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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 2 years

Text

(Un)bearable

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Enemies to lovers, kinda dom!Soap, rough, lil bit degrading but nothing horrible, use of the nickname "puppy"

Summary: Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can't seem to get his head round the fact that you're on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well...there's more than one way to decide who's top dog.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

A/N: Happy haggis day folks! Hope you enjoy this lovely Soap smut.

-🧼-

When you first joined the unit, you and Soap took to each other like rats to poison. It’s not that you went into the 141 with a bad attitude or were looking to make enemies by any means - but from the first moment you meet John “Soap” Mactavish you can’t help but grit your teeth and hope that you get a chance to wipe that smug smirk from his face. Preferably with a blunt object, but generally by any means necessary.

It all started when you walked into a meeting room, ready for your first briefing as a part of your new unit and the only other one there was Soap. His legs were crossed and propped up on a desk, hands resting on top of head and smoothing down his mohawk. He was sitting there casually looking as if he was about to start a nap. It made you raise your eyebrows, but you quickly shook off your surprise and said hello, introducing yourself.

“Aw, eh…nice to meet you? Are you lost?” He frowned.

You blinked at him, taking a second to figure out what he meant. Was he teasing you? Was this some kind of weird hazing thing? Though, after a few seconds of silence pervading the stuffy little room, you realised he wasn’t joking.

“No?” You answer back, just as confused. “This is the room Captain Price booked out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Are you here to bring coffee or somethin’?”

You immediately felt your back tense up and suddenly all the dumb, slack jawed voices of recruits from your past flare up in your head, your body practically vibrating with anger. People look at you and they never assume very much, but when it comes to letting you loose in a fight they’re suddenly very glad to have you on their team. And after a few breaths to calm yourself down, you realised you’d have an opportunity to prove yourself later.

“I’m here because Price asked me to be,” you said sullenly, taking a seat as far away from the soldier as you could manage.

He raised his brows but he didn't question you further. Thankfully, he didn’t get a chance to. Everyone else started filtering in and taking their seats silently and Price stood at the head of the room, eyeing you and your lingering glare with his usual measured look. He knew that Soap probably pissed you off. Hell, you figured Soap probably pissed the Captain off most of the time.

It was when he finally introduced you to the rest of the team as “Sergeant” that Soap finally clocked why you were there for the briefing, and yet the Scotsman didn’t look embarrassed or even apologetic. No. His face erupted into a cocky grin and he would sneak looks at you every so often, measuring you up and looking like he was in complete disbelief.

When you were finally released from the meeting you could hear him and Ghost when they retreated down the opposite end of the hall. He didn’t even try to quiet his stupidity obnoxious voice, which was allowed unbidden, to bounce down the corridor like a waving red cape to a bull.

“Fuckin’ mind blowing that that is our new team member,” he laughed, “We’d be better working with Mickey Mouse.”

“Soap,” comes the Lieutenant’s voice, growling a warning.

“What? Aren’t you even a little bit shocked?”

“I’m sure Price took them on for a reason…Just fuckin’ leave it, alright?”

“…You’re probably right.”

Though, Soap didn’t leave it. He took every opportunity he could to rile you up, and that included fucking with your callsign.

You’d been out on your first mission together when he’d seen you getting into a tussle. Though just as Johnny had been about to step in and help, you’d managed to get a lucky kick at the guy's ankle and finally took him down when you regained your grip on your knife - Leaving Soap standing staring at you, gun at the ready with nothing to shoot.

“Get you, scrappin’ just like a wee bulldog,” he’d smirked, voice crackling over the comms for all to hear.

“Shut it, Soap,” you growled, already looking to fan out and move away from him.

“Ooft,” he chuckled. “You’re like one of those bad tempered ones, the little yappy horrible bulldogs. What are they called again?”

“Frenchies,” someone says through the line.

“That’s it. Wee frenchie, nippin’ at the enemy’s heels.”

You couldn’t tell who it was that provided the answer, but from then on you vowed that if you ever found out you’d pay them back for it tenfold. Soap had proceeded to tease you with it for the rest of the op and then, because everyone found your reaction so entertaining, it stuck. You were Frenchie for the rest of time.

As if that wasn’t enough, you got into some amounts of back and forth during missions, sometimes to a point that Price would threaten to bash your heads together when you got back. Though, it never deterred you both. It was like a horrible little game that you played, trying to one up the other and not lose control, a test of wills, a battle you waged privately. One that often ended in you going to sleep vowing you’d be the last one to see him through a scope one day.

On your latest mission you’d been traversing a small town one night, picking off your targets quietly and trying to avoid an all out firefight. You, Ghost and Soap were working your way through buildings like a vicious pack of wolves, picking off the men like mice. Occasionally you’d mutter through the comms link, but tried to stay off it, content to leave Ghost and Soap to their stupid jokes and chatter.

“What do you do when your doctor gives you a year to live?” Ghost asks, voice raspy as he steps away from a kill.

You sigh, knowing you’d be subjected to another one of the boys’ awful wisecracks. It was at times like those you thought of better days, days where you worked with people that didn’t clog up the comms with their shite chat. Days that you liked all of your teammates (or at least could go without wanting to seriously maim any of them)

“I dunno,” Soap replied in an almost whisper.

“You shoot them and a judge gives you fifteen years,” Ghost deadpans.

Both you and Johnny groan over the line, for once united in something. Ghost liked to tell truly awful jokes, though, had he told genuinely funny ones then it was unlikely you’d be alive to enjoy them much longer. You couldn’t afford to burst out laughing when there were still plenty of men out there in the shadows that would love to discover you and rain bullets like a monsoon.

“You’re awfully quiet, Frenchie. Still with us?” Ghost rumbles.

“Your jokes are just too funny LT,” you murmur, sighing as you realise the house you’re in is clear. “I’m laughing so hard there’s no sound coming out.”

“Cheeky cunt,” Ghost chuckles, disappearing for a moment until he speaks again. “You got anything better?”

“Maybe.”

“G’on then,” Soap urges you snarkily. “Give us your best.”

“Alright then…where’d Soap go after getting lost on the minefield?” You say, smirk dancing on your lips

“Where?” Ghost asks.

“Everywhere,” you whisper darkly.

“Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie,” Ghost snorts, covering the sound of Johnny’s sharp inhale.

They both knew you were thoroughly enjoying the mental image that swam around your head. It was distracting, but you think you still have your head on straight. You still managed to pace around the little dirt roads like a spectre, moving silently and unseen through the the dark purpling night. That is, you think so, until you’re about to be surprised.

Just as the guy was about to swing for you, he flew back and onto the ground with a thud, struggling as he let go of his last breath. The weapon he held in his hands is released as his body goes limp and it crumbles down the hill, kicking up a little dust as it goes. A piece of debris heavy enough that it would’ve bludgeoned you to death on first try.

“What's brown and bad for your teeth?” Johnny grins.

You groan quietly.

“The brick that was about to get smashed across yer smug. Fuckin’. Face. Frenchie.”

-🧼-

In the end you’d all come back from the mission alive. Despite the fact that you had to begrudgingly admit that it was, in part, due to Soap, you didn’t come back too sour. In fact you even joined drinks for once and sat with the team. It was nice to unwind together rather than laying in bed alone, head filled with all that you’d done and could’ve done better.

Though, after a few drinks and plenty of nonsense chat later you’d started to feel tired. The guys had gone from shouting and laughing up a storm to quietly chatting about this and that, going into ‘remember the time…’ stories that you had nothing to contribute to. With that realisation, you’d figured you’d just call it a night and quietly say your goodbyes.

You hadn’t really realised how sleepy you were until you’d stood up. It was only when you’d sluggishly taken a few steps that you felt a familiar heaviness descending over you, and resolved to get to bed as soon as you could, rushing to get out. Though when you’d shouldered your way out through the heavy wooden doors of the pub, you were greeted with an extremely unpleasant interruption to your plans. His smile and breath curled out into the cold air like a dragon's smoke, and he didn’t look like he was letting you go without a passing comment.

The mental warfare continues, you’d thought bitterly.

“You leavin’ already, French?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, folding your shivering arms around your middle.

“Figure I’ve had enough. What about you? I didn’t know you smoked,” you frowned, looking at the half smoked cigarette that was dangling in his hands.

“Social smoker. Ye want one?”

“Doesn’t look very social to me,” you smirked, gesturing to his lack of companions.

“Would be if you joined,” he shrugged.

You shook your head instead of replying - thinking better of continuing the conversation. You just wanted to head inside and roll up into your sheets, in no mood to deal with any more for the day. Escape the nicotine clouds that threatened to stick to your body and cloy at your throat, the thought of anything containing his breath sticking to you in any way was enough to have you wincing.

You were just about to walk away when he piped up again.

“Why is it we don’t seem to get on very well, eh?”

You stopped in your place and felt every fibre in your body shaking. Was he seriously asking that? You had about a million answers to his question, but most of all you just wanted to strangle him and tell him it was because he was incapable of shutting the fuck up and leaving you alone.

Even after the amount you’d drunk, you managed to summon some self control and stay in place.

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you said instead.

You had still had enough liquid courage that your social filter failed, however.

“What do you mean I’m annoyin’,” he laughed.

“I mean you’re the most obnoxious fucking dickhead I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

Well apparently the beast was unleashed.

“Bit harsh,” Soap choked out, laughing out a gust of smoke.

“It’s true - you’re unbearable.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but his smirk remained.

“Fine, I’m an obnoxious arsehole…what’s that make you then, wideo?

“What about me?”

“Takes two to tango, doesn’t it? I’d say it makes you as ‘unbearable’ as I am.”

A rush of white hot fury flooded your veins and you marched back up to him, attempting to invade his space as much as you could bear. You met his gaze and glared up at him, shooting daggers and whatever else you could manifest. It’s on motherfucker.

“I’m not the one that called someone out for being unworthy before they got a chance to prove themselves. I’m not the one that constantly acts unprofessional. I’m not the one that picks on people for no good reason. I’m not the one-“

“You been keepin a list of grievances on me or somethin’,” he teased, cutting you off.

You growled and before you could even think, you watched yourself bat the cigarette from his hands like a feral cat and watched it fly. It arced through the air and landed with a bouncing finish, scattering red ash into the quiet wind. It took a second of silence till either of you did anything else.

“Childish much,” Soap snorted. “I’d rather be an arsehole than a little brat.”

You’d never whipped your head up so fast. Blood vessels you’d hardly been aware of before were boiling and your heart beat was in your eyes, it raced and pulsed and had you dizzier than drinking a bottle of vodka. All you saw was red. Soap had taken every opportunity to tease and push you and finally you’d decided he’d taken it far enough. In all your drunk wisdom you felt like this was your time to make a stand and show that you wouldn’t put up with it anymore.

With what you felt was a rallying warcry, you pushed Soap back and sent him stumbling, almost knocking him into the jagged bushes behind him, their leaves stripped bare from the winter weather. He’d huffed out a hiss, hand lanced through by one of the thorny branches.

“What the fuck!” He roared, coming to his feet again.

Suddenly it felt like all that anger really had boiled your blood, and it had unfortunately nullified all the alcohol out of it. The full withering cold of the night soaked through your skin and suddenly you were standing there sober, wide eyed and stupid, wondering what you’d do next. What could you do?

Fight or flight, a sharp edged voice whispered, echoing through your mind. The man had recovered quickly, and he was soon to make the decision for you. So, you went with what you felt was best for you and your kneecaps.

Flight it is.

You ran. Not even the road runner could have competed with you that night. It felt like Hermes had imbued you with power, you sprinted so fast that you practically flew back to the base on winged feet. Your lungs burned and your throat felt like you had accepted a smoke from Soap, but even so, with all pain you came to acknowledge once you were safely locked in your room, you remained unharmed.

And when the cramps in your thighs tangled through your legs and the full craziness of the previous events crashed down on you, you similarly fell to your bed; huffing out a massive Breath. This was one to deal with in the morning, you thought.

-🧼-

If only you could be so lucky.

You’d recalled thinking you could sleep everything off with a soundless laugh, and shook your head. It wasn’t happening. Instead, you were left staring at the demonic red numbers of your alarm clock with narrowed eyes. Apparently time had a way of slowing down when it came to the sobering mind. It could only happen to you, of course.

You’d woken up an hour later with a pounding headache and dry tongue, and even after taking painkillers and a decent glug of water you still remained awake and tortured. The scene of MacTavish falling to the bushes and shouting bloody murder at you was replaying in your mind like an old timey movie, static ringing through your ears as your anxiety tore through you.

You’d accused him of being unprofessional, and there you’d gone and shoved him like a toddler in a tantrum. Right after he’d called you childish as well!

You felt sick with worry, wondering if he’d tell Price, wondering what his revenge would be. You sighed and took a deep breath, realising you weren’t going to get any sleep. There were only two options once again, either you sat and suffered till you found out or you could face up to him and go apologise before he could dream up some particularly brutal revenge. Besides, you reasoned to yourself, even if you hated him and even despite the things he said - pushing him was a bit out of order.

Everything in you wanted to go for option A, but your need to get things out the way won over and soon enough you were in your sweats and baggy pyjama top, waddling down the halls.

The walk to Soap’s room felt like a long one, like a trek through the arctic. Every painful passing minute had you digging your fingers into your thighs and thinking better of your choice. You’d turned around to go back to your room three times before you reached his door. Even then, you took a minute before you knocked softly, fists coming down on the wood like soft paws.

The silence rang out for a moment, and you’d closed your eyes for a second, praying he was asleep. Though, as your unluckiness would have it, you’d heard someone rustling about not a second later. There were a few grumblings and noises more, before the door flung open and there stood a particularly surly John MacTavish, standing in his boxers and t-shirt with a face like thunder.

“You!” He groaned, running a hand through his splayed out mohawk. “The fuck do you want?”

“I uh…Came to apologise for earlier,” you mumbled awkwardly, mirroring him and swiping a hand over your head. “Sorry.”

You watched as he craned his neck and attended to a knot below his skin, hand harshly palming it while he thought over your words. Then, in your desperation not to meet his eyes, you found yourself casting your gaze downward and realised far too late you’d made your second mistake of the night.

His thighs had completely transfixed you, they were impressive laid bare like that, and before you were able to stop yourself you tilted your head and visibly looked from his thick muscles and further to the material of his boxers - coming to land on the half hard bulge that stood out from them. It wasn’t full-on morning wood, but there was something that’d been stirring there and now your eyes were glued on the sizable tent; and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

Fuck, just how big was he?

You heard a familiar snort and looked up guiltily, briefly wondering if you’d be running away from Soap for a second time that night.

“Let’s review the situation here. You wake me up at three AM with your pathetic little knock and get me out of my bed, for what’s probably the worst apology I’ve heard in my entire fuckin’ life, and now you’re staring at my cock like a shaking bitch in heat. Are you for real right now? Do we need to drug test you?” he said incredulously.

“I am not staring at your cock like a bitch in heat,” you hissed, looking around you like a caught criminal. “And keep your fucking voice down!”

“What? You don’t want anyone finding out that you’re a pervert?” He laughed, leaning against his doorframe.

“Do you want pushed again?” you growled.

“Do you want to push me again?” He cackled. “Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh?”

“No! It’s not like that. I wouldn’t- I didn’t-” you fumbled, not allowed to continue.

“Didn’t what? Didn’t want to just come out and tell me the reason you like fighting so much is because you can’t get me into bed?”

You dropped your mouth open, gawping at his leering tone. You absolutely did not like fighting with him in order to do…that. Whatever that would be like. You’d resolved that he’d be an awful lover, a selfish one, he was so shitty to you he’d probably just take what he wanted and-

And now you were thinking about sex with Soap! Yuck!

Not that the thought didn’t stir something in you. (you’d tried to plead with yourself that it was burning - throbbing - hatred)

“Your lack of an answer tells me that’s a yes,” he chuckled, going to close the door.

A phantom force willed your hand forward, and soap soon stopped trying to close it when he realised you were going to stay resolute. Your hand was shaking with effort. You couldn’t let him win this encounter, you’d thought to yourself, you couldn’t let him have the last word. You couldn’t bear to picture him lying in his bed with his stupid semi, grinning to the thought of you sitting and stewing the rest of the night.

It wasn’t happening.

“It’s not a yes. And you wouldn’t even fuck me properly even if did allow you within an inch of me,” you said proudly, hoping to turn and be on your victorious way.

No such luck.

Soap grabbed your arm before you could go and pulled you into his orbit, having you practically feel the heat radiating from his chest. His brows were pulled tight and his eyes were darker than onyx, staring at you like a dragon before it breathed fire. You gasped and blinked up at him, suddenly realising you’d bitten more than you could chew.

“I’m a lot more than an inch,” he growled.

“Doesn’t mean you know how to use it,” you fired back, not knowing why you’d continued to push him.

Perhaps all the blood that was flowing from your brain and down below might’ve had something to do with it. Maybe it was the iron grip that had your arm feeling like it might crack in his unrelenting calloused hand.

“You’re bein’ a daft cunt.”

“So are you.”

“Do you actually want fucked?” he asked, a sly smirk escaping through his lips.

“Doesn’t everyone,” you replied, trying to deflect his question.

He bit his lip and looked away, peering down into the hallway and looking for any stragglers. No one was there, just the shadows, the frigid air and empty silence.

“If you want me to show you just how well I can use this,” he said, palming his crotch with his free hand, “then tell me right now.”

It felt like all the oxygen in the hallway had filtered out and your brain was floating lifelessly in your head. It had to have been for you to have answered the way you did.

“You can show me, but try not to cry when it doesn’t work,” you sniggered.

Soap nodded his head, releasing your arm at the same time. He looked the same way that he did whenever you challenged him in training, the same way he looked when he usually found a way to throw your ass on the floor. In short, you knew you were fucked from that gritted jaw alone, but you tried not to let it show.

“Get on the bed and sit pretty, Frenchie. Be a good dog,” he goaded, opening the door up wide for you to enter.

This was it, no going back. You had the option to turn and run, but your pride wouldn’t let you do it. You’d talked a big game by that point and you couldn’t turn around then. It was the same thing that got you into the 141 that had gotten you into Soap’s room - your stupid pride. (Although maybe it was the way he was looking at you so intensely as well). You gritted your teeth and did what you were told, trying not to let the little voice in your head that said you actually really wanted him to overpower you.

Not likely.

No, you’d do what he said, but only so it would speed the process up - you reasoned. Not because when he’d made the order his voice had rumbled deep with authority and the purr had run down your spine like a bolt of lightning. No, that wasn’t it at all, you thought as you’d sank down into his messy sheets and lay your hands back behind you. That wasn’t it at all.

“Look at that, wee puppy follows commands afterall,” he said condescendingly.

He shut the door with a harsh click and locked it, your last chance of leaving gone. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of running out at that point. You were following through with it. Only because you’d said you would, not because of the tingles of anticipation running rampant round your body and not because Soap sounded hot as fuck when he was being demanding.

There was a force pushing you back, something unseen that made you lie back on the bed as Soap took torturously slow steps toward you. It felt like you were under a spell, unthinkingly sinking into the sheets and breathing in more of his scent, catching notes of him that you’d never thought much of before, gunpowder musk filling your senses.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked, finally coming to a stop as he hovered over you, tracing his thumb over your cheek.

“Y-yes,” you said, voice wavering as you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“Then beg for it,” he smiled, cupping your jaw. “Say please Johnny, please fuck me.”

“Get fucked,” you sneered, shoving his arm away.

“Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Not like that! I’m not begging you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?” he asked, restoring his hand to your head and weaving his fingers roughly through your hair. “I think you will be.”

You were about to come out with another quip but it died before you could, suffocated as he planted his lips on yours and stole your breath.

He wasn’t like other guys you’d kissed, he wasn’t sloppy and his tongue didn’t flop around like a dying fish. He was sure of himself, he kissed you roughly, but not forcefully. A notion that maybe he knew what he was talking about before entered your mind, but only fleetingly as you found yourself fading out.

All it took was Johnny’s hands on your body and you were lost to static and floating clouds. One hand roamed your thighs while the other trailed up your neck ever so gently. It had you stretching to give him access and unknowingly you’d given him exactly what he wanted, because now he was refocused on your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and sending it tingling like hot flames were licking up it.

“Mmm, poor little puppy. No wonder you’re wound so tight, you’re desperate for it,” he groaned.

“Mm?” you moaned, lost to bliss and confusion.

“There’s a wet patch soakin’ through your sweats,” he teased.

You froze, horrified that he’d come across it and tried to look for yourself, but you were stopped, stuck to the bed as his hard chest prevented you from getting up. Unstoppable force had finally met an immovable object, and now you were realising just how stoppable you actually were in the face of Johnny. Just how pliant you could be under his hands, the right hands.

“Don’t do anythin’ that I don’t tell you to do,” he ordered, whispering into your ear. “Just do what I say.”

You moaned pathetically, whining like the shivering dog he said you were, before you could fully stop yourself. He caught it - and your wide eyed expression.

“Except that,” he amended, laughing harshly. “You’ll do a lot of that.”

“And if I don’t listen to what you say?” you asked, voice shaking as you tried to reclaim some kind of authority over yourself (failing pathetically).

He yanked you up and had you sitting up facing him, manipulating your body the exact way he wanted; before he stared you in the eye and all but growled. His jaw tensed and untensed, and the heat of him burned into you like an explosion.

“What do you do with a dog that misbehaves?”

“You give it what it wants before it gets bored?” you tried.

“You grab it by the collar and set it right,” he growled, taking your neck in his big hand and forcing a commanding, but not choking, grip on it.

You whined, and before you could process it he was manhandling you again, this time throwing you face down on the bed and trapping you under his solid frame. His legs pinned you down and his arms were around your sides, locking you onto your hands and knees. Little whimpers were set loose into the room and soon Johnny had your sweats down to your feet and was yanking your top off of you, leaving you bare and shivering below him.

“Mm, you’re a pretty thing,” he growled appreciatively. “So soft too.”

He ran a hand down your back, doubling the frisson that lit your body like a bonfire and kissed all over your flesh while he rutted slowly against you. His hardening cock was knocking into your ass with deliberate harshness, and just the sensation of him through the material was enough to make you feel like you were going to implode. What you’d seen was only a fraction of what was rubbing against you then. You were sure of it now.

“Johnny,” you whimpered, humping the air and searching for more sensation.

“Yes, puppy?” he asked softly, planting another kiss on your back. “Want somethin’?”

“I- I,” your face burned with humiliation, you couldn’t believe you were giving into him.

“C’mon, just ask,” he said, growling your name - your actual name - into your ear like the devil himself. “Give into me.”

“Johnny, please fuck me,” you pleaded, shoulders sagging with defeat as you stared into the sheets with embarrassment. “Want you inside me. Please…”

“That all you got?” he asked simply, taking his hands from your body and shaking the bed as he fumbled with something behind you.

You groaned out and stayed in position for a second, trying to muster up the nerve, or break yourself down enough rather, so that you could find the right words. You licked your lips and finally, with a shaking breath, looked around your shoulder and met Johnny’s eyes, blinking your lashes like you were a professional.

“Want you to fuck me hard, Johnny. Want you to make me cum,” you said breathily, feeling your heart beating like a war drum. “Fuck me…Please.”

“Mmm, that’s my good puppy,” he purred, opening the bottle of lube in his hands with a click. “Gonna show you exactly what you get when you come to my door telling me I don’t know how to use my cock. Gonna ruin you for everyone else and have you screamin’ my name.”

You practically panted at that, wobbling on your hands and knees for a moment until he pushed your head down into the bed and kept it there, fastening his hand into your hair. The cold sensation of lube hit your flesh, dripping down your ass and sending your heart into overdrive.

This was it.

“Just lie there and take it…just like that…”

#soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #jonny soap mactavish x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction

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megamindsecretlair · 9 months

Text

It's a Little Cold

Pairing: Bucky x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Cursing. Sad Bucky. Fluff. Smut. Mild age gap. Reader is late 20s and Bucky is mid 30s. Dirty talk, PIV, and unprotected sex. Oral (fem receiving) Sentences are intentional AAVE.

Summary: You and Bucky had been dating for a few months now and were lucky to spend your first Christmas together exchanging presents.

Word Count: 3,432k

A/N: I had been thinking about these two for some time, so naturally we needed a little follow up. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and a Happy Monday to those who don't. If you need a little break from festivities, here ya go! Likes are always awesome, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I block ageless blogs.

This is a follow up to It's a Little Warm. If you want to see how these crazy kids got together, start here! Read Part 1

Tagging the folks who liked the previous series: @softimgyu @blackreaderatrisk @braverthanthenewworld @multiversefanfics @monaeesstuff @blackpinup22 @chaos-4baby @sevikasblackgf @namsey1987 @browngirldominion

Fuck, you were frightfully cold. The downside to having low iron was that you were always fucking cold. You pulled the blanket over yourself and snuggled down into the bed but it was no use. You flipped over, your hand searching for your space heater, but the bed was empty. You popped your head up and looked at the empty spot.

“Bucky?” You called out.

There was no reply. You kicked the covers off of yourself and got out of bed. You wiped sleep from your eyes as you walked towards the living room. The space was still dark, the open windows letting the morning light filter in.

You were about to grab your phone and call Bucky, but a sigh caught your attention. At the window, Bucky stood leaning against the windowsill. You stopped and watched him. He looked melancholy as he stared out of the window.

The pale morning light slanted over his exposed skin. He only wore black sweatpants. His dog tags hung from his neck. His metal arm was off for once. The scars around his arm always made you so fucking angry, you could resurrect the scientists who experimented on him and kill them all over again.

“Bucky?” You called out and approached him. You didn’t want to spook the poor man.

Bucky turned towards you and gave you a small smile. “Mornin’, doll,” he said. You smiled back and snuggled into his side, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Mornin’ handsome. What ya doing up so early?” You asked.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen snow on Christmas.”

You looked out of the window with him. You had been dating for a few months now and there were times when Bucky seemed to shut down and shut you out. You tried not to take it personally. There were so many things that he had been through, so many things that he’d seen, you weren’t sure you could begin to understand. You weren’t entitled to his every deepest thought. But you wish you knew how to help him.

“I’m glad I get to be here when you do,” you said and nudged his shoulder. He smiled at you and kissed your temple.

“Since we’re up...presents?” You asked excitedly. You waggled your eyebrows and Bucky laughed.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” He asked.

“Hell no! Are you kidding?” You slapped his rock hard stomach and crossed the room to the tiny Christmas tree on an end table by the other window. You knelt down and grabbed his presents. There was no way you were going to allow Bucky to drag a real Christmas tree into your place. You had an adorable argument about it.

You ended up winning by pointing out that the bad guys didn’t take breaks for the holidays. You hadn’t been sure that you would get to spend Christmas with Bucky. You agreed on a smaller, artificial tree this year. It was green, small and so cute. You two had sipped on drinks while you decorated. It took no more than an hour, mostly because you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

You held out the presents to him. Bucky grabbed his metal arm from the top of the couch and attached it. It never ceased to amaze you when he did that. You wanted to visit Wakanda so badly, it physically hurt. He flexed his fingers with a small grimace and then joined you in front of the table.

“Why don’t you open yours first?” He asked.

“No way! I want to see your face. If you hate it, I kept the receipts and we can return it for something else.” Nerves bubbled in your gut. You had wracked your brain for the past few months trying to think of what to get the man.

He had precious little in his apartment. He was always on the go somewhere, ready to leave at the drop of a hat. From day to day, he didn’t know where he would be. You thought it would wreck you that he wasn’t here every day. You missed him like crazy when he wasn’t around, but when he came back, it was simply magical.

“I’ll love it,” he said.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you said.

Bucky smiled. “I will love anything you get me. I thought we agreed on one present?”

He shook his box but what you got him wouldn’t rattle. He grinned and then nodded to two more presents under the small tree. “So we’re both full of shit?”

You chuckled as you grabbed your presents from him. The wrapping paper was silver with tiny penguins on them. The penguins had scarves on and you giggled about how cute they looked.

“Same time?” You asked. Maybe it would be better that you didn’t see his face when he opened his presents. You were suddenly nervous about what you got him. It was likely stupid and he wouldn’t use it.

He nodded. You both tore into your presents, wrapping paper flying all over the place. There was a green gift box underneath so you opened it. Inside, there was a giant, plush blanket hoodie in your favorite color.

“Bucky!” You squealed.

“Your anemic ass is always cold and I’m not always here to warm you up,” Bucky explained.

“I love it!” You hugged him, wrapping your hands around his neck and squeezing him tight. He chuckled at your enthusiasm and kissed your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he said. “There’s more.”

Underneath the blanket hoodie, there were matching socks and a huge black shirt. You lifted it and a waft of Bucky’s scent washed over you. “Your shirt?” You asked.

“You like stealing them all the time. Figured it was time to relinquish one willingly.” He said.

“You know me so well already,” you grinned and leaned up to press your lips against his. His stubble tickled your jaw as you kept going, loving his lips on yours. He groaned low in his throat and began to kiss along your jaw.

You were starting to warm up as you flushed with need. You would never get sick of him. Of his hands on you. “Open the rest of your presents,” Bucky said and kissed your cheek.

“You’re no fun.” You playfully pouted as you unwrapped your other present. Inside, there was a vanilla bean candle, bath soap, and lotion. You looked at him and Bucky had his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I know you like to pamper yourself. So…” He was nervous.

“Aww,” you cooed. You dropped your head to his shoulder. He was so damn sweet sometimes. He paid special attention to things you told him in passing. He knew your favorite coffee order and your favorite foods by now. He remembered so much with ease, it made you sick.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” you said.

Bucky grinned. “Even with a dinosaur like me?” He asked.

“Especially with a dinosaur like you. Older is sexy now,” you said.

He mockingly groaned and pushed you off of him. You pushed him back with a giggle. “Wait till you get some gray in your beard. You won’t be able to get rid of me then,” you dropped your voice.

“Oh really? Some gray in my beard? That’s all it takes?” He asked, matching your low tone. His eyes lowered to your lips and you licked them slowly on purpose.

“You’re killing me here,” he said.

You laughed and nodded towards his presents. Time to rip the bandaid off. Bucky continued to unwrap his presents, having stopped to watch your reaction to his presents. He opened the small one first, removing a leather and pen set.

“You-you didn’t have to do this,” he said.

“You go off to these amazing places and I know you can’t exactly stop and smell the roses. But I thought maybe you’d like to write them down sometime. You’ve been through so much, sometimes writing it out helps. You said once that you couldn’t always trust what’s in your head. You can trust your words though,” you said.

Bucky stared at the journal for a long time and you wondered if you said something wrong. Or if he heard you at all.

“This…this is really sweet,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. You slipped your hand in his and he squeezed it gently.

Bucky cleared his throat and moved on to his other present. This one was in a gift bag so he took out the tissue paper and revealed a brand new duffle bag.

“I know it’s not really all that Christmassy and you already have one. But this one is made to be a lot sturdier. And there’s more pockets!”

Bucky stopped you with a kiss. “I love it,” he whispered against your lips.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“This means more to me than you’ll ever know. I wish I had the words,” he said.

He kissed you again, robbing you of all breath and reason. You sighed as he kissed you, his expert tongue swooping in to tangle with yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders pulling him in closer.

His hands drifted down your sides, grabbing your ass and squeezing it tightly. You moaned as his fingers dug into sensitive spots under your ass. Spots you didn’t even know were sore.

Bucky lifted you from the ground effortlessly and placed you on the couch. He continued to kiss you and explore your body with his hands. Forget being cold, you were on fire now. Bucky kissed his way down your body, lifting your tank top to kiss your tummy.

His teeth teased your overly sensitive flesh before grabbing hold of your shorts and peeling them off of you. His hands followed after to remove your panties. You lifted off of the couch to help slip them off your ass.

Bucky then lifted your shirt off, revealing your breasts. He moaned as he gripped them, running his thumbs over your nipples. You moaned at the coldness of his metal arm. It wasn’t enough to dampen the heat coming off of him in waves, warming you up from the inside out.

“I may not have the words, but I can show my appreciation in other ways,” Bucky said. He kissed your thighs.

“You always show your appreciation in the best of ways,” you said. Your voice was breathy, needy.

Bucky chuckled as he began to pluck on your nipples while nudging your legs apart. You draped your legs over his shoulders and he wasted no time suckling on your clit. “Ooof,” you moaned. Your thighs tightened around his head and your hands sunk into his short hair. He was starting to grow it out a bit more but you could still dig your fingers into his soft brown hair.

Your pussy throbbed with every pass and swipe of his tongue. His fingers continued to deftly tug on your nipples, ensuring increased pleasure. Bucky’s messy eating turned you on even more, to the point that you were cumming in no time.

“Bucky,” you moaned his name as you came. Your body was wracked with delicious shivers and contortions, your back bowing off of the couch.

“Music to my ears,” Bucky said against your clit. You moaned, too sensitive now. Bucky bit your thigh, leaving a wet spot right there. He stood up and dropped his sweatpants, revealing that beautiful dick of his.

He kneeled onto the couch, pulling you by your legs until you were positioned where he wanted you. Your ass hung off of the couch, onto his thighs. He licked his lips, licked your essence from his lips, as he rubbed his dick in between your soaked folds.

You bit your lip as you watched the devilish smirk on his face. He teased your entrance with his dick, causing you to moan and shiver violently. “Please, please, please,” you begged. Your skin felt electric, poised on the precipice of what you know would feel so good.

“Please what, doll? Use your words,” Bucky said.

“Dammit Bucky,” you whined. You needed relief. You needed that sweet fuckin’ relief that only he could provide. You twisted and writhed beneath him but he only continued to tease you mercilessly.

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“Please! I need you,” you moaned.

“Need me to do what?” He asked. He swirled the tip of his dick at your entrance. He slapped your clit a few times with his dick. The wet slaps were loud in the quiet room. It was filthy and lewd and you whined some more.

“I need your dick inside me!”

Bucky cooed. “Aw, was that so hard?” He asked.

“I’m gonna smack you when we're done,” you said.

“Oh? Maybe I should get up then,” he said.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” You chuckled but you were too wound tight. Your chuckles came out as little huffs, too out of breath to truly laugh.

Bucky slapped your clit again and you ached. You felt so empty that you turned pleading, puppy dog eyes towards him. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, your bottom lip quivering.

Bucky grinned and tilted his head as he finally slid inside of you. You mutually groaned, the sound echoing each other. You let out a deep sigh as he finally slid further in with ease.

“Never get over this,” Bucky said.

“Never,” you agreed.

Bucky took hold of your fleshy thighs and began to snap his hips with a brutal, near punishing pace. He stretched you out marvelously, feeling every last inch of him. You felt full in the best way as if he were stroking straight into the deepest part of you.

He pushed your thighs apart a bit more and sank in deeper, finding your G-spot. “Oue, oue! Don’t stop! Right there!”

“Right there?”

“Right there! Right there!” You gripped onto his forearms and held on as he kept that same spot, thrusting into you exactly how you liked. You watched his face. Watched how he seemed to lose himself inside of you.

You liked this view most of all. Not only that you two were joined and meshed together so perfectly. You liked how unrestrained he looked. How his jaw was slack, eyes nearly closed, and that tongue of his poking out the corner of his mouth.

He took your breath away when he was focused on your pleasure like this. When he seemed to chase some unnameable ghost in his eyes.

“Fuck, doll, you feel so good,” he moaned.

You matched his strokes, bouncing on his dick with him and he groaned even more. His eyes looked further down and you wondered if he was looking at your bouncing breasts or the way he disappeared inside of you.

His strokes caused a delicious pressure to build low in your belly. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Come on, doll. Let it go for me, baby,” he cooed.

You finally tensed up and dug your nails into his skin as you came, flooding his dick with your arousal. He groaned and snapped his hips a final time before unloading inside of you. “Fuuuuck me,” he moaned.

Bucky continued to pound into you, thrust into you. “Fuck, I love you,” you moaned.

Bucky stilled and you closed your eyes. Fuck. You hadn’t meant to say that. “Look at me,” Bucky commanded.

You shook your head. Your pussy clenched around his dick, fresh with slick from the both of you. Shit. You groaned and dug the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“Look at me, doll,” Bucky said.

You shook your head again. “Being stubborn doesn’t work on me.”

You groaned. You could not face him. You were mortified. It had only been a few months since you started dating. It was entirely too soon to confess love, right?

How could you not love him? He was sweet to the point of giving you a toothache. He was considerate and old-fashioned in a lot of ways that you strangely craved. He opened doors for you, pulled out your chair for you. If you sneezed, he would take off his jacket and hand it over with a second thought.

His cooking needed work, but he was right there in the kitchen helping you. You thought it would suck having someone in your space all the time. You very much enjoyed your independence. You knew that if you did have someone in your space, every little thing would annoy you.

If they left the toilet seat up, it was time for them to go. If they had the audacity to change your channel, you were kicking them out without a second glance. Being around Bucky, however, you just wanted more of him. Beyond the sex, you wanted him.

You liked snuggling up with him. You liked staying up way past your bedtime talking and laughing with him. You liked hearing about the books he’s read and some of the sillier missions he’d been on. Things that didn’t involve killing and maiming and being a general menace to society. He told you stories about Wakanda and you loved the way his soft voice told you stories.

He was your personal melatonin. You fell asleep often listening to the cadence and rhythm of his voice. You were in it deep. Impossibly deep. Deeper than his dick still buried inside of you.

Bucky pulled your hands away from your face. “Come on, open those pretty eyes for me,” he said.

You were not that brave. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never leave. You opened your eyes anyway, prepared to see Bucky look at you like you were crazy. A few months of dating and you were talking about love?

Blehh. It was a wonder he wasn’t getting dressed and getting the hell out of dodge. Bucky smiled and leaned forward until you were pressed chest to chest. His nose nuzzled yours.

“What did you say? Say it again,” he said.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you said and gave him a lopsided grin. Bucky kissed the tip of your nose.

“I’d like to hear it again,” he said.

“Are you sure? I can totally take it back,” you said.

Bucky shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Say it again,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you said.

His dick twitched inside of you and you whimpered. How was it that he was still hard?

“I love you, too,” he said.

“You know you don’t have to say it just because–” He sealed off your protests with a kiss. A gentle, deep, wet kiss that left you curling your toes and butterflies flapping like crazy in your stomach.

“I love you. I have loved you for a long while now. Probably from the first moment I met you,” he said.

You wanted to tell him that he was full of shit. But Bucky never said anything he didn’t mean. A by-product from the time he was born. He was raised to be fair, honest, and kind. You thanked your lucky stars that your paths crossed. You hated that his life was taken away from him but you loved that it put him in your life.

“Dammit, Bucky, I love you,” you said.

Bucky smiled against your lips and began to move. “Ouue,” you moaned as he began to glide and slide within you. Bucky kissed you as he did so, pouring all of his emotions into the movement of his body against yours.

You made love now. Slow and gentle. His thrusts were a magic all its own, making you feel even closer to him than what you were. You stared into each other’s eyes as he pulled sweet moans from your lips. He kissed down every whine and whimper you uttered.

Tears sprang to your eyes as your orgasm neared. “Bucky,” you sighed as it washed over you. Pleasure dripped down your spine, slow as molasses and just as sweet.

Bucky called your name softly as he released his own slow climax, spilling inside of you and marking you in such a primal, base way.

“I love you so much,” Bucky said. He kissed you again.

“I love you,” you told him.

“Come on. Think it’s time we try out your present,” he said. He slipped out of you with a groan. He helped you stand. He grabbed your candle, soap, and lotion and chased you into the bathroom where you continued to spend a very lazy, very naughty Christmas.

This is a follow up to It's a Little Warm. If you want to know how these two got together, start here! Read Part 1

There's also more Bucky to love! The Secret Bucky Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Bucky Files #Bucky x Black!reader #Bucky x Black reader #x Black reader #Bucky x Fem!reader #Bucky x Fem reader #Bucky x plus size reader #Bucky smut #Bucky fluff #Bucky fanfic #Bucky fan fic #Bucky fanfiction #Bucky fan fiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #Bucky x you #Bucky imagine #james buchanan barnes

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moeitsu · 5 months

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed

Summary: Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Story Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

After a few days had passed, the ebb and flow of camp life settled back into its usual rhythm. The air buzzed with the familiar hum of activity—girls diligently tending to chores, men venturing out in search of employment. Micah, having wisely refrained from his lewd remarks, seemed to steer clear of Kate since the encounter with her blade at his throat.

Kate, ever the reliable hand, lent herself where needed: scrubbing alongside Mary-Beth and Tilly, deftly stitching with Abigail, and even lending a hand in Pearson's kitchen to ease Sadie's burdens. The oppressive heat of Lemoyne clung to everyone like a stifling cloak, making afternoons feel interminable. Yet, the proximity of the lake provided a much-needed reprieve, promising a cool respite at the day's end.

Arthur slipped back into the role of the camp's indispensable jack-of-all-trades. Strauss had once again tasked him with money lending duties, a responsibility Kate chose to abstain from this time. Arthur, sensing her unspoken concerns, pledged a new approach—doing things properly this time. His efforts brought a smile to Kate's lips; she recognized his earnest attempts to turn a new leaf, even amidst his continued forays into stagecoach heists and homestead robberies.

This morning, Dutch and Hosea, accompanied by John and Arthur, ventured into Rhodes at the deputy's behest, hopeful for legitimate work. Kate felt a surge of pride knowing they were earnestly striving for honest wages, unaware of Dutch's clandestine designs. Rumors of a longstanding feud between the affluent Gray and Braithwaite families had piqued Dutch's interest, his mind already scheming.

While the boys were occupied, Kate found herself free from chores, engaging in a serene game of dominos with Tilly and Javier. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the camp.

“I don’t like being this far south,” Tilly commented, her voice tinged with fear. “I feel like we ain’t safe here. I ain’t safe here.”

“You’ll be alright, Tilly. We’re all looking out for you,” Kate reassured her.

Tilly sighed and shook her head solemnly. “This lot don’t like folk like me, Kate. My mother was a slave until she was 15 years old.”

“We’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Kate urged.

Javier, who had been quietly playing dominoes with them, placed his domino and joined the conversation. “I don’t think these folks like anybody who isn’t white, if I’m being honest,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’ve been called ‘greaser’ by almost every pendejo in this country.”

Kate sighed as she played her domino, earning a few points. “This town is full of a bunch of drunks stuck in the past. They never recovered from the war, and they’d rather hang onto their grievances than move on.”

Tilly placed her last domino, earning no points, and stood up with a grunt of frustration. “Yeah well, I just hope we don’t stay here too long. We’re supposed to be going back west, not south.” She walked away, her steps heavy with frustration.

Now alone with Javier at the small wooden table, Kate leaned back and blew out a breath. The air was hot and heavy, weighing down any motivation to work.

“Is that why you haven’t left camp much?” She inquired, her voice tinged with concern. “Because of the way people are treating you down here?”

Javier shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorta, but it doesn’t really bother me that much.”

Kate’s expression softened. She hadn’t known Javier well, but since the night of the raiders and borrowing his guitar, he had opened up more. She sensed he was a quiet presence, always listening but rarely speaking. She also noticed how much it bothered him when other gang members picked on him, especially Micah and Bill.

She chuckled softly. “Well, you certainly have a lot of patience. I’m amazed you haven’t stabbed Micah yet.”

Javier grinned and met Kate’s gaze. “Oh, I’ve thought about it many times.”

He leaned back, stabbing his knife into the table. “People like Micah don’t scare me. You know, it’s been five years since I left Mexico. Those men chasing me, I still have nightmares about them. Those are scary men.”

Kate listened intently, intrigued by his story.

“If I go back there, I’m as good as dead. They killed my mother, and I mourn her every day. But I never got to bury her. My sister married a man and ran away, and I hope she’s safe, but I’ll never know for sure.”

“Why were those men chasing you?” Kate asked quietly, curious about his past and how he ended up in the gang.

Javier scoffed, memories fueling his frustration. “My crime? My crime was wanting food and fairness—for myself and for my people. That’s why they hunt me. When I came here, I found that it was not so different.”

Kate nodded in understanding. “This land is wild, far beyond being ‘free.’ I know that as much as anybody, and like most, I learned the hard way.”

“Everyone here steals and lies. The only thing they do better here is make you think it’s not that way,” Javier said, his frustration evident. “Mexico could be a land of plenty, but those cabróns in our government won’t even pay us a fair wage.”

He looked at Kate with a sad expression. “I know I’m a thief. But at least I don’t steal the lives and hopes of others.”

Kate spoke before he could leave. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

He shook his head sadly, “I’ll be shot on site if I do.” Javier left her with those words.

Kate sat quietly, her eyes roaming over the camp. In the short time she’d been with this group, she had come to know many of their stories, and each one tugged at her heartstrings. There was no joyous reason that a band of misfits like them would ride together, yet the more she learned about each member, the more she understood their pain. They were all seeking a way to escape, all fleeing from something in their pasts. Some were orphaned, like Arthur and John, taken in by Dutch and Hosea. They were provided for, cared for, and yet, Kate couldn't help but doubt the sincerity of that care.

Dutch hadn't spoken to Kate since they arrived at Clemens Point. She wasn’t seeking an apology for Micah’s actions—Dutch wasn’t responsible for that—but his silence troubled her. During her time in the camp, she had observed how Dutch treated Arthur. He was dismissive yet domineering, always assuring Arthur of his position as his right-hand man, yet often prioritizing conversations with Micah. When Arthur approached Dutch for conversation, he always seemed preoccupied, only granting him full attention when there was work to be done and money to be made. Kate sensed a tension between them, a dynamic that left her uneasy.

As she gazed across the camp, Kate couldn’t shake the feeling that Dutch’s intentions for their group's safety and future were not as altruistic as they seemed. She wondered if their pursuits were leading them toward a better life or simply deeper into trouble.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I think you have finally lost your mind," he remarked, eyeing Dutch with amused disbelief.

The boys had ridden into Rhodes earlier that afternoon, on a peculiar mission orchestrated by Dutch. The notorious gang leader had struck an unlikely alliance with Sheriff Gray, a key player in the ongoing feud between Rhodes' wealthiest families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Their task? To reclaim stolen moonshine from the Braithwaites, which had found its way into the hands of Lemoyne raiders.

Dutch, ever the showman, had orchestrated their involvement under the guise of "helping the law." Now, adorned with shiny silver stars that marked them as deputized lawmen, the outlaws-turned-vigilantes cut an absurd figure in the bustling town.

"Amongst these drunkards, hillbillies, and slavers... good honest thieves like us, we’re bound to be moralizers in a place like this!" Dutch declared, arms outstretched as if claiming dominion over the entire town.

As they wrapped up loading the stolen moonshine into the wagon, John and Hosea offered to take the wagon to a secluded spot near camp, assuring the Sheriff that they would take care of "disposing" of the last of the moonshine. The Sheriff nodded knowingly, pocketing a couple of jugs for himself.

Before Dutch and Arthur departed, they couldn't resist indulging in their hard-earned spoils, taking more than a few swigs of the fiery alcohol to celebrate their successful mission before making their way back to camp.

“Hey you know what, why don’t I race you back to camp,” Dutch quipped, saddling his horse in an unsteady manor.

Arthur, equally unsteady on his feet, chuckled and climbed into Belle's saddle. "You're on," he agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Later that evening, Arthur stumbled back into camp, his usually confident steps a bit less steady. The setting sun bathed the campsite in a warm orange glow, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. A faint scent of moonshine lingered on his breath, a testament to the drinks he and Dutch had indulged in before returning.

Kate looked up from where she sat near the fire, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome back, Deputy Morgan. Looks like you've found yourself a new career path," she teased, giving a playful flick to the shiny silver star on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, brushing off her comment as he settled beside her by the fire. "Ah, quit it. I ain't cut out for lawman duties."

He turned slightly towards Kate, a warm glow in his eyes fueled by both the alcohol and the comfort of her presence. "How was your day, Kate? You tired of being surrounded by outlaws yet?" he asked, steering the conversation.

Kate smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting genuine contentment. "Honestly, Arthur, I've never been more grateful for the company," she admitted, her voice softening with sincerity. "After so long on my own, it's nice to be part of something, even if it's a band of outlaws."

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fire. Despite the daily lively chatter and the camaraderie of the gang, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. He had always been surrounded by people, yet somehow, he often felt a deep sense of solitude. The only time he felt seen, felt solace, was when he was with Kate. Her presence made him light up, whether it was a fleeting smile in the morning as they greeted eachother before going about their duties. Or on evenings such as this, when they talked about their day by the fire and simply enjoyed eachothers presence. She calmed the raging storm in his heart, and each day he grew more and more fond of her company.

The warmth of the fire and the alcohol in his belly emboldened him slightly. "Well, if it's all the same to you, Kate, I quite enjoy your company," Arthur admitted, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he shifted closer to her, their shoulders nearly touching.

Kate's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in to meet his gaze. "I'll admit, Arthur, I enjoy your company more than most," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "But don't tell the others that," she added with a wink.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound blending with the crackling of the fire. They settled against the log, warmed by the fire's glow. As the night deepened around them, they shared stories of their day. Arthur recounted their new duties as lawmen and the complexities of the feud between the two families, outlining Dutch's plan to navigate the situation without causing undue trouble.

The sun had long set, casting a cool, gentle darkness over the camp. Most of the gang had retired for the night, leaving only the crackling fire and the symphony of nighttime sounds—crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Amidst the tranquil atmosphere, the peace was shattered by the distant voices of Abigail and John, their argument drifting from their tent and cutting through the night's quiet. Arthur and Kate exchanged a knowing look, their conversation momentarily interrupted by the reminder of the discord that often simmered beneath the surface of their makeshift family.

Arthur sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and empathy as Abigail's voice rose in frustration. "Why don't you use that tiny brain of yours? Whatever you think is right and proper, do the exact opposite! Then, you'll raise a man!" Her words were hushed, as if she were trying to contain her anger despite the intensity of her tone.

John's retort came swiftly, equally filled with annoyance. "Just like your mama did? Raise a real man, like you?" His jab was met with a sharp slap from Abigail, the sound echoing through the camp.

Kate winced, noticing Arthur pinch the bridge of his nose in response to the escalating argument. Before she could interject, the soft patter of footsteps approached rapidly. In a flash, Jack emerged from his tent, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and flung himself into Arthur's lap.

Unfazed by the sudden intrusion, Arthur pulled Jack close, his voice gentle and soothing. "Hey kiddo, can't sleep?" he asked, his tone calming.

Jack nodded against his uncle's shoulder. "Mama is mad at Pa again," he murmured, his voice small and weary. Turning his head slightly, he glanced up at Kate. "Hi, Auntie Kate," he greeted quietly.

"Hey, little man," Kate responded warmly, brushing a stray hair from his eyes as his cheek rested against Arthur's shoulder.

As the voices of John and Abigail rose again, Jack buried his face against Arthur. Concern flickered in Arthur's eyes as he glanced at Kate, who suddenly had an idea.

"Why don't we go get Lorena ready for the night? You wanna help, Jack?" Kate suggested, offering a diversion to distract Jack from the tension brewing between his parents.

With a silent nod, Arthur rose from his seat, cradling little Jack in his strong arms. Kate couldn't help but watch the scene unfold before her. His towering figure enveloped the small boy with an unexpected tenderness and care. As Arthur held Jack close, his protective embrace painted a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often projected.

In that moment, Kate glimpsed a side of Arthur that stirred her heart. The way he handled Jack with such gentleness and love sparked a yearning within her. She imagined how Arthur might have been as a father—patient, kind, and devoted.

The campfire's warm glow cast a soft light on them as they moved away from the escalating voices. Arthur's features softened as he whispered reassuring words to Jack, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding.

Kate fell into step beside them, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Arthur's caring demeanor. Despite his gruff reputation, she sensed a depth of compassion that drew her in, melting away the rough edges.

As they approached Lorena, her mare nickered in recognition, sensing familiar company. Kate reached out, her hand running over the sleek mane of the horse affectionately. Before she could retrieve her brush from the saddlebag, Jack, nestled in Arthur's arms, spoke up with innocent curiosity.

"Does she like it when you sing her lullabies?" His voice was small and earnest.

Kate's smile softened at the question. "Yes, she does. It helps calm her down and makes her feel safe, knowing I'm right here to sing her to sleep," she replied, her voice warm with affection for the horse.

Jack looked up at her, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Mama used to sing me lullabies, but she says I'm too old for them now."

Arthur chuckled softly, his hand rubbing Jack's back comfortingly. "Well, you ain't a baby anymore, Jack. Yer gettin’ older and bigger," he reassured him.

Kate's gaze lingered on Jack as Arthur cradled him in his arms. It felt like a hundred months had passed since she held her own child, since she last sang a lullaby. A pang of longing swept through her. She understood Abigail's perspective—Jack was nearly five years old—but in that moment, Kate would have given anything to sing to her baby again, no matter the age.

Jack's eyes met hers, his innocence shining through. "Can you sing me a lullaby, Auntie Kate?"

Her heart swelled with warmth as she nodded in response. Jack reached out his small arms towards her, and without hesitation, Kate embraced him.

Arthur glanced at Kate, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with his nephew's needs. He had already come to terms with taking responsibility for the young child.

"Kate, ya don't have to—" Arthur began.

But Kate interrupted gently, reaching out to take Jack into her arms. "I don't mind at all, Arthur," she said sincerely, her voice warm with compassion.

Kate hadn't held a child since she laid her own in a dark casket with her father. The familiar weight of a child on her hip, his breath against her neck as he nestled his head on her shoulder, brought a mix of comfort and grief. She pushed the painful memories down, focusing on the present moment with Jack in her arms.

Arthur watched with a mixture of admiration and tenderness as Kate held his nephew, her cheek resting against Jack's head. As her eyes closed and she began to sway gently on her feet, rocking him as if he were a newborn, Arthur couldn't help but imagine what she must have been like as a mother—devoted, kind, and filled with love.

Kate started singing softly, her voice carrying a soothing melody into the quiet evening air.

When I was young, younger than before. I never saw the truth hanging from the door,

Now I’m older, see it face to face. Now I’m older, gotta get up, clean the place.

I was green, greener than the hill. Where the flowers grew and the sun shown still.

Now I’m darker than the deepest sea, just hand me down, give me a place to be.

I was strong, strong in the sun, I thought I’d see when the day was done.

Now I’m weaker than the palest blue. Oh, so weak in this need for you.

Arthur studied her features in the soft moonlight, savoring every detail—the graceful movement of her lips as she sang, the way her hair danced in the night breeze. Kate's gentle circles on Jack's back gradually lulled him to sleep, his breathing slowing, arms going limp around her neck. A smile touched Kate's lips, and she continued to hum softly, ensuring Jack remained nestled in slumber.

As Kate swayed, Arthur felt something profound stir within him, a warmth he had never experienced. It was as though her presence kindled a fire in his heart, leading him closer to her warmth. In her company, he felt alive, radiant like the earth basking under the sun, humming with a joyful tune from the lips of a woman. For the first time in years, he began to reflect on all the moments he had missed with his own woman and child.

Kate ceased her humming, her closed eyes and furrowed brow revealing the depth of her emotions. She released a shaky breath before speaking softly to Arthur, her voice laced with vulnerability. "When I held my baby girl for the first time, I saw her future branching out before me. Every possibility filled with something wonderful"

Arthur closed the distance between them, as if to shield her from the memories that still haunted her. Kate nestled her cheek against Jack's head, her voice trembling with unspoken sorrow. "I could have been a good mother," she whispered.

Gently, Arthur brushed his thumb across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Kate's eyes fluttered open at his touch, reflecting the moonlight like shimmering pools of emotion. They held unshed tears, a testament to her resilience and the burdens she carried. Despite life's hardships, she fought to maintain her kindness, a quality that only deepened Arthur's admiration.

Moved by the connection between them, Arthur closed the final gap, his lips meeting hers in a silent embrace. The kiss was soft yet filled with unspoken longing, a gentle affirmation of the feelings blossoming between them. The world around them seemed to fade as they shared this intimate moment, each touch and breath carrying the weight of unspoken words and shared emotions.

Kate removed her hand from gently rubbing circles on Jack's back, finding a new warmth against Arthur's cheek. She tilted her face, deepening their kiss as Arthur's arm wound around her waist, drawing her closer. He smelled of moonshine and tobacco, a scent that mingled with the smoky air of the campfire.

As their mouths met, Kate sighed softly, feeling their connection deepen with each tender touch. Arthur's heart raced within his chest, the world around him blurring as if the only anchor to reality was the sensation of her lips against his. Her tongue brushed against his, a silent invitation for more.

Just as the kiss intensified, Jack stirred in his sleep, breaking Arthur from the spell. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his breath slightly labored, a silent turmoil brewing within him.

"Sorry," Arthur murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I, um,” he hesitated, “I-I should take Jack back to his ma."

Kate nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared hesitation. "Of course," she replied softly, gently handing the boy back to his uncle.

Arthur carefully settled Jack more securely in his arms. He offered Kate a tender smile, though his eyes betrayed a hint of inner conflict. "G’night, Kate," he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and unease.

"Goodnight, Arthur," she replied, her tone gentle yet tinged with an unspoken question.

With a last lingering glance, Arthur turned and made his way toward Abigail and John's tent, Jack's form cradled protectively against him. As he disappeared into the shadows, Kate stood by her sleepy mare, her heart echoing the silent uncertainty that had clouded the moment.

Later that night, Arthur lay awake on his cot, the memory of their kiss haunting his thoughts. Moonlight filtered through the canvas, casting ghostly shadows around him. The scent of campfire smoke lingered on his clothes, a tangible reminder of the evening's events.

Arthur couldn't shake the yearning that had blossomed between him and Kate, nor the underlying unease that accompanied it. The fleeting intimacy they shared left him grappling with doubts about the future, and more importantly, about himself. He cared deeply for Kate, admired her resilience and kindness, yet the complexities of their lives and the dangers they faced loomed like shadows in his mind.

His own truth ached to be revealed, how he longed to tell her about his own son, but the guilt and shame he carried with the memories clouded all means of opening up. Kate missed her family dearly, that much was painfully obvious to him. He feared if she knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t see him the same. He too had a family once, and his own recklessness cost them their lives. He feared she would not forgive him for being so careless.

Lost in contemplation, Arthur sighed heavily, his thoughts drifting back to Kate's soft lips and the warmth of her touch. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, a desire for connection amidst the chaos of his existence.

In the quiet solitude of his tent, Arthur wrestled with conflicting emotions, uncertain of what lay ahead for them. The night stretched on, filled with unanswered questions and the restless beating of his heart. He reached for his journal, its leather cover worn and familiar, and opened it to a blank page.

With a sketching pencil in hand, he drew an image from memory—the sight of Kate cradling Jack against her cheek. Underneath the tender sketch, he penned his thoughts:

Kate has a way about her that makes a man feel alive. She’s fierce, and she's kind. She’s strong and she’s passionate. She’s utterly beautiful. And she’s too sweet for me.

I kissed her tonight, I don’t really know why. The way she was singin’ and cradlin’ little Jack, it made me think of Eliza and Isaac. For the first time in years, I thought about all the moments I missed because I was off being a fool instead of a father.

I see things still haven't changed. You’ll always be a fool Morgan.

I think I’m falling for Kate. I just hope she can let me down easy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes on the way down.

Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to still his restless thoughts. He imagined Kate's smile, the curve of her cheek as she cradled Jack, the warmth of her presence against him. The weight of his feelings tugged at him like an anchor, both comforting and disquieting.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion. The world around him faded into darkness, and for a fleeting moment, his turbulent heart found respite in the realm of dreams.

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crippleprophet · 1 year

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how do you manage the isolation that comes with being housebound? I keep finding myself slipping into unhealthy behaviors to manage because most people's advice is like. "get outside even a little bit!" and I am stuck in bed most days...

this is a good question by which i mean i don’t. um but an assortment of things that help:

i’m very fortunate to have a roomie who is home most of the time as well so i’d be remiss not to acknowledge how big of a difference that makes & ik not everyone is in that position

talking to people online - tumblr, discord, i keep in touch with a couple folks via monthly emails

zoom calls 1-2 times a week when i’m feeling up for it

listening to people talk with each other even when i don’t have the spoons to participate in conversations myself - for me this is usually podcasts (listening to unsolicited: fatties talk back lately) but ik other homebound folks swear by video game livestreams

setting your boundaries & sticking by them!!! for me this means filtering every possible iteration of “leave the house” “log off” “touch grass” etc etc, & i’m trying to get better about being like yeah please don’t tell me about your covid-unsafe events when i’m messaging people. it’s okay to unfollow people for making you feel like shit about being housebound and/or bedbound.

looking out the window with the cats

nature documentaries

i’m a big fan of maxims so i’ve been telling myself on repeat “life is in your house too,” “your bed is also part of the world” etc. made some posters saying that when i was having a better hand day

just generally hearing stories about Other People That Exist. my gf tells me about her shitty coworkers & the latest Quaker meeting drama, my butch tells me about academics being horribly unethical, my roommate tells me about faer family’s latest bullshit

OH i forgot to mention, it is in your best interest to become disproportionately invested in a silly little mobile game. i have a lot of hand problems but castle story is accessible for me so i’m very obsessed with that, the new events ~weekly give me something to measure the passage of time by + look forward to

i hope some of that is helpful! feel free to dm me - i’d love to have more homebound friends & i’m also happy to add you to my bitter cripple discord if you’re 18 or older. much love to you & i hope it gets a bit easier 💓💓

#asks #homebound #housebound

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dilf-rights-activist · 1 year

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Another Life: part 3

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader, Platonic Hobie Brown & reader

Summary: Your busy night ended unexpectedly sweet when your eyes met a familiar shade of deep crimson. Through careful words and useless small talk, you are able to convince a tired Miguel O’Hara to take a break for the night, a feat (unbeknownst to you) that typically takes Herculean effort from several members of his team. Or, the one where Miguel comes in for a coffee, and you give him a tea instead, and Hobie makes you breakfast :)

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop au, no use of (y/n), slow burn (we’re getting there folks), sfw, descriptions of financial hardship, swearing, Hobie makes breakfast :)

AO3 part 1 part 2 part 4

You were in the stockroom organizing boxes when you heard the front door’s bell ring. You grunted into a box of sugar, shifting its weight before setting it down. You turned to glance out the door and saw Peter poke his head out from the back.

“Would you mind getting that? I’m elbow deep in caramel sauce right now.”

You threw out a thumbs up from inside the closet and sighed. When was this night gonna end?

“Give me a minute, please!” You called from your half-bent position. “I’ll be right out.” You got up with a sigh and walked out of the stockroom, dusting your hands on your apron as you went.

“Welcome in!” you smiled before stopping mid-stride. You looked at the tall brunette before you and instantly recognized him as the kicked puppy man from your other workplace. You guessed he recognized you as well, as his brows climbed his forehead and his mouth cracked open in surprise.

“Hey, nice to see you again!” you looked up at him as you leaned on the counter between you.

“Hi,” he offered a small smile and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, well.” you chuckled and signed into the register. “What can I say?”

Jesus, what could you say? You were broke and needed these two jobs just to stay afloat.

“What can I get started for you?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Oh,” he blinked, as if almost forgetting the reason why he stepped into the shop in the first place. His warm eyes peered up at the chalkboard menu above you. “An espresso?”

You looked up at him and blinked before checking the time on the register: 9 pm.

“Sure. It’s getting a little late, though. Would you wanna try our chamomile tea? It’s good for sleep,” you smiled gently at him, praying that he’d take your offer. You recalled how exhausted the man looked the first night you met, and (now that you’re seeing him in a better light) you can confirm it’s only gotten worse. The brunette’s crimson eyes were shadowed by dark circles, the fine lines on his cheeks and forehead contoured his handsome face nicely, but they did nothing to hide just how tired he was.

“Hm, I was going to get some more work done, but I guess I could call it a night early.” He said while looking right back at you.

“Sure. One chamomile tea, please.” His plush lips stretched into a slight smile as he watched you nod, seemingly happy that he took you up on your recommendation.

“Great! Drinking espresso late at night isn’t always the best, it can make you jittery and restless.” Hypocrite! Your brain cried. You do that all the time!

“Cool, I’ll get started on that now. The tea takes about 5 minutes to steep, and it’ll be ready at the end of the bar, okay?” You heard a deep “Okay.” before turning around to empty loose tea leaves into a filter. You saw the man leave the register to wander down to the other side of the bar, waiting patiently for his drink with his hands clasped in front of him.

You set a timer for four minutes before grabbing a rag and walking towards him, wiping down the counter that separated you two.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He smiled down at you. “Fine. Been working a lot.” You nodded and focused on a particularly stubborn coffee stain.

“Cool…” you trailed off, glancing at him momentarily before returning to the aforementioned stain with renewed vigor. You couldn’t lie, you were curious as to how he was coping with his break up; he seemed like a wreck the last time you saw him. You paused your work to momentarily glance up at him, admiring how tall he was standing, despite looking like a corpse 2 minutes ago.

“He seems fine now.” you thought with a smile. Maybe your silent wishes worked and he’s doing better!

The two of you stayed silent for a while before the timer chimed, alerting the two of you that the tea was ready. You held up one finger and walked off with a quick “one sec!” before carefully pouring the tea into a cup, capping it securely.

“Alright, one chamomile tea! Please be careful, it’s reeeally hot.” you made a face, you’ve spilled this tea on yourself on more than one occasion and it is not an experience you could really recommend.

The brunette graciously accepted the cup and took a sip, sighing as he lowered it with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good night,” He said your name warmly.

“You too-” You grinned up at him before abruptly stopping. He blinked at you and your smile faltered while you looked off to the side, lips sealing shut. Oh my god what’s his name. You turned your head to face him and stood up straighter, renewing your smile with force. He blinked and looked at you expectantly, tilting his head to the side with a raised brow. You searched his eyes but saw absolutely nothing, your mind desperately looking for a name to match his handsome face and continuously drawing blanks.

“Oh god he’s looking at me, say something!” you thought.

“You have a great night too…” you gave him a tight lipped smile. “Michael.”

The man’s brows climbed to his hairline and he looked down at you right before throwing his head back and let out a laugh. His shoulders shook with the force of his mirth and for a second you were worried that he was going to spill scalding hot tea all over himself.

“Okay,” you thought. “I totally got that one wrong.”

His laughter calmed and the man absolutely not named Michael looked down at you.

“¡No manches! You thought my name was Michael?”

You looked up at him, wide eyed and mortified. “I’m...sorry,” you began. “I didn’t mean to forget, I’ve just had a lot on my mind and-”

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave you an easy grin. “My name is Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.” He gave you his name like he’s done for thousands before you, his Spanish accent rolling through the air and straight into your heart.

“Miguel…” you repeated after him with a smile. “I like that.”

“Thanks, it’s the only name I got.” he grinned at you and you laughed, instantly recognizing the words from the bar. You waved as you watched Mr. O’Hara, no, Miguel exit the four walls of the little cafe, smiling with a wave of his own. You rested your chin on the palm of your hand as your eyes followed his broad back through the window until he was out of sight.

You yawned and pushed your bedroom door as you dragged your slippered feet across the hard wood floors of your apartment. Tired hands lifted to rub the sleep from your eyes before walking into the bathroom you and your roommate shared. The warm, bright light flicked on with a soft click, the bulb’s electricity buzzing quietly through the quiet morning air. You squeezed out some toothpaste and glanced at your phone: 9:42 am. You wanted to sleep in a bit on your day off, finally settle the sleep debt that you had been accruing, but the sounds of New York’s blaring traffic had not been kind that morning.

You were grateful for the day off from not only one but two of your jobs. Typically, these rare off days were used for rest and recovery exclusively, allowing you to fall into a cozy mess of pajamas and junk food as you licked your wounds from the battleground that was your work life. But, you decided that this rare recess would be dedicated to getting shit done. You smiled to yourself, thinking about your grocery list and that pile of clothing on your chair that will most definitely be done by the end of the night. You finished getting ready for the day and stepped out to find Hobie in the kitchen. His back was to you while he focused on the sizzling skillet in front of him, head bobbing along to some music he was playing on his phone. He still had his bonnet on, likely wanting to protect his hair from any of the (delicious) fumes that were wafting from his cooking. You smiled while you looked at all the patches he had meticulously sewn onto the blue satin, lovingly calling it his “battle bonnet”.

“G’morning, Hobs.” You said while walking up behind him.

“Day’s a-dawning,” He said back, smiling lightly. “Fancy some brekkie?”

You looked down at the sizzling mixture of eggs and vegetables in his skillet and noticed the fresh stack of chapati on the counter. Your face cracked into a large grin and you looked up at your roommate gleefully.

“Rolex?”

“Mm.” Hobie hummed as he flipped his eggs. “Get some plates, would you?”

You nodded while turning towards your squeaky cabinets to retrieve your favorite dishware, one vintage collectible Wizard of Oz plate that depicted the famous melting wicked witch scene (yours), and one pink ceramic heart shaped plate that Pavitr made in a pottery class he went to once (Hobie’s). You excitedly placed the mismatched set on the counter, your stomach beginning to growl as you looked at the delicious meal your roommate had prepared. Hobie was born to Ugandan parents back in the UK, and you were grateful whenever he shared that part of him with you. You didn’t know much about his parents, only that they were no longer in his life. Hobie didn’t talk about it, and you weren’t one to pry.

Your roommate placed a piece of fried dough on the plates you brought him and topped each one with a thick vegetable omelet. He set each plate on your small coffee table, and you both sat on the worn couch that furnished your living room. You and Hobie had dragged the sofa across the entire Lower East Side to get it inside of your home. You couldn’t help but smile whenever you thought about Hobie maniacally yelling “PIVOT!!” as the two of you struggled to haul it up your narrow staircase all those winters ago.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” He asked before taking a large bite of his Rolex.

“Just some errands.” You said while rolling up your food. “Gotta run to get some groceries. You need anything?”

“Yeah, actchewy” he said with a mouth full of food. “Coul you ge’ pi’ah ‘ols, ‘ess, aw’en-“

“I can’t understand you!” You laughed beside him. Hobie looked at you with comically full cheeks and a large smile on his pierced lips.

He gulped, “Pizza roles, eggs, that one pack of ramen you got me last week, some biscuits-“

“You mean cookies?”

“No.” He huffed. “I mean biscuits, the Biscoff ones.”

“So cookies.”

“It says biscuits on the package!” He squeezed his wrap then, causing some of its contents to slide out the bottom. “Cream and sugar…or maybe just cream will do it. Been meaning to fetch some builders for me morning Rosy, but I haven’t made it out yet. Got a gig with the band comin’ up, and we’ve been hittin’ it real hard. Gwendy’s been killin’ it on the drums, she’s got a big solo in the last part of the show.”

You nodded slowly as Hobie went on about his upcoming gig, and you began to make a mental budget for the groceries the two of you needed. You put your food down as you slowly lost yourself in your thoughts, Hobie’s deep voice becoming foggy in the background. Food was getting so much more expensive now, and you found yourself compromising on a lot of your usual favorites. You almost threw a fit when you tasted the off brand ice cream you decided to try (it was 15% cheaper and had at least 30% more air whipped into it, not worth it). You began to do the mental math in your head, and the numbers were not looking good.

Hobie licked his fingers clean as he finished his breakfast, only to notice that yours remained unfinished on your gaudy plate. Your eyes had glazed over in your pensive state, not even noticing that he had stopped talking.

“Oi, you good?”

“Yeah! Yeah...just…” you trailed off and sighed, knowing that your friend would not like what was about to come out of your mouth. “I might have to pick up that third job again.” Hobie’s round eyes went wide and he straightened to look at you fully, a very serious look on his sharp face.

“You hate that job.” He said quietly, and you could hardly stand the look he was giving you. The frown that marred his handsome face seemed out of place and sad.

“Yeah! I did-”

“You do.” He cut you off.

“I...do.” You finished lamely. He shook his head and sucked his teeth. The university you attended was raising tuition yet again for...what was it again? Construction for a new campus building that your major wasn’t even allowed in? An installation of yet another ugly ass statue of a dead white guy? You weren’t sure, you didn’t care. A small sigh escaped your lips as you remembered how you threw your phone at the wall when you got that email, cracking the screen in the process.

God, that was stupid.

“It’s okay, Hobie. I’ll get through it.” You smiled before returning to your breakfast with renewed vigor. “You need anything else from the store?” You asked with your mouth full.

“No, be sure to Venmo me for half, yeah?” He said while getting up. “And I wanna see the receipt! I know you’ve been undercharging me!” He pointed a slender finger at you, eyes fierce. You smacked his hand out of your face and nodded with a smile on your face.

“Okay, Hobs.”

Miguel inhaled deeply through his nose as he stretched in the shower, the hot water working to soothe his aching muscles. He groaned and pedaled his feet to stretch out his calves, “Maybe I went a little too hard today.” He thought wistfully. The stress from work had been getting to him, and the gym was the only place he felt like he could vent out his frustrations. He’s ashamed to say that he’s found himself hitting the mats at 3 in the morning on multiple occasions. Or running on the treadmill at 1. Or on the bench at 4. He winced, recalling how he almost caved his face in during a particularly ambitious bench press because he couldn’t find a spotter at such a ridiculous time of night. Eventually, he had a home gym set up on the first floor of his apartment, a place he’s spent more time in than he’d care to admit. When he was younger, he used to smoke when he was stressed, and (as an ambitious thirty something who was in the early stages of running his own company) he would easily blow through a pack a day. As Miguel got older, his priorities changed, his life changed, and he was able to kick the nasty habit (and exchange it for something slightly less detrimental).

He sighed through his nose, remembering the day his daughter had hidden his pack of Marlboro Reds in the pink velour confines of her Barbie music box, begging him to stop because she “didn’t want daddy to die”.

He hasn’t touched a cigarette since.

Miguel placed his large hands on the cool tile in front of him and relished in the feeling of scalding water rolling down his broad back. Truthfully, he’s been clean for a while now. He’s just wasting water at this point. Miguel was reluctant to step back into his usual day of drudgery.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no puedo más, no puedo más,” he groaned as he thought about the amount of work he had to do that day. It was the weekend! How could this happen to him!? He shut the water off and groaned into the echoey chamber of his large shower while doing the mental math to figure out just how many of his precious weekend hours will be dedicated to reading through reports and contracts. He recalled how Lyla had frowned with sympathetic eyes as she curated his to-do list for the weekend; she suggested that he got out of the house every once in a while to take breaks.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” The large man stepped out of his shower as his mind drifted to the cute little cafe in the East Village. He could bring his laptop and get his work done there, in the four cozy walls that housed a lifetime of memories for countless people. He thought about what drink he would be ordering this time around, what music might be playing today, what your reaction would be to seeing him again. Miguel patted himself dry with a plush towel, and the corners of his mouth began to lift a little.

He thought about how kind you were to him in the two instances he had spoken with you. He felt like all of the posh formality of his work life melted away when he spoke to you, he felt relief knowing that you were kind not because you had something to gain from him, but because you were genuinely just that nice. Miguel’s mind began to drift to the chamomile tea you had made him, gently denying his request for a caffeine packed espresso that would have fueled another one of his sleepless nights. The warm, gentle notes of apple soothed his tired mind during his chilly walk home.

He caught his reflection in the foggy mirror, when did he start smiling?

Miguel walked down the busy sidewalk clad in a puffy bomber jacket and a faded Mets shirt. He pulled down his baseball cap and smiled when he spotted Cafe May just 2 blocks ahead. The man adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and the soles of his tennis shoes picked up a little as he quickened his pace, eager to reach his destination.

Miguel easily pushed open the door to the warm cafe and stepped inside, noting how almost every table was occupied by a student or a couple. Crimson eyes drifted to the counter, and he couldn’t help the way his shoulders drooped a little when he saw that you weren’t there. He walked up to the register and was greeted by a friendly looking woman with graying hair and bright blue eyes.

“She must be May,” he thought to himself. He scanned the coffee shop, hoping he’d find you cleaning a table or organizing the coffee stirrers, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Hi there,” May said in a kind voice. “What can I get started for you?”

“Oh,” he looked down at her, a little distracted. “Could I get an espresso, please?”

“Of course,” She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn’t help but return it in kind. He handed her the appropriate bills before leaning over the counter slightly to try and peer into the stock room, hoping to see your smiling face emerge from the small space.

“Looking for something?” May asked.

Someone, Miguel thought wistfully.

“No, I apologize.” He smiled softly at her before walking to the end of the bar to collect his drink. He carefully walked over to one of the vacant tables and set the warm ceramic on its wooden surface. He opened up his laptop and sighed a little to himself. The large man pursed his lips as he typed in the lengthy password to log into his laptop and frowed. He couldn’t deny that he was a little disappointed that you weren’t working today, he was looking forward to the 5 minutes of conversation we would have had with you (6 if he was lucky).

Miguel stared at the bleak desktop background before moving to open his company’s work portal. He took a moment to collect his thoughts as he skimmed through the itemized to-do list that he was to complete that day. He needed to get things done, work was why he had biked nearly five miles from the Upper East Side to come to this small cafe specifically, why his heart beat with excitement the minute he walked through its old doors. Work was why he was there…no other reason.

Right?

Notes: Hobie’s voice actor (Daniel Kaluuya) is Ugandan and I wanted to honor that in some way here, the idea of Hobie having some connection to his heritage is very interesting to me! Thank you for reading, there will be more direct interaction with Miguel in the next chapter I promise. I’m actually already done writing the next part, and I’ll be posting it soon after I make some edits, thank you sm for your patience and for reading this far!!

#across the spiderverse fanfiction #coffee shop au #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #sugar daddy au #writing #fic: another life

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kurlyfrasier · 9 months

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5) Bleeding Heart: A Chronologue (part 2/2)

Pairing: Mand'alor!Din Djarin x Reader

Synopsis: Din left you and Grogu at Fett's Palace and regrets it.

Word Count: 1300-ish

Warnings: Um, improper use of Mando'a, I'm sure. And blood. Um, Darksaber stuff? Near death experience.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Mandalorian/Star Wars anything. I find all Mando’a translations and pronunciations at mandoa.org.

A/N: Been a long time coming, folks! Honestly, I'm a little surprised I finished this part lol BUT IT IS FINALLY HERE! Sorry it took so freaking long....This thing was a total nightmare for the longest time, let me tell you. I feel so accomplished now that this piece is OVER. Anyway, ENJOY! (:

Also, this takes place during Beskar Kisses & Grime, if you need to recap lol

Day Four:

Din woke up in a dark, unfamiliar room with a start, gasping for breath.

“Ah,” dim light filtered through the room. “You’re awake, Mand’alor.”

Din whirled out of the cot, cape tangling through his legs, blaster pointed at the man who entered.

The man held his hands up in surrender, lantern in hand casting shadows in the small space. A small smile on his wrinkled face. “Please, we mean you no harm.”

Slowly, Din holstered his blaster, his cape untangling with the movement. “I’m looking for someone. A bounty.” His voice was rough, throat dry.

“We get many travelers through our small village,” said the man. “Describe your bounty and I will ask around. If anyone has seen them, we would be more than happy to tell you.”

The words made Din wary, wondering what price he would need to pay for the information. “Why.”

“You are our Mand’alor,” the man stated, matter-of-fact.

With a sigh, Din sat down on the cot, utterly exhausted even though it seemed he got some sleep. It groaned under his weight. “You wear no armor.”

“We have been hiding,” he said, giving nothing away, gaze never leaving the visor before him.

“I see,” Din did not see, but his brain had felt muddled and confused for at least a day now. He figured it was the curse of his Kar’ta. The room was spinning, spinning, spinning. His gloved hands gripped the edge of the cot with strength he didn’t feel.

“Mand’alor?”

“Please- uh-” Din shook his head as though that would clear it and groaned, eyes screwed shut. He had no idea what he was going to say, so he went with the next thing on his mind. “Why- back to?” His body swayed. “Mandalore.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather rest?” The man’s concern reached Din’s ears, but just barely over the ringing that now suddenly plagued him.

“Can’t,” he shook his head petulantly and landed hard on his side, eyes opening to find the older man hovering above him. The cot was hardly softer than the ground itself. “Ner Kar’ta.”

“Go back,” the familiar voice cracked, heartbroken and weary.

“Your heart?”

“Go back,” it wailed.

“The bounty,” Din mumbled, moving to sit back up, but the man’s hands held him in place. “I have to get back to her.”

“Go back,” it seethed. “You call yourself Mand’alor and yet you leave your heart.”

A weak cackle made its way out of his vocoder. Finally, the darksaber speaks its mind. “Says the one who gave me no choice.”

“You make no sense, Mand’alor,” the words sounded far away, blowing past him in a strong breeze, getting farther and farther away.

Day Unknown

Din awoke in a fog, the taste of iron filling his mouth. Blood splattered the inside of the helmet before he was able to rip it off, blinding his sight. Silently, not knowing where he was, he slowly sat up and removed his helmet. The air was cool and damp, a cold sweat made his flight suit cling to his body in an uncomfortable way.

Spitting more blood on the ground, he took in his surroundings. A small lantern sat on a small wooden table by the door. The walls, he noticed, were made of stick and mud. Above was straw, which explained absolutely nothing.

Where was he?

What was he doing here?

“You’re awake!” An over-excited voice said, scurrying past before Din could see who they were. “I’ll go get grandpapa.”

Din stood to follow, hand reaching out to the wall as the room spun. Slowly, he grabbed his bag laying on the ground and his bloodied helmet. Finally, he stepped forward, ignoring the ache in his chest as he settled the beskar on his head. Ignoring the murmur of the Darksaber in his mind when he fell to his knees, coughing, sputtering blood until he couldn’t see anything but red. The bag dropped from his feeble grip, one hand moving to clutch the center of his chest while the other fumbled for the mechanism to remove his helmet. Around him, footfalls were heard, thumping, pounding, surrounding him. Someone spoke. A shout. Cries.

Darkness enveloped him.

“If you’re going to be this stupid, Din Djarin, chosen Mand’alor,” the voice spat, disappointment ringing through the many voices. “Then it is time we take over.”

“Take,” Din heaved, chest heavy, as though the Razor Crest sat on it. Every breath tasting, smelling, of copper. Vaguely, he wondered if this was the end for him. “Over?”

“Elek,” it’s voice became stronger, more firm, turning into a physical thing he couldn’t see. As though it had moved from inside of his mind to a person standing right next to him. It’s next words were clipped, “We chose you as our true heir. The one who will bring peace to Mandalore. The one who will always do right by his people. The one we gave the most precious thing to,” the voice paused, waiting. When Din didn’t- couldn’t- respond, it continued, voice reverberating reverence, “Gar Kar’ta.”

“Kar-”

“But we see you do not deserve her-”

“I kno-”

“We see you are not keen to stay in her presence-”

“I do-” Din panted, voice sounding strangled. In a panic, he attempted to explain. To tell the past Mand’alors that you were the only thing he could think of, only thing he needed to survive. He needed them to know that you were everything to him, that all he wanted to do was keep you safe. That it had agreed with him before, that taking you on hunts was unsafe. That anything could happen. There were too many variables, remember? When had a fight ever gone his way? Doesn’t the Darksaber remember that? “Not safe-”

“Yet you must live,” the once-ghostly voices stated over him as though he hadn’t said a word. As though he was nothing but a speck of sand on Tatooine. As if every breath didn’t feel like his last. “We will get you back to her.”

“But-”

“Do not worry, Mand’alor,” the voice turned gentle, understanding. “You are still worthy of your crown. Of us,” the Darksaber sounded sad with it’s next words. “More worthy than most who were chosen before you.”

Silence reigned, high-pitched and screaming.

Shutting his eyes tight against the surrounding darkness, Din focused on breathing. Honing in on counting; one… two… three… four… five, as he breathed in and out. For minutes, hours, days, he breathed as the metallic scent that could only be blood, filled his lungs. Still, he kept breathing. It was the only thing he could do. The only thing he was capable of. The only thing that kept his mind occupied from the pressure, the burning, the squeezing, in his chest.

The Last Day

The ramp of the Crest screeched open. Blinding light from the double suns forced Din to squint through his visor. Confused, he moved forward, stepping down the ramp as it landed on the sands of Tatooine at Fett’s Palace. Behind him was the hum of floating frozen carbonite following him. Ahead of him, you stood waiting, eyes filled with worry.

He didn’t understand how he was still alive.

He didn’t understand how he got back to the same planet your presence graced.

He didn’t- couldn’t remember anything past the forever darkness. A black so dark he thought for sure he wouldn’t survive. A familiar voice echoed deep in his mind. His head hurt just thinking about it. So he didn’t. Instead, he strode toward you with purposeful strides, using strength he didn’t feel.

“Mesh’la,” he whispered, voice raspy, as he gently laid his helmeted head on yours.

“Gar Kar’ta cuyir morut’yc,” a barely there voice whispered in the depths of his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @againstacecilia @djarinslove @bxmxtx @takeyour-pants-off

THANKS FOR READING!

#mandalorian #fanific #bleeding heart #din djarin x reader

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writingsofwerewolves · 6 months

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Here is the first chapter of the 16k word plot-heavy werewolf noncon I have written.

This chapter hasn't been thoroughly edited so things are subject to change before I post the whole thing to AO3.

This whole story was a bit experimental. I'm not super happy with the result but I think there are a few gems in there that some folks might find interesting.

No content warnings for this first chapter, but as previously stated, this is a werewolf noncon.

Chapter 1

“These tunnels were used during the Civil War,” Josephine enthused, her voice echoing ominously against the stone walls, “I can’t believe no one’s been down here since then.”

“I can,” Gunther wrinkled his nose, “It reeks.”

Josephine inhaled deeply, a smile on her face, “It smells like history to me. Rich history. Just think of how many people used these passageways to escape the south two hundred years ago.”

“Can they help me escape the south now?” Jayce muttered in a voice that was clearly meant to be quiet and unheard but with the small space, it carried through the tunnel.

“Mood,” Talia replied wearily, “Josie, we should turn around before we get lost.”

“We won’t get lost,” she held up her smart phone, “I’m drawing out every turn we take. Relax, guys.”

The group pressed on, following the light of Josephine’s flashlight ahead of them. The tunnels were dark, musty, and damp. Each step echoed strangely around them in the tight space.

“Whoa, hold on,” Jayce breathed, “Shush.”

Everyone quieted and Josephine turned back to look at them, “What?”

“Do you hear that?” Jayce asked.

The group was silent, straining their ears. There was the sound of footsteps, soft but close. Josephine moved the flashlight to look around urgently.

“Hey, where’s Aaron?” she asked.

Talia said, “He’s right behind—” she broke off when she turned and saw no one was there. “Fuck. Aaron!” she called.

“Quiet!” Jayce hissed in a low whisper, their eyes full of concern, “I think something’s down here.”

“You-you’re being paranoid, Jay,” Josephine shook her head, though her voice sounded unsteady, “We better find Aaron though. He’s supposed to be filming.”

“You’re probably just hearing Aaron,” Gunther pointed out to Jayce, “Where’s the sound coming from?”

Jayce pointed a shaking finger down one of the tunnel’s branches.

“Then let’s go,” Josie said, leading the way.

The new tunnel was a tighter squeeze, forcing them to go in a single file. Josephine led the way confidently, her phone in one hand and her flashlight in the other. Jayce stuck close at her back, their own flashlight held tightly in their shaking hand. Gunther, the largest of the bunch, had to shimmy sideways through parts the smaller tunnel, slowing him down and creating a small gap between him and Jayce as he struggled to keep up. Talia brought up the rear, using her phone as a flashlight to keep glancing behind her, having the strange feeling that she was being watched.

The tunnel had a lot of curves, but no branches off it, giving the group no chance to change directions. Either they had to continue forward or turn back. And Josephine was no where near ready to turn back.

“Aaron!” she called, “Come on, this isn’t funny.”

No one responded.

“We should go home,” Jayce whispered fearfully.

“We have to at least find Aaron first,” Gunther pointed out.

“And besides,” Josephine began, “We’re nearly—oh!”

She broke off as suddenly the tunnel opened up ahead of them, into a large circular room. Josephine stepped into it, Jayce right at her back, as she looked around in awe. It was fairly dark, but the surprisingly tall ceiling had a grate in the center, opening up to the sky. Filtered sunlight trickled down into the center of the room, on to a raised surface.

Gunther was farther behind and Josephine already had begun examining the room with interest when he stepped in, Talia a few steps behind him.

“I don’t think we should be here,” Talia whispered, remaining in the tunnel, eyeing the room anxiously, “It seems—” her words broke off into a scream when she felt something grab her from behind.

Her scream startled the whole group. Jayce, who had kept themself pressed close to Josephine, lost their footing and fell with a yelp onto the raised surface in the center of the room. The yelp became an exclamation of pain.

“Oh, shit,” a man’s voice came from the darkness of the tunnel.

“Aaron!” Talia pulled out of his grip and slapped his arm, “The fuck?”

“Sorry,” Aaron said sheepishly, a camcorder held in one hand, aimed at Talia’s face, “I thought it’d make a funny video.”

“Jayce,” Josephine breathed, rushing to their side, “Are you okay?”

“No,” they groaned, pushing themself up into a sitting position on the raised center and clutching their hand.

“Shit,” Gunther said, opening his pack and pulling out supplies, “You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“I fell onto this thing,” they pointed at the surface they sat on, “Something sharp went into my hand. It… ah…”

Talia moved closer and looked at the object. It looked like a metal grate with raised walls.

“Is this a well?” Talia asked as Gunther tended to Jayce’s injured hand.

“Looks like it,” Josephine said, looking down into it. She shined her flashlight into it. Jayce’s blood was on the grate, dripping down into the deep hole. With the light, Josephine and Talia were able to see dark shapes. Rocks, they thought, at the bottom.

“No water down there,” Josephine remarked, “Not anymore, at least.”

She looked up, at the grate in the ceiling.

“Strange. I wonder if people lived here,” she said, beginning to shine her flashlight around the room, “Maybe this wasn’t just for transit. Maybe it—fuck!”

She dropped her flashlight, clutching her chest.

“What?” Talia asked urgently, moving to Josie’s side and helping her steady herself on her feet.

Josie pointed a shaky finger across the room, “I thought I saw something move.”

Talia lifted her phone, shining its flashlight in that direction and gasped herself. There was a dark lump and with the movement of the light, it did look like it was moving itself. A second of observation, however, reassured Talia that it indeed was not moving.

“What is that?” Aaron asked, aiming his camera at it as Talia took tentative steps forward.

“It looks like… fur,” Talia breathed, moving closer.

“Careful!” Aaron warned, “Might be a bear!”

“These tunnels have been locked up for over a hundred years,” Josie pointed out, “Even if it was a bear, it’s dead now.”

Talia continued to step towards it. It was indeed fur. A lot of fur. Black fur. Without thinking, she reached out her hand and pressed it against the figure.

She let out a long breath as she felt stiffness beneath her hand. The fur itself was soft, but the flesh below was hard. Dead.

“Gross,” Aaron said, making sure his camera was catching all of it.

Talia felt overwhelming sadness as she stroked the dead creature’s fur. A poor creature had wandered into the tunnel, gotten stuck, and died. Alone. Starving. Never to be seen again.

“We need to go,” Gunther said, helping Jayce to their feet once their hand was wrapped, “Jayce needs to go to a hospital. There’s no telling what type of infection they could get from that.”

“But—” Josephine began to protest. A firm look from Gunther had her shutting her mouth, “Fine. Come on, Talia.”

Talia didn’t move, her hand still buried in the fur of the creature.

Aaron rolled his eyes and grabbed Talia’s arm, “Let’s go, beautiful.”

Talia looked back longingly as she was dragged into the tunnel, away from the hunk of black fur. She didn’t know why. It was just a dead animal. But she didn’t want to leave it.

“We’ll be back,” Josephine called as she lead the way through the tunnel, “There’s a lot more to find down here and I want credit for it all.

#unknown's writing #oc talia

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mommalosthermind · 9 months

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How do you block and filter fics with rampant racist micro aggression since that's never tagged properly and the writer will have a white meltdown if they're ever confronted with the fact their fic is racist?

I honestly can’t tell if this was in earnest or if it’s meant to be another Gotcha! Attempt from one of the anti-censorship posts I’ve annoyed people with, so I’m going to assume it’s the first and do my best to answer.

As a white woman, I am definitely not someone who should be speaking on racism, since the systemic issues I deal with are very very different.

Unfortunately, though, your experience with such a fic is going to mirror what I’d imagine is also your experience with most other forms of media which don’t flag that kind of behavior: bail. Back out. Don’t finish the thing that is upsetting you. Possibly, (as I’ve done with authors on issues that hit home for me) take note of who’s behind the thing so you know to avoid them in the future, as they’ve broken that trust.

This is also known as curating your space. I don’t remember if I go on that rant in the other two (three?) posts that seem to have picked up, but that’s the READER’s side of the equation. Find your garden and tend it well, keep it how you like it, because it is for you and you alone.

My job as a writer is to tag to the best of my ability so you know exactly what you’re bringing into your garden. I don’t want to spoil your flowers anymore than I want someone to trample on mine.

Hopefully, as people talk about this more, authors will be more open to tagging/ modifying and/or adding a footnote for things exactly like this.

Micro aggressions are especially difficult, since (again, pulling purely from my lived experiences) getting folk to agree on what ‘counts’ is rough. But as an author— I want to share my stories. That’s the point! If I’ve written it, then I damn well better be self-aware enough to tag it, and be willing to ADD TAGS so I’m not breaking trust with the people I’m trying to give nice things to. Hopefully that makes sense?

I’m gonna say that again since I feel it needs it: if you’re comfortable enough to write the Real World problem happening, you’re fully capable of being able to recognize why someone might like the warning. Be kind. Tags only work if you use them.

On AO3, I believe they recently made it possible to block an author entirely, so they no longer show up in the results for your searches.

I’ve run across exactly one author I’d have blocked if it was possible at the time, because he refused to add tags to a story that… really needed tags. And, going through the comments in later chapters, dozens of people have asked him to update tags. He claims that doing so will ‘ruin the story’ despite the graphic raped-to-death-then-magically-revived bit having literally nothing to do with the plot at all. Instead, it comes out of literally nowhere in an otherwise really well written tale, and was deeply deeply upsetting to the point that his response to my first chapter squee was “yeah, tell me if you still like it after chapter X”. (Unfortunately i am a very fast reader and had already gotten that far and bailed immediately. Dude if you KNOW it’s THAT upsetting to so many people ADD THE TAG.)

I’ll never read anything he’s written again, just like I refuse to read anything by JKR ( awful human) or Terry Goodkind (I can’t stand how he handles his female characters. At all.)

Obviously these two examples are not identical, but it’s the main comparison I have on hand.

This isn’t meant to sound like I’m belittling or downplaying that concern at all. But until people get better at tagging—and I really wish traditional books and other media would ALSO tag, because I’m very very tired of running into Specific Things without any fucking warning— you have to protect yourself and your happy place by putting up a fence, and booting unsavory things right back over it.

—side note: for those worried about spoiling the plot you can…skip the tags... just know you’re choosing to walk in blind. OR! And I wish i could figure it out—you can add! A hyperlink! That takes you to the footnote at the BOTTOM to add things that deserve a warning but might be spoilers! There’s even a tag for that! ‘More tags in notes!’ These are good and useful things! Use them so your readers can better curate their spaces!—

The system isn’t perfect by any means. There are a million ways to improve, and we’re trying! But please, please y’all use the damn tags because right now it’s the only system we’ve got. Take care of each other.

#momma talks #answered asks #anon #Not sure i worded this well but i fuckin tried damn it #ao3 #tags #racism #fics #curating your spaces #writing

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foxglovefaun · 1 month

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1. The skyline in the first page of the new chapter is incredible. Green and especially those shades are my favorite color.

2. The animal gangoon design oh my GOD it's PERFECT. I had imagined something similar when I was writing one of the chapters in my fic!!!

3. Gnashing and gnawing the bars of my cage in anticipation for part 2 AUGH SO GOOD!!!

aaaaaaa THANK YOU SO MUCH ;0;!!!

1. Thank you!! Im so happy with how that intro page came out. I’m doing more and more photobashing lately, which was something I used to do a lot more about ten years ago. It’s a fun way to use the photoshop techniques I have that aren’t just for painting.

On that first page I used a combination of hand painting, photos of the city, special brushes and detail textures, and then kinda mashed them all together using different layer modes and gradient maps. I think the original skyline was purple and pink, and the server units were blue grey. Then I added in clouds and extra buildings, distorted the lights and added more of my own, put in the OakTex hologram, and just kinda fiddled with “lighten” and “darken” layers of texture until it felt right. :)

2. YES! THE BEAST MASK! I was deeply inspired by the work of MissMonster who is a powerful illustrator and craftsperson who makes INCREDIBLE monster masks. The snarling faces and big tusks are such a vibe. Just over all really beautiful work. One of my dream goals is to one day be able to get my hands on one of the mask blanks so I can do a custom paint job.

In Burner there is a whole subculture of custom respirators and filters (there were supposed to be a couple examples in ch 4 but I forgor 😔so I will be doing a retcon) so masks and unusual headgear are super common. Think the customized COVID masks we started seeing about a year in. Some folks also use face garblers due to Camera Everywhere, but an enforcer like [REDACTED] needs something practical that can’t be decoded, so a full face mask does plenty to get the job done.

3. OK BUT SAME haha Hhh I have only just started thumbnails but I have had the script for the next three/four parts ready for months. I’m foaming at the mouth and getting very activated because this next part will be featuring lots of food, cyberware-focused subcultures, and introducing more stuff about Ross and Shiro’s relationship. So I am

EXCITE.

Getting the sleep I did last night helped a lot, but I need some more so I’m not going to start steamrolling forward just yet. But! I’ve been doing a lot of sketchbook studies of people eating food, updated some character portraits, doing some short expression sheets, and took photos of tunnels and streets from around the city to refer to for the car scenes. :)

your message means a lot to me. I actually I saw it shortly after you sent it! But I have been wayyy beyond dysfunctional l so I wanted to wait to reply until I could write something more thought-out ❤️

Thanks so much for your enthusiasm, it really fills me with a special kind of energy that makes me wanna get more of the story moving, and it’s also just very nice to see that folks really are reading it and enjoying it ;w;

Thanks for taking the time to write me. :3 take good care, i hope the next week for your is kind and restful

all the best

-Fox

#fox answers asks #fox talks #the bridge burner

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incorrectonceandfuturenerd · 1 year

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Happy Ten Year Anniversary @onceandfuturenerd! A few of us over on the discord server put together an audio compilation of us talking about how much we love the podcast and what it means to us. There's a transcript below the cut that also has the names of who's speaking in each clip.

Thank you so much for making this wonderful podcast, and congratulations on ten years!

Kat: I love most things about The Once and Future Nerd. The characters, the setting, the genre awareness, the humor. It’s my favourite podcast for a reason, and that’s saying something as I’ve listened to over a hundred. I remember listening to the show for the first time in late 2016, it was... Christmas concert season and I was walking back and forth pretty much exclusively between my dorm, rehearsal, class, and the dining hall. Um. But somehow, despite that very limited time, I managed to listen to all of The Once and Future Nerd over the course of approximately two days, and fell in love with it pretty much immediately. Um, at the time, all of book one was out, which was, uh, less than there is now, but still a significant amount of podcast to listen to over the course of 48 hours. Um. Aside from how wonderful I continue to find the podcast, The Once and Future Nerd has also allowed me to have access to a community I never would have had otherwise. After creating the discord to talk more about the show with a few other folks, I met some of my closest friends. As of sending this message, I have sent-- and I checked right before- before I did this-- in the server alone, 28,638 messages. That is not including direct messages to my friends, that is just directly in the server. Um, the server has also had a long-running Dungeons and Dragons game that’s been going since spring of 2019, and has had multiple bl- book clubs, including one that meets weekly has consistently since spring of 2020. It’s been one of the most fulfilling community experiences of my life, and it all ties back to The Once and Future Nerd. Creating stupid inside jokes like Gy’y Fy’ryy and Elves Have Fur and Antonin being the sexiest the character no matter what any polls say, he better win this last one, I swear... um, it’s been one of the great joys of my life over the last five years. Thank you so much for all the love and joy, humor, tears, and so much more that The Once and Future Nerd has brought to my life and to the lives of many others. The story’s been wonderful, y’all are wonderful, and I hope you continue for many years to come. Happy ten year anniversary.

Nicole: What do I love about The Once and Future Nerd? This is going to sound weird, but I love how specific it is. The Once and Future Nerd is such a peculiar blend of genre and humor and social commentary, that it’s a near perfect filter for finding like-minded people. I’ve met some of my best friends through this podcast and I’m so grateful I found it back in 2016. At the time, it was so hard to find fantasy audio dramas, so I was immediately drawn to The Once and Future Nerd for that alone, uh, when I was trying to search for some. I really liked the concept, enough to make me listen until Monsters, because that’s the chapter that hooked me. I devoured the rest of book one after that, only pausing to sleep and attend lectures... and sometimes listening to it during lectures. Sorry, not sorry to my stats prof. If I had to pick a favourite moment, I would have to say Yllowyyn’s confrontation with Ry’y lo-Th’yyt in Bridges. I think that one is burned into my brain because I was a crowded train trying not to freak out at the time. This podcast means a lot to me as a source of connection with others and it’s just a plain fun story. Thank you, Zach and Christian and everyone who works so hard on it. It’s been going for ten years, and I don’t care if it takes ten more.

RJ: I found The Once and Future Nerd in February of 2017 as a depressed 18-year-old in my first year of university, and I think I listened to everything that had been released at that point in about a week? I love it because of the genre subversion and genre awareness, I love the characters, I love the way it challenges expectations and engages with complex topics with care... I really, really like listening to this podcast, but more than that, I like talking about this podcast. The main thing that makes me keep coming back to The Once and Future Nerd, keep listening, and that makes it important to me, is the community I’ve found in listening to it. I joined the discord server two days after it was created, and that remains the only fandom space where I’ve successfully made actually close online friends. To the point where the friendship has expanded beyond just our shared enjoyment of the podcast into just... being friends. It’s really great to get to know these people, to plan things like this anniversary event with them, to have things like a weekly book club, or collaborations on projects, or just conversations about silly and serious things related to the podcast, and unrelated to the podcast. And none of that would have happened without The Once and Future Nerd so, thank you. Thank you for being the reason that I know these people, thank you for being the reason that I have been inspired to make creative things, from fanart to videos to what have you, uh... I love your show so much, congratulations on ten years, and I can’t wait to hear what comes next.

Dirk: Hey, this is Dirk. Uh, I don’t remember when I started listening to this podcast, it was years ago-- but I do remember being immediately drawn in by the brief and tragic tale of Mr. Fluffy Toes. The mix of humor and sass and sincerity, it immediately struck me. As the story went on, I delighted in Nelson being shockingly genre-savvy about this fantasy world and, honestly? I really enjoyed the fact that the world at large ignored the kids at first. That’s not something you often get in portal fantasies. Uh, I’ve also always deeply enjoyed the queer representation and tongue-in-cheek political commentary... As if that wasn’t enough, you all gave me a chance to write for your podcast. I had so much fun with the Bailey sisters short, and with making up a whole-ass holiday! It was so much fun. And even though I had to recuse myself from the later plotline, I’m still here to listen to how it goes. My inability to write for it has absolutely no bearing on your grace and kindness to me, and even though I dread how it will make me feel because of my own personal issues, I know that I can trust whatever it turns out to be. Like so many pod- things in this podcast, it’s gonna be sensitive, sometimes funny, sometimes deeply tragic, or terrifying, and it will never punch down. Because that’s the kind of podcast you have made. Happy ten year anniversary, thank you so much for all that you’ve given us. And I hope you can continue making whatcha love for as long as you want to be making it. And like... Let’s be real. As long as you’re making this, we’re gonna be here for it, so... Thank you.

Oriana: I had the podcast recommended to me by a friend who was very active on the reddit at the time. I love that The Once and Future Nerd is not afraid to look long and hard at The Implications of a lot of fantasy tropes. I kept listening because I wanted to know what new ideas would be explored next. One of my favorite moments is the speech that Traft gives about how the Princes of Iorden do alchemy. The Once and Future Nerd is the first thing that I got to write for that has an established audience and... that was very cool. Thank you for everything.

Aja: Hey guys my name is Aja, and I just wanted to say congrats on ten years of a fantastic podcast. I started listening to The Once and Future Nerd back in 2017, 2016, not long after I’d gotten my bachelor’s degree from college and right as I was starting to realize that I wanted to go back to school to get my teaching degree. So it- it came at a really special time in my life. What kept me coming back over all these years is the fantastic character development, especially for the kids, uh, in the story, but also for everybody else, and I’ve also just really appreciated the, uh, subversion, I guess, of fantasy tropes. I think it’s kept the story really interesting and really relevant, and it’s- it’s so real, despite being a fantasy story, so. Thank you so much for all of your hard work, and I look forward to listening for... as long as you keep making this podcast. Thanks guys.

Aster: The Once and Future Nerd is one on an ever-growing list of podcasts that I deeply love despite being upwards of a year behind on, and every time I am able to get back to listening to it, I am in awe of the incredible world that it shows. And a special thanks to the podcast for finally, really, dragging me down into the incredible world of audio drama fandoms.

Teddy: Well, first of all congrats on ten years, that is a tremendously long time to work on a project, and it’s an excellent project to have been worked on. I’ve loved the podcast for... a while. I’m not quite as into it as I used to be, but I still listen to the episodes whenever they come out. Uh... I first listened to the podcast all the way back in, I believe 2016? Uh, when I was in college. One of my friends was listening to it at a DnD session and I heard just one clip of it-- I think it was the scene where Regan had a threesome with the barkeep and his partner? I don’t remember exactly what happened in that scene but, uh... [laughs] it was interesting enough to draw my attention, and I talked to my friend about what the podcast was about, and I decided to go ahead listen to it, and so I listened to it. It hit all the right notes for me. I really loved the emphasis on diversity, and the science that went into it. I thought the science... um, the way science and magic integrated in the show was really fantastic and clever. You know, I really loved the characters. I think I listened to the entire podcast, up until the beginning of covid, about... three or four times through, and then since the pandemic when everything’s slowed down I’ve only listened to it another couple times since then. But, even though it’s no longer quite my main fandom or anything... But I think that I’m going to continue listening to it for as long as it comes out. Even if it’s never my big passion, it’s gonna be one of those quiet, comfortable, familiar things that will be a thread woven throughout the path of the rest of my life. Or not the rest of my life, but, you know, a good portion of it. However long- however much longer it goes, um. But, yeah, uh, congrats again on ten years of The Once and Future Nerd, and thank you for creating it. It’s really fantastic, I love it so much.

Rachel: So I found The Once and Future Nerd shortly after the pandemic started. A friend reached out to me who, um, I had met in college, and she asked to connect and we started calling every week, and we eventually started listening to this podcast together because she was already a fan, and she thought I would love it-- she was totally right. Um [small laugh], and we listened to this for almost a year, almost like a book club. Um, and we talked about it, and we got deep into the themes which was really enriching for me, that’s one of my passions, I got a degree in it. Uh, in, um, literature, so just picking apart stories and I-I was- I’ve always been impressed by how crunchy it is. How the characters feel fleshed out and stood apart from each other, and how so many tropes you think you understand and then you guys subverted them. Um. And then, while I don’t listen to The Once and Future Nerd right now, I have other podcasts that I do listen to, and before listening to The Once and Future Nerd with Kat I was not a podcast person. So, because of this podcast I actually have maintained a friendship, and I’ve gained a whole new ways to access stories, and it’s been pretty marvellous. And I’ve loved that a lot. So I’d like to thank the creators for those two sparks of joy in my life.

Kellie: Congrats on ten years! Um. I have not been listening to The Once and Future Nerd for ten years, I’ve been listening more like the past, like, one and half or so years, um, and I am so glad that I started listening. This podcast means a lot to me, it is one of my favourites, and not only is it just individually enjoyable for me, it’s also brought me closer to a lot of people, um, the existence of the podcast itself has brought me into a community that I value so deeply, and brought me close to so many people who I just love and adore. So, I mean, you know, obviously you’re doing something really right if, uh, you’re bringing people close together for lifetime friendships, uh, by making, you know, content. And that’s amazing in and of itself. But also, just, the podcast itself is so good. I mean, first of all, it’s great quality, it’s, you know, these... these wonderful little stories that are so, so gay. [laughs] And that analyze interesting topics in a really nuanced way. I can’t express the appreciation that I have for the way that y’all talk about these topics cause they’re always- they’re handled so well. Um. So, instead... [laughs] so instead of trying to express that, um, I will instead express that I just love how... I love when Arlene and Gwen are gay. Like, that’s just great. You know? It’s fantastic. And they’re so, so gay, and it’s so, so wonderful every single time. [sighs] And also Regan is just so hot. You know? Like. Uh, I... [sighs] Good for her, you know? Good for her. And good for y’all for- for having this podcast be- be going on for so long and still going strong. It’s- it’s so much fun and I’m so excited to keep listening to it. I’m not all the way caught up! But I’m working on it and I’m r- just enjoying every moment along the way. Thank you for what you do, cause what you do is so great. It’s incredible. Thank you.

Drak: The Once and Future Nerd. Um. What it means to me. So I had really bad migraines a couple years ago. Uh, to the point of, I had to blindfold myself for days and weeks at a time, uh, in order to avoid a debilitating migraine. And, um, so I found myself suddenly having to navigate the world without being able to see. The worst part of it was the boredom because I couldn’t read fanfiction, I couldn’t, uh, do most of my crafting hobbies, I couldn’t play video games. Um, obviously there are, you know, ways that people can do those things while blind, but I did not have any of those accommodations at the time. And so I started listening to podcasts, and I found The Once and Future Nerd and while listening to it, sitting in my room, by myself, uh, blind and in pain, The Once and Future Nerd took me away from my loneliness and my boredom and my pain and, you know, kind of, uh, saved my life. Uh, because I had something to help me get through a difficult period of my life, and, um. On top of that, you know, I-I love how much care and thought the crew and the cast and everyone involved puts into the story, um, in terms of being, like, sensitive about topics and as well as, like, trying to, um, provide good representation for, uh, marginalized voices, and um. I just. God, I love this podcast so much. Thank you, thank you so much for everything y’all do. The Once and Future Nerd is... I-I recommend it to everyone I know, even if they don’t like podcasts because I-I really think it’s that good. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Sen: I love this podcast for its tapestry of fantasy tropes, the funny takes, and the moments of awesome. For multifaceted, diverse characters that I hadn’t encountered in other mediums before, and [sighs] well, for a gorgeous sound design that brings it all together. I found this podcast back in the middle of 2018. I was in a really, really bad place then, I was failing my classes, um, due to depression and anxiety for which I had begun taking medications too, which was not easy to adjust to. I just- I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. So, I ended up searching for, uh, podcasts, and specifically what I would do back then is I would read the scripts and then I’d decide to listen to the whole thing later, you know. I read the first two episodes, then I just decided fuck it. I’m gonna listen. This podcast, and a few others, they were what got me through a really difficult time, but, you know, what made me keep listening then after that was just that it keeps on getting better. Personally, my favourite moment in TOaFN is, uh, episode three of I’ve Been Working on the Whale Road. Because, okay, yes, there are the pilot- uh, pirates, and there is Maddy Groves, but then there is also Bryce’s death. An ignoble death, nobly done. I get emotional thinking about it, but I think the way that Bryce died, it touches you, I think. And I think that... that balance between the humor and the silliness and the sincerity, and the love, I think, uh, it’s always- it touches you. I love this show for its emphasis on storytelling, the words “people are the stories they tell, power is who gets to tell those stories” th-they’re ingrained in my mind at this point. I resonate with the philosophy so much, and I’m so grateful to this show for getting me through tough times and for teaching me things about storytelling, about myself. And for the people that I have met through this show. In the discord server, the long-running DnD game, um, those people that, like, I got close to, and the book club folks, er, that I get to chat with on occasion. They make me laugh and they make me smile and I can confide in them, they’re always there and... I just- I- Thank you so much, for giving me all of that.

CJ: Congrats on ten years!

#toafn #the once and future nerd #the once and future nerd is a period piece #toafnperiodpiece

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