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brown-little-robin · 1 year

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Hi! I'm a student from Alberta, Canada, and I was wondering about your ceramic art, as I have an assignment for my ceramics class to research a ceramic artist of the students choice. In my search for one I stumbled across your sideblog and you make such adorable little animals I felt like I had to research yours! So, I have a few questions about you and your process if you don't mind! (Also, if you're comfortable sharing your pronouns that would be great, for now I'm just using they/them until I know for sure).

How does your sculpting process usually look?

Do you always use stoneware or do you use other kinds of clay as well? (I know you use stoneware due to your Kofi page)

How does glazing look for you? Do you primarily use dip glazes, underglazes, bisque underglazes, other, or primarily a mix? Ive noticed you've used underglaze in some of your sculptures, though.

How does firing usually go? It said somewhere on your page you usually fire in the summer, but is there any specifics you do?

And finally, how many years have you been working as a ceramic artist?

Thank you so much for your time, if your not comfortable answering some questions that's perfectly okay!

Thanks, Yarrow.

Hello! Thanks so much for your kind words and your interest! I'm a ceramics student myself, so it's a delightful surprise to be approached for a ceramics class assignment! <3

About my pronouns: I'm Robin, I'm a woman, and my pronouns are she/her. Thanks for asking!

Also, in the interest of approaching you on your own terms, I will add that I'm a follower of Christ. I don't mind people with different ideologies interacting with me and my ceramics! I sincerely believe that good-faith interactions between people who disagree are part of the beauty of the world. I simply want to be completely honest with you about that, since it seems like your religion is as important to you as mine is to me.

And now for the process questions!

How does your sculpting process usually look?

I typically use reference images! There are a few animals that I have the anatomy and designs of memorized, like pangolins and rabbits. And sometimes I make up chimera-type creatures while sculpting, letting the clay and my built-up knowledge of anatomy guide me. But for new species and/or high-accuracy sculptures, I start with an image search for the same species from many angles.

After that, I start with the basic shape of the body, then add legs, then add the head and tail, and finally details such as toes, facial features, and so on. I add the limbs using scoring and slipping (...when I'm not being lazy; sometimes I just stick the legs on and smooth them in with fingers and tools). Speaking of tools, I use a leaf-bladed sculpting tool and a needle tool. They're thin enough to get into the areas that my fingers can't reach, like between legs of a small sculpture, and to do fine detail work, like incising fur lines, making nose cavities, and so on. For large and/or high-accuracy sculptures, I do the legs first because the position of the legs defines the entire stance of the creature, which will define the position of the head.

^ these are the kinds of tools I use! The top right needle tool and the bottom left leaf-bladed tool.

There's always a good amount of addition (head too small? slap more clay on) and subtraction (head too big? chop off the front part and try again) involved in the process. Basically, I go back and forth between adding new parts of the sculpture and editing the parts I already have. It's a critical process to make a sculpture come out right; I get a gut feeling that something is wrong, stare at the sculpture until I can name what's wrong, and then fix it. Over and over. I edit until I'm satisfied... or until I say "good enough, good luck in the world buddy" and let it dry out even though it's imperfect. <3

Do you always use stoneware or do you use other kinds of clay as well? (I know you use stoneware due to your Kofi page)

I use stoneware because that's what's available to me! My father is a potter, and I use his clay when I'm living with him over the summer. At my university, I use the stoneware from the ceramic studio. Next semester I'll be allowed to use the porcelain! (Advanced ceramic studio yay!)

How does glazing look for you? Do you primarily use dip glazes, underglazes, bisque underglazes, other, or primarily a mix? Ive noticed you've used underglaze in some of your sculptures, though.

I primarily use mason stains (I've called them underglaze in the past, which is a broader term than the specific product "mason stain") with a clear or transparent dip glaze! A good number of my sculptures have only dip glaze with no mason stain, though, such as this kiwi bird (copper glaze) and this rat (rutile glaze). I do no stains when either (like the kiwi bird) the sculpture's form is beautiful and complete enough to stand on its own without any additional detail, or (like with the rat) it's small and simple enough that I don't feel like adding detail makes sense. I basically just play it by ear, though.

My glazing process is a bit unusual in that I typically apply the mason stains at the bone-dry greenware stage instead of at bisque or leather-hard. That's because my work with paint brushes is not very precise yet. At the bone-dry greenware stage, I can add mason stain, then scrape part of it off with my needle tool to straighten my lines, remove accidental blotches, and create subtractive designs inside the mason stain area! You can see that technique in action on my green octopus, which has black mason stain under copper glaze with parts of the black scraped away, leaving the bare clay underneath.

How does firing usually go? It said somewhere on your page you usually fire in the summer, but is there any specifics you do?

Well, again, I currently live with my dad during the summer, and we fire collaboratively in his kiln. My sculptures are so small that I can't fill a kiln by myself! I rely on my father to create the large bowls and mugs that fill the shelves, and we place my sculptures among the vessels. We fire to cone six whenever we have enough work to fill the kiln. During the school year, I fire my sculptures in the university studio with all the other students' work.

After I leave college and get a job (and potentially a home and studio) of my own, my firing habits will change, of course!

And finally, how many years have you been working as a ceramic artist?

At least six. It depends on how you define "working" and "ceramic artist", though! If the question was "how many years have you been selling ceramics", that would be less than one. I've made ceramic sculptures every so often since I was a small child—so, more than ten years! But I've only been consistently making a large batch of sculptures every single summer for six years.

Ahh, that was a lot! If you've made it this far, thank you for reading :) Take a moment to take a deep breath and check in with your body!

#Thanks again for the ask!#Yarrow—if there's anything else I can clarify to help you out just let me know. Good luck on your assignment!#ceramic asks #my process #long post #not ceramics

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bbarican · 1 year

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july 30, 2023; 7:21 pm - life updates

hi, tumblr! its been a minute ~ how are you guys? isnt it so weird that july just decided to be a blip and is now over like it never actually happened even though it was a super busy month? either way, im here to update ya'll on how ive been and other things and if youre interested, just keep reading along; either way, i love you!

family:

bittersweetly, wala na kaming bisita sa bahay; ang weird kasi my mom pointed out na we had visitors nga pala ever since may, thats a lot of time to have people over at your house and to not have privacy; it is sad though to have the house this quiet again but i, glad for the memories we all made over the course of everyone's stay

i treated my mom to a mani pedi session yesterday and it was really nice and relaxing; i finally got my nails done again and im so happy!

other than the aforementioned, we dont have a lot going on except the fact that we're going to a lunch buffet on saturday so atleast we have something to look forward to

im just really excited for the rest of the year and what that holds for me and my family

personal life:

im in a much better headspace and i am truly grateful for whatever or whoever helped me along the way

july was tough kasi i kept pushing myself to my limit without really noticing and again its very bittersweet kasi a part of me is super proud na i can actually juggle so much but at the same time my mind was not doing okay

but im glad im better now; maybe it was just a bad and busy week but i know for a fact na hindi lang yun yung week na ganun sa buong buhay ko so atleast now i know i can actually handle it

i finished reading happy place by emily henry already and i love that book so much; it being about people around my age made it all the more relatable + its super funny + it hits a little too close to home knowing that im the same as the protagonist; overall, its such a great book and i wish i could read it for the first time ulit

been trying to download bumble again pero literally my phone wont let me kasi it always prompts me to fix my payment method sa apple id which is totally fine btw but it always ends up being in error so i just take that as a sign na downloading bumble is just gonna be a waste of time anyway

i need to buy clothes kasi 1.) i wanna invest in them (again, my mom has a point na i need to stop repeating my outfits as much as i do) and 2.) i have an event to go to on the 11th ata so i need to dress up for that

i also want to sell some of my stuff kasi day by day i just keep realizing na i have so much stuff and instead of throwing them away, might as well make some money out of them

work:

im relieved that work is better now; not as busy, but busy enough to keep me on my feet without actually killing me mentally

i love my officemates; i love how the board takers are back and that the noise is back too

na approve na din kaagad yung revisions namin for our community library project which means we get to go to ikea already and purchase the stuff we wanted to for the project

feels kinda weird din talaga to not have been able to go to the office for a week cause of the weather kaya tomorrow im really gonna push myself to go kahit na alam kong uulan parin kasi i just know im gonna be lazy as fuck if i dont go to the office nanaman

regarding our team building, again, im not so keen on pushing through with it this august kasi 1.) its raining, 2.) mahal na since we're booking for the same dates, and 3.) again, i have no idea what our budget is to begin with so its really hard to plan anything anyway

and yeah, thats it for my life updates ~ im beyond excited for august, so here's to making the last day of july super fun and productive and memorable in whatever way it could be

ingat kayong lahat especially since for sure uulan parin this week!

#bbarican #personal #thoughts #writings #list #life #update #updates #dump #me

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orangemoonxworks · 1 month

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KINGDOM HEARTS: DIVERGE, VOL. 0 MARCH OF THE FOOLS, PART I — IV WRITTEN BY: Naude Lucem -------------------------------------------------

The Argentum Tower was the second tallest tower in the Seventh District – the tallest being the Vulpes Unionis Praetoria, the headquarters of the Vulpes Union. The Argentum Tower was known for its unique clockface which had thirteen numbers instead of twelve. Out of the seven clock towers in Daybreak, each district having its own, it was the only one whose clockface wasn’t functional. For some reason, its hands never moved – both were stuck thirteen. This led to many theories and conspiracies. Nevertheless, it was the perfect place for both the Union Cross students since the surrounding atmosphere was calm.

The balcony below the clockface was a spot known only to a few, and those few were currently there: Blaine, the Vulpes Union’s only Keyblade Master, a man in his early twenties whose black and grey hair fell past his shoulders. His face was mostly hidden by his tipped down fedora. All Keyblade Masters had to don their white and silver union robes but were free to wear whatever under them. Black was his style, so his clothing and fedora was just that.

Ephemer, the white-haired young man with the red scarf around his neck, was bent over the railing and gazing down below through a pair of binoculars. His short hair and scarf blew with the wind. “Whoa, I’m seeing loads of new faces down there.”

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous things?” said Lauriam, the other young man with short dark-pink hair, looking up from the small book in his hand. Unlike Ephemer who was dressed somewhat stylishly, his attire was similar to a bartender’s. He continued “And peeping at others no less.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just checking out the new blood.” he replied, flapping his hand. “I guess Grandmaster Ava recruited more people this year.”

“You should be focused on the task at hand.” said Auden, the young woman sitting on the floor with her legs folded. Her stringy and curly sand-colored hair was short, and her eyes green-ish black. She was intensely monitoring a device. Its screen suddenly shut off and she slapped her thighs. “Damn it! Stop screwing up every five seconds!!”

“You’ve been tinkering with that since we got here.” Lauriam said, watching as she annoyedly rebooted the device. “Are you sure it’s not broken?”

“No, it’s completely fine. I’ve just been toying around with it for fun!” Auden sarcastically replied.

“What is that thing anyway?” Ephemer asked.

“It’s an Aether Meter. It scans an area within a set radius then measures and records the concentration of aether in the atmosphere.” Auden explained. “Normally, it’s used for detecting aetheric imbalances but due to the recent spike in shadow scourges, somebody requested it to be modified to detect darkness. And guess who got stuck with field testing this stupid crap? You guessed it.”

Ephemer looked at the device in awe. “Wait, can it really do that?”

“Apparently. You could use it as is to detect darkness just by observing the recorded aether balances, but that’s not reliable. Because darkness, or “nether”, has a unique energy signature, modifying these meters to detect it is a nightmare since the slightest exposure could corrupt your own aether. Luckily, the Mages at the Ars Magna Guild were crazy enough to make it work – or so they thought!”

“Cool. So, what’s wrong with it?”

“If I had the answer to that, I would’ve fixed it by now!”

Blaine groaned then spoke, slightly lifting his hat. “You’re too loud. Relax and take a break.”

“Shut it, you lazy bum!” Auden shot back. “Why don’t you get off your butt and help!?”

“Nope. That’s your expertise. Try turning it off and on. Works on most things.”

“It’s not a light switch! And if that was the case, it’d be working now given how many times it’s –”

A beep sounded off. The aether meter’s display began fading. “Damn it! It shut off again!”

Ephemer kneeled down and tapped the meter. “Maybe it’s out of juice.”

“Or it’s an old piece of crap that needs to be overhauled. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Why did you bring it anyway?” Blaine questioned. “Not like it’ll be any help if a scourge appears.”

“Gah! Were you even listening?! I told you earlier!” Auden snapped then groaned. “Somebody, probably one of the Grandmasters, wants the guardians to start using these in hopes that it’ll give them an edge when dealing with the shadow scourges. In theory, it makes sense – less destruction and casualties if they can get to a scourge-inflicted area faster. But in practice? Tch! Who knows. If it works, maybe.”

Lauriam closed his book then tucked it away in his back pocket. “Well, we’re here. If anything happens, we’ll know even without that meter. On a different note, I should visit my sister once we’re done. It’s been a few days since we’ve talked. I wonder if her classes are going well.”

Ephemer poked a finger into his cheek. “Oh, right. She’s studying to become a Mage, isn’t she?”

“Yes. It’s unfortunate – she’s much more adept with aethereal arts than I am. She would be a great addition to the Lux Unitas if she could only get through the physical hurdles. But my sister has never been a fighter. I feel that’s for the best. She’s a bit too soft-hearted for the battlefield.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Ephemer backed into the balcony’s railing, then relaxed his hands behind his neck. “Being a Guardian isn’t just about the action. Everyone contributes in some way. I mean, without Mages we’d be toast.”

“Still, it’d ease my mind if she’d learn how to protect herself.”

“She’ll have to regardless.” Blaine spoke up. “Can’t become a Guardian or a Mage without knowing your way around a keyblade. She’ll need to train under a Master for a little while.”

“Huh? Really? Isn’t that just for the Lux Unitas?” Ephemer asked.

“If it was, then Auden wouldn’t be here.” Blaine answered.

Ephemer’s eyes widened as he turned to her. “Wait, you’re not a Guardian???”

“Not important.” Auden replied, brushing him off. The aether meter’s small screen slowly lit up and displayed a pixelated version of the Ars Magna Guild’s insignia. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew! Okay, here we go. It’s working again. Now I just need you to stay on long enough for me to get a reading. Expand the radius a bit, and…”

She smacked her palms together then giddily grinned. “Bingo! Now we just wait for the meter to measure and record the aetheric balance here.”

Still surprised about the Auden revelation, Ephemer continued “Huh. Didn’t know we could take apprentices out on missions.”

“If something serious happens, say a shadow scourge, then the students of Union Cross are obligated to act for the safety of themselves and others around them. They don’t have keyblades for nothing.”

“Isn’t that dangerous though? I mean, they’re only students. There’s but so much they can do.”

“Like it or not, that’s what you sign up for when you enroll in Union Cross.”

“Well, yeah but, still…”

“Yes!!!” Auden shouted out if the blue, startling Ephemer whose body instinctively jerked. “Er, I mean, crap! We’ve got something!”

The guys, including Blaine who reluctant peeled himself off the bench and dragged his feet, crowded around her and stared the meter’s screen. “Based on the aether concentration reading, there’s an aetheric imbalance about two kilometers from here which lines up with the darkness detection point. What’s worse is that the darkness gathering there is steadily growing by the sec – hold on, I know this area. It’s on the campus grounds.”

Lauriam backed away and stood up. “Then it’s a shadow scourge. We should get going then.”

Auden raised her hand. “Wait! That’s not all. It’s also picking up another detection point but…there’s something strange. The aether balance in this area is fine and there doesn’t appear to be darkness accumulating there, at least not for now. I wonder what set the meter’s detection off.”

“Hmm. I’ll go check it out.” Blaine said then stood up and removed his hat, then cast it away at the snap of his fingers. His gaze shifted to his subordinates. “You two get to the campus grounds. It’s likely to be engulfed in chaos by the time you get there, so do whatever you can. Once the area is evacuated, find the inception point and destroy the harbinger. That’s the only way to put a stop to the scourge.”

Ephemer summoned his keyblade then leapt onto the railing. He stood perfectly still even with the wind pushing against him. Looking over his shoulder at Blaine, he eagerly replied “Roger that, Master!”

Lauriam sighed. Summoning his own keyblade, he leapt into the air, briefly stepping on the balcony railing, then pushed himself off and vanished. He reappeared in a flash, stepping on a rooftop a short distance away, then vanished again. It was a technique called “quick step” that guardians used for fast traversal. Ephemer jumped from the balcony and followed after.

With them gone, Blaine spoke to Auden “You stay here. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do.” Auden lazily waved her hand, focusing on the aether meter. “You know, when you actually act like a Master, there’s a part of me that almost respects you. Almost.”

He lightly groaned. “I’ll pretend that was a compliment.”

Blaine placed his hand over his chest, then teleported away. -------------------------------------------------

#kingdom hearts diverge #kingdom hearts #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr #fic #writing #kh #union cross #kh union x #kh union cross #orange moon works #naude lucem #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction

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beautifulnightmareunknown · 2 years

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oh deer (lol this is cringy)

hiii. so my morning was actually really nice. i woke up, went to the gym with my sis, got back home, ate and made my meals for the day then went to go get ready for work. while i was showering grace (my sis) got my clothes and all my “getting ready” things together for me and she even made and brought me my coffee. omfg and she made my bed for me lol. ive loved having her home from college. she really is my best friend. i feel like i can literally talk to her about anything and everything and there is no judgment or negative thoughts/feelings. i go to her for just about anything and she is always there. ANYWAYS, i left home and was bee bopping on my way to work listening to some music and just doing my thang. well i was almost to work and i freaking deer jumps out in front of me. i was only going about 35mph so the damage isnt that bad, but my hood is a little bent up and my grill is a little busted. other than that though my car is fine. i did however get in touch with my insurance guy and hes referring me to this place to get it fixed without filing a claim if i dont have to. hopefully its not too much money, but either way i just want my car fixed. i wouldnt mind driving around a cute little rental car either.

im currently at work right now, its nap time. i really cannot wait to start my new job. this place is just forever getting on my nerves. i love tammy to death (my co-teacher) but damn she is lazy. like when the kids need something shes always like trying to sneak tell them to ask me so that i will do it. and dont even get me started on the admin here. theyre just as bad if not worse. i was supposed to get finger printed like 2 or 3 weeks ago but i was sick on the day i was scheduled so i missed it and they just keep getting on my ass about rescheduling it like its my job to do so. which its not by the way. but little do they know its my last week here so it doesnt even matter. they just all get on my nerves here. its like no one wants to do their job and i mean thats why half the workers are leaving and why the whole class comes to me instead of the lead lol. i am going to miss the kids somewhat but not enough for me to stay and the pay here sucks. but yeah im going to work this week out and then text melanie (the director) that i quit. i dont care how unprofessional that is only because when they hired me here they made me not put in a 2 weeks notice to my previous job like i didnt have a choice and you know what they say.. “do unto others like you would want done to you” or something like that. then ill just have a week to chill and get into my new routine because quite literally fuck this place and lowkey fuck my schedule right now too.

ive been really good this year about keeping a positive mindset and not letting certain things get to me. i plan to keep it that way for the whole year and only work on bettering myself. i have weeded out most toxic aspects of my life and have gained more positive and encouraging in replace. i believe this year is only going to get better and more successful. one of my personal goals for this year is to read as many books as my height. thats crazy sounding i know but i am already off to a decent start with one book lol.

nap time is almost over so i am going to go ahead and sign off now. byeeee

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hopeheartfilia · 4 years

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Me, between 3 and 4 am: I should learn HTML

#it was more like. I should learn some basics of coding and im aware that the ideas in my head are overly ambition #amnitous* like bitch as if you have the attention span to learn two coding languages. youll learn like basics of html and leave #on th3 other hand i am pretty alright at things like logic and precise language and technically math #like i dont like it but i am naturally good at math. i just refuse to put absolutely Any effort in it #so like i probably wont be shit at it if i genuenly try and it seems more of an if you put time i #then you should get the basics #and i dont expect to get beyond the basics but still #my most in debt go at htmls was probably my ao3 skin #which.. doess need some chnages but i was very sleeo deprived when doing it so past me is forgiven #i did just decide ima do it without having any idea about anything #and then decided to proceed without checking out a single tutorial #so i played with the presets of the wizrads #then decided fuck that #found a skin with a reasonable amount of different colours for all the important features and manually recollered it in the code #because thats reasonable #especially if youre guessing what the colour is for lile 90% of the time #thats why i currently cant see where im up to in a chapther. i coloured the scroller the same colour as the background #but it works fine and ive been too lazy to fix it #i feel i could do a lot more with it if i actually put time into u derstanding the language its written in #and also if i could possibly go and deal with some web desing that would be very good for job prospects #so like i should #but also idk why i still think in terms of so learn this and then maybe learn python like ill get that far when i probably wont

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

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Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

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anotherspnfanfic · 3 years

Text

Overloaded

Pairing: Dr Dean x nurse reader

Word count: 1584

Warnings: minor injury

Squares filled: Hospital AU for @spndeanbingo and Doctor AU for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me a Story Bingo

Summary: Working too many hours and being short handed leads to a breaking point.

~~~

Gabe pushed the wheelchair off the elevator into the ED. She bit her lip to muffle her whimper as the small bump jostled her foot. “Sorry,” Gabe murmured as he wheeled her towards the nurses station. “Hey, Charlie, you got an open room? She needs an x-ray.”

Charlie turned to see who Gabe was referring to. “Oh, what happened?” she asked, seeing the pain on her friend’s face.

Before either of them could explain, Dean came out of an exam room and spotted her. “My nurses are not supposed to be in wheelchairs. Especially not my favorite one,” he said as he walked over and squatted down to her level. He noticed her puffy eyes as he carefully pulled up the pant leg on her elevated foot. He echoed Charlie’s question, “What happened, sweetheart?”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead as she glanced at the floor. “I missed a step, or maybe two. I landed wrong on my ankle. I'm pretty sure it’s broken. It hurts a lot.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he stood and moved to take over Gabe’s position. “Okay, let's get you checked out.”

“Exam 4 is open,” Charlie said.

Dean turned to Gabe as he pushed her toward the room. “Can you go grab the portable x-ray and 25 mcg fentanyl, please?”

Once they were in the exam room, Dean offered his hand to help her stand on her good leg. He leaned over and lifted her carefully and then set her on the bed. She tried not to whine as the movement sent pain shooting up her leg. “Damn it. This sucks,” she said.

He situated the bed so she was laid nearly flat and got her foot elevated on a couple pillows. “1-10—how’s the pain?” Dean asked, as he tossed a blanket over her.

“Uhh, about a 6.”

Dean nodded. “Gabe should be back with the pain meds in a minute. So, you missed a step?” he asked as he started to check her vitals.

“Yeah, I was playing with my phone and I missed it,” she explained. He gave her a skeptical look.

Before he could say anything more, Gabe appeared and handed Dean a syringe. “I figured you’d want that first. I’ll be right back with the x-ray.”

Dean finished recording her temp and BP, then pushed the sleeve of her scrubs up her shoulder and cleaned a spot with an alcohol wipe. “Little pinch,” he warned. “Babe, you can maneuver all the stairs in this building backwards, hands full, and with your eyes closed. You sure you just missed it?” he asked.

She broke eye contact as she contemplated her answer carefully, knowing he could tell when she was lying. “No,” she mumbled. “I might have been a little dizzy, too.”

He reached his index finger under her chin to force her eyes to meet his. “Any guesses why you were dizzy?”

She pulled away enough to drop her gaze back down to the bed and shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Low blood sugar, maybe? Probably,” she mumbled the last word. She fiddled with the corner of the blanket almost nervously, not wanting to see the disappointment and concern on his face.

He hummed. “So you didn’t miss a step. You fainted?”

She sighed in defeat. “Yeah.”

“Have you eaten anything since the granola bar I brought you,” he paused to check his watch, “five hours ago?”

She shook her head and pulled the barely-touched bar from her pocket. “I got busy and then I forgot it was there.”

“What about water? Have you been drinking?” he probed. She simply shook her head, still refusing to make eye contact. “So you’re probably dehydrated, too.”

She shrugged.

He sighed. “You really have got to take better care of yourself. I love how much you care for everyone around you, but you have to come first once in a while. Otherwise, you won’t be able to help anyone.”

“I just get so busy that I forget sometimes.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “We are going to work on that.”

Before she could add anything, Gabe pushed the x-ray into the room, and within a few minutes, they had all the images they needed of her ankle.

“Definitely very broken,” Dean stated. “Gabe, can you run a CBC and BMP and then start an IV of normal saline while I go page Sammy, please?”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wait!” she yelled before he could disappear out the door. “Why are you paging Sam?”

He turned back to face her. “Did you hit your head, too? You broke your ankle; we need an ortho consult. That would be Sam.”

She let out a frustrated groan as Dean left.

Gabe patted her shoulder before wrapping the tourniquet around her arm. “Maybe try not falling down the stairs next time.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away from what he was doing. “Oh, my god. Why didn’t I think of that?!”

He finished the blood draw and got the IV set up. Next, he carefully fluffed the pillows under her foot to ensure it was elevated enough. “You are all set. Do you need anything else right now?”

“Not unless you have a time machine.”

“A day do-over? Let’s see.” Gabe snapped his fingers and then spun around. “Damn. It was worth a shot.”

She tried to contain her smile as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks for trying, I guess.”

Ten minutes later, she was dozing off when Dean returned with Sam close behind. Dean ran a comforting hand over her head to ensure she was awake.

Sam took a few minutes to read over the x-rays. He turned away from the light board and walked over to the foot of the bed. “Unstable bimalleolar fracture,” he stated as he inspected her ankle. “You just bought yourself surgery and a vacation.”

“No way,” she blurted. “I can’t. We’re already short staffed.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s not exactly optional. Good news, though: the swelling isn’t too bad yet, I happen to be free in 45 minutes, and you haven’t eaten anything in hours. So we can do this today.”

Charlie joined them to give Dean her lab results. He turned to address her. “Just like I thought: mild dehydration and your blood sugar is at 58.” Dean flipped through the info again before handing it over to Sam. “Okay. So I’ll add glucose to her IV and get her up to pre-op.”

“Perfect. Make sure you keep her foot elevated.”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. “Do you think this is my first day?”

Sam shrugged. “Just making sure, Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled quietly.

Sam turned his attention back to her. “I’ll see you soon, Shortie. I’ll getcha all fixed up. Sound like a plan?”

She gave him a lazy thumbs up. “Thanks, Gigantor.”

“Can you send Gabe back in here on your way past?” Dean requested. Sam simply nodded as he turned to leave.

Dean returned his focus to her. “How’s the pain now?”

She scrunched up her nose as she considered her answer. “Um, about one and a half.” She laughed at herself.

“That’s good. I see you’re loopy, too.”

She scowled at him. “You’re loopy.”

He just shook his head. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Gabe returned and Dean gave him the med order and asked him to take her up to the OR.

“You’re not coming up?” She pouted.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll be there when you wake up, though, I promise.” He took her hand and placed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

As if on cue, Charlie leaned into the room. “Dean, trauma incoming. MVA car vs pedestrian. Ambo is two minutes out.”

“Okay, I'll be there in a second.” He gave her hand one more squeeze before he turned to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Roughly three hours later, Sam found Dean in the lounge pouring a cup of coffee. He nodded and offered over the now-full cup.

“Thank you.” Sam took a sip of the dark liquid. “We got her all set up in recovery. She should be awake soon.”

“Okay. I’ll head up there in a minute.” Dean took a sip of his own coffee. “Everything went smoothly?”

“I’d have paged you if it hadn’t.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam nodded. “Yes, it went perfectly. It’ll heal up just fine.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Wandering into her room, he couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful she looked. He placed his hand softly against her cheek, sweeping his thumb slowly over the skin. She nuzzled into the touch as she lazily opened her eyes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She gave him a goofy smile. “I like when you call me that.”

“I know you do.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy.” She yawned. “And I’m starving. Can you bring me some fries?”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad your appetite is back. You get a little more sleep and I’ll bring you fries.”

“And pizza,” she added. Before he could agree, she gasped. “Ice cream!”

“Tell you what: I will get you fries from the cafeteria for you to munch on on the way home and then we can order pizza.”

She pouted as her eyelids started to droop. “What about ice cream?”

His eyebrows scrunched together as he asked, “When do we ever not have ice cream at home?”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She smiled as she finally let herself drift off once more.

~~~

Tags: @deanwasscaredbyacat @babypieandwhiskey @muchamusedaboutnothing @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

#tell me a story bingo #spndeanbingo #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader #doctor!dean #doctor!sam #dean one shot #dean winchester #my gif #spn #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction

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mensajeroseis · 3 years

Note

how do u get fo3 to run on pc . ive tried damn near everything and ur the only fo3 enjoyer i follow

im honored to be the fo3 enjoyer u follow....so onto the topic at hand.

my first general recommendation is to buy fo3 on GOG and not steam. Steam's version is literally so fucked on various levels, GOG's fixes a lot of the issues it has (defunct GFWL, memory space issue, plus its drm free !). Supposedly it also runs fine thru XBOX PC gamepass, if that's an option for you that youre open to trying.

now some PCs can run it just fine out the gate w/ GOG. Mine did not lol, but also my laptop is almost 6 years old saur... I'll be real, I don't even remember what I did to fix it. I was maddogging the fuck out of suggestions and googling possible answers, trying everything. Like u...

my general suggestions are :

the multicore fix ; get into Documents>Games>Fallout3 and make sure you change bUseThreadedAI=0 to bUseThreadedAI=1 and add iNumHWThreads=2 in the FalloutPrefs.ini ; it really doesn't like more than 2 threads. Running it in WinXP/7/8 SP3 compatibility mode as an Administrator may also make it work. Also install the Win10 compatibility mod on nexus. Look thru this thread for suggestions. There's a general post on the fallout subreddit of ways to get all the games to work, but I can't find it so when I do. I'll add it. I'll probably come back later to add more things I can think of. For the sake of everyone who wants to play fo3 on PC 😌

A lot of people suggest just playing it via TTW (the option is always there). I haven't personally, I played fo3 on console for years. So I wanted to solely play it unrelated to FNV also. Once I got it running, it ran perfectly fine. The only crashes I ever have are related to mods (which is why ive been too lazy to go back and fix it for a few months LMFAOO)

unrelated note : here is a personally curated mod list i made (i also run the game from my mod manager rather than thru the launcher)

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heli0s-writes · 4 years

Text

IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky’s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud.

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again.

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

“She was one of a kind.”

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses.

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay. “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.”

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone—have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven’t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.”

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

#marvel #stucky #stucky x reader #pacific rim au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #fanfiction #reader insert #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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homerjacksons · 3 years

Text

Sonny Carisi Week Day 3: trust Word Count: 2388 Pairing: Barisi Summary: Snippets of Sonny and Rafael’s relationship over the years in moments of trust AO3

i. the beginning

Sonny’s brain was hazy with scotch and the smell of Rafael’s cologne. He knew it wasn’t the drink, though. He’d only had one finger, poured by Rafael from a bottle he kept in his bottom drawer for nights like this, nights spent hunched over paperwork as the clock ticked over to a new day.

He took a deep breath, breathing Rafael in, and watched as his lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Rafael asked, only a slight hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Course,” Sonny said with a huff of laughter, shaking his head and lowering his gaze.

When he looked up again, Rafael’s eyes were still on him, shining in the dim lamplight, his face closer than Sonny remembered.

“I’m trying to...to tell you what this means to me,” he said, covering Sonny’s hand where it sat on his knee. “I’m telling you you’re not the only one. It’s not one-sided.”

Sonny blinked at him, because it turned out he must have stopped listening, lost in the greens of his eyes and the woody musk of his cologne, tired from a long night of paperwork and an even longer day of police work.

“You—me? Really?”

“You, yes,” Rafael said with a grin, cocky even though Sonny knew his heart must be racing.

“But—I—why?”

Rafael’s grin slipped and he tilted his head, giving Sonny’s hand a squeeze. “Because you’re you.”

“I’m—“

“Just trust me?”

Sonny studied him for a moment, not sure exactly what he was looking for. This wasn’t high school where the girls pretended to like him on a dare, or college where the boys kissed him as a joke. This was work, this was Rafael, telling him he felt the same.

He nodded, meeting Rafael halfway for a kiss, his entire being shaking as his heart burst with warmth and nerves and excitement and affection.

Because of course he trusted Rafael, even if it seemed too good to be true, even if Rafael loved teasing him above all else.

This was real. This was happening.

ii. fear

Sonny longed to reach out to Rafael, to hold him, to never let him go. He could see the fear that Rafael tried so hard to hide and he felt so grateful that he was trusted enough to see it, even if it broke his heart.

They got a cab back to his apartment after all necessary questions had been answered, and though they didn’t utter a word, Sonny held his hand the entire time, and Rafael held back with a fierceness Sonny had never felt.

As soon as his apartment door closed, Rafael let out a shaky breath as though he’d been holding it the whole time, and Sonny caught him under the arms as his knees buckled, entire body suddenly shaking.

“Hey,” Sonny whispered, pulling him in close. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

Rafael nodded, gripping Sonny as though his life depended on it.

He let Sonny lead him to the bathroom, and Sonny took his time removing Rafael's blood-splattered clothes while he sat, staring at a spot on the wall, unseeing.

He didn’t have the words, not really. He wanted to rant about how stupid Rafael had been to duck his security detail, about the ongoing death threats that had been a sore spot between them for months. He wanted to express the guilt he felt at not being there to protect his own boyfriend, at not being a better cop, at not finding who was behind the threats before it was too late.

Mostly, he wanted to cry, all that fear and hurt and anger and helplessness having been locked up inside him just below the surface, threatening to burst from the moment he heard 1 Hogan Place had been evacuated and Rafael was being held in his office by a man with a gun.

But he knew none of that would help. He knew, even before they’d got home, even before the events of the day, just how much all of this had been getting to Rafael. He knew because Rafael trusted him enough to let him see between the cracks in his facade.

So instead, he talked about something Jesse had done the previous day, about Bella’s new job, about his Ma’s insistence that they come to dinner that weekend. Anything to fill the awful, deafening silence as he cleaned another man’s blood off of Rafael’s skin.

iii. content

Sonny shot Rafael a grin over the kitchen island before turning back to the pan in front of him to flip the pancakes.

“What?” Rafael asked through a laugh, folding the newspaper beside him as he reached for his mug.

“Nothing, just…” Sonny trailed off with a shrug, unable to wipe the grin from his face. “Nothing.”

The truth was, he couldn't quite believe his luck. He'd imagine it a thousand times, what it might be like to wake up beside Rafael, to spend a morning filled with lazy kisses and a breakfast made from the heart. He'd imagined all the different ways it could happen, but the real thing was better than anything his mind could have come up with. Seeing Rafael, still soft with sleep, in a threadbare shirt with ruffled hair was everything.

Rafael studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before taking a sip of his coffee. “You look far too pleased considering how early it is.”

“It’s almost ten!” Sonny shouted through a laugh, flipping the last pancakes out onto a plate. “That’s late .”

“Not for a Sunday,” Rafael muttered under his breath.

It was such a small thing, but something new to file away about Rafael. Not a morning person, definitely not on weekends. Something else he could commit to memory. Something else he got to see all because Rafael trusted Sonny enough to let him into his home, to let him spend the night, to let him make him breakfast and look after him the way he deserved.

He slid a plate of pancakes across the island to Rafael before making his way around the counter with his own, still grinning, giddy with awe and affection.

“You’re ridiculous,” Rafael said through a sigh, but he smiled at Sonny as he said it, pulling the plate closer to him before drowning it in syrup.

“I know,” Sonny said around a mouthful of pancake and bacon.

Rafael shook his head with a roll of his eyes, but Sonny wasn’t bothered. He’d learned a while ago not to read Rafael’s teasing and exasperation as a form of affection.

iv. fear part 2

Sonny paused in his doorway, hand already on his gun before a quiet, “It’s only me,” issues from his living room.

He let out a shaky breath and closed the door behind him, letting his head fall back against it, closing his eyes, willing his heart to calm down.

Of course it was only Rafael. Who else would it be?

“Hey,” Rafael said softly, closer now, and Sonny startled at the noise, eyes flashing open.

Rafael took his hands gently, concern etched into his face in a way Sonny was sure he’d only seen directed at victims before. It made his stomach churn.

“Liv called me,” he explained, cupping Sonny’s cheek gently. “Told me you...might need me here tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Sonny muttered, closing his eyes again.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

He took a deep breath before turning his head to press a kiss to Rafael’s palm.

“You didn’t have to come.” He took Rafael’s hand away from his face, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m okay.”

“Maybe I needed to see for myself.”

The slight waver in Rafael’s voice took him by surprise, and he nodded, pulling Rafael towards him.

“I’m okay,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of Rafael’s head.

He didn’t say just how close it had been, how he’d nearly not okay, how he wouldn’t be standing here right now if his Lieutenant hadn’t come at just the right moment and saved his ass from his own stupidity.

He didn’t say how he’d stared down the barrel of a gun, sure he was about to die, or the way he’d been certain at first that it was Cole’s gun that had fired, that it had been his blood spilled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted after a moment, allowing the exhaustion he felt to seep into his words. “Not sure how, uh...how well I’d sleep tonight without ya.”

Rafael pulled back, smiling so softly it made Sonny’s heart clench in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have slept at all,” he said, taking Sonny’s hand again to lead him into the apartment properly. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded, allowing himself to be led to the bathroom, allowing himself to be looked after in a way he never really had before.

v. the end

“You’re leaving?” Sonny shouted, breathless from running up five flights of stairs.

Rafael winced and turned away from him, continuing to pack his suitcase. “Evidently.”

“Fuck,” Sonny said through a breath, gripping Rafael firmly on the arm, forcing him to turn. “Just like that? Without even talking to me first?”

Rafael looked down at the tie in his hands, fiddling with the tag, still refusing to look at Sonny.

“I thought I meant more to you than that.”

He hated how broken he sounded, hated the way his voice cracked as his throat tightened, eyes burning with tears he wouldn’t let fall. But it was enough to make Rafael look up at him, his own eyes wet and shining.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding just as broken as Sonny felt. “I knew if I spoke to you, my resolve would crumble and I...I have to leave, Sonny. I have to.”

“Why?” He was aware he was shouting but he couldn’t quite stop it. “You won, you’ll find another job, you—“

“I love you.”

Sonny blinked at him, the fight leaving him in an instant. The words were offered as though they were an explanation, but they just added to his confusion.

“Then stay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rafael whispered. “But this is what I need. This is what I have to do.”

Sonny studied Rafael’s face, read between the lines in his broken, pleading expression. He wanted to fight, to beg, to do anything to make Rafael stay, but he knew it was no use. His partner was as stubborn as they come, and he could see this decision hadn’t been made lightly, nor would it be easy, so he nodded.

“I love you too,” he whispered as he cupped Rafael’s cheek, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

Rafael closed his eyes, leaning into Sonny’s touch for a moment before smiling at him, still sad, still broken. Sonny’s heart ached to fix this somehow, but he knew he couldn’t.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Rafael said suddenly, a fierceness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Not unless you want it to be.”

“Of course not,” he said without hesitation.

He gripped Rafael’s face in his hands, and Rafael grabbed the front of his shirt, and their lips crashed together clumsily, all teeth and passion and longing and tears, and they fell into bed, packing abandoned for now, desperate for one last time together before everything changed.

vi. a new beginning

“So…” Rafael slid another drink across the table to Sonny. All his usual bravado seemed to have gone, replaced by a shyness and uncertainty that didn’t suit him. “You...seeing anyone?”

Sonny laughed, surprised by the question, and shook his head. “Nah. You?”

Rafael shook his head, smiling at Sonny over his glass. He still looked nervous, and before he could think better of it, Sonny leaned across the table and kissed him, soft and sweet and chaste, as though they hadn’t missed a day.

“God,” Rafael said through a laugh as they broke off. “I’ve missed that kiss.”

Sonny hummed in response, pleased with himself and his own bravery.

“I never stopped thinking about you, you know,” Rafael said quietly, barely audible over the chatter around them.

“I’m pretty hard to forget.”

Rafael rolled his eyes, biting down on a smile.

“You said it wasn’t goodbye,” Sonny said with a shrug, suddenly shy himself as he played idly with the condensation on the tabletop. “I guess I trusted you.”

“I meant it,” Rafael said quickly, reaching across the table to take Sonny’s hand.

“You stopped calling though,” he said, not meeting Rafael’s gaze.

Rafael sighed, and moved to take his hand away again, but Sonny stopped him, linking their fingers.

“I thought I was setting you free,” Rafael admitted with a sad smile. “Liv kept telling me I was an idiot but I—“

“You are an idiot.”

After a beat of silence, Rafael barked out a surprised laugh, throwing his head back.

“I missed that,” Rafael said through a sigh. “You just speaking your mind.”

“Well…” Sonny trailed off with a shrug, a grin slowly taking over his face.

They sat in silence for a while, just drinking, hands back on their respective sides of the table though Sonny longed to touch him again, to be closer.

“I never stopped loving you,” he admitted, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

Rafael didn’t look surprised at the admission, though. He simply nodded with a sigh.

“That was the problem. I thought if I stopped calling, maybe you’d...fall out of love.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sonny said with a sharp shake of his head. He stood, moving around the table so he could sit beside Rafael, so close their knees touched. “For someone so smart, you really are stupid.”

Rafael hummed in agreement, but before he could say anything, Sonny kissed him, fiercer now, pulling Rafael into him, pouring years of pent-up longing into the action.

When they broke apart, both a little breathless, Rafael grinned at him, pressing their foreheads together.

“I never stopped loving you either, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Can you forgive me for being an absolute idiot?”

Sonny smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Rafael’s lips before pulling back to stand up again.

“Already forgiven,” he said easily, holding out a hand for Rafael to take. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

#dailysvu #carisi week #barisi #sonny carisi #rafael barba #svu fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing

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nillegible · 3 years

Note

your time travel meng yao au is great ive been looking for one for so long i love it!

Thank you so much! This is the fic I’ve been working on the most recently, it’s currently at 31k words! You can have a snippet of what I’ve been working on! (Sorry I haven’t find-and-replaced the abbreviations for their names, I was just too lazy to!)

MY is going to strangle NHS, he thinks, sneaking out of his tent. Sneaking only in the loosest sense, because NHS had sent a “secret” note asking MY for a “secret” meeting, and naturally all of MY’s disciple siblings had insisted that they would cover for him. He’d practically been thrown out of their camp! MY checks his appearance once more, then fixes his posture, and wanders towards the Jiang section of the camp. It’s regrettably close to the Jin one – three guesses whose bright idea that was – and MY takes the long way around so that he won’t get in the way of anyone there.

The Jiang encampment is pretty awake, still; MY weaves through some young Jiang disciples who are marvelling at their da-shixiong’s mad skills, and how he’d brought them all the ghostly prey. They give MY curious stares, but direct him towards their SL and Head disciple’s tent when asked.

MY is not the first stranger looking for an audience, when he gets to the central tent and asks to see WWX, he is told that Lan Wangji is talking to him, within.

This complicates things. NHS had been insistent in his notes that he needed to fetch WWX. Never mind that NHS could have just asked NMJ to summon him, or sent a note directly to WWX; they were supposed to be old friends!

MY puts on his mildly distressed face, “Can you just let him know that I’m here? I won’t need him long, but it is important.”

The disciple nods and disappears inside, and is followed shortly by an angry looking WWX. “Can I help you?” the tone is arrogant, the words sharp, but MY gets the feeling the emotion is directed at the silent and elegant Lan following after WWX.

“Wei-gongzi,” he says, bowing. “And Hanguang Jun. I am sorry to interrupt, but we are in need of your expertise to deal with a certain resentful creature. It won’t take much of your time, we only need to know your opinion on how to deal with it.”

WWX looks at him, eyes tracking over MY’s robes, and his injured arm. “Alright then. “Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, we can continue this later. Young Master, please lead the way.”

“Lianfang Zun,” says LWJ, voice cold. “I would like to accompany you on this task. I can provide further perspective.”

Oh no. Before MY has to make up an excuse though, WWX whirls around to him. “So is that how it is, now, LZ? You won’t even trust me to deal with a monster of some sort? I killed a Xuanwu of slaughter, with you. If anyone should trust me – or today! I hunted more prey than anyone else on that mountain, save SL Nie. So no, you may not accompany us. JiangOC, tell Jiang Cheng where I’ve gone,” he stalks away first, leaving LWJ standing frozen, face like a mask.

“Apologies, Hanguang Jun,” MY says bowing hastily and then running to catch up to where WWX is storming off.

“Not that way!” he calls just in time, directing WWX away from the Jin side. With the mood he’s in right now WWX would probably cause yet another scandal if he met with Jin Zixuan today, so it’s a relief when MY gets him walking toward the Nie camp.

“Lianfang Zun,” says WWX, looking at him curiously. “I didn’t really recognize you.”

“Please, call me Meng Yao, Wei-gongzi. And that is fine, people rarely do.”

“That must have helped with the spying,” says WWX. MY freezes for a moment, but WWX’s tone is light, his words informal.

MY can only try reacting in kind. “Of course. Wen Ruohan just forgot that I was behind him with assassination cord,” he says, and WWX laughs.

“So where are we going?”

“Nie Huaisang has the creature in his tent, now,” says MY, and WWX makes an interested noise.

#ask #ask snippet

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sparring-hyena · 4 years

Text

the time of our lives.

this one was kinda requested/suggested by @cloakanddaggerthings. they’ve also been a great help in hammering out the finicky details. thanks heaps, mate!

OR, the one where it takes a year for these two goofs to realise they’re in love.

i. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they start. although, start in a very loose sense of the word. because they were something before tonight. something fiery and intense, but certainly not something real.

they were midnight rendezvouses, sharp remarks that lacked any real malice, and moments that somehow meant nothing and everything. but what they were is irrelevant. because Poppy’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and fight. they shout and cuss and say things that don’t at all mean but that make this whole thing easier.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i hate you,” and feels something break in her heart.

“i hate you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ leaves and now Poppy’s standing alone on the front lawn. she ignores the tears that fall down her cheeks and tries to tell herself that everything will be fine.

so, yes, that’s how they start: in the final ten seconds of the year with an i hate you that actually means something else entirely.

ii. Valentine’s Day.

she sees AJ sporadically throughout the day. and that irritates Poppy like nothing else ever has. figures it would be today of all days that she sees her everywhere.

first it’s at the crack of dawn as she walks home after a one night stand that she spots AJ on a jog. they’re on opposite sides of the street, but it’s empty so they see each other.

AJ stops in her tracks and looks right at Poppy, not exactly irritated but certainly not pleased. Poppy fixes her with a glare that says what are you looking at? AJ shrugs and starts up on her jog again, and Poppy huffs and continues on her walk home.

then they see each other on campus way too many times—in the café, on the quad, and in the library. and each time, Poppy’s glare is met with a shrug from AJ.

the last time she sees AJ it’s late. the sun has long since set and there’s a chill that’s set in for the night. she’s on her way home from dinner—some blind date Veronica had set up—when she spots AJ across the street, laughing and walking hand-in-hand with some girl who looks vaguely familiar.

Poppy watches them until she can’t see them anymore, and wonders if AJ saw her this time, too.

iii. spring break.

she goes to Miami for the week with Veronica and Chloe. her intention is to have a fun and carefree week where she doesn’t once think about AJ.

it’s two days into her trip when she finds herself scrolling through Instagram late one night. curiosity nibbles at her restraint until she’s typing AJ’s name into the search bar.

she finds AJ’s profile and the first picture she sees is some candid shot of AJ and that same girl from Valentine’s Day looking at each other with ridiculously cheesy smiles. Poppy switches her phone off and doesn’t dare touch it for the rest of the night.

Poppy goes to a party the next night and hooks up with a girl who looks a lot like AJ. Veronica and Chloe point this out a few days later, laughing over cocktails. Poppy scoffs and tells them that’s complete bullshit and tries to hide her blush by taking a long sip of her drink.

iv. summer break.

the academic year ends and Poppy sighs with relief as she collapses onto her bed. she’s got three months until her final year starts, and three months where she doesn’t have to see or think of AJ.

it goes well at first—the not thinking about AJ. she spends a lot of time shopping and partying and lounging by the pool of her parents’ beach house on Long Island. but there are only so many hours of the day where she can keep her mind busy. so it’s at night, when she’s in bed trying to fall asleep, that her mind wanders back to AJ.

the first time it happens, she groans and rolls onto her side, and tries to flush all thoughts of AJ from her mind. that works. but then it happens again and again, and before Poppy really knows it, it’s halfway through August and she’s thought of AJ every single night since the end of June.

she lays awake in bed and watches the fan on the ceiling spin in lazy circles. her brain summons a long and near forgotten memory of a night a lot like this. she closes her eyes and sinks into the warm embrace of the memory:

she was in bed with AJ. it was either late or early, Poppy can’t quite remember. she decides it probably doesn’t really matter. they were talking and laughing under the quiet blanket of night. and Poppy suddenly remembers how she’d reached for AJ’s hand and never wanted to let it go.

Poppy opens her eyes and glances to her side. the bed is empty beside her, the sheets untouched, and she can almost feel the ghost of AJ’s touch on her hand. she squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to cry, and realises she never did hate AJ. she was probably just scared.

v. Halloween.

there’s a party on campus—isn’t there always? a frat party with costumes and decorations and cheesy music that starts to sound alright after three or four drinks. Poppy slips in later in the night, when everyone’s teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk.

she moves through the throng of people towards the kitchen to pour herself a drink, and bumps into AJ for the first time this semester.

“hey,” AJ says, awkward and unsure, and Poppy silently regrets everything she’s put her through.

“hi,” Poppy says, smiling and really meaning it.

that seems to loosen AJ up a bit, and she returns the smile in kind.

“haven’t seen you in a while,” AJ says, leaning back against the counter and sipping her drink.

“been busy,” she lies even though that’s something she’s trying to stop.

and AJ seems to understand the lie for what it is. “you wanna go outside for a bit?”

Poppy only nods, afraid that if she speaks, she’ll ruin whatever’s happening right now. it’s quieter outside, the cheesy music and chatter nothing but a gentle murmur. they stand out on the front lawn of some frat house and Poppy gets a strange sense of déjà vu.

“i wish things had been different, y’know?” AJ says, her voice a gentle reassurance.

“me too,” Poppy says, and then: “i’m sorry that i said i hate you. because i don’t.”

a moment of silence passes, uncomfortable and almost tight like a rubber band pulled to its limit. because it looks like AJ’s about to say something important that’ll put them on a better path. but then the front door of the frat house flies open, and a few drunk students stumble out into the yard.

AJ offers Poppy a smile, almost sad and longing. “it was nice seeing you again.” and then she heads back inside.

vi. Thanksgiving.

Poppy doesn’t plan on visiting her parents this year. and besides, they’re going out of town for the holiday. so if she has to be alone, she’d rather it be in the sorority house than in some stuffy brownstone on the Upper West Side.

it’s late in the afternoon when Poppy gets a text from AJ. all it says is are you at the sorority? she stares at it for a moment, debates deleting it and carrying on with her day. but something tells her to respond, so she does.

she says that she is and waits for AJ’s response. she waits five minutes, then ten and nothing comes. Poppy scoffs and tosses her phone onto her bed. it’s not long later when she hears a knock on the front door. Poppy doesn’t think much of it, so she answers it without checking.

she finds AJ standing on the front stoop, grinning like she knows something Poppy doesn’t.

“what are you doing here?” Poppy says. “i thought you’d be on your way home by now.”

“i’m getting an early flight tomorrow.” then AJ holds up a plane ticket, grinning like this has been her plan all along. “and i was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

“what?”

“come home with me. my parents always cook too much food, so really, you’d be doing them a favour.”

Poppy folds her arms over her chest and studies AJ for a moment. “don’t you want to take your girlfriend,” she says, and maybe she wants her words to hurt a little bit.

“we broke up over the summer,” AJ says, simple and easy.

“oh. sorry.”

“don’t be. it wasn’t working out and hadn’t been for a while.”

“are you trying to use pity to get me to come with you?” Poppy says, and she knows AJ wouldn’t, but it’s kinda fun to mess with her.

“no, of course not! i just wanted to be upfront with you. so, come home with me. please.”

Poppy plucks the ticket from AJ’s hand and says, “i’m only doing this for your parents.”

“of course.” AJ winks and grins. “i’ll see you bright and early at the airport tomorrow then.

the flight is uneventful, although Poppy decides AJ is much too cheerful for seven o’clock in the morning.

when they step inside AJ’s childhood home, Poppy’s immediately struck by just how warm and lived in it all feels. AJ’s mother tells her to mind the mess as she ushers them both inside, and AJ’s father greets them and says hugs’ll have to wait as he gestures to his dirty apron.

they all cram around a too small table in mismatched chairs that creak and rock back-and-forth. Poppy doesn’t care that she’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with AJ and one of her sisters. dinner is loud and fun, and AJ’s parents insist on sharing stories from AJ’s childhood. and as dinner winds down and dessert is served, Poppy reaches for AJ’s hand beneath the table and knows that she’ll never let go.

vii. Christmas.

it’s close to midnight on Christmas Eve when AJ appears on the front stoop of the Zeta house. she looks distraught and like she hasn’t had a good night sleep in days. so Poppy steps outside and asks, “what’s wrong?”

AJ looks at her, really looks at her, and Poppy feels something shift in that moment. and then AJ’s talking, words tumbling from her mouth, and it doesn’t look like she can stop herself. then she says i love you and everything goes still.

it takes a moment, but AJ seems to catch up to what she’s just said. her eyes go wide, and Poppy can see that she’s gearing up to apologies. but Poppy doesn’t let her. she surges forward and hug AJ tightly because oh god, i’ve missed her so much.

Poppy doesn’t say the words back, not yet anyway. but she holds onto AJ and tries to show her that she loves her, too.

viii. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they end. although end in a very loose sense of the word. because they will be something after tonight. something supportive and challenging, but most importantly something real.

they will be promises of forever, witty remarks that are just an i love you in disguise, and moments where the rest of the word falls away and it’s just the two of them together. what they will be terrifies Poppy. because she’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that... right?

maybe. but maybe it’s good that AJ doesn’t fit into that. maybe it’s good that AJ had upended everything she thought she knew. maybe that’s what makes what they will be so damn perfect.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and finally admit what’s been there all along. they talk and tease and say things they mean with all their heart.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i love you,” and feels that final piece of her heart heal.

“i love you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ steps closer to Poppy, smiling so bright and warm, and Poppy twists her arms around AJ’s neck and doesn’t once care that she’s probably smiling like an idiot in love.

so, yes, that’s how they end: in the final ten second of the year with an i love you that means exactly what it claims.

#my writing #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #this story 100% ignores canon #it also combines a number of holiday related requests i've gotten but just didn't get around to writing #hope that's all good :)

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heartofsnark · 4 years

Text

Rent-Free (Johnny Silverhand/OC Female V)

Notes; IVE BEEN ENABLED AGAIN!!!!!! AHHHHH BLAME @rosyibby, but uh, yeah basically given how much we talk about Johnny living rent free in V’s head, it made me think of paying rent through other means...*cue the cheesy porn music* Additionally, this does technically go along with my previous Johnny Silverhand fic, but like they’re not so intertwined that you won’t get it. It’s porn, you’ll catch on. Thanks for all the love on my previous nasty Johnny porn.

Word Count: 2334

Warnings: Oral, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex (hologram fucking has perks), Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Johnny being gross, Dirty Talk, I’m lowkey still insecure on writing dirty talk, so hopefully this isn’t bad, also yeah game still isn’t out so he’s prob ooc to some degree

Hot water rushes from the shower head, relaxing Aidan’s aching muscles. Silence around her as she works shampoo into her hair, a welcomed moment of peace in her life, something that’s been so absent since this mess has begun. It’s late, around four in the morning, she just finished a smuggling run with Jackie. Things went south as they often do, her entire body aches from the shootout, but they got out alive and that’s all that matters.

She works and lather soap into her skin, feeling the roughness of scars gathered contrasting against the soft give of her body. Aidan squeezes her own breast, feeling the heat and tingle of pleasure from her own groping fingers. She starts to move her other hand further down between her thighs, wanting to take advantage of the moment of calm.

“You pent up again?”

“God damn it!” She yells out when Johnny’s voice rings through her head, nearly slipping in her own shower. And he laughs at her as he always does, she quickly finishes washing, before stepping out.

Johnny is leaning against the bathroom wall, arms crossed in front of him as he watched Aidan walk past, no shame in the way his dark brown eyes drag across her naked frame. Weeks have passed since their little…interaction when she tried to find a hookup. The encounter wasn’t brought up again, Aidan refusing to acknowledge it.

And she still doesn’t acknowledge it, the weird sexual tension that’s been created between her and the ghost in her head.

“Don’t rush on my account,” Johnny says as she quickly dries off and throws on an overside shirt along with a pair of shorts. She’ll just get to sleep as soon as possible, ignore the dampening heat in her core.

“You’re the actual worst, you know that?” She grumbles as she leaves the bathroom, making a beeline for her bedroom. Hopefully, none of Johnny’s memories or brain weirdness will come through her dreams, she needs some peace.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me a billion times, well, that is when you weren’t screaming my name or thinking about riding my-“

“Shut the fuck up!” She yells out, her neighbors must think she’s crazy, but she can’t help but scream at him as she flops back on her bed.

Aidan can feel his gaze on her, looking up to see Johnny standing at the foot of her bed, looking down at her. The position reminds her of that night, him watching her getting fucked, the heat in her core rises again. There’s a lazy calmness in the way he looks her over , no hurry or fervor, just taking her in. His eyes hovering around the plush of her thighs, moving up to where her shirt has ridden up, revealing an expanse of her soft stomach.

“Seriously,” she starts to speak again, hoping her words can cool the heat gathering between her thighs, “you’re like the worlds shittiest roommate.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you really fucking are. You have no boundaries, you do nothing but annoy me, I can’t rid of you, hell, at least a roommate might pay rent.”

“Oh, you need me to pay rent? Sure, just let me get my wallet,” Johnny says, reaching into his pocket just to pull out his middle finger.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, of course he’s going to be a shit about it.

“Cute enough for you to throw your panties at.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

He lets out a low chuckle, resonating deep in his chest, the sound stoke the flames in her center just that much more. Why is he so fucking attractive? Then she feels it, a hand grabbing at her shin, the rough callouses of his right hand.

“You really want me to start contributing something?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice.

“I mean, I know you can’t, but you could at least stop irritating me.”

“Eh, don’t think I can, but I can think of something I can do that might make you a little less tense,” he says, hand skimming further up her leg.

“Seriously, offering sex in place of rent, you watch that much porn?”

“C’mon, Samurai, we’re way past the point of you pretending you don’t wanna fuck me, don’t you think?”

And he’s probably right.

“I’m definitely right.”

“You know reading my mind is not attractive, right?”

“Yet, you still find me attractive, funny how that works.”

“Fine, fine,” she covers her face with her arm, cheeks burning red, “I wanna fuck you, happy?”

“I mean, wasn’t exactly a secret, but it’s nice hearing you admit it.”

“Shut up and touch me.”

And then he’s over her, knees on her mattress on either side of her hips, hands grabbing the bottom of her shirt. He’s quick and rough as he yanks it off over her head, throwing it across the room. She barely has a moment to take in the cool air from her chest being exposed before he’s groping and touching her, the contrast between the smooth cold metal of his left hand and the warm calloused fingers on his right makes her whimper, arching her back to meet his touch. The feeling of his thumbs rubbing over her nipples draws another gasp from her throat and then the heat of his mouth connects to her chest.

“Fuck,” she curses as he works harsh kisses down her body, his touch is hungry and passionate, but most importantly of all completely unpredictable.

There’s no patterns to where he kisses; whether it’s her collarbones, the plush of her breasts, her ribs, or her stomach. No way for Aidan to know if it’ll be the press of his lips, the laving of his tongue, or the bite of his teeth. The only constant is the scratch of his beard, rubbing her tender skin raw under his touch. She tries to wrap her fingers in his hair, to wrap the dark strands around her fingers but he moves too quickly, and she only gets a brief touch of them.

A sharp nip just above the waistband of her shorts is her only warning before he’s yanking them off of her. Rough fingers run through her slit, just a fleeting touch as Johnny gathers her slick on his fingers.

“You’re soaked.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my mouth busy,” he tells her before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking her wet from his own skin.

Then he’s practically bending her in half, pressing her thighs back to her chest, the force lifting her hips and ass off the bed. The position completely opens her up to him, no way to hide her cunt from his view. Before she can squirm or get embarrassed, his mouth is on her. His tongue licking through her folds, lapping up every drop of slick. He eats her out like he’s desperate for it, like he needs to drink up every gush of wet to survive, licking deep inside of her. His tongue finding every spot that will make her wetter.

His beard rubs the lips of her sex raw, but she can’t find it in her to mind the edge of pain, when his tongue runs up to her clit. No true pattern, no way to predict how long he’ll go between sucking harshly on the bundle of the nerves to licking around it; back and forth between too much and not enough. The heat inside of her is reaching a boiling point, nearly crashing over the precipice of pleasure, but he pulls back before she can meet her end every time. She buries her fingers in his hair, finally feeling the softness of the locks, but she despite her pressing she can’t control his pace.

And he stops.

She whines at the loss of pleasure as he pulls away from her. Slick coats his lips and chin, shining in the moonlight that drifts into her bedroom. His looks are grossly unfair for someone who’s both dead and technically in his eighties. Oh god, she’s fucking an eighty something year old digital ghost-

He presses his lips to her and she can’t help gasp, tasting herself on his tongue. Johnny presses down on her body, so his body weight presses her thighs down against her chest, erection grinding into her pussy and her ankles practically on his shoulders. Her slick on his chin presses wetly against her, as his tongue pushes deeply into her mouth. She meets his lips and the passion of it, trying to taste Johnny through her own wet, taking in where he tastes like cigarettes.

“Stop thinking,” he tells her as he pulls away, realizing the lip lock was to stop her train of thoughts about all the reasons this is wrong.

“I really wish I could, sorry, but I mean…can you honestly say this isn’t fuckin’ weird?”

“Who gives a shit?”

“Wow, that fixed all my anxiety, thank you for you endless wealth of wisdom.” Aidan rolls her eyes.

“So, the goal is now to fuck you hard enough your brain shuts off, got it.”

“I wi-” she pauses when she feels his cock pressing against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin, “when did you get naked?”

“I’m a hologram, I can just do that.”

“Wha-so when you only had your dick out last time, that was purely for effect?” Aidan is grinning and already on the verge of laughing at the idea of Johnny being that committed to pretending he has to undo his pants.

“I mean, kinda…”

And she bursts out laughing, it’s just too silly and ridiculous, he’s so fucking dramatic. How could one man be so dramatic? What the fuck? Her stomach hurts with the force of her laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me when I’m trying to fuck you.”

She tries to stifle her laughter , biting her lip as she looks up at Johnny, he’s smiling. Not a smirk or some smug expression, just a soft little smile, as he looks down at her. The anxiety and tension that has started to creep back up have mostly subsided, humor settling her nerves.

He grinds his cock down against her slick cunt, reminding her of what they’ve been building up too.

“This is like…safe, right?”

“Don’t worry, can’t knock you up or anything. I’ll just fuck you like I’m trying to.”

Her face flushes red at his words and then he thrust his hips, sliding into her. She screams out his name, between the position and her own slick, he hits deep inside of her, no resistance as her body takes him in. He doesn’t tease or hold back, his entire length pressing into her, filling her completely.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be tight, but god damn, feel like I’m break you open.”

“Ah, uhhh, don’t say weird shit.”

Johnny’s thrusts are punishing and harsh, brutal in the snap of his hips and she wishes she could hear the wet slap of their bodies connecting over and over again.

“What, don’t wanna hear about how your cunt is choking my dick.”

“Mnnnn….” All she can respond with is a whine.

“Don’t wanna hear about how I’m gonna fill you up, how I’m gonna make you leak my cum.”

“Johnny…”

He’s pounding into her, each thrust and stroke of his cock inside of her building up the heat inside of her, tightening the tension in her core. The head of his dick hits deeply, harshly fucking against the sensitive spot deep inside of her. Slick keeps her able to take it all, despite the roughness and the size of him, each slam of him into her making more gush out. She can feel her own wet dripping down her the curve of her ass.

“Gonna rearrange your fuckin’ guts, make sure you fit me and no one else.” His voice is tight with a slight growl, movements speeding up.

And while a part of her knows it’s dramatic, just bedroom talk if his dick was in her organs, they’d have some issues. But, she swears he’s doing exactly that. Carving out his place inside of her, a place only meant for him, so deep inside of her she can feel it in her throat. Stroking the embers of a fire that only he can turn into an inferno.

When that inferno of pleasure builds too high, the tension within her snaps, the bubble burst, and she’s crying out incomprehensibly as she cums on his cock. Everything whites out, mind empty as her body is overridden with pleasure, cunt clenching around him and body squirming as he keeps fucking her through her orgasm.

“Holy fuck, you’re gonna milk me dry, fuck!”

And he cums inside of her, hot and warm, flooding her with it. Heavy thick spurts of white coating her insides until it’s too much for her body to hold in, dripping out where the two connect. Her body is still twitching and squirming as she works through her aftershocks, once she’s a little more in touch with reality, she wonders whether his cum on her sheets will need cleaning.

He pulls out of her and even more of it spills out, Aidan whimpers between the loss of him inside of her and the mess on her thighs. Johnny rolls over to lay next to her, it still astounds her just how real he feels, his body heat next to her own.

She wants to lay on him, she realizes, a desire to lay her head on his chest. Aidan isn’t seriously considering cuddling with him, is she losing her mind?

“Just ask for what you want, dumbass.”

He wraps an arm around her sweaty shoulder and tugs her in against him, her cheeks reddening as she hides her face in his chest. There’s a lot she could mull over, a lot to think about, but with her eyelids growing heavier…it’s best to leave it alone for the night, to take Johnny’s advice for once and stop thinking so much.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand

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scoundrels-in-love · 4 years

Text

Climb on your tears like a ladder to a rose, baby (There's a time to rest, There's a time to move on)

Three times Brienne doesn't have a birthday party and the one she does.

Also on AO3.

Disclaimer: This work is in no way or form related to author's personal life or personal wish fulfillment. /s

That said, early Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you for sharing so much love and creativity, whether in procuring new content or amazing comments, or pressing that kudos button! Best of wishes in the 2021, may we all find healing or at least a glimpse of hope it is possible.

Brienne is ten and there is a movie on the large, chunky TV that sometimes needs to be smacked to work right. Specifically, there's a birthday party scene, complete with pretty banners and colorful balloons in shapes she didn't know were sold, and they're singing Happy Birthday and the child is blowing out birthday candles. Making a wish. The girl shares it with her friend later and Brienne scoffs, because everyone knows you're not supposed to say your wishes out loud. (That way, your dad's eyes don't get sad when he knows he can't fulfill it.)

Other than that, she doesn't really think about it much, never has. It's as foreign to her as the palm trees and sipping juice from a coconut. She supposes it's real to someone, somewhere, but not to her. People of Tarth have a different song to sing, but most of them don't sing any at all, nor did they blow out candles before they picked the tradition up from Mainlanders recently.

At least, that's what Brienne thinks. It's not like she's been to any birthday parties. But that's what her dad has told her of how he grew up. And that's how it continues in their household.

She gets a tight hug and a kiss on top of her head and a few presents, and a cake that doesn't have a shiny candle in it, but tastes just as good.

It's good and it's warm, when winter winds run hungry for snow to chase, and she doesn't wonder if she'd be like that kid in the other movie, the one to whose birthday party no one came.

She doesn't.

She is twenty three and she is picking out her own birthday cake. Her eyes skip over the number candles, because she's far too old for that kind of thing, and she doesn't even want the cake. She just doesn't want to think how sad he'd be if she didn't buy it. It’s her first after his passing and the thought of his worry is sharp. It’s never been deserved, but inescapable, because that’s what parents do, except she never managed to do what children are supposed to - to provide and take care so the final years are long and kind.

The cake blurs slightly as she exits the store, across the street from her apartment complex that seems to have lost the last of its colors in these winter months and the few strung up Sevenmas lights highlight that.

Brienne thinks her peers would call her insane if she told them she thinks winter in King's Landing is a lot more bleak than the ones she spent on Tarth. There is sharp quality to the contrast between the pale sky and darkening, rich color of water, even the jagged cliff edges stretching toward the horizon. It keeps one vigilant, wakeful. Here, the mild autumn grows more dulled and wraps everyone in an unassuming cocoon that slowly drifts toward spring, which finally hatches not quite rested.

But they have called her uglier things, too.

"Words are wind," her dad would tell her, but the wind isn't the same here, it doesn't take anything with it, only swirls dust around her. Brienne chokes on it, chokes on the echo as well.

Her father had loved the best he could, loved her truly, and if that rent ravines in her ribs, prone to collapsing in on themselves until she stacks them up again like a house of cards, then what hope of being loved gently, wholly, purposefully does she have?

She misses being hugged and told it's okay even when it's clearly a lie. She misses the certainty that her own love wasn't selfish. "He is in a better place now," they had told her, as if it didn't mean she had failed him utterly, repeatedly, until she had carved a crypt in the stone with her pacing?

Brienne falls asleep crying in a bed that doesn't feel hers, but she can't remember last time anything did.

III

Brienne is twenty eight and she pauses at the hallway mirror to fix her ponytail. There is half eaten cake on the kitchen table, bought at half price as leftover from Sevenmas, and a freshly opened wine bottle. It's the same kind her dad had brought her for her eighteenth birthday and she's never bothered to find another one she likes. (It tastes like the kind of summer she's never had.)

In this light, it's hard to tell if the shadows beneath her eyes are from the bit of mascara she had tried to scrub away a minute ago or the exhaustion she unintentionally cultivates like a little succulent garden on the windowsill.

She doesn't focus on the ugly or the beautiful of her face now, it's not what caught her attention. Brienne just stares at her reflection and thinks how she looks neither young nor old, that she just is. And that she has no idea what it means.

Shouldn't she know? Shouldn't she know by now? Shouldn't she be past the age where she is grabbing at dream colored smoke? Shouldn't she...

Brienne looks away before the first tears fall.

She eats her cake and thinks how her dad had told her that hawthorn and cranberries alike turn almost sweet after the first frost. How many frosts have been there now? Brienne's lost the count and the feeling of warmth alike.

She ends up drinking a little too much of the wine and going to bed early, looking at the single candle-look alike flickering on the table and willing herself to sleep after this completely ordinary day that should’ve been something, but it never is. (She isn’t.)

+ IV

Brienne is thirty six and her sides hurt from laughing.

She extracts herself from the couch corner, which Jaime immediately expands into like a lazy cat while flashing her a grin. When she comes back, he might try to coax her into his lap and maybe she will even concede.

She opens another juice carton and refills her glass, leans against the counter and watches her friends arguing over a board game in the living room. It's odd, to know you belong and yet to be so aware of it in this moment, and she cannot quite throw herself back in there, even though it is no mirage she could simply crash through. Instead, Brienne follows the cool and tethering moonlight that has looped itself around her feet.

She steps out into the garden - because that's a thing she has now. There is a thin, crunchy layer of snow that will bite through her fluffy slippers any moment now, chasing her back inside. But for now, she cranes her face toward the sky, sending white little puffs of breath chasing after clouds that slip across the moon.

The door opens behind her and she doesn't look who it is, because there's no one here that she'd want to hide away from. She's lucky, Brienne thinks, that trust was never a truly foreign concept to her, though she's had to learn how to expand it and recognize its many forms like a toddler would with a shape sorter.

Arms wrap around her waist and Brienne allows herself to lean back and rest against Jaime's chest as he props his chin on her shoulder. She considers telling him that she's fine, because she likes to say that, now that she knows how it feels to truly mean it, even if it's not every day. Instead, she allows the bittersweet ache in her chest to mend itself with his quiet warmth.

She hopes that next time she dreams of her dad, she can tell him of this night, to not worry quite so much, and that peace sounds a little like the sound of her friends' laughter drifting through the door left ajar and Jaime humming in her ear.

#Jaime x Brienne #braime #braime ff #rainy writes stuff #my fic

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