#*promptfills

[hazelmaines]

Well well well if it isn't sad dad Sauron having a moment.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

The clan leaders forge onward to Jubilife. Akari’s party rests, regroups, and receives a guest. New players enter the field.

[jhalya]

🥵 Galadriel is a sweaty mess, but Halbrand is even sweatier.

🎁 In honour of this outrageous Charlie still.

🔗 Read on AO3

[banmitbandit]

DAY 2: EVIL!!!!! >:3CCCC

CRINGETOBER 2023!!!!!

my lancer pilot Serafim if they'd gone to HA instead of joining a HORUS splinter! They usually pilot a Pegasus but here they pilot an Enkidu!

Once again, thanks to @whezze for the promptlist! :33!!!!

[auraxins]

love that when im not even writing for dazai my feelings for him get the better of me /j

[bad-surprise]

a little promptfill snippet from the upcoming final chapter of but i thought you might below the cut.

[plyuriweek]

( this event is ran by @transaltava. please direct any questions here! )

About promptfills | Why?

Mark your calendars for the first ever Professor Layton Femslash Week! This is an event conducted between the dates Monday 3rd November through to Sunday the 9th. More information is to come!

Do you have any criticisms or feedback about this event? Let me know!

[hazelmaines]

Another slice of dysfunction and angst. Same universe as sad dad at Barad-dûr. The prompt was "father" and the language switches are intentional 😉

It's all connected to this

[lilacstarryskies]

Round 2 Steddie Bingo Promptfill

@steddiebingo

Rated: T

Prompt: Home

WC: 3168

Ao3 link: here!!!

Tags: Getting Together, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Angst

———————

“Fine!”

Steve strutted off, busted face and all, rushing up the garishly pristine stairs of his—well his parent’s home—ready to get the fuck out of here.

It was due time anyway. He was fed up with not just all the nagging, but the general bad demeanour, the demeaning words, the not-even-being-here but making him anxious all the same. And even when his parents were home, the few minutes they used up of their so-called precious time on him were all wasted on awful criticisms, never ever any words that resembled even a sliver of love and affection.

He slammed open the door to his room, the room that was no longer his as of this moment. Even before this, the room was never truly his. It was a facsimile of a personality slathered onto the walls, the shelves and the god awful patterned curtains.

Everything in there wasn’t Steve and it never was, not even representing Steve back in the days where he was a little standoffish asshole to the masses in Hawkins High.

It was more akin to a furniture store’s showrooms, everything too polished and basic, seeming like an average teenage boy's room but with just a hint of something missing.

It was manufactured—fake, to put it simply.

Just like he was.

Though he’d changed, and he heavily respected his own efforts trying to get away from the expectation of his parents, of all the people around him.

Steve mainly respected Nancy, for giving him the big push to not only recognise the assholery beside him, but to take a stand and leave despite the stomach-turning fear born in his childhood years that leaving his friends and no longer following the status quo would make him an outcast.

Besides, he liked outcasts anyway.

The best people he knew were all outcasts who’d be sneered at by the likes of Tommy and Carol, and his parents.

He sometimes missed Tommy and Carol, the sensation felt as if he was missing a vital part of himself, but he recognised that as the years went on, all three of them became twisted individuals filled with underlying hate, no longer the innocent kids they were back in elementary school.

And so he said goodbye to them both, in a fashion very similar to this very

moment, with a sneer plastered on his face and a bruising eye right above it.

Steve’s suitcase was grabbed from right under his bed, half-filled already, what with him having a feeling in the back of his head that something like this would happen sooner or later, and it had.

He still had some stuff to pack up before he was ready to leave his parent’s and despite detesting this place and his parents way of treating him, his stomach curled up with an emotion he could discern to be regret, love, and a form of wanting—wanting his parents attention, wanting them to actually care for their son like all the parents did on the television shows he’d watch as kid, all alone, while his parents were travelling.

He opened up the drawers beside his desk, shoving in all the polos and jeans stuffed in there, messily throwing them in, not caring to keep anything clean like he used to.

His parents were no longer keeping up the pretence of caring for him, so why would he follow their expectations to keep everything prim and proper?

Steve could hear his father, the asshole, shouting downstairs, likely fighting with his mother, who, for all her faults did care for Steve partly and was seen as too ‘lax on the boy’ by good ol’ Richard Harrington II.

He promptly sped up.

The clothes were all in, even his old school varsity jackets were thrown atop everything, but Steve felt like he should have something more.

Was this really all he had?

There was nothing personal that screamed Steve Harrington.

Everything only looked like a typical jock’s room and his closet looked like the average Sears’ catalogue, nothing was solely him.

There were no personalised pictures framed, no loving family or friends behind the glass panes of a picture frame, no personal gifts spread out on his desk, absolutely nothing to note.

Actually, now that he looked, Steve found a few things to note.

Beside his desk lamp was a walkie-talkie, courtesy of Dustin and the rest of the nerds, after they made a whole big deal, instating him into their little gang, making him officially a member of the ‘Upside-Down Crew’ even though he technically was a part of that the year before.

He took that into his hands, smiling at the memory, before adding it to the growing pile of items in his old school backpack, not zipping it up yet.

Steve wasn’t only preparing for this inevitable day of getting kicked out by his parents with just a half-filled suitcase, but monetarily as well.

For every shift of work he’d taken since he was 16 with his small summer lifeguard gig upon being told to ‘be a man’ and get a job by his father, he, even with his little finance and general math skill, knew he had to keep some savings in case of an any emergencies and just to prepare for what life could throw at him.

For every eight-hour shift, he squirrelled away one hour's worth of earnings, knowing that with the privilege of his parents’ money, he could spend his teen years living comfortably off their money, along with seven hours' worth of dollars, even affording to splurge out on some things like the newest skin mags and buying Farrah Fawcett in bulk from his mother’s bi-monthly delivered catalogues.

He had quite a lot of cash stored up in envelopes at the bottom of his underwear drawer, with lots of it also stored in a secret debit card under his name, altogether having more than enough savings to live alone and find his footing as he left this godforsaken house.

Steve's suitcase was fully ready to go, and so was he.

He chucked a jacket on his back, backpack on afterwards, and was ready to storm out, keychain in hand.

Deciding not to face the shouting match going on downstairs that would inevitably turn to angrily drinking, he decided to go out through the back door, right by the pool that had caused his life to veer well off course, for the better.

He wheeled his suitcase right over, glad for the shouting for once, since it’d cover any creaking from the stairs and the loud thumps of the suitcase as he brought it down.

Steve quickly evaded the sight of his parents, getting to the backdoor quite quickly, but not before he took a small gander at his parents in the living room, arguing right in front of an obnoxious mantlepiece, shrouded with many picture frames above it, none of them with the family inside.

He looked at them for what felt like a long moment, but was truthfully quite short, taking in their faces, knowing that this would likely be the last time that he’d ever see his parents again.

He said goodbye to Victoria and Richard Harrington in his head, his heart deep down still wanting to reach out and have their affection. It was pitiful.

Steve knew better than to entertain their negligence and lack of love, so he powered through these emotions, turning his gaze away and was now out the back door.

Quickly trudging the suitcase over, and he was now suddenly at the edge of the premises, just a metre away from his car—thankfully switched to being under his ownership as a gift for his eighteenth birthday.

He opened up the boot, shoving everything inside in a hurried manner. Once that was over, he threw himself into the beemer, mind focused on where the fuck he would go.

Robin wasn’t an option.

In any other moment, she would be, but the one time he needed her, she was over in Bloomington, Indiana, checking over their campus in case she ended up picking them as her go-to college, what with their great language courses.

Steve had been to her house before, and her parents were so sweet to him. They were quite odd and loved the idea of Robin breaking societal expectations and rules.

Sneaking Steve into the house was something that made them happy, wanting Robin to be such a rule-breaker, though he would feel very odd intruding on them, especially without Robin present to cool the awkward feelings that would be sure to arise with a situation like this.

Steve drove off, revving up his engine in a showcase of his own rule-breaking, finding it hilarious how he could faintly hear his father shout a few expletives as he ran out to attempt to catch up to Steve.

He drove off further, getting out of Loch Nora, and tried to rack his mind over where to stop.

Steve loved the kids and everyone else he’d met due to the Upside Down situation, but it just felt a tad too personal to infringe on their space with his issues.

While he joked about his parents a few times, only Robin knew the full extent of their neglect and awfulness, so he’d only feel right with her helping him, which wasn’t exactly a possibility.

He found himself absent-mindedly driving, cassette tape playing a few tunes on low volume, using it as background noise as he zoned out, too stuck in his head to listen to the godly voice of Bruce Springsteen singing The River.

Suddenly, he found himself recognising the land he was entering.

His mind had instinctively brought him over to Skull Rock, the place where he was far too used to going in his moments of anger—or sadness, when it came to his parents, or even Nancy after she broke up with him.

Before it was used for casual hookups and became a teenage deviance hotspot, it was just for him.

For Steve to sit alone and ponder, to find a space to relax away from everything.

Away from the suffocating house that never truly was his home, away from the thoughts plaguing his mind, and away from all the heartbreak haunting him, over losing Nancy, having nobody who knew him like Tommy and Carol once did, and his parents not loving him.

He knew that he’d have to find an actual place to stay, some little hotel before he’d have to start renting out his own place, but for now, this was good, it was more homey than the Harrington home of solitude and bad attitude had ever been.

Steve didn’t feel like leaving the comfort of his car, despite how much he loved Skull Rock, because it would make this real.

He expected it, but now that he was kicked out, his mind could barely take it.

His mind was going into overdrive while also zoning out, hardly able to process his father’s actions, his hand to Steve’s face and harsh words.

And truthfully, Steve didn’t want to process their words right now.

He just wanted to listen to the solemn voice of Bruce Springsteen, who was coincidentally singing Independence Day of all things, a song which was strangely fitting to the circumstances that led Steve to be sitting alone in his car with packed bags.

It was about a son who was leaving his father’s home and felt far too relatable for Steve right now, bringing tears up to hold in the waterline of his eyes.

Steve just let himself weep, focusing on nothing but the heart-wrenching vocals of Springsteen, crying everything out in a freeing manner.

It felt like he was doing that for hours, listening to nothing but Springsteen’s voice on repeat, passing through the songs on his cassette tape over and over.

A knock interrupted that.

It took Steve away from the vocals, bringing his surroundings to the forefront of his mind.

“Hey, hey—Steve?”

Steve looked out the window and saw Eddie, of all people. He did not expect that, though he didn’t really expect to see anyone he knew tonight in the middle of the night.

He promptly rolled down the window. “Eddie, hey,” Steve said, praying that the tear streaks on his face weren’t visible in the moonlight. “How’s it going?”

“Nothing too bad, just smoking and didn’t want to hotbox with Wayne sleeping—wait, is something wrong?” Eddie replied, cutting himself off, likely noticing Steve’s upset face that he was unable to hide.

Steve barked out a cracked laugh, almost croaking with how hysterical he sounded, “Uh—uhm, yeah. Something is wrong—or well, maybe you could call it right, to be honest.”

“Steve?” Eddie said worryingly.

“It’s—it’s my parents, man,” Steve uttered out, “They kicked me out, man.”

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed out, clearly sympathetic.

“Nah, it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Steve had to reassure Eddie, he didn’t want him feeling too sympathetic for him; it was pathetic on Steve’s end. “I’ve been expecting this to happen since I left school, walking on eggshells and saving money for the time it’d happen, and, well, it seems that it’s today.”

“It’s fucked up anyway, Steve,” Eddie said, “Your parents are assholes, man, and trust me, I know asshole parents.”

“It’s not that horrid,” Steve countered, “It was always gonna happen and they’d never connected with me so I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything, except for their cash, I suppose. But, now that it did happen, I do feel a little affected, I’ll admit.”

“Fuck them, you’re literally a monster hunter who saved the whole world from becoming some disastrous goo demonic dimension and they’re kicking you out? Fucking bastards, you’re so much greater than whatever bullshit they want from you.”

“I think even if my dad knew that, he’d still complain about how I wasn’t accepted to his Alma Mater,” Steve joked, smiling at Eddie’s attempt at uplifting him.

Eddie was looking at him with a focused stare, beginning to grin right back at Steve, “Yeah, well, your dad is some elite-level asshole who doesn’t understand the epic highs and lows of monster-battling, so fuck what he thinks.”

“Yeah, fuck what he thinks,” Steve repeated Eddie’s words, smirking as he did so, imagining the look on his father’s face if he ever was to hear this uttered from Steve’s mouth.

Eddie laughed, “Now you got it!”

“Yeah?” he glanced into Eddie’s eyes.

“Fuck him, seriously!” Eddie reiterated, eyes lighting up in the moonlight.

Steve chuckled, finding Eddie so sweet. While he was never the sort of person he’d interact with in high school, Steve was glad that he got to know him, even if it was due to another round of monstrous shenanigans occurring.

He was such a good guy, nothing like Steve assumed he’d be.

Someone Steve never expected would worm his way into his heart.

Someone who made Steve’s heart speed up, his face reddening, and his hands clammy in a way never felt by him since he romanced Nancy back in '83.

“Shit—wait!” Eddie blurted out, his beautiful brown eyes wide on display.

“Huh?”

“Where are you gonna stay then? No more Harrington mansion for you,” Eddie replied, sounding quite worried on behalf of Steve.

“My first thought was Robin’s, but she’s out of town right now, so I was thinking I should get a hotel or something.”

“No, Steve, those are pricey as fuck, you better room up with someone and save your money,” Eddie replied, “I had a place in the works to go ahead and rent, but Jeff caved into his parent’s and cancelled, decided to save and go college out of state, so I’m stuck with Wayne in the trailer—if I had space, I swear I’d offer it to you in an instant.”

“Eddie.” Steve was blunt, having a moment of realisation.

“Yeah?”

“You have money saved, I have money saved,” he said, watching the moment of realisation on Eddie’s face. “You want to move out of your uncle’s place, and I’m now out of my parents’ place, so why don’t we come together and get that together?”

Eddie’s eyes were drilling into Steve’s own, full of incredulity, “Seriously?” You wanna move somewhere with me?”

“Sure, why not?” Steve replied, “Better to live with you than crawl back to my parents and stay in that lonely home.”

“That’s not a home, a home is with the people you love,” Eddie remarked, “And I know this is a random decision, but I genuinely think it’d be fun—and crazy as hell—to move in with you.” He laughed under his breath, “Christ, if my younger self could hear this now, me moving in with ‘The Hair’ Harrington would blow his mind.”

“Well then, let’s make a home together,” Steve said. “I don’t want to stay with people I don’t love and who don’t love me—I’d rather be with you, someone I do love.”

He didn’t know why he said that. It was true, but it wasn’t right to blurt it out like this.

It was impulsive, an awful thing to say right after asking to rent together, and Steve could only pray that he didn’t fuck this plan up right after it’s conception.

“Y—you love me?” Eddie’s voice cracked out. “Steve, is this some joke, or am I right in getting my hopes up high?”

“I—fuck,” Steve responded, stumbling over his words right after he opened his cardoor to confess face-to-face with nothing obstructing them from each other. “I didn’t exactly mean to say that right now, but it is true. I really do like you.”

It seemed Eddie was gearing up to respond, “No fucking way, my younger self’s mind really would be blown the fuck up!” Eddie kneeled below Steve’s open car door, almost eye-level with Steve in the car seat. He placed one hand on Steve’s knee, the other moving in, right as his whole body moved further, reaching into the car.

He grabbed Steve with his free hand, right on his throat, lunging straight in for a kiss.

It was ferocious, full of energy, powerful and needy.

Steve thought it was perfect.

He got into it, instinctively joining in with Eddie, entwining their tongues together with a strong fervour.

Suddenly, their lips broke apart. Eddie was now a few inches away from him.

“How’s that for an answer?” Eddie quipped out, lips reddened up and upturned, clearly pleased at what had just happened.

“So, I’m guessing that’s a yes,” Steve replied, having a smile of his own, along with red lips perfectly matching Eddie’s.

“Goddamn, it is a yes,” Eddie blurted out, “I’d love to move in with you—to make our own home, away from all shitheads of town, just to have our free space and I’d just love to be with you.”

“That’s perfect.”

“It is?”

“Because I’d love to be with you as well.”

[endermiss1000]

I've blocked over 200 people for not putting their fics under readmores and i feel bad about it every time. And also probably about another 500 for mistagging it and putting it in "writing prompts" and not "prompt fills", but those people im honestly about ready to start going for their ankles

if you're posting a whole fanfiction to tumblr you've got to put it under a readmore boss

[jhalya]

👼 Galadriel gives birth to another daughter.

💞 Slither!verse

🔗 Read the rest on AO3.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: June 15

2019

heaven is between his thighs [david/patrick, E, 5,207] by mihaly

A very attractive customer makes David feel bad about his body. Patrick is there to pick up the pieces.

Infiltration [david/patrick, G, 1,643] by @gottriplets

Little by little pieces of David Rose are left behind at Patrick Brewer’s

lie up, and survive [david/patrick, T, 4,033] by another_Hero

“Alexis is sick.” “Like, a cold, or?” “Yep, a cold, mm-hmm.” Patrick waited. “She’s at the coughing stage.” Patrick waited. “She was at the coughing stage all night.” Patrick tugged his sunglasses off softly and folded them and put them in his bag and put a gentle hand on his face and David was going to cry, but he was really fucking not going to cry. “I’m very tired.” “I know. But your face looks impressively normal.” David pressed his lips together and pressed his eyes together and nodded. “I know you’re making fun of me, but I did very thorough skincare this morning.”

Rock Me Baby [david/patrick, T, 16,623] by orphan_account

A baby is abandoned on one of the doorsteps of the Rosebud Motel. Unfortunately for David, that doorstep happens to be his.

2020

Each and Every Time [david/patrick, T, 1,644] by @stargatewars

Patrick is Marcy and Clint's only child. At a Brewer family barbecue David realises the impact not having children will have on them. He and Marcy have a heart-to-heart.

Gallery Walk [david/patrick, T, 10,040] by @blackandwhiteandrose

"Patrick picked up the business card propped against the computer. “Doing a little digging this morning?” he asked, glancing over at David. "What’s going on with that gallery? Or that Nicole person. Do you know her?” An unreadable expression flickered across Patrick’s face. “Do you… not recognize that name?" David’s eyebrow quirked up, “Should I?” (OR) David finds an unfamiliar business card among Patrick's stash. He has questions. Many of them. And they're all making him anxious.

Need [david/patrick, E, 2,830] by @this-is-not-nothing

Patrick and David get home after visiting Clint and Marcy, and Patrick really needs to get fucked. Also very delayed "Make Me" Promptfill from February

2021

a kind much closer than friends use [david/patrick, T, 1,991] by @grapehyasynth

David and Patrick are high school best friends. Just friends. Definitely just friends.

infinite jest [david/patrick, E, 74,655] by @blueink3

Ronnie looks at him over her mocha, a sweet choice of beverage David is continually surprised by, given how salty she usually is. “I have a feeling you’ll be getting that a lot.” “What? Swooning ingenues?” “People slow to realize that Patrick Brewer is human just like the rest of us.” David makes a face because he knows exactly how Patrick would respond to that. An eye roll would definitely be involved. Or, this is your half-hour call to Part Two of Favored Nations. Half hour.

into the wild blue [david/patrick, E, 18,098] by Ayes

Meet cute AU: What if the farm where David got stranded belonged to the Brewers? I’ve always been intrigued by those lost days that David had on the farm… here’s my take on what they could have been. Featuring the Brewer fam, barn cats, and like 24 hours of yearning. TW: Depressed!David with some dark thoughts, minor breakdowns (automotive and otherwise)

Redmond [gen, G, fanart] by Rosey_Peach

Snakes in My Head [david/patrick, G, 3,284] by @vivianblakesunrisebay

Patrick can't sleep. David makes everything okay. Or, coming out is a lifelong process.

2022

I saw the end before it begun [david/patrick, G, 6,661] by DavidRoseIsMySpiritAnimal

Life is a strange thing. It's a game you play with an abundance of choices available to you but you are equipped with zero prior knowledge. It is a marathon of events that push you forward and all you can do is adapt or avoid. For years, he is Patty- the beloved son, cousin, nephew, friend and grandson. Today, he is Patrick Brewer, the boyfriend of Alexis Rose of Schitt's Creek. Or atleast, he pretends to be. The lines are pretty blurred at this point, especially since his 'girlfriend' is conveniently in coma and cannot actually voice her dissent right now. ***** Or a 'While You Were Sleeping AU' where Alexis is in coma and Patrick fakes being her boyfriend to remain in Schitt's Creek and close to the Roses. Especially to her brother, David Rose.

places we won't be found [david/patrick, E, 5,010] by orphan_account

five times people have orgasms in david's store and one time david has an orgasm in his store

2023

in the long tresses of your hair (i am a babbling brook) [david/patrick, T, 1,290] by @stereopticons

The man in front of Patrick has really nice hair. And it’s very distracting. An airplane meet-cute-ish in which Patrick finds himself obsessed with David's hair.

the only thing that matters now (is everything) [alexis/twyla, G, 882] by @hippolotamus

Alexis combs her fingers through her hair, letting manicured nails lightly scratch along her scalp while she stares at the ceiling. Golden wavy strands glide between her fingertips before dropping back to the pillow, a feeling she wants to take advantage of while she can. The self-soothing act had always calmed her as a little girl. Tonight she’s not exactly troubled, but ever since the tests came back, and the immediate future is wrapped in so much uncertainty, she’s found herself doing it more often. Beyond the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window, painting an ethereal line across the carpet and over the blankets, she doesn’t know what time it is. Only that it’s still night, and dawn could be minutes or hours away. Patrick, with all his lil’ nature skills, would probably know without having to look at a clock. She’ll have to ask next time they talk. ---------------------- A future fic that leaves Alexis pondering life put on hold by the unexpected

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2024 2019: 4 fics/27,506 words 2020: 3 fics/14,514 words 2021: 5 fanworks (4 fics, 1 fanart)/98,028 words 2022: 2 fics/11,671 words 2023: 2 fics/2,172 words Total: 16 fanworks (15 fics, 1 fanart)/153,981 words

[cxskisser]

euphoria

3-sentence fic promptfill for ficwip on bluesky!!!!

The feeling stays with him as Cheng Xiaoshi stitches himself back into his body and into this part of the timeline, leaving him beaming and starry-eyed.

“Is that really how you see me, Lu Guang?” he breathes, leaning forward, enchanted with the way his partner’s blush spreads to the tip of his ears and the lingering memory of his partner’s heart beating in his ears at the mere sight of him, grasping Lu Guang’s wrist and feeling his pulse stutter beneath his fingertips, and Cheng Xiaoshi finds it hard, for a moment, to distinguish the lines between them — their love feels so similar, like souls aligned in tandem.

But the sparks that arise in his chest when Lu Guang murmurs, “Idiot,” and pulls Cheng Xiaoshi in for a kiss, the butterflies that take flight in his stomach when Lu Guang intertwines their fingers like he’s holding something precious in his grasp… that’s gotta be all him, right?

[mirrorthoughts]

Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged by a lot of lovely people ( @whimsicalmeerkat , @like-lazarus , @nickcharleswife , @clareguilty 💕💕)! Thanks for thinking of me, my darlings! 💕

This sentence is from a promptfill I'm writing for @kymera219 ! (Yes, yes those prompt fills will come! I'm just slow rn 😂)

He'd seen - and smelled - that Stiles had been hurt, but he'd also expected someone to care.

Everyone who hasn't done this yet can feel themselves tagged 😂😂😂 sry I'm too tired to think of people 😔

💕

[bad-surprise]

it’s been a hell of a week (derogatory) but i’m halfway done with the last chapter of bitym, so here’s a little snippet i forgot to share the other day.

[madstronaut]

word-tasting aka literary synaesthesia 101

when I tell you some of the best writing I've ever read are these promptfill drabble fics spurred by nothing but a few key words? this must be the closest equivalent of IRL witchcraft because damn! absolute magic in the kitchen with these challenges I would watch 24 seasons straight no breaks of cook-off competitions feasting solely off seasonal drabbles and prompt&challengefills alone that I've read across this hellscape

I have been meaning to go through some of my latter moots' works and this unusual omegaverse ficcy by syo absolutely arrested me

I actually started writing this little ramble back in August but due to some IRL loss/sad anniversaries of late, put a pin in it to resume ranting (affectionate) later and THE TIME IS NIGH folks

Reading: reminiscent by @syoddeye

ah where to even start? this brought out such a viscerally emotional reaction in me as I happened to be reading it during several very different seasons, namely - horny (before), grieving (after), acceptance (now). I will not elaborate further, yall know the drill.

During grieving I had a hard time recalling how excited I was in the before (I originally wrote 'when I was horny' and laughed my ass off) about all that this fic made me feel because in so many ways the emotions became too real for me instead of cathartic - I only say this as the highest of compliments to sy as a writer, tbh, as I feel a fic that makes me emote or gets a strong response/reaction out of me is high prose/praise in my book

sy has a way of writing to really not just bring our favorite broken boys to life but really let you walk in their skin, feel what they feel, see what they see, so to speak -

It takes a second. Simon shoots a look at Soap to silently convey incredulity, but he might as well take a blade to the neck. The seat across from him is empty. Before memory strikes, he’s on his feet,

my GOD the whiplash here is so, so familiar - just that raw grief of having those familiar habits built around someone being ripped away

The room reeks of damp earth and pine, a hearth in a lonely, snowed-in cabin. It gathers the force of an avalanche, pummeling into him and stealing his breath. It settles an invisible weight on his chest and limbs. Buried to his neck in memory, he forces himself to move. He’s dug himself out of the ground before. He’ll do it again.

I can smell this sentence and it smells like a masterpiece. I am not as eloquent as sy is here with their words but if that "buried to his neck in memory" line was a snack it would probably be those melt in your mouth non-chew luxury chocolates they sell at the seasonal bryant park holiday market that I buy and stash away so I can savor it slowly and greedily without sharing it

The days pass, surreal yet sharp and excruciating, as if he’s a surgical patient and the anesthesia didn’t take.

yes. this is too real. I described a grief season before as having my eyelids cut off and having to crying constantly to keep seeing - and to keep myself from seeing. I cried reading this sentence, because it made me feel seen. 100/10

I have a soft spot for omegaverse stories but I love this one in particular for all that it typically isn't - what happens if you lose a mate you never bonded with? how do you navigate the reality of what is really a horrific world if you get down to the tacks of what being so driven by instinct could really entail? what could CoD Omegaverse really be like if we just stopped being horny for like two sec- (can you tell I'm a sucker for AUs)

It gnaws and bites like flies to see former friends turn their noses up at you. Cracks and shifts your insides, uncovering anger as old and boiling as a deep-sea vent.

I am feasting on the angst here. how do you do it sy?! make pictures and scents and sounds and sensations of real memories?! an absolute masterchef of wordsmithing

He just lets you wail. In retrospect, it’s clear that he swapped a cudgel for a knife. Dissected your rage with a mind trained to defuse explosives.

once again, CoD writer characterizations are 😘👌 I think often of the roles given to johnny to fill both in the in-game lore/canon and in the myriad of amazing fics out there and the ones I love best are the ones that seem to really embody his spirit - even when the fic will deviate from canon details - and also honestly, seeing how much the writer loves and sees the character by how they're fleshed out through their eyes/writing - if you've ever seen a portrait of someone and noted the differences/touch-ups, only to realize you are seeing the person as the artist is seeing them - quite a similar experience I had reading this

The tide’s out, and you stand on shore, waiting for the crushing grief.

😭😭😭 once again noting reading this felt at turns raw and cathartic. incredible

The portrait of your best friend bears witness from atop the mantle. In uniform with a buzzed head and a serious expression, it’s him, yet nothing like him... As Johnny followed your parents into death, you’re left alone, subject to the whims and mercies of an aunt who sees only your designation. 

It's him, yet nothing like him.... *MW3 flashbacks*

also still entertaining a fanciful urge to write a small dissertation as a/b/o designation as allegory for going through life as female-presenting and/or oppressive societal/gender expectations-

Your nostrils flare at his vinegariness, the feeler he sends to test the waters

i fucking love that line. VINEGARINESS! truly feel this is what creepy would smell like

Familiar, somehow, and powerful... Citrus wrinkles your nose, beckoning you to relax.... Instincts like cicadas, buried to avoid that which would exploit them, dig their way out of the ground.

Cedar and myrrh, stone and soil—a burst potent enough to cow the eldest member of your family, forcing her to retreat a step. This close, your nose finds the word it was looking for. Sepulchral.

I read with baited breath anticipating simon and sister's meeting. unfffh physically shivered at how good these lines were. the angst! the suspense!

You refuse an obligatory invitation-

HAHAAHAHAHAHA i am also obsessed with the sister in this fic

also I learned the word spoor reading this fic and I have the biggest crush on fics that make me learn/look up new words (looking at you, yeyinde-)

Simon cloisters for two days. His scent returns to normal, slowly rolling over the house like a thick fog.

beginning to wonder if the sister has synaesthesia but in a/b/o - I actually had a friend in college who had synaesthesia (you would NEVER peg him as such, he was like a very chill buttoned-up finance/tax bro but once we coaxed this detail out of him he talked about how the word 'and' always felt 'purple' to him and he casually noted things like "you smell pink" or "you look blue/silver" - that last one he said of me which was very puzzling lol)

As if the house needs another ghost. 

me, reading this line:

The floor creaks under his foot, but he stops the second you tense. You hold the makeshift cold compress in place and apply pressure. Another stilted silence passes, and you catch a whiff of citrus. Simon’s eyes snap to you. “She’s cracked the case,” his hand creeps toward yours, giving you time to let go before he steals the compress and pulls away.

if this is not the most simon of simon things to do... obsessed with this grieving meek gentle giant

I love the made-up science of a/b/o and the backbending logic leaps fanfic writers do to create the wonderful word of sex pollen and heats and ruts and etc. but the hyperosmia...a new level of a/b/o horror!!! gah i loved this

All the scent blockers in the world cannot deter the repugnant or unscrupulous.

ah yes, when a/b/o is still rooted in reality in many ways...

It’s difficult to keep a straight face as Johnny scruffs the stranger, bringing him to heel. Your brother compels the miscreant to apologize and then sets him loose, satisfied he’s neutered the man.

it is a fact of life, i will be attracted to all shades of johnny canon and fanon - also the use of 'scruff' and 'neuter' here is just 😘👌

But has it ever occurred to you that I might want someone? That maybe this isn’t just about your life? That being saddled with you isn’t easy?

ugh this was so hard to read because i feel like as an eldest sibling it has stripped a very raw part of that part of me naked when reading this. i hate sometimes how painful it is to unleash inside thoughts in emotional moments, both for the speaker and listener. 100/10 writing once again

The impulse to apologize and flee attempts to puppet you,

unffffff how to word this? this is true for me in all the seasons i've re-read this so far - i find it ultimately incredibly cathartic to see these uncomfortable sensations and feelings put to paper. and yes i am gonna keep rating sy's writing 100/10 throughout this ramble, no one can stop me

Simon pokes through the shirt, face blank and mouth shut. Soap’s chewing on something. Rather, something’s chewing Soap.

hahahahaaha i loved this mental image

“No, you’re shutting me out. Goin’ away.” “‘I’m right here.” Soap frowns tiredly. “Why don’t you want to come? Meet my sister?”

i love how generally speaking soap is universally seen as very adept at reading the room/sensing emotions - we stan a self-aware king✨

“I want to be.” It’s not a whine; it’s hardly a complaint. It’s a statement of fact delivered with resignation.

🥺🥺🥺 yes this also made me cry lol, 10000/10

Simon admires the droop of Soap’s dark eyelashes on his skin and even breathing. Closest thing to heaven he’ll ever see, he thinks. 

i love secret romantic simon

Soap’s arm tightens its hold as he slightly flares his scent, a plume of woodfire as inviting as his words.

hmmmmm that's where simon learned it from

Soap can’t pin him on the sparring mat, but he can with a look. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” To you. Doesn’t have to mean anything to you.

if it were an ao3 tag i would favorite 'mutual unfulfillable pining'

But poking through the thick, funereal brume is juniper and pine. The hours preceding heavy snowfall. It’s an odd combination, grounding and sharp, petrous and serene. A graveyard in the dead of winter.

once again absolutely shivering at all the synaesthesial descriptions. I can see these smells!!!!!!!!! also +2 for having me look up brume and petrous

The mirth bleeds from his eyes. “No, I’m realistic. Something funny in the MacTavish line. Fucking dreamers, the two of you. Wanting things you can’t have.”

screeeaaaming

He wordlessly moves so you can slide the lemon bars into the heat. You inhale deeply, drinking in the tart citrus as a palate cleanser, and shut the door.

i find it interesting the sister is baking treats that are citrusy, the scent associated with relaxation 🍋

Still. It crowbars a smile out of you. Reminds you of Johnny.

crowbars a smile- 🥹🥹🥹 a whole movie scene in a single verb, mwah mwah sy need to re-up my infinite supply of chef's kisses that are running low because of this fic-

also the very subtle song and dance of the second story being told through their scent interactions is once again just 😘👌

“She’s just late.” “Like Soap, then.” Price‘s posture is confident and easy. He’s handling this better than the sergeant. “Better.”

aWWWW SIMON YOU BIG-ASS SOFTIE YOU Even in death, his sergeant’s a solid bridge. The foundation of a fucked up home.  A familiar blend of heather and rain draws his attention to the entrance. In his chest, something settles. “It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

the ending here made me cry MULTIPLE times but all I'll say here is that as someone freshly and unexpectedly grieving, I found this fic supremely confronting, cathartic, and now comforting to see a world where broken promises can still be kept even after death and loss in its own way can still be transformed as a gift, even when you're unused to gifting - and receiving.

i wanted to write something more poetic and eloquent to honor the writing but all i will end with here is that this was supremely unique and beautiful and it is truly not even one of the most unique a/b/o fics but but one of the best pieces of writing I've seen across my many fandoms over the years... a billion kudos to you sy for this, and a special extra kudo for helping me in its own small way to navigate grief in the last few months 🫂🌱