Star Trek: Voyager | Janeway x Chakotay | Published 18 June 2020 | Rated E
Co-written with @traccigaryn
Kathryn Janeway has left a big city career and a longstanding, tumultuous relationship to manage the Paris family library in sleepy Maplebrook, NY. Chakotay is a part-time history professor, part-time novelist who's struggling to write his latest book. When he turns up at the library to research its renowned Mayan collection for his novel, the last thing he expects is to discover a fascinating new object of study: Kathryn Janeway.
No obligations, of course. I know some of you have already done this, but feel free to dive into more of your back list. One day old or years old, it’s all good!
Eighteen Years and Fives Months
Info: Post-war, femShep/Kaidan Alenko, 11 k (3/3 chapters), posted June 2019
Summary: Kaidan and Shepard are newly engaged. Kaidan brings Shepard home to meet his mom, but she’s not alone. She’s invited the whole Alenko clan.
Background: This story was meant to be a flashback in my currently posting story, “Sideways.” However, it ended up standing better alone. It’s probably the fluffiest story I’ve written.
It involves meeting the family, of course, but also late-night antics sneaking out the house and skinny dipping in the ocean. Shepard pulls Kaidan out of his comfort zone. Being part of a big family already has Shepard out of hers.
Technically supposed to be Fic Flashback Friday, but who cares!
I was tagged by @ljandersen and @laelior. Thank you so much for tagging me!
Concept: Reshare an old work of yours, be it art or fic.
I decided to share the very first fic I ever posted to AO3, but never shared here. It’s f!Shepard/Joker ~8K wordcount. CW: depression.
Summary: It's been two years since the Reapers were destroyed. Shepard made it through the end of the war, but not without a lot of baggage and regrets. It's not until someone from her past shows up that she finally works through some of it to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
A Joker For Her Thoughts
The music was loud and exuberant. Some notably upbeat thing that she wasn’t able to associate with in the least at the moment. To be honest, she hadn’t felt those things in a long time. Not at all in the two years since the end of the war even. Probably not since that party she threw for her crew in Anderson's old apartment right before the final push. Even then it was a struggle. Any good feelings being overshadowed by dread and anxiety for what was to come. Everything may have worked out in the end, but to her it never felt that way.
Shepard was secluding herself, leaning against the bar, nursing her 6th drink. Or was it her 10th? She didn’t particularly care at this point. She watched over the crowd that was being especially animated this evening. And why shouldn’t they be? It was a celebration after all. James and Ashley had just gotten married. It was the first time since the war that she had seen her entire old crew together in one place. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for them. Whatever happiness she was capable of feeling at this moment was entirely for them. They were two of her closest friends, and they were celebrating the rest of their lives together. It was a good thing, even she could see that, but it just wasn’t enough to get her out of her perpetual funk since the war ended.
She noticed some disheveled mountain looking man walk up to the bar, but barely paid any attention to him. She just assumed it must have been a family member of the bride or groom, and she wasn’t here to make small talk.
It wasn’t until she heard him order his drink that she recognized the voice. Someone she was afraid would likely be here, and had been somewhat relieved when she didn’t see him at the ceremony. She had purposely been avoiding him this whole time. Two years, and up until this moment she thought she might be able to put off this confrontation for an even more unhealthy amount of time.
The man leaned against the bar next to her, drink in hand, straightening his long beard before taking a sip. “Commander,” he said in way of acknowledging her presence.
“It’s Rear Admiral now, haven’t you heard?”
“Ah, no actually. I left the Alliance a while back. Or hadn’t you heard?”
“I guess I hadn’t,” she said quietly, staring at the floor. “It’s good to see you again, Joker.”
Read the rest on AO3
Tagging: @rpgwrites @mordinette @aricazorel and anyone else who would like to share an older work again. No obligations, of course.
Tagging @fasterpuddytat, @sociallyacceptablemadness, @the-desert-dancer, @thealexmachina, @ir0n-angel, @pikapeppa and @schoute. No pressure.
Concept: Reshare an old work of yours, be it art or fic.
Having a conversation with my beloved @ir0n-angel yesterday made me remember how much I loved writing this fic, even when I got into the weeds with it. Some of you only know me as a purveyor of elf smut, or maybe of turian smut.
I used to write ghoul smut.
From Set to Repeat, Subject to Change:
Hancock was slouched on the sofa facing the red velvet one Val had brought home so many years ago. There were memories there that ached, although not as much as they used to. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at it but when he came back to himself, she was sitting on it, a crooked smile on her lips, her chin balanced on her hand.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi. Been there long?” He patted himself down looking for his smokes and finally found them on the coffee table.
“About five minutes,” she sniggered. “Good hit?”
“Musta been. Fuck me, what time is it?” He lit up and offered her the pack but she shook her head. When did she quit smoking?
“It’s a little after three.”
“Man, I…” He trailed off, completely losing track of what he was going to say.
She chuckled. “I’d ask if you had a minute for me Mr. Mayor, but you seem to have had quite a few already.”
(under the cut for some Hancock typical drug use)
“You need somethin’?” He opened a tin of Mentats and popped one in his mouth. When he offered them she again shook her head. She never did like taking a whole lot of chems, he remembered. The grape taste mixed with his cigarette and a pleasant mind expanding feeling settled over him, making him more alert. Not by much, but enough.
“Just wanted to…talk.”
“So…talk,” he waved a hand expansively and grinned. She was perched there so primly, as if she didn’t want to sit there but didn’t want to sit anywhere else even more. His mind’s eye painted a memory of her sprawled on that cozy red sofa wearing only his hat. It flashed and was gone.
Damned Mentats, he thought. Always making things so clear. Too clear.
“Would you happen to know if there are any maps around here from other parts of the country?”
“Huh?” She snapped her fingers, bringing his attention back to her.
“Maps, Hancock. Of like, New York.”
“I think we moved all that stuff to…”
“To the Castle,” she finished when he stopped. She nodded decisively. “Well, I guess that will work out since we’ll have to go there anyway. I want to take Mac back there to recuperate.”
“Can he travel that far?”
“I think if we go by wagon he’ll be fine. And between us, if we can’t guard a single beat up merc then we deserve what we get.” She paused and looked like she was collecting herself. Through the haze of smoke and his own heightened senses from the chems he thought she looked nervous. It was almost funny; Val nervous was something he hadn’t seen in twelve years. “Were you…uh…planning to come along?”
“You want me to?”
“I…yeah, I do.” She twisted her hands together and wouldn’t meet his eye. There was something she wasn’t saying. He sat up and stubbed out his cigarette. He went over to her and plopped down next to her. If anything she grew more nervous. He had to admit he was enjoying it a bit. Sort of like when they first knew each other, before recrimination and guilt and rancor killed what they had. When it was new, when he still got a thrill in his gut whenever he saw her.
Who are you kidding, you still do, he chided himself.
“Val…what’s on your mind?” She faced him, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, showing him that scar clearly. With a lazy finger he traced it gently. She got very still and almost blank, like she hadn’t expected it but didn’t want to appear startled.
“Hancock, there’s some stuff I need to tell you…” She sort of stuttered to a stop, her face crumpling up for just a second before it smoothed out again. “Fuck it,” she said then and leaned forward into his touch.
He drew her closer and kissed her. It wasn’t like before, rough and angry. No, this was passion, pure and simple. She moaned into his mouth and pushed him back until she could climb on top of him. His arms came around her as they had a hundred times before. He pulled up the tucked in hem of her shirt so he could get at her skin. She was smooth and warm under his fingertips. When she finally pulled away from the kiss her eyes were glazed.
“I still want you,” she murmured. “I never stopped.”
“I know,” he murmured back.
“I still love you,” she said but it sounded pained, as if she’d tried to forget it, or maybe move past it. “No matter what happens, John, know that. Know that I have always loved you.”
“Oh, Sunshine…”
“Shh, just kiss me again.”
“I’m gonna do more than that,” he promised. She smiled, sadly but there.
Tagging... I don’t know who to tag, so consider this an open invitation. But tag me back because I want to see your works!
Concept: Reshare an old work of yours, be it art or fic.
Ooh, this was a tough decision between wanting to show off my best work versus wanting to give a little screen time to some of my less popular rare pairs. After some debate with my darling @crackinglamb, I’ve decided to go with my best and save my rare pair for a future Thirsty Throwback Thursday post.
Technically part of a series, but can be read on it’s own, I give you:
Thank You, Monsieur DuPont
(rated E for explicit sexual content and kink)
She really ought to be ashamed, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn. Turning to put her weight on the leg on the lower step, she sacrificed the modesty of the other to needlessly adjust her skirt to cover her already well-obscured intimate areas. Plus ten points for coy and minus a few hundred for subtlety, but she definitely had his undivided attention now.
“Are you here for a reason, Detective?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or is this a friendly social call?”
His eyes trailed along the bend of her knee for just a moment – which with synth processing speed was a long time – before bringing his gaze up to hers. “You look nice, all dolled up,” he said with forced casualness. “Special occasion?”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He didn’t even seem to realize she’d asked him a question. Descending the rest of the way to the ground floor, she did a little twirl to make the skirt flare out. Yeah, the dress itself was doing absolutely nothing for him. He was focused solely on her legs.
“No reason. Just going out for a drink or two at the Dugout and felt like showing off a little.”
That got a reaction. Valentine stiffened, his lips pressing together in a scowl. “And have Vadim leering at you all night? Can’t say that’s the best idea you’ve had.”
She chuckled. “Better him than Cooke up in the Colonial Taphouse. At least Vadim knows to keep his hands to himself, if not his eyes.” She stepped closer, reaching out to slide a finger along his lapel. “I’m a little lonely tonight. But, you know, I could always stay home and break out the bottle of good bourbon if you’d keep me company.” To hell with subtlety. She hooked the finger in the loose loop of his tie and tugged, forcing him to put his hands around her waist to keep from stumbling. “Or skip the bourbon.”
Sliding his hands down to her hips, he splayed his fingers out over the tops of her thighs. “Only if you promise to keep those stockings on,” he purred, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at her with half-lidded eyes.
"If I didn't trust you, then I would've already let Odin do whatever he wants to do to you."
Athena walked into the Cella of her temple, the tail of her light blue dress trailing behind her. When she emerged from the shadows of the Opisthodomos, the two beings waiting for her in the Cella faced her direction.
“Iris.” The woman wearing a flowy, white dress bowed before Athena. Athena nodded once and faced the other being, this time a heavily-bearded male, wearing the Viking warrior’s armors. “Hermóðr.” Athena acknowledged the man’s attendance in her court and the man bowed before her. “Is there an urgent matter to be discussed since both of you are in my temple?”
Hermóðr gestured for Iris to begin. “My goddess, we are here because a part of Earthrealm is being attacked,” Iris reported.
Athena clasped her hands together by her stomach. “Who did this?”
“Your grace, our Queen Frigga would like to tell you that the attack is being orchestrated by her youngest son.” Hermóðr added.
Athena’s face contorted in horror, then she gasped, smiling. “Loki is alive.”
I was tagged by @ripley95 for this. Thank you very much for the tag! <3
Concept: Reshare an old work of yours, be it art or fic.
I picked one of my favorite scenes from chapter 17 of Serendipity, a Shakarian fic I finished back in 2014. In this part of the story, Shepard had fallen down a shaft in an abandoned mine she, Garrus, and Tali had been investigating. Garrus jumped in after her and sent Tali to get help. Here, they suddenly hear a noise coming from an old tunnel that had been, until now, blocked by some rubble.
**
He picked up his rifle and directed the beam of the flashlight to that spot in the wall. What he saw made him sit up straight and clench his weapon so hard that there was no force in the universe that could have pried it out of his hands: pieces of dirt and debris were rolling down the barricade, hitting the floor and gradually destroying the closure that had kept their room separated from the old passageway beyond.
A hole was slowly forming in the upper part of the rubble as a hand shoved the rocks through, widening the opening more and more, and he could hear whoever it was on the other side grunt and groan with the effort.
His whole body tensed as he watched and listened, his gun at the ready, hoping that he was just being paranoid and it was one of their crew trying to push their way through. Maybe they'd found this part of the mine and were digging their way in to get to them. Hell, he would have been fine with it being one of the pirates, or even a merc—just as long as it wasn't another one of those damned husks.
One last shove and the rocks and dirt suddenly came tumbling down, making a big enough gap for somebody to get through. Then he saw it: that cursed glow and hunched body shape, as the first husk climbed through the freshly made hole and headed for them with a blood-curdling scream.
He pulled the trigger on instinct, blowing the monstrous creature's head off with one clean shot, but the damned freak was immediately replaced by another. This one didn't fare much better: it received a bullet right between its vacant eyes from Shepard's gun. In a moment the cavern exploded into gunfire and screams, as a never-ending horde of husks pushed through the gap and lunged forward, only to be turned into an oozing pile of dead flesh and flickering cybernetics.
"Have any spare clips?" Shepard yelled over the noise when her gun clicked empty.
"No! I was low already before we ended up here," he yelled back as he pumped his remaining bullets into the newest crowd emerging from that miserable hole.
"It's the butt of the rifle then," she barked out before she smashed the skull of a husk in with one powerful thrust.
They tried to keep up with the waves, but with no fresh heat sinks and no place to hide or withdraw to, their situation looked worse than ever. They were being overwhelmed, and the hope for a timely rescue seemed to evaporate with every second.
Still, the team had to be on their way, and Garrus was damned if he wasn't going to buy Shepard enough time for her to make it until they got there. He shoved the abominations off of her weakening body and covered her small shape with his own bulky frame. The husks latched onto him with a tight embrace, making it impossible for him to move, and he felt his shields and his life slowly drain away.
The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was an angry roar and a rough voice yelling over the screams, "Goddamn bloody monsters!"
**
(And also, here’s an old fanart I’m still fond of.)
Tagging: @tristinai, @ejunkiet, @katschy, @wilwarindi, @foofyschmoofer, @missmeggo929, @ljandersen, @wafflesrock16, @myrddinderwydd, @crackinglamb, @blueboxness, @a-cosmic-elf, and anybody else who’d like to share!
Tagged by the wonderful @a-shakespearean-in-paris (thank you! <3)
Concept: Reshare an old work of yours, be it art or fic. :D
I’m reaching waaaaay back in my repertoire for this to one of my old Dragon Age: Inquisition fics, Perseverance (still don’t like that title, but it’s been named that too long to re-title it). It’s a series of disconnected one-shots with Cullen and the Inquisitor. I re-read this piece recently and you know what? I still like it.
Summary: Cullen experiences a traumatic nightmare. The Inquisitor helps ground him when he wakes up from it.
Link: Nightmares (cw: graphic torture and violence in the first half of the chapter, the second part excerpted below is comfort)
Excerpt
"You're awake, now, love," she says in that same calm, steady voice, as though she had read his mind. "You're here with me. You're safe," she continues to say until it becomes a chant. Her allows her words to anchor him to the here and now. And again, she seems to follow the train of his thoughts.
"Can you tell me where you are?" She is patient, waiting for his answer and allowing him to take his time to gather the words that will help him leave the dreams behind.
"I..." His throat his dry. He swallows again. "I'm in your quarters. In your bed. With you." She squeezes his hand give him a reassuring smile. Saying the words aloud allows him to relax. The fog begins to clear from his mind.
"There you are, love." She plants a soft kiss on on his forehead. He closes his eyes and sighs. He feels, rather than sees, the tension melt away from her as she settles down to lie at his side. His night terrors had frightened her at first, those first few times they shared a bed. It had taken time and many terrifying experiences before they figured out a way to bring him down when he was in the thick of it.
"Thank you," he says, draping his arm around her and drawing her closer. Her body drapes softly against his side, warm and yielding and real. She laces her fingers with his and curls herself around him, almost like a protective shield. The gesture pulls at his heart. He doesn't ask this of her.
