand why was mad; he’s always had a peculiar habit of putting his subordinates above his own well-being.

Still, Riza doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong. She’s simply doing her job, and he’s simply being overprotective. She is his bodyguard, after all, and that itself entails sacrifice where necessary. And she would do it, in the blink of an eye, if it means keeping him out of harm’s way.

But Riza also knows him well enough to know when to back down from a losing argument, and so she simply pretends that conversation never happened. She’s satisfied with the way things are between them — for now, at least.

Above all, she’s just relieved to see that he’s safe.

—

Later in the afternoon, a nurse comes in to check on Riza.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better,” she says, even as the growing ache in her side threatens to expose her lie. Roy looks at her, unconvinced, and Riza feels a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse to give the nurse a hug when she ushers Roy out for privacy reasons. She’s not really the hugging sort, but this nurse - Jade, Riza notes, from the little white name tag hanging from her breast pocket - definitely deserves one. “When can I be discharged?”

“Not so soon, my dear.” Jade clucks her tongue, as if disappointed that Riza had even asked such a thing. “We’ll have to keep you around for at least a week more, but you should be able to start physiotherapy in a couple of weeks.”

Riza visibly cringes when she hears this. Two weeks is a long time to be hospitalised, and she’ll probably be out of commission for a while at this rate — especially if physiotherapy is involved. (Throw in an overprotective boss in the mix, and she’s basically done for.)

“Is it possible for us to start physio earlier?”

“No such luck, sweetie,” and Riza cringes again, this time at the term of endearment. She’s always been a little uncomfortable around nurses like these, simply because the military doctors are usually the stoic, no-nonsense with no time for coddling.

(Between the two, though, she’s not sure which she prefers, but Riza decides she just hates hospitals in general. The rooms are stifling and smell like a mortician’s lab, even though it’s a place that is technically supposed to keep her alive and nurse her back to health.)

“I’ll be fine. Really, I’m feeling much better already.”

Jade sighs, the disapproval apparent on her pretty face. “Have you even tried walking yet?”

“No, but -”

“Good, you shouldn’t. You’ll have to use a wheelchair for a few days, before switching to a walking frame.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Jade confirms, sounding a little more apologetic this time. “I would strongly advise against trying — unless you want to risk worsening your injury, you’re better off staying in bed.”

Riza frowns, very much displeased with her current predicament. As she’d predicted, she is, in fact, wheelchair-bound, but she hadn’t thought that she would have to rely on a walking frame, too. She’s never had to rely on one before — not since she was first trying to learn how to skate on the rink that one winter as a girl of ten.

“I’m sorry,” Jade says, patting her on the hand sympathetically. “I’m sure you’ll get better soon, with time and rest.”

Riza shrugs, feigning nonchalance. She’s irritated at the situation, but there's really not much she can do right now other than rest. Besides, her commanding officer will find a way to keep her here somehow even if she tries to escape.

“Alright. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, do you need anything else? More painkillers, perhaps?”

Riza nods grimly. She turns away as the nurse administers another dose of morphine, and adjusts herself on the pillows in helpless resignation as she waits for it to take effect.

“Take good care of her. She’s a stubborn one.”

Riza hears these words faintly, through the charged, cottony silence filling her drug-addled mind. She tries to protest, but the words seem to come out like garbled nonsense, and the last thing she hears before falling back into unconsciousness is something that both irks and warms her heart immensely.

“I will.”

—

Riza begins her first physiotherapy session exactly a week later.

By some stroke of luck, she’d managed to bring it forward, after proving to the doctors that she had, in fact, made a rather speedy recovery — even if said recovery meant that she was still mostly stuck to a wheelchair. Her commanding officer hadn’t been too pleased, of course, but it was still worth being able to get out of her room and get up on her own two feet.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. Recovery is an agonisingly slow, painful process. Riza finds herself trembling, just from supporting herself with a walking frame. It feels like someone is repeatedly stabbing her at her side, and she has to pause every now and then just to catch her breath.

Riza grimaces. She hasn’t felt this winded since the last time she’d had an awful case of bronchitis. Her legs are like jelly, and there’s a sheen of sweat that’s starting to stick to her fringe from all the heaving and wincing she’s been doing the past five minutes.

Still, Riza forces herself to keep going. She’s had worse, anyway, and this is nothing compared to the survival camps she’d endured back in the academy.

(It’s also nothing compared to what Havoc is going through.)

“Now try to put your left foot forward, Miss Hawkeye,” the physiotherapist says, and Riza follows suit, thinking of her friend as she takes her first steps. “Very good, now slowly, with the other foot.”

Riza continues as instructed, even as a fresh jolt of pain shoots through her side. Riza grits her teeth and staggers forward. She has to do this. She has to get better soon for the unit, for him. It’s bad enough that he’s already missing one subordinate, and she would rather die trying than be a liability.

(The thought of being an additional burden on his already worn shoulders is simply unbearable.)

—

“How did your first session go?” Roy asks later that evening, when he comes around to visit her. It’s already way past visiting hours, but Riza doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s probably charmed some poor, ingenuous nurse into breaking the rules and letting him in.

“Fine.”

Roy frowns. “I still think you should have waited for a bit longer before —”

“I’m fine,” Riza insists. The exhaustion is beginning to creep up on her, and she doesn’t think she can sustain much of a conversation - much less an argument - today. Riza notes the dark rings under his eyes and immediately softens. Guilt creeps into an overworked system, urging her towards a feeble attempt at reassurance. “I promise, sir. Don’t worry about me.”

Roy stares at her meaningfully, and then sighs as if to say, you know that’s an impossible request. He offers a wry smile.

“Alright,” he says, making himself comfortable on her bedside stool. He folds his arms across his chest and yawns, joking about increased paperwork and reduced efficiency in his absence, but Riza can tell that he’s still in a sombre mood; she doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s been beating himself up over her current situation.

Riza knows, however, that it’s not something that he’s particularly keen on discussing, and so she plays along with a teasing shrug.

“I hope you’re not slacking off, sir.”

“Oh, you know me. I wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ve known you long enough to know about your atrocious work ethic, sir.”

He laughs. “I’ll work on that, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

—

Roy continues visiting her the following evenings, after her physiotherapy sessions. He’d insisted on tagging along at first, but Riza had convinced him that it was better for her to do them alone. It’s bad enough that the nurses are starting to think that there’s something more than a strictly professional relationship between them.

Besides, he’d made a promise to not skive off at work. That had been enough to get him off her back in the afternoons, but not enough, apparently, to prevent him from breaking in and visiting her at night.

“You don’t have to come every day, sir,” Riza says, because she knows he’s been basically shuttling between her and Havoc. The fatigue is obvious on his face; his complexion is paler than usual, taking on an almost sickly tone, and the rings under his eyes are starting to become almost bruise-like.

“Nonsense,” he scoffs. Riza rolls her eyes, because he’stalking nonsense. “I’m fine.”

“You look tired.”

“Is that meant to be a jibe at my appearance?”

“Yes,” she deadpans, pointing at the stubbles on his chin. “You haven’t even shaved today.”

Roy waves a dismissive hand as he carefully pours out her favourite congee into a bowl. “I still managed to charm my way in, so I’m sure I’m still as good looking as ever.”

“With all due respect, sir, you’re not.”

“Really, now, don’t be insubordinate —”

“I’m serious, sir.”

Roy regards her with abject horror, and heads to the bathroom to fix his stubbles while she slowly savours the steaming bowl of congee that he’s left on the table. Roy leaves an hour later, and at first Riza thinks he’ll take a hint and take the day off tomorrow, but he shows up the following evening, anyway, remarkably clean-shaven this time.

—

As much as Riza knows that her expectations are unrealistic, it’s disheartening to see that she’s still having trouble walking. It’s been nearly two weeks since surgery, and she’s received feedback that she’s making tremendous progress in physiotherapy, but it’s still too slow. She’s still not discharged. She’s still not allowed back at work, she’s still mostly confined to bed, and —

And she’s still useless.

She hates it, of course, but there’s really not much she can do right now. She can’t return to work without her commanding officer filing a restraining order of some sort, and she can’t discharge herself without an entire army of hospital staff hot on her tails.

She can, however, get past the nurses who are a little too preoccupied with the rumour mill. And so she does. Riza wheels herself furtively into a lift without attracting attention, and, having brought along her inconvenience of a walking frame, takes her rehabilitation into her own hands. She ventures out into the hospital garden, clumsily pushing herself towards standing. The floor is cold and the air tastes salty, but it’s the most alive she’s felt in ages. Her first step is shaky, and so is the next, but she is walking without supervision. Taking baby steps.

Riza smiles, even as her arms tremble from having to hold up her entire weight. She soldiers on anyway, persisting in her hobbling. It’s a strangely liberating feeling to walk by herself after weeks of enduring multiple sets of watchful, paranoid eyes.

But maybe she’s overestimated herself. The ache in her side returns with a vengeance, without warning, causing her to pause in her tracks.

Riza leans against the railings, gasping for breath. She presses a hand to her side as another wave of pain strikes. She’s a far cry from her usual athleticism, now. She doubts she’ll be able to ace the annual military fitness test this year like she normally does (she’s never fallen below the gold standard since graduating from the academy).

“Hawkeye!”

Riza stumbles when she hears her name. She only just manages to latch onto a nearby railing, but her limbs seem hellbent on giving way. She braces herself for the impact, expecting to fall flat on her face, but a hand reaches out to steady her from behind just before she crashes to the floor.

A little more than relieved, Riza exhales shakily and clutches onto her walking frame, with both hands this time.

“Hawkeye,” she hears again, and she knows instantly that she’s in for an (unnecessary) lecture.

“Sir,” she heaves. “I’m alright. Sorry for the scare.”

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Roy exclaims, and she shushes him with a displeased glare.

“Keep it down, please. We’re in a hospital.”

“Exactly,” he huffs, his voice taking on a reprimanding tone. “You shouldn’t be out and running about by yourself. Where are those nurses, anyway? Why isn’t anyone keeping you company? What if —”

“Sir,” Riza stresses, her irritation seeping through. The last thing she needs right now is to be treated like a helpless child. What she needs, actually, is some affirmation that she’s still a valuable asset to the team. Still useful. “I’m fine. You worry too much.”

“You’re not helping with that, Lieutenant.”

“The last I recalled, you were running around with a similar injury.”

“Yes, but I was an idiot, and you’re not.”

Riza smiles. “I can’t say you’re wrong there.”

“Anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat as if to regain some of his lost dignity. “You were nearly caught in an explosion, and then shot by a bullet. That’s far worse than getting impaled in the gut.”

“When you put it like that, I’m not too sure which is worse, sir,” Riza says. As much as she appreciates his concern, the double standard is beginning to grate on her nerves; she thinks he should at least be grateful she hasn’t broken out of the hospital by sheer force yet.

Roy huffs. “Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

To that, Riza simply shrugs. She leans back against a nearby vending machine, enjoying the fresh air and dim lights for a bit before being forced to go back.

Roy regards her with a meaningful look like he’s debating whether to scold her or something else. Something she doesn’t want to expressly acknowledge. Not yet, at least — not during this crucial period of their lives that could very well dictate how the rest of it will go.

(But this is how it’s always been, Riza thinks. They’ve never needed words to convey the unutterable. In many ways, their actions have always spoken louder than its verbal counterparts, and it’s probably best for them to keep it this way, to suppress the felonious sentiments that they’ve already kept so closely guarded for years.)

“Put your feet on top of mine, Hawkeye.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it. You’re not that heavy,” he says, gently pulling her forward so that she no longer has the vending machine for support. Something nudges at her toes, and Riza raises a brow, as if to question whether he’s genuinely serious about this. “Go on.”

“You could end up with two broken feet, sir —”

“In which case I’ll get an extended leave from work, so really, that’s a win-win.”

“Seems like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Riza says. She laughs quietly at his antics, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s smirking triumphantly, like he’s just bested her in a game of chess.

“Of course I have. Now get on, it’s better than walking around like you’re fully recovered.”

And because she knows better than to fight a losing argument, Riza just does as she’s told.

Gingerly, she puts her feet on top of his, mindful to not fracture anything. Roy pulls her close to him, wrapping his arms around her torso — whether to prevent falling, or to embrace her, she’s not sure, but she doesn’t mind, not really. Being shackled to a hospital bed for two weeks is enough to make her crave and cave into human contact.

“This feels an awful lot like we’re dancing, sir.”

“Again, a win-win.”

She rolls her eyes. “How very opportunistic of you.”

Laughter rumbles from his chest, genuine and unbridled.

“You know me. I would never pass up on an opportunity to dance with my favourite subordinate.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your message to Havoc, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, and Riza bites back a laugh at the obvious sarcasm. “Alright, now just follow my lead. Move your left foot back.”

She does as she’s told, again. Roy repeats his instructions for the other foot, and the cycle repeats, until they’re trudging around in small circles. It’s like graceless dancing, Riza thinks, observing him silently as he frowns from concentrating so intensely on their every step. It’s just like when he’d first tried to teach her how to dance. (Dancing around campfires during the pumpkin harvest had never really been her thing - in part because it involved copious amounts of socialising and talking, and in part because she was born with two left feet - but it had been Roy’s, evidently. She hadn’t the heart to rain on his parade, and so had reluctantly obliged when he’d asked her to dance.)

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, sir.”

His frown deepens, and he stops moving for a moment.

“Are you tired?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“You always say that,” he murmurs. “But I don’t want you to overdo it. Let’s get you back.”

Riza sighs resignedly. She is starting to feel exhausted, but there’s a part of her that doesn’t want this shared, private moment to end, either. She’s been enjoying it more than she should. More than she would ever admit.

“Alright,” she says, but Roy surprises her and pulls her in for a hug.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re not useless, Riza. Not at all.”

Her throat runs dry.

“Sir?”

“I know you’ve probably been feeling that way,” he continues, running a hand through her hair, now limp and sickeningly dry from all the time spent away from sunshine and conditioner. “Which is why you’ve been pushing yourself so hard. But I promise you you’re not. You could never be.”

Riza chews on her bottom lip contemplatively. She wants to ask how he’d read her mind, but there’s no point asking questions that she already knows the answers to. They’ve known each other for a long time, after all (she knows he must’ve been thinking the same thing during his earlier convalescence, too).

“I - thank you, sir.”

Roy nods, his chin tickling the top of her head.

“Besides, that word is meant for me, not for you.”

Riza laughs, but it comes out muffled as he continues stroking the back of her head.

“Your level of self-awareness today is off the charts.”

“I know,” he smirks. “Shall we?”

She nods, and Roy guides her back into her wheelchair. Their extensive experience with covert operations is particularly handy during a time like this; Roy manages to somehow evade all of the staff on duty and successfully wheels her back into her room without arousing suspicion.

Riza is so enervated that she practically sinks into the mattress without protest, even as Roy helps her in. She eyes him as he makes himself comfortable - as comfortable as one can be - in the old, lumpy chair beside her.

“Sir,” she croaks out. Riza clears her throat and tries again. “Sir.”

“Yes?”

Riza shifts a little to make space. She’s thankful that it’s already evening; she’s pretty sure she’s blushing by now, because she’s never been so bold, so forward before. (He’s usually the one taking initiative when it comes to things like this, but the unhealthy pallor in his skin is enough for her to make an exception.)

“You should rest, too.”

“I am, Hawkeye.”

She shifts a little more to the side. He gets the hint.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely —”

“I'm not asking.”

Roy laughs, but he slides in any way, military regulations and meddlesome nurses be damned. They’ll be fine, Riza thinks; the nurses aren’t known to be particularly alert past midnight. Besides, Roy is probably sensible enough to get out before dawn, and if he’s not, he’ll probably charm or bribe his way out somehow. She’s not normally so cavalier about breaking the rules, but Roy deserves a night of proper rest, at least. It’s the least she can do after all he’s done for her.

“If you say so.”

“I didn’t,” Riza insists, stifling a yawn. She’s so tired that she thinks she might fall asleep while talking. “Get some rest, sir.”

“You too, Hawkeye,” he says, yawning as he pulls the miserable excuse of a blanket over them both. “Sleep well.”

Riza feels the ghost of a kiss on her temple, before her world becomes blissfully dark.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #I am aware this is hella corny and possibly trashy but!!! worse things are coming LMAO #ok goodnight my dudes mwah have a great Sunday <3 #also pls if anyone has watched Vagabond... hmu so I can lose my marbles once again (and if u haven't pls watch it I promise u will not be #disappointed)#reblogs and comments are always deeply appreciated :')#writing this felt like physiotherapy bcs I haven't written in so long LMAO and taking the first step is always terrifying but whatevs!!!#baby steps!!!

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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Hey Steph!🌟Do u have any fics with smut that is feelingy, ie more focused on the emotional aspect & how they're feeling while doing it than the phy sensations & descriptions? Hope u get wt I'm saying. Thx in Advance!💖

OOOOO Nonny!

I’ve got just the list for you! and it will give me an excuse to do a part two to another list of mine!! <3

I do have a Sensuality list in the works, so look out for that in a while, but I think for now this list and the “see also” is perfect for you!

Feel free, friends, to add your own!

EMOTIONAL LOVE MAKING Pt. 2

See also: Emotional Love Making Pt 1 || [MOBILE POST]

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., Ch. 1 || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #emotional love making #my fic recs #e-rated fics #Anonymous #long post

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