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bzedan · 2 months

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Last Year's Flash Fiction: Dreams of Falling

Storytelling Collective does a yearly challenge for flash fic, with prompts and a nice community format. Every year I complete a run I pick my ten favourites and collect them into what is basically a zine. I've got 2024's up, so now it's time to share some faves from 2023.

[ID: An image rendered in faux-photocopy style of a hand holding a pocket-sized steampunk-style watch face with multiple dials and a twist of wire along the top exposed screws. End ID.]

Dreams of falling

The worst thing about probably falling for eternity is that she remembered an incredibly mediocre short story she’d read once. Before she’d remembered the story, her main concern had been what her options were going to be if she needed to go to the bathroom. Worries about a theoretical full bladder—or worse—were wiped away by the sudden memory of some story in a collection she couldn’t remember the name of.

Like most collections of short stories, the end value was fine, more or less. The main reason she’d picked up the collection, a short that had been turned into a movie, had been disappointing. There had been a good story or two in the first section of the book but as the pages went on the quality seemed to degrade.

The one she remembered while falling had been near the end and halfway through it she’d just been skimming the words. It was about Alice falling down the rabbit hole, but the hole was endless. There were lots of descriptions and possibly? She wasn’t certain, but the text may have switched back and forth between the lyrical descriptions of the White Rabbit’s hole (she allowed herself a laugh at her phrasing) and an essay about Lewis Carroll’s work.

It made sense to have suddenly remembered this less-than-par short story as she fell. Though she wasn’t, technically, falling. Her body was pretty certain she was, but the human body is a fool and a compulsive liar. The lead that kept her safe and attached to the station had been severed and there’d been a small explosion and now here she was. Falling, or flying, or moving maybe was the most correct description. Her suit didn’t have thrusters; it was a basic mechanic’s onesie that didn’t even have accommodations for using the toilet.

The upside to the whole thing was that, as a basic mechanic’s onesie, the air supply was small. Enough in the tanks to let you pop out and take a gander at what was going on and tighten some screws or realign a whatever. Which was what she’d expected when she stepped Outside.

But when she’d got to the problem sector, she saw that it was going to be a much more involved fix than a couple of screws or the incredibly illegal but commonly used combination of a kick and a well-crafted curse.

She’d seated her magnetic soles against the hull and thumbed her radio to transmit a heads up, so her apprentice could ready what they called her Big Business Suit.

And then there’d been a weird judder through her tether and, as she’d turned to look, it felt like the hull had hiccuped. The metal skin buckled, breaking her magnetic grasp, and off she’d gone.

And now she was in the middle of nowhere, remembering a mediocre short story. Which was worse, she’d decided, than remembering a bad short story. Something that truly sucked could still get some passion going. Anger at seeing where a story could have gone, at the author’s complete pratfall of a piece, all satisfying stuff. The boring stories didn’t give you that. It would be nice to drift out into that cold nothing with some sort of vibrant feeling.

As she settled back into a sort of space approximation of the sort of posture you were supposed to take if you were capsized in a river, seated back with legs ahead, her bladder twinged. She wondered if it was uncouth to place bets on if you’d piss yourself before your oxygen ran out. Maybe. But it wasn’t like anyone would know. She smiled. This was better than remembering that story, at least.

#meche writes #writblr #flash fiction february #writers of tumblr

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whathappenstotheheart · 3 months

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I haven't had time to write any JJ/Emily yet and while this isn't the larger fic I've planned for the future it was nice to do a little something.

#fanfic #fanfiction #jennifer jereau #emily prentiss #jemily #storytelling collective's flash fiction february #flash fiction february

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thedisc0panda · 1 year

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#tes #the elder scrolls oblivion #oblivion #lucien lachance #flashfictionchallenge #flash fanfic #flash fiction february #flash fic challenge #flash fic feb #flash fiction

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dbgraves · 4 months

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Eerie Places - Flash Fiction February Day 1

Prompt: "Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate"

Even if the cities of the modern world never slept, night was still the safest time for things like him. Irrational things. Once-magic things. Things that had once been something more and were left now to scrabble and scrape by in the shadows.

It wasn’t easy, in a time when the eerie places had become vanishingly rare, and the mystical was too often reduced to a gimmick, an aesthetic. He didn’t trust the reading of any cards that weren’t weathered, any sight that didn’t come from haunted eyes. But the weathered cards, the haunted seers–he trusted them even less. To be perceived was to be feared, to be feared was to be hunted.

The hunt had never been successful, but he had no wish to learn what would happen if it was. If this body, increasingly mortal, increasingly weak as the millennia ground it down, could die. If it would bleed itself dry and keep going, if its lungs could heave endlessly without breath. If he would be forced linger, trapped in his bones because death was a place he was forbidden to go.

Sometimes he wondered if that could really be worse.

There were still small mercies–minuscule mercies. With his general decline, his tolerance for alcohol had lowered enough that a few strong bottles could take the edge off all of… everything. He passed a convenience store that had long since turned its lights off for good–unfortunate for his current mission–turned the corner, and stopped walking.

The street ahead of him was empty of people. It was all glinting towers and streaks of light on wet pavement. He’d endured decades of living on neon streets, but it was all suddenly alien and new. The quality of the air shifted–too still, a held breath. It had been centuries since he’d felt it, this thinning of the veil.

He accepted the invitation. He took the next left, and the next left, and the third led him to a set of three downward steps just off an alleyway. The doorway didn’t look like much–they never looked like much–slabs of plywood covered in the peeling remnants of white paint. More of it chipped away as he touched the door, but it swung open without resistance or noise. A breeze huffed over his shoulder like an impatient exhale.

The tunnel ahead of him was entirely dark, but he knew it would be smooth and straight, the gentle downwards slope of it familiar despite the centuries. He trailed his hand along the wall, feeling brick become concrete, then stone, then hard-packed earth. The darkness went on so long he wasn’t certain any longer that he wasn’t dead, that his bones weren’t cradled in the uncaring earth.

The first glimmers of firelight felt like a dream, the first chords of music like he must have imagined them. But the light grew stronger, welcoming him into its warmth as the music grew louder. The scents of smoke and herbs and roasting meat mingled together in the loamy air, sending him backwards in time, when he was still old but didn’t feel so ancient, when the world still teemed with magic.

The fae folk were only shadows of themselves, but they were an oasis in the desert of his lonely existence, their lilting voices and the riddle of their songs quenched a thirst that whiskey never could. Not home–never home–but for a moment he tasted something close to it. Here in the eerie heart of the world.

Time could only be measured by songs and dances and courses of dinner, and he had lost count by the time the firelight shifted and revealed the fae for what they had become. Bony things, dead things, memories of themselves. Join us, the grinning skulls of his hosts whispered in one voice like wind scraping over barren fields.

It would be something different. Something new. But the memory of the lights in the rain was stuck in his memory; the ghost of a thrill his first glimpse of a neon future had given him. He was one of the last magic things in the new world and his bones were not made to rest.

“One day,” he said, his voice a rasp of disuse.

In the space of a blink he was back on the sidewalk, the rain beginning to pick up again, the closed convenience store behind him. Ahead of him, the street was still empty, still streaked in a last hope for something more.

#flash fiction #fiction #fantasy #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #flash fiction february #flash fic feb #writing #original fiction #short story

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entwifeexperience · 1 year

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Storytelling Collective Flash Fiction February

Giving the Storytelling Collective Flash Fiction February course a go, which feels so very odd, both for not having written fiction outside of TTRPGs in years & because I've wanted to do something with them for the longest time, having been a huge fan of its inception as the RPG Writers Workshop and doing reviews for the phenemonal adventures that came from the courses.

The first prompt is "Return of Spirit", which I accidentally wrote down and worked off of 'Return of the Spirit'.

The writing is likely rough and the metaphor is probably not subtle in the least, but hey I'm writing something that's not TTRPG related for the first time in many years.

CW: Metaphor/ Personification of Dysphoria

Link to document

He was there, again.

Just sitting on the couch like he owned the place.

She didn’t know where he came from or what he wanted from her. He would always be gone once she emerged from hiding.

He slowly turned towards where she stood frozen in the doorway, cocking his head and raising those bristle brush eyebrows.

She couldn’t meet his dark eyes, reflecting the light from the TV screen. She’d seen them before, disturbing in their familiarity. Like he knew her intimately, could see inside her. There was accusation and ridicule in the way he stared, but behind the eyes a contemptible pity that made her feel physically sick.

The insidious feeling he elicited was a full-body sensation. Her arms pricked with gooseflesh, hairs on end. Her stomach felt hollow and gnawing. She felt oversized and heavy, a giant lashed to the earth by a thousand unspoken denigrations. She was a rotten tooth in the mouth of the giant, swollen with an all consuming pain that numbs the brain and pollutes the body. She was a cavity and he was filling her with sickening sweetness.

She wanted to hurt him. She wanted scream.

He just watched.

A slight smile split his hideous face.

She wanted to peel the flesh from their bones.

She retreated, him slowly following. He remained at the bottom of the steps as she scrambled up the stairs, glaring up at her.

She scrabbled across the landing in hands and knees, slamming the bedroom door shut with her body.

With trembling fingers, she put the headphones on. The sudden, deafening music blasted everything away.

She slid to the floor and, suspended in sound, waited for him to hide.

#Flash Fiction #Flash Fiction February #flash fic challenge #Flash Fic Feb #FlashFicFeb #cw dysphoria #Trans #Dysphoria #Brina writes #BrinaWrites

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nooowestayandgetcaught · 1 year

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Fic: “You’re Not Alone”

read on AO3

Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Rating: E (on AO3); T (on Tumblr)

Summary: Faith accidentally gets sent to another version of Sunnydale. A really messed up Sunnydale.

for @flashfictionfridayofficial

for @femslashfeb‘s Day prompt 24 “dark”

for @febuwhump’s Day 24 prompt “bloody clothes”

for Femslash F*ckery’s Day 24 prompt “hatef*cking”

"Oh, this…"

Faith walks straight out of the historian's office, gawking.

This… isn't Sunnydale. Or at least the Sunnydale she knows and exists in. Faith senses the tingle of dark magic. Maple Court, overflowing with the date night crowd on a Saturday, is now emptied. No working streetlights. Garbage scattered around Faith's feet, blowing away.

"You gotta be kidding me," Faith mutters aloud.

She's gonna strangle Willow. Violently.

Or… whoever the hell did this…

Faith remembers being up on the top floor, alongside the Mayor, facing off against Buffy and most of her friends. Some… some magical artifact. Faith can't remember that part. Her mind feels woozy.

A trans-dimensional portal? Spell gone bad after cooking for too long?

Aggravated, she huffs up to the curb, and then knocked aside as a leather-dressed couple stroll by. Their arms snugly around each other.

They turn.

Faith's blood goes cold.

"You two…" she growls, menacingly cracking her knuckles. "Perfect. I needed to vent out a little aggravation."

Xander tilts his head, far too calm. And since when did he wear eyeliner?

"Look, Will," he says dully. "It wants to play."

Willow leers.

Faith's eyes dart to her cleavage practically spilling out. Damn.

"She's so pretty…"

"Pretty pissed off is what I am," Faith snaps, approaching, then lurching backwards when Willow's face vamps out. "Oh, what the SHIT—!?"

Another person high-kicks themselves in, spinning and packing enough force in their blows to send the vampires of Buffy's old BFFs flying into the asphalt. Xander grabs onto a vamped-out Willow, hissing ferociously. He takes off.

Faith opens her mouth, then gawks. Again.

"Yes, well… very good," Giles mumbles, scrambling for the large wooden stake Buffy harshly throws at him. "It seems that your training in Cleveland has not been lacking, if anything… has your Watcher warned you about—"

"Shut up," Faith (and Buffy, at the same time) blurt out.

They glance at each other, suspicious.

"Don't tell him to shut up," Buffy says nastily, and Faith mock-laughs.

"B, you don't want any of this right now… I could tear you apart." She points to Giles. "And I'll make your little Watcher watch."

Despite the threat, neither of Faith's enemies seem concerned.

"… she's like Cordelia," Giles concludes, eerily knowing.

Buffy warily crosses her arms.

"Guess you were right about how things are supposed to be different, Jeeves…" she monotones.

Faith shakes her head, scowling.

"Would any of you chuckleheads mind EXPLAINING?"

They do.

Well, this universe's version of Giles does.

Faith half-listens, gazing up while Buffy prowls the downstairs of Giles' apartment. She didn't expect Buffy to look or act the same… except Faith did.

There's no cheerful smile, or quips, or Buffy-esque levels of blind faith optimism.

"So… the Master never dies," Faith repeats. "I'm not called."

Giles hums.

"That appears to be correct, yes."

"Fantastic."

"Miss Summers," Giles addresses her, nodding. "I contact the others. Would you mind staying here with, erm, her?"

Buffy shrugs again, not answering, and he must be taking that as a yes—Faith sees him head out the door. "What's your problem, B? Huh? I've never seen you act that coldly to your Watcher before."

"He's not my Watcher." Buffy's eyes narrow. "And stop calling me that."

Faith smirks, tossing aside a couch-cushion while getting nearer.

"Whaddya gonna do about it? Huh?"

Buffy gets into Faith's face this time, glaring. But she's not making any moves.

Faith keeps a hand on her own belt, within reach of her new favorite dagger, and doesn't move either. She wants to revel in Buffy's darkness. The thing that was always there and that Buffy denied she had like Faith had.

But… a part of Faith can't. There's nothing in Buffy's eyes. No emotion. She's shut off like Faith had been after her first human kill.

Faith clears her throat, glancing down to Buffy's grey tank-top.

"That your blood?" she rasps.

And, no, Faith isn't concerned by asking…

(Even if she is. It's like a bad habit. It's like trying to quit smoking, and by the next night, Faith savors the cigarette on her lips.)

"Couldn't save someone. It is what it is," Buffy speaks like she's been numbed on the inside. "We fight, we die."

Faith thumbs a bloodstain, curling her hand around the hem of Buffy's ruined top and yanking a little. "You'd make a great motivational speaker…"

Buffy snorts, her nostrils flaring.

No, it happened—Buffy did smile, Faith thinks, amused. A crappy-looking smile, but it was a smile.

"Faith, has anyone ever told you… how much of a bitch you are?"

"Only in bed," Faith says sneering, tapping her nose affectionately against Buffy's. She ducks a grab, and then twists Buffy's arm, yanking again. Mouths crash together. Faith moans, grabbing tightly onto Buffy, feeling the other Slayer's hands in Faith's hair. There's no getting enough of her.

Magic crackles underneath Faith's skin.

She disappears and reappears in the historian's office with no Mayor in sight.

Faith holds in the urge to strangle.

"You gotta be kidding me…"

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paranatellonta · 5 months

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Flamboyance Redeemed

My dear sister, I am writing to you to apologise profusely. When I went to the bathroom in that pasta restaurant where we’d met up, it was with the intention of returning to our table within minutes—after all, I’d been looking forward to spending a cosy day together. I couldn’t possibly have foreseen that when I opened the door, a veritable legion of flamingos would be waiting for me on the other side.

“We need your help, Alice,” they told me, and they explained that the madness of the Queen of Hearts had broken its own boundaries. She had recently decreed that every single flamingo, the entire flamboyance of them, had to be red instead of pink—as red as all her other possessions—and while the flamingos had remained placid when the Queen was using them as croquet mallets, they couldn’t possibly accept wearing a colour so badly suited to their style.

As I understood that their revolution against the Queen had put these flamingos in grave danger of decapitation, I didn’t return to warn you before I travelled deep into Wonderland once more, but it didn’t matter how fast I ran, for the landscape around me didn’t change for weeks and weeks. Finally I did reach the Queen, and all I could think about was getting back to you—and so I described to her what a lovely plate of spaghetti we’d had, with the tastiest, most satisfyingly red sauce. I told the Queen that surely the flamingos would be very good cooks, as they can use their long necks to mix ingredients together, and upon that revelation she pardoned them immediately and employed them in her kitchens to make a variety of red-sauced dishes.

I stayed only to make sure the flamingos settled in well and were treated kindly, and now, to my relief, I have at last found an opportunity to explain to you what really happened, dearest Lorina. Now you see that the circumstances were quite different from what you’ll have been imagining, though it must have been obvious that even I wouldn’t zone out in the bathroom for literal weeks…would I?

—

[Image description: Photo of a wall with a door which is slightly open, leading to a brightly lit room where part of a poster is visible with a photo of a person who’s smiling with their mouth open. On the viewer’s side of the door, both the wall and the door are covered with a wallpaper that has a deep blue background, green plants, and lots of pink flamingos.]

#flamingos #bavet spaghetti #alice in wonderland #neurodiverse fiction #zoning out #flamingo wallpaper #photography #flash fiction #bathroom wall #flamingo #random flamingo #lewis carroll #flamboyance redeemed #368 #if you enjoy my take on wonderland stories – look out for Queens in Wonderland from No Bad Books Press!#it is expected to release in february 2024

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norirosewrites · 3 months

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It's the last day of February (and a leap year, no less..for that reason I always find February 29 special) and I've been wanting to write something to honor the month and energy of Lupercalia. This little piece was inspired by an episode of Fair Folk – a favorite podcast of mine – titled "Wolf Milk: February Almanac," and by the song "Grá" by Waldruna, which is essentially a hymn to the grey wolf. (It's sung in Norwegian, but the English translation is available online and it's beautiful.)

Hoping you all have had a happy, or at least a gentle, February filled with rest and hope for the year ahead. May the seeds we planted at Imbolc grow to fruition. 🌱🕯️🔥🌀

#short fiction #flash fiction #original fiction #writing by me #short story #drabble #writing community #writeblr #wolf #wolves #lupercalia #february #february 29 #leap year

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adreamingskin · 3 months

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Poetry Competitions, Submissions & Opportunities – February 2024

We’ve made it through the longest month and to celebrate here are over 160 poetry competitions, writing submissions and opportunities open or with deadlines in February 2024. Here in Ireland, we’ve been celebrating a Bank Holiday weekend dedicated to Brigid, our other national saint, and I’ve put together a short Imbolc/Brigid writing prompt to spark some creative ideas and there’s even a Brigid…

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bzedan · 2 months

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Last Year's Flash Fiction: The Daughter of Death

[ID: An image rendered in faux-photocopy style of a raven's skull centred over a crystalline burst. End ID.]

The Italians call Fear La Figlia della Morte—the daughter of death

Death cupped her hands around the steaming mug of tea and looked at her daughter.

“I know you hate conversations like this.”

“They’re lectures, mom.” Fear was leaned back in the kitchen chair, feet tucked up onto the rungs in the same way she’d sat when she was small and her legs were too short to reach the floor. Now, fully grown, it sent her knees akimbo.

Death wanted to look away from the annoyed eyes of her child, squatting there on the kitchen chair like an angry gnome, but pressed on.

“You know what, yes, I suppose these are lectures, but in the most technical sense. I am trying to impart some knowledge that I have earned through experience and time to you, my beloved daughter.” Death tapped the mug, cycling her finger through Aspects, so now the sound was soft, now it was the click of a long nail, now the chime of bone on ceramic. “It would be nice if you could skip past some of the mess of growing up by using what I’ve learned.”

“But you also are lecturing me in the sense you think I’ve done wrong and don’t want me to eff up again.” Fear was also cycling through Aspects, mirroring her mother’s anxious habit. The feet on the chair rungs, which were sending the knees bouncing in irritated discomfort, were now bird-like claws, now clad in pink socks with little doughnuts on them, now the stretched shape of a wolf’s paws.

Death tilted her head in a mixture of question and confirmation. “I wouldn’t say wrong.”

“You did, actually, at the time.”

“Well, that was wrong of me, actually.” Death stilled her hands on the mug again, trying to will her body to focus. “I think ‘ill-advised’ would be the best word. Or ‘rash’ maybe. But not wrong.”

Fear suddenly thrust her feet off the chair rungs, planting them with a stomp on the worn-out kitchen linoleum. “It’s what they wanted, it’s what they expected.”

“But what did you want?” Death sighed, feeling like she was emptying out her lungs. Forever, maybe. She made herself let go of the mug, lean back in her chair. She gave up looking at her daughter and said the rest of what she needed to say to the ceiling, part of her brain noticing that she needed to dust.

“It doesn’t matter what someone wants. I mean, it does, but if it goes against what you want—then fuck them. They want fear to be cold fingers on the back of their neck, but you think the situation calls for hot breath and the touch of fangs, then consider why you use their choice.”

Somewhere below where she was looking, Death heard her daughter.

“But how will they know who I am if I don’t look like what they expect?!”

Death smiled. “They’ll know. They’ll recognize Fear if it comes to them as an excitement that boils in their stomach rather than a hole in their heart. Just like they know Death if she folds them into nothingness instead of putting them in a chariot.”

Death could hear Fear shifting in the kitchen chair, tucking her feet back up. She added, “it’s fun, sometimes, if they don’t realise who you are right away.”

#meche writes #flash fiction february #writblr #writers on tumblr

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whathappenstotheheart · 1 month

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First X-File fic, woot woot!

It might be April but I'm still trying to work my way through the Storytelling Collective's Flash Fiction February prompts, and this quote for day 19 made me think of Skinner and the end of Without (S08E02) and my headcanon that he dreams of being in a featureless void a lot.

Anyway, it's just a wee thing but I'm pretty happy with it!

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3fic #x files #the x files #walter skinner #dana scully x walter skinner #storytelling collective's flash fiction february #scully x skinner #todayinfic #xf fic #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #txf

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thedisc0panda · 1 year

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#tes #oblivion #Isabelle McKinnion #Baurus #flashfic #flashfictionchallenge #flash fiction #flash fiction february #flash fic feb

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elainaroberts · 1 year

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Flash Fiction Friday -February

Welcome to February, the coldest, shortest month of the year. For this monthly flash piece, I decided to use the official birthstone, Amethyst, instead of the month. I couldn’t envision anyone naming a child February, even in a fantasy setting, so Amethyst was born. This flash piece is based on an ‘almost story’ I’ve had bouncing around my head for several years. It’s something I’ve wanted to…

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#fantasy #February #flash #flash fiction #romance #urban fantasy #writing

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nooowestayandgetcaught · 1 year

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Fic: “Who Are You”

read on AO3

Fandom: Avatar: Legend of Korra

Rating: M (on AO3)

Summary: Asami loses Korra inside the Fog of Souls. She must get her back.

for @flashfictionfridayofficial

for @femslashfeb’s Day 10 prompt “sun”

for @febuwhump’s Day 10 prompt “difficulty breathing”

for @kinkuary’s Day 10 prompt “fisting”

for @yearoftheotpevent’s February prompt “established relationship”

"No!"

Asami shouts, terrified as everything in the Spirit World reverberates perilously.

The very ground she climbs.

Out of nowhere, a Dark spirit lunges.

"Korra!"

Up high, Korra shouts back Asami's name, fiercely thrashing against the bounds of her capture. But it's too late… Asami can feel this in her heart.

Her girlfriend flies through the air, thrown into a deep ravine of fog, and disappears from Asami's line of sight.

"KORRA!!"

One of the light spirits trails after Asami, frightened.

"The Avatar is lost," it murmurs. "She'll be wandering lost forever if she doesn't find her way out."

She remembers a conversation between Tenzin and Korra. The place where Jinora had gone missing. A Spirit World prison. It's made of a spirit itself, capable of draining a human's memories and their energy from them.

"I'll be careful, thank you," Asami tells it.

She's not leaving without Korra.

One way or another.

At the bottom of the ravine, Asami pants, struggling noticeably for a breath. She wanders, calling for Korra, trying to look through the thickening fog around her.

No answer.

Once or twice, a shadowy figure also wanders in the distance.

They're not a Korra-shaped shadow.

Nervously, Asami keeps moving.

It's getting dark.

Asami misses the sunlight of the physical world, the heat covering Asami's bared arms…

She…

What is… she… doing down here?

And who is she…?

She…

She runs a gloved hand over her mouth, fingers quivering and clenching.

There's something missing here. Something important.

Very, very important to her…

"Asami?"

Korra sprints to her, grasping onto Asami's fingers tensing.

"Oh! Oh thank La!" she says breathlessly, Korra's hands now grasping onto the sides of Asami's face. "I thought I lost you!"

"Who…"

Asami's pupils shrink. Her mouth quivers visibly.

"Who are you…"

Korra hesitates, gazing over the tormented expression from the other woman.

"Shhh. I'm gonna help you, Asami," she says softly, leading a daze-eyed Asami by the hand. "Don't worry. You're safe with me."

"I am…?"

"You always are," Korra tells her, resisting the urge for a long, comfortingly kiss.

That'll come later.

The fog goes on and on…

Endless…

"Korra?"

She gasps, finding it difficult to breath. Asami… Asami, that's her own name…

Panic flares inside her.

No air.

No.

"Hey, you're okay," Korra whispers, sitting her down with Asami's hands clasped in hers and kneeling.

"No…"

"I've got you, Asami. We're out."

Asami opens her eyes, seeing the landscape of Spirit World vines intertwined under her feet. Are those city buildings? Republic City?

"When… did we…"

"We got a dragon bird spirit ride back to the portal." Korra frowns, brushing a dark curl out of Asami's face. "Breathe."

She does, finding it easier.

"I was trying to save you, Korra… and I forgot myself…"

Asami lets out a frustrated noise, but doesn't look away from the thoughtful benevolence in Korra's frown.

"And you…"

"What matters is that we left together. I love you, Asami," Korra murmurs, hugging her like she hasn't seen Asami in days.

She drops her chin against Korra's shoulder, finally relaxing.

"I love you too."

Korra leans out, and then leans quickly in, stifling a giggle into their kiss when as Asami's lips curl into a smile.

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roguegambitweek · 4 months

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Hi,

I hope you’re all having a great year so far. We are still having Rogue/Gambit Week this year, we’re simply moving it to June. Prompts will be posted in March, so keep an eye out for them.

In order to spread the Romy love throughout the year, we will be having a few mini Pop-up events.These will be light and quick and fun. Are you ready for our first event?

A Very Romy Valentine!

The rules are simple

Create a Valentine's Day themed Rogue/Gambit fanworks (fanfic, fanart, fanedits, etc)

Suggested Prompts:

Double Date

Mon coeur/Hearts

5 Love Languages

Valentine’s Day (whatever that means to you)

Post on Tumblr from February 14-29, 2024. Use the tag #RomyValentine2024 and/or include @roguegambitweek in the body of the post.

Any NSFW should be posted under a “Read more” cut

This should be your own work.

Your fanwork doesn’t need to be new for this event, but it would definitely be great to have more Romy works to share.

Have fun!

Honestly, these can be short and sweet. Flash fiction/Drabbles. Sketches. Homemade Valentine Cards.

Be creative. Have fun. And Don’t stress.

Happy Valentine's Day Romy Fans!

#RomyValentine2024 #rogue/gambitweek2024 #rogue #gambit #romy #anna marie lebeau #remy lebeau #fandom event #fanfic #fanart #fanedit #otp: home and harbor #otp: mon coeur

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she-wolf09231982 · 18 days

Text

Chapter 9-It Ain't Over

Summary: Easy is tasked to dismantle German outposts across the river and were to return with prisoners for interrogation. The mission is successful but not without another loss. When the Colonel tried to send the men back in, Winters unconventionally goes against the grain, allowing the men a night of rest instead of risking more unnecessary deaths.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, Post Bastogne, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Aggression, Angst, Confrontation, Military Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, A League of Their Own Movie References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German language with English translation, Smoking, Crying, Banter, Pining, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

February 1945/Night of POW Mission

American side of the river

Liebgott sits behind his M1919 Browning machine gun with his assistant gunner on a bombed-out landing at battalion headquarters right off the water, watching the rest of the platoon load into the boats on the riverbank. You sneak past the AG and sit next to Joe.

"Gams?? What the fuck are ya doin'?" he chided at you.

You roll your eyes, "Just checking on you two and seeing where the guys are." you respond quietly.

"Yeah, well, they ain't even crossed yet so get back downstairs, will ya? I don't want you out here if shit starts poppin' off." he scolded.

You sigh, "Fine, Joe, I just wanted to see you before anything happened, that's all."

You turned to leave but then hesitated. You looked over your shoulder at him with his back towards you. You return to him swiftly, grab his chin and plant a hasty peck on his cheek.

"Ich liebe dich, Joe Liebgott (g)(I love you, Joe Liebgott)." you say in a quick hush before you scamper off inside.

Joe grunted at you not knowing whether to be irritated or entertained,

"Du verdammte Füchsin (g)(You goddamn vixen)." he called after you before you could reach the stairs.

Basement of Battalion HQ

You and Doc sit together in the cellar of HQ, waiting and listening intensely for any gunfire exchange outside. Minutes feel like hours sitting there, as you sip on a tin cup of coffee.

Your leg is bouncing from anxiety, waiting for something to happen. Eugene reached across to you and grabbed your knee to stop your leg from jumping. You look up at him startled.

"You're too jittery. Lay off the coffee, Y/F/N." he said in his low soothing Cajun accent with a gentle smile.

You nod then smile back, placing your cup on the table next to you.

~~~~~~~

German side of the river

The patrol crosses the river in the inflatable boats. When they reach land, they strategically approach the building where German soldiers are posted. As Easy makes entry, Jackson rushes into the building too soon after throwing a grenade and is severely wounded.

The rest of the guys then rush the building and captured three Germans. As they retreat with their prisoners, the remaining German forces open fire. One of the prisoners is hit and is left behind on the riverbank.

American side of the river

Joe sees his platoon scattering towards the boats as smoke and gunfire erupt from the German side. He shifts his line of fire, anxiously waiting to pull the trigger.

"Jesus Christ, come on. Blow the goddamn whistle!" he yelled.

The sound of the whistle finally reaches Joe's ears. He lays heavy suppressive fire at the windows where he sees flashes from German MG-42s. He peppers the buildings back and forth, in hopes he's nailing each one dead center of their foreheads.

Basement of HQ

You and Doc hear an eruption of gunfire and shells dropping through the garden windows of the basement. You stand next to the little window listening hard for the yells and screams from your boys. Just then, you suddenly hear the faint call from the riverbank on the American side...

"WHERE'S THE MEDIC!?!?"

Alarmed, you look back at Eugene with wide, panicked eyes.

"No, Y/L/N." Doc said sternly.

He knew damn well what you were thinking, and he wasn't going to allow it. Not again.

You began to protest, "But they-"

"Y/F/N, NO!" he barked, "I'm not lettin' you run to danger again. Remember what happened in Ardennes?" He reminded you angrily.

You look down shamefully at your boots. Suddenly the basement door abruptly swung open as the platoon started scrambling in.

"Wounded! We got wounded, come on!" Ramirez bellowed.

You swept papers and utensils off the nearest table to clear it for Jackson who was being carried in.

"Set him right here!" you call out.

Johnny Martin entered, "Get the Krauts back there, shake them down! Move! Move! McClung! Get on over to CP, let them know what we got!" he ordered.

Jackson lying flat on the table, his face bloody and raw from the neck up, began gagging on his own blood.

"Jesus, what the hell happened to him over there?!" you ask overwhelmed by the soldier’s appearance.

"Grenade went off right in front of him." Ramirez reported.

"Shit, his lungs are probably hemorrhaging. He can't breathe right." you confirm aloud.

Doc gently pushed you aside and lowered his ear to Jackson's mouth.

"Light. I need some light. Give me some light." Doc requested urgently.

Grant took his lighter and flipped it on. Doc held Jackson's mouth open by the chin, observing and listening for a few seconds as the poor soldier gurgled and whimpered.

"All right, look at the flame. Look at the flame. Ok, that's good." Doc instructed Jackson.

The room became eerily quiet as they all watched Doc work.

"All right, let's get him outta here." Doc directed.

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson cried out.

He repeated these words tearfully over and over again as the platoon started to move him towards the door on a litter. Jackson started to grab at Doc, kicking off the surface as his choking worsened. The men set him down.

"He's gonna die!" one of the guys shrilled in horror.

"Hey, shut the hell up! You're upsetting him more!" You hiss over the sea of bellowing soldiers, while Jackson started to flail and kick in terror.

"Please help me, I don't wanna die!" He wallowed.

Doc tried to hold him steady on the stretcher, "Jackson, you're not gonna die! I need you to hang on!"

Jackson continued to bawl and throw an agonizing fit out of fear until the life drifted from his tearing eyes and his body fell limp. Doc sat up, dropping his helmet to his side with a huff of defeat leaving his mouth. He sat there, lost in his thoughts then looked up at you with frustration painted all over his face.

You look around the room at rest of the guys until you see Martin. You shake your head, confirming he didn't make it. You take Babe's wool blanket he wrapped himself with and covered Jackson.

~~~~~~~

The following morning, the platoon hung out in the barracks, resting up after a long night. Webster entered the room with LT Jones.

"Jackson is dead." Webster announced.

"Yeah, we heard." Joe replied from his bunk sitting above you.

"Yeah, well, they want another patrol tonight." Perconte added.

Joe shifted onto the mattress and laid against the pillow. You stood up angrily and walked out the room, down the stairs, and out the door to head to the basement back at HQ to be alone.

With most of Easy at HQ later that day, Winters, Nixon and Speirs address the same patrol from the night before to discuss the next mission for that evening. You're in attendance once again, across the room where you can see Joe as you stood next to Eugene.

Winters opened the brief by stating how proud he was of the good work the platoon did last night then added that Col Sink was proud as well.

"-In fact, he's so proud he wants you to do another patrol across the river tonight."

The men remain resentfully silent. Joe lights a cigarette then shoots you an unamused glance as Winters continued.

"Any moment now, the outpost we hit last night will go up in flames. Means we have to venture farther into town this time. Captain Speirs, you have the map, please."

Speirs passes the map to Grant to display across the table.

"We have enemy movement here and here," Winters began as he pointed on the paper, "Which means this is our new house target here. We recovered all the boats. So, we'll be setting off from the same place we did last night."

"We're not changing the plan any, sir?" Martin spoke up.

"No. The plan is the same. It will be 0200 hours instead of 0100. Is that clear?" Winters asked.

The men shifted in discomfort, "Yes sir." they acknowledged collectively.

"Good, because I want you all to get a full night's sleep tonight. Which means in the morning, you will report to me that you made it across that river into German lines but were unable to secure any live prisoners-" he instructed as he looked around the room to see if the platoon was tracking what he was saying.

Everyone looked at him in disbelief. The man was really ordering you to disobey Col Sink’s orders.

"Understand?" he pushed cautiously as he scanned the room making eye contact with each of his men.

"Yes, sir." The men replied in unison. (Some of their responses sounding like a question, unsure this was actually happening).

"Good. Look sharp for tomorrow. We're moving off the line." Winters finalized as he left the room.

The guys all breathed their first sigh of relief since Holland. A few exchanged handshakes. Joe stood up from the table to rush over to you.

"Did you just fucking hear that, Gams!?" His smile stretching from ear to ear revealing your favorite dimple on his left cheek.

You beam at him, "I did. He's a good man."

You wrap your arms around the back of Joe's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He pressed you against him, burying his face into your neck. A couple of happy tears stream down your face.

"Can we just hold each other for the rest of our lives?" you utter softly in Joe's ear.

Joe chuckled, "That's my plan."

~~~~~~~

As the sun set that evening, Cobb distributed bottles of liquor he found in the cellar at HQ. Each man happily accepted the offer, taking hearty swigs from the bottles.

Luz hacked, pounding on his chest to soften the sting of what he just swallowed.

"Shit! *cough* What the hell is this Cobb?? Jesus Christ!" Luz choked.

"What's wrong, George? A little too strong for ya?" Cobb teased.

"This stuff will knock ya on your ass." Malarkey confirmed as he took another drink.

You walk into the room, and the entire platoon cheered. You stop in your tracks, almost alarmed by their response to you entering the room.

"What are you miscreants doing now?" you ask looking around the room at them.

"Nothin' we're just happy to see our songbird!" Babe yelled across the room.

"Hey, Y/F/N, sing us a little somethin' yeah??" Luz pleaded.

"No, George, I'm not-" you contested before all the men groaned and boo-ed expressing their disappointment.

"-I'm tired, guys! It's been a rough few days for all of us." you defended.

"Hey, Joe, come on. Get her to sing!" Babe resorted.

Liebgott hopped off the top bunk and approached you with his bottle. You deliver a look of skepticism to him as he closed in on you. He raised his eyebrow as he smiled mischievously at you.

"No, Joe." Is all you say.

"Gams, the boys just want you to sing a little lullaby so they can get a good night's sleep like the captain said." Joe justified.

"Winters never said anything about me singing you to sleep." you pointed out.

"True," Joe started, "but Webster didn't get to hear ya yet, and l’ve been tellin’ him how sweet my girl’s voice is. I wanna show you off."

You shake your head at him, "You're unbelievable."

"I know." Joe replied confidently.

You look around the room at all the expectant drunk faces of your boys.

"One song so you can sleep. Just one." you compromise.

"Don't get on a chair this time!" Luz called out.

You glare at him, then smile.

"Get comfortable you idiots." you say as you dim the lamps to set the mood.

"What are you gonna sing, Gams?" Joe whispered in your ear over your shoulder as he snaked his arms around your waist from behind.

"A piece from Laurel and Hardy's The Bohemian Girl. Thelma Todd was always one of my favorites.”

Joe hummed as he pecked your cheek. You smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Hm, ir hot aoykh a bisl shlogn di flash, tsi nit? (y)(Hm, you’ve been hitting the bottle a little, too, haven’t ya)?” You ask Joe, smiling at him skeptically.

Joe only grinned, his face glowing and his eyes droopy, sauced from drink, exhausted by the mission, and completely entranced by you.

“Ok, settle down, boys." you project through the room.

"Hey, Liebgott ain't in bed." Perconte protested.

You guide Joe to your bed and have him sit. You stand in the middle of the room so everyone can hear. Every pair of eyes and ears focus on you, waiting patiently for you to begin.

youtube

🎶 “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,

With vassals and serfs at my side,

And of all who assembled within those walls,

That I was the hope and the pride.” 🎶

You serenade to your platoon, watching their heads lull and their eyes flutter. You make a round around the room to each soldier, touching a shoulder here or patting another on the head over there, making a personal connection to each one to bring a sense of comfort amongst them as you near the end of the song.

🎶 “And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt, which charmed me most,

That you lov'd me still the same...”🎶

You come back to Joe who is laying across your mattress zeroed in on you with adoration behind his eyes. He beamed up at you from your pillow when you start combing your fingers through his hair as you finish your song just for him.

🎶”That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still the same

That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still-“🎶

You seat yourself on the side of your bed next to him.

🎶”-the same.“🎶

The room is quiet, with the gentle snores and breathes of the guys sound asleep in their bunks. Joe took your free hand and started to pull you towards him as he sat up to meet you half way for a kiss-

“That was incredible, Y/L/N.” You hear Webster compliment from the bunk across from Liebgott’s.

You look over at him and smile, “Thanks, Web. Get some sleep, buddy.”

“Yeah, can’t you see we’re busy over here?” Joe sneered.

Webster chuckled and turned towards the wall to make his back face you.

You look back to Joe, whose face was a hair away from yours.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You giggled.

Joe nudged his nose against yours, “Any second I can get with my girl is precious, I don’t want to waste it.” He purred.

You lean forward, kissing his lips softly. Joe’s faultless ability to lock onto your lips as he tilts his head to deepen his kiss always left you craving for more. You try to pull back but he holds you in place so you don’t go too far.

“We should sleep, too, Joe.”

A devilish smirk appeared across his face, “One of these days, Gams-“ he started without finishing.

You smile coyly and laugh, “I don’t mean to get you riled up. But we’re not getting away with anything in a room full of people.”

Joe shook his head and sighed, “Komm her, du Füchsin (g)(Get over here, you vixen)."

You scoot onto the bed laying across his chest as he enveloped you in his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you nuzzle into him.

"Liebe dich sehr (g)(Love you so much)." Joe uttered to you.

"Liebe dich mehr (g)(Love you more)." you whisper back, squeezing him.

~~~~~~~

@wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie 🪖♠️🦅

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