#again sorry for quality this WILL be entirely rewritten

[definitelynotshouting]

everything i loved and feared (first 1k)

hello scarianblr beloveds this is the unedited very beginning of my completed scarian fic that im posting for the hell of it. fic is 7k rn but that will likely expand after the final draft rewrite<3 so this is just a funky little teaser thats gonna be rewritten anyway, hence why i dont mind sharing.

CWs for: blood, graphic injury, implied character death. Enjoy :]

Grian’s eyes are red now.

It’s an odd color on him– not because it doesn’t suit him, but because it suits him far too well. Like a glove, Scar thinks past the hazy, heady fog settling over his mind. Red like his tattered sweater– like the blood that beads between Scar's neck and shoulder, clouding the water he kneels in. Red like life.

Red like love.

That’s the fog settling thick over his senses. Love, the amalgamation of it, something so beautiful and terrible that anyone else wouldn’t– shouldn’t– look at it head-on. But inside Scar’s chest is a warm purr; he has rolled the die, shown his hand, and now Grian stands over him, vibrating red, red, red. He’s gorgeous like this, all righteous, trembling fury. Scar wants to pull him close and kiss him until they’re both dead.

“You can kill me” he says, and his voice shakes with the cost of this victory. “Grian. You can kill me.”

Above him, an avenging angel falters. Grian’s sword, so swift with its raging swing, lowers by a noticeable fraction. “What? No.”

“For everything you did to me,” Scar says, breathless, “to keep me alive this long– you may slay me, and take the enchanter.” He lowers his head, until his forehead brushes against cool, rippling water. It feels like benediction. It feels like a curse.

Grian will win. It is both the least and most Scar can do for him.

When Grian speaks, his voice is small. “No– no, I can’t. I literally can’t. Scar–”

“Do it,” Scar insists, that eager haze billowing through his veins, unfolding to rest with steady pressure against his bowed spine. Distantly, he wonders why nothing is singing. There should be war horns, trumpets, a blazing, crescendoing melody. Birds, at the very least.

Instead there is only miserable silence.

Grian sucks in an audible breath. “I’m not–” he starts, then breaks off; Scar lifts his head to watch him struggle, how his grip loosens on the hilt of his sword, how his eyes pinch around the edges. Grian flinches, presses his free hand to his head, eyes going middle-distant.

“The spectators want a fight,” he says at last, hollow.

And this is what he's waited for, this moment of realization; the other shoe dropped, the culmination of the game they've waltzed around. Scar smooths his voice, curling it around the two of them with gentle, insistent pressure. “It’s okay, G. You can kill me. You can be the winner.”

For one, long moment, Grian holds his stare, expression flayed open for only Scar to see. Raw and wild, his eyes gleam in the dawning sun– thin strands of hair curl around his ears, damp from their earlier struggle in the pond.

Slow, so slow it’s almost imperceptible, Grian shakes his head. Clenches his jaw. “Scar, they want blood.” Something in his face shifts– some beetled brow, a muscle jumping before smoothing out. He’s shaking: ripples blooming around him as he wavers on his feet, as if adrenaline has finally retracted its claws.

Scar’s shaking too. Even in this, they are together.

Scar opens his mouth– to push, to press, to snap him out of whatever spell holds him in suspension– but Grian beats him to it; his sword lifts from its helpless stance, glittering bright and blue in the sun. His mouth twists, tired affection curling the corners of his lips.

“Scar,” Grian says, “no matter what happens, we can claim this as a double victory. Right?”

The words are a cool caress against his fevered skin. Scar sinks into them, eyes drifting shut– because even now, with victory dancing through his veins, he can’t look Grian in the face when he kills him. “Yes,” he breathes, and braces for the blow, the cut of diamond against his carotid–

It never comes.

Instead, a rush of air as the sword comes down; the sharp, wet schlck of a blade entering flesh; a choked-off, gurgling yelp. Scar’s eyes fly open just as Grian falls to his knees with a splash, and–

And blood is tumbling from his gut in great scarlet waves where his sword is buried, slicking around his hands where he grips the hilt. Grian’s teeth are stained as he grins up at Scar, sharp and feral, eyes alight with more fire than Scar has seen in them since he knelt to die. “You win,” Grian hisses, and shudders, one hand flying out to sink into the silt of the pond they’re both kneeling in. Like a toppling tower, the rest of his body follows suit, falling sideways into bloody water.

The fog clouding his mind is ripped away in one fell swoop. Scar isn’t sure if he screams– all he knows is that one moment Grian is collapsing, and the next Scar is holding him, breath stuttering in his lungs.

“Grian– Grian, no, hang on. Wait, wait, wait, no, no– no, no, no, no. Grian.” His hands find the hilt of Grian’s sword, but make no move to pull it out– that would just kill him faster. It's like he's been punched– the bright, earnest rays of the sun have missed their mark, gilded the wrong death in stunning, flagrant gold. “What are you doing?” he chokes, like that will reverse everything.

Grian was supposed to win. Grian was supposed to be the winner.

“They never said what kind of blood,” Grian says, hazy. His lips wobble. “I can’t– I couldn’t, Scar. I couldn’t kill you.” When he coughs, blood bubbles on his lips. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Scar whispers, fingers shifting to catch in the wet strands of Grian’s hair. “You did that on purpose– Grian, you were supposed to win.”

He’d done everything– cast the die, folded his cards, offered up his life, because Scar knows himself; he could never handle being alone. Not in that emptiness. Maybe it’s selfish, how he’d planned to let Grian take that fall instead– but Scar is selfish. And more than that, he’s in love: awful, truthful, scarlet love, with a man now dying in his arms.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” Scar wails, terror thick in his lungs, despair a weight around his ankle. He leans forward, brushing his forehead against Grian’s, until the trembling puffs of breath from Grian’s lips fan over his own. “Grian– how could you?”

When he pulls back again, Grian grins at him. The sun slips across his face, revealing the pale, faded remnants of freckles scattered over his cheeks. Scar has always wanted to count them. He’s never gotten close enough until now. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be a winner,” he murmurs, one hand lifting to rest, delicate as a butterfly, over Scar’s cheek.

He does not say I love you. He does not say anything at all. Instead he guides Scar’s head down, until their lips brush, the taste of copper flooding Scar’s tongue. Then his hand drops, breath hitching, head lolling back–

Scar wakes up choking on his own desperate scream.

[blackjackmagi83]

You Are My Heaven (1) - Sweep Me Off My Feet

-

Masterlist

AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A short reader insert story of falling in love with pre-winter soldier James Barnes to post-Winter Soldier Bucky.

A fluffy tear jerker that’ll make you cringe or get butterflies and blush.

*Rewritten cause original was cringe (still kind of is)*

-

Note:

I can't even begin with how much I've rewritten this part of the story. I have come to the conclusion that I am awful at writing 2nd person and come to the decision to not write in that form again cause *cringe*🥲 I'm still not the happiest with this version and most likely in a short time with fix it up a bit better (Maybe) but I hope you all like this version!

I am working on fixing up the other parts so look out for that hopefully soon!

Playlist listed below along with the NEW story cover ♡

Hope you enjoy! ♡

Playlist:

Can’t Help Falling In Love – Elvis Presley 

Until I Found You – Stephen Sanchez with Em Beihold

Put Your Head On My Shoulder – Paul Anka

Hold Me Tight – Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe Soundtrack)

-

1942 New York City, quite the place to be at this time. The raging war grew larger each day, waiting to swallow seas of people preparing to dive head first into it. It felt like the only thing that was on everyone's mind, the papers made sure it was at the very least. Pages upon pages of updates that weren’t classified to the public, detailing on what’s to come. It only grew the public's fear more. Mothers held their baby boys closer with each coming night, dreading the date when they got called for duty and most likely to their future graves. I almost could relate to the grieving mothers. A beloved baby sister who was trying to grasp the reality that my brother wasn't going to be coming home. A reality that I was nowhere near ready for, let alone accept.

My daze came to a halt at the feeling of getting my hip bumped by another, taking a moment to realize the bubbly woman beside me was deep in a conversation that I held no knowledge of the subject.

Great, I did it again…

My head turned towards her, attempting to connect the pieces of conversation my brain was able to catch. Something along the lines of a scandal at the salon and her mother fussing over the money she spent on the dress she had just bought for herself to wear tonight–I think–but nothing else seemed to fit together enough to fully comprehend. A wave of guilt washed over me at my terrible lack of focus tonight, further sinking when I caught the gleam of excitement as she spoke, still oblivious to my fogged state.

“--Who knows, maybe even let someone take my hands off you if you get my gist?” The beaming smile ceased at the sight of my furrowed brows, piecing together the puzzle of conversation that I had missed entirely, “You weren’t listening were you?”

My face pinched as I cringed, eyes apologetic towards the bouncing blonde, “I’m sorry–”

Her hands encased my arm in a firm hold, shaking it as if to rid of my clouded thoughts, “Get your head out of the clouds already, Y/N! With the way this war is going we only have so much time to enjoy such freedom and you are wasting it on daydreaming.”

Maria, one of the sweetest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my young lifetime, was nothing but a stubborn, spitfire that is too passionate for her own good. So outgoing, never turning the spotlight down if it came her way but my most loyal friend since the two of us graduated highschool. Determined as a bull, she is the one who pulls me out of my comfort zone–more than I’d like sometimes–when she feels it’s needed, releasing the tension if pushed too far. A quality that was hard to find when befriending someone as shy as myself and I’ve never been more thankful.

“I wasn’t daydreaming.” Face flushing, I turned away from the pinned glare of green eyes, huffing under my breath with both annoyance and defeat, “Maria, you're lucky I even came out let alone having a man take me home tonight.”

Taking a man home was the last thing on my mind. Most men were preparing for war leaving only the memory of themselves in the form of soreness and hickies. Emotional connection wasn’t something many seeked during this time unless they sought after heartbreak purposely. Ignoring the sensitivity of my emotional state, even if I did go home with one, feeding into the temptation of lust, I would still be left with an emptiness that would never be filled. I rather sit and weep than deal with the emotional damage of loving someone romantically, knowing they wouldn’t return to me or lose their connection from months–maybe years–of distance and mental trauma of war. 

“The only plans I have after tonight are a cup of tea and a few chapters from my book.” I looped my arm through her right one, refusing to meet her eyes still, “Maybe I’ll even eat a cookie before bed, just to spice it up a bit since apparently I’m such a bore.”

I didn't have to look at her to know a smirk was growing on her lips, the corners cracking as they peeked upwards. Smugness radiated off her in heavy waves, her eyes glinting with mischief, “But the unplanned ones tend to be the best and rather surprising darling.”

Should’ve seen that one coming.

A blush dappled my cheeks, further entertaining Maria at my innocence, “I guess I’ll never know.”

I’ve had experiences with men but very little if I could even count it as anything. One of the first boys I went out with had taken advantage of the less than intimate kiss, decided to try his luck at running his hands down the curves of my backside but didn’t get a chance to go further due to your brother coming into my room. It’s safe to say receiving a black eye was no invitation for a second date.

Maria pinched my side, tugging me closer as the bar grew closer, “Never say never honey, you could meet the man of your dreams tonight.” 

For my sake, I beg to the heavens that I don't…

The bar doors swung open with a bang as the two of us entered, bodies painting the room with swinging dances, flirtatious chatter and an overall intoxicating presence that made my head spin the moment I stepped in. It was filled with mostly officers and women clinging onto their uniforms trying to hold onto their short summer romances. A few elderly lovers danced around them, sparkle in their eyes as if they had fallen in love with each other all over again. That's the kind of love I've always dreamt about, the most impossible love to find. 

Maria's grip tightened around my hand as she dragged me across the lacquered floor, bumping into surrounding bodies that looked to have the least bit of care in the world as they pounded glasses of liquor. My eyes wandered around the room catching the glints of light shining on the stage as I was pulled through, dazed by the haze from cigarette smoke and suffocation the packed room gave.

I tugged at her arm when we took a moment to stop, Maria peeking over shoulders in further search of an open table, “Why don’t we just head back? All the tables seem to be taken.” I felt claustrophobic the longer I stood pressed against so many bodies, the sour smell of booze and sweat was beginning to make me nauseous, “We can try again another night, preferably not on a Friday night?”

Maria was less than pleased by my escape attempt, scrunching her face sourly, “No way! You’ll never get out of that retrid room otherwise. Look, there’s a table right over there!” Maria pulled me further towards the back of the bar, squeezing past lingering hands and bantering, the empty table in question appearing as if out of thin air, “How perfect is this little spot? Nice and quiet, all while getting a good view of tonight’s selection.”

I couldn’t help but to breathe a laugh at her openness, pulling my dress underneath myself as I sat in the wooden seat, my hands immediately playing with the ends of hair that shifted onto my cheek. An anxious habit that I still struggled to get rid of. I wasn't used to dolling myself up,  showcasing myself into the light of curious eyes that surrounded me. I'm used to simple, blending into the crowds of New York with little fuss or worry of complications. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, I didn’t like the attention of a thousand eyes on me, but when with Maria, that mindset gets twisted by those painted nails until all that remains is a whole new woman. Tonight was no exception. My hair is curled in brushed waves that tweaked up at the ends, the deep navy cocktail dress curving to my body without being overly tight. Maria even convinced me to wear makeup, showing me how to apply it since she is far more of an expert in the field than myself. When I appeared in front of the mirror, it was a stranger looking back at me. It felt overwhelming, looking back at the mature woman in the reflection, but the thrill of adrenaline that ran through my body had me excited for the night to come. 

Maria pinched at the back of my hand, gaining my mindless attention back once again, “Alright space cadet, I’m going to go and grab us some drinks. I expect that baby tush to be sitting right there when I get back–unless afterall someone catches your interest–”

“Just get the damn drinks already.” A snort flew from my lips as I shoved her towards the bar, the sound of her laughter fading as she drifted further away from earshot.

I followed Maria’s perky figure, quirking a brow when she was stopped by a few officers leaning against the bar beside her. With a dip in her hip, the flirtatious charm turned on, twirling the short blonde strands around her finger, eyes skimming their uniforms with low lashes and her lip tucked cheekily between her teeth. The men melted into a pool of lovestruck hormones that filled their imagination with visions of her beneath their bodies, hollering and smirking with their eyes still glued to her. It was so fascinating to observe, noting the ease of skill Maria flaunted all while being innocently inviting to the opposite sex. A trait–talent–I sometimes wish I obtained.

Maria sent a kiss to each swooning man, giving a little toast with the prized beer in her hands before she made her way back to the table, an extra sway to her hips, “God I love being a woman.” Maria released a relieved sigh, cheeks warm with joy, “I will never turn down free drinks by looking pretty.” The yeasty liquid spilled from the opened top as she handed the brown glass bottle, sitting herself in the chair across from me.

The liquid was pungent, hitting the back of my throat with a sharper taste than I expected, nearly making me cough it down. But the coolness of it made me numb away from the taste, savoring the relief of heat leaving my fevered body, “One of these days you’ll have to teach me your ways with flirting. You make it look as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.” 

Maria shook her head in disagreement, chuckling as she took another sip, “Absolutely not.”

My toe tapped at her shin playfully, “Oh, come on, I can’t be that hopeless?” Her head shook stubbornly again, mumbling ‘no’ repeatedly under her breath, “You’re the one who’s practically begging for me to have my panties around my ankles tonight. I can’t woo a guy if I’m fumbling over my words every other second.”

With a sigh, her head rolled to face me, “It’s simple Y/N, I’m selfish. If I teach you my ways you’ll never be home alone again or home at all for that matter. Even worse, you wouldn't spend any time with me! I’m not sure I could handle that. And don’t get me started on your brother who would put a target on my back if he found out you were anything but innocent. Sure be a hell of a sight to witness though.”

A heavy feeling sunk into an iron pit in my chest at the mention of my brother. I almost forgot about the deployment date but it was unavoidable, especially in a bar full of enthusiastic officers, ready to fight for their country. Avoiding it felt like a complete joke now, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, how stupid of me.”

Maria sighed as she took another sip from her beer, her thoughts morphing together something to fix her slipup, “Listen to me Y/N, I know you're struggling right now with your brother's deployment coming up but you need to keep living. Do you think he wants you drowning yourself in your room by yourself every night? No, he'd give you a shoe right in the tush and you know it! Now loosen up that frown, you're gonna get wrinkles.”

I knew she was right, but the panicked feeling only grew, settling like a diseased cell until it grew unmanageable. My cheek stung as back teeth nipped at the inside of my cheek, heartbeat drumming through my skull with quickening pulses that seemed to increase with each second passing. 

The first stage of a panic attack…

Dread joined the cluster of emotions at the thought of having an attack in full bar, my lungs clawing inside my chest in a panicked plea for more oxygen. I almost gave in, my breathing pitching into near hyperventilation until the warmth of a hand wrapped around the trembling digits of my own, forcing my glazed sight to meet Maria’s. It was a soft, reassuring gaze, her fingers rubbing tenderly against the back of my hand, distracting from the panicked breaths and desperation to run out the doors.

“Y/N, I need you to do your exercises.” She demonstrated, inhaling and exhaling the way I needed to, “Deep breath in, hold for four, blow it out for another four. Can you do that for me?”

I felt my head nodding, following her instructions, the subtle relief of my breathing and heart rate slowing following soon after. The unbearable drumming dissipated and the slight shake throughout my body settled into barely a hum. 

Her other hand cupped over our interlaced ones, radiating soothing heat up my arm, her eyes never leaving mine as I continued the exercise, “Good, now I want you to throw any thoughts you have out of that head of yours. I know it's not going to be easy, this will be your biggest challenge to overcome yet. Just remember you have people who will support you through it.”

I gave her a blank stare, both mentally drained and unamused by her words of wisdom, “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, further distracting me from the episode that just occurred, “Seriously, it’s almost creepy.”

She let go of my hand, returning to its place on the bottle as she rocked backwards in her seat, a soft smile gracing her lips, “Because it’s what you have me for.” 

A comfortable silence grew between us, slowly sipping at the warming beer until there were only the sharp remnants remaining on the tip of my tongue. Maria barely touched hers, just holding it in her lap as her attention was more focused on those surrounding us, her body subconsciously swaying to the music from the band.

A loud smack quivered the table, sending a jolt through my heart at the sudden motion of her hand coming down against the table’s surface, “Alright I’ve had enough of this mopey, depressing gunk.” Her hand moved to reach out towards me, palm open with invite, “Come on honey, let's go show everyone how to actually dance.” 

Curls invaded my vision as my head shook, leaning away from the awaiting hand, “You know I don’t dance Maria.”

A humorless laugh flooded around me, the manicured hand slapping at the top of my exposed knee lightly, “What a load of bull that is! Come on Y/N, these boys don’t know what a fine woman they’re missing if you just sit around the whole night looking like a lost little puppy.”

Stubbornness laced my features, pushing away the empty bottle from between my fingers so I could cross them against my chest, “I most certainly can. Let’s call it, playing hard to get? Give ‘em a little surprise when they pull me to the floor.”

The blank, defeated stare shifted into one of triumph as her line of sight caught something behind me, raising her hands in mock surrender as she backed off, “If that’s how you wanna play honey then that’s fine, but I don’t think you’ll have to play for too long.”

“Elaborate please.”

She leaned forward until her mouth almost touched my ear, “An officer with the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen, hasn’t stopped looking at you since we sat down.” A finger pointed towards the culprit, chatting amongst a group against the wall beside the bar, “The tall one in the uniform in the middle there.”

She smirked as I launched my body around the chair, nearly making it fall over. My eyes scanned over the room, hunting for this mystery man that was spoken of but all I was met with was the classic brown and gold uniforms placed on nearly every man within a two foot vicinity. With a roll of my eyes, I met her awaiting ones, “Half this bar is filled with uniformed men, it’s a little hard to tell who from who.” 

Her gaze shifted behind me again, meeting mine with a mischievous glint, “Oh trust me, you can’t miss him. Look, he’s already making his way over here.”

“This joke is starting to get old–” I followed her line of sight, lazily skimming around until I caught the blue eyes she was referring to.

She wasn’t kidding… 

Six feet of muscles dressed in military attire with the most charming smile I've had the pleasure of seeing was walking my way, watching me as he walked against the crowd. My breaths held a firm hold within my throat as I held eye contact, unable to break away even when he stood only inches from where I sat.

“Good evening ladies.” He nodded his head respectfully towards Maria before his attention returned to me briefly, intimidating but welcoming, “I hope you don’t mind–”

“Maria Elkwoods, at your service sir.” She was practically glowing, radiating with both excitement and smugness. Her eyes shot to mine, clearly reading ‘I told you so’ .

A breathy chuckle passed his lips, jolting my heart into a quicker rhythm, “Maria, would you mind if I take the company of your gorgeous friend here for a moment?”

Maria didn’t need to hear another word, jumping from her seat as if it burned, “Please, I thought you’d never ask! And don’t feel the need to return her, she’s all yours for the night officer. Have fun you two.” She winked, leaving the two of us with our jaws slightly gaped and speechless, at least I was. 

The officer appeared amused rather than offended, shaking his head as another chuckle escaped him, “She’s quite something huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” I felt myself joining in the light laughter until our eyes met again, catching the words in my throat sharply as I watched him as if in slow motion take the open seat beside me.

Washes of light blue clashed with dark as the color got closer to his pupil creating an intense gaze that pinned me to the spot, intensely observant and calculating. I was already intimidated but something about his demeanor made my nerves settle into something manageable, allowing a shy smile to grace my features as I held his stare, “So, officer–”

“Sergeant James Barnes, but everyone likes to call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out, patiently waiting to take mine in polite greeting. 

I could tell my shyness was slightly amusing to him, certain my face was flushing as red as the stage lights currently, “Y/N Y/L/N, no fancy nickname though unfortunately. It’s a pleasure to meet you James.” The callused skin of his palms rubbed roughly against the softness of mine, tingling as my fingers danced against his in a light shake.

His hand radiated with a warmth that traveled up my arm, gently tugging my hand closer as he brought his lips against the top of it, letting them linger, “Y/N...The pleasure is all mine.”

A foreign feeling bubbled to the surface within me as I watched his lips move, my name rolling off his tongue like silk, embedding my attention fully on him to the point my eyes hurt from not moving them away. My hand was locked in a gentle hold between his still, letting his fingers rub mindlessly against my palm as he spoke, bringing the feeling close to exploding. I wanted to scream it out, all while bottling it back up to avoid something I was completely unprepared for.

“--I’m taking it you’re not much of a dancer?”

My shoulders shrugged lamely, too distracted by the tingles his touch was leaving to give a proper answer, “I suppose you could say that. More of the stay at home with a book kind of gal.”

He perked at my words, straightening his back and tilting his head with interest, "What’s your favorite book?”

Is there supposed to be an answer to that question? I don’t think there's an answer…

“Oh there's too many great ones to choose from, I honestly can’t say I have one. Do you enjoy casual reading?” I cringed internally at how badly I stumbled over the words, holding back the distaste I held for myself by focusing on the buttons that adorned his jacket.

“I’m not much of a reader these days anymore, but I could reread ‘The Hobbit’ a hundred times and I wouldn’t get tired of it. There’s just something about it that I can’t get enough of. Kind of a bit like with you right now. You just keep drawing me in and I haven’t spoken to you for more than five minutes.”

God he was charming.

There was no stopping the raging blush any longer, defeated by the smoothness of his compliments. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe when his gaze was so intensely on me, piercing into me until I cracked and turned away, internally gasping for air once my eyes shifted to a poster along the bar’s back wall.

This new sensation building within me hadn’t stopped, wanting the freedom of release and take over my senses, placing me in the back seat while it steered me through all it wanted to do. It scared me with a heart pumping acceleration of rebelliousness, addictive and never fully fulfilling. I reached for it subconsciously but went a little too late, the comforting heat that wrapped around my hand vanished as Bucky pulled away to lean back in the chair, resting them atop his lap.

I turned my gaze back to him, curious of his sudden retreat, my hand closing into a clammy ball against my side. His attention was towards the dance floor, drowning out his surroundings just as I had done moments ago. It gave me a moment to admire the details of him, taking in the velvet that constructed his hat and the wrinkle-free uniform that shaped the athleticism of his body perfectly. It made me wonder of the strength that laid beneath it, how the muscles of his back flexed– 

“What’re you thinking about?” My eyes pulled up to meet those blue crystals focused on my dragging stare, “It’s me right?” Bucky teased, his eyes almost twinkling with mischief. 

I felt myself match his cockiness, my body suddenly jittery, “I was just thinking that–” The feeling could no longer be contained anymore, rising to the surface with a chilling intensity and boldness. Years of watching Maria flaunt her skills had taken its mark on me from the shadows, remembering to lower my lashes in a low lidded gaze forcing my pupils to dilate from imaginative thoughts, bringing forth the target with increasing desire. Resting a hand beneath my chin while leaning forward to show equal curiosity and reveal another advantage that hung in a small opening at your breasts, “--you should take me out on the floor and swing me around till I can barely feel my legs.”

It came out as if I held no control, the flirtatious and slightly suggestive remark surprising not only myself but Bucky as well. My eyes moved towards his mouth, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as a smirk began to form. 

Scorching fire shot through my hand and soon after my body, in a mix of tingling anticipation and adrenaline, as it was pulled up to rest against his chest, “Shall we then?”

I felt everything let go as he spun my body around the dance floor, sweaty bodies flushing against us like a wall, never removing one of his hands from my waist. The atmosphere made me feel drunk, high even. An occurrence that held no explanation, but it was heaven. It felt as if I was internally melting, unfamiliar with the hotness running throughout my insides, feeding into the adrenaline that pumped heavily through me. The sound of the music pulsated through my ears until they rang, the instruments picking up into a lively jazz that flowed through my veins with its rhythm. It all clouded my senses with a thick curtain, becoming more dangerous as my vision remained lost, the only judgment of direction being the hands that curved up my spine as they dipped me towards the lacquered floor. The possibilities of those hands gave me a ravishing hunger, craving to feel them drape along the rest of my body with as much passion as this moment. It was the most intimate experience you ever felt.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?” His voice was morphed, dripping like honey through my ears.

A gasping laugh flowed from my lips, allowing his hand to twirl and pull me back against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my own, “It’s no fun to give all your tricks away.”

Just as it rose, the music that made everyone’s veins pump with the beat of the trumpet and saxophone had ended with the bang of the drums, dropping the curtain along my senses into a clarity that made me dizzy. 

Reluctantly, I drew away from him, allowing a space the length of my arms to form between us, my legs shaking from fatigue with each step, “Well, I certainly will struggle walking to work tomorrow so I guess you’ve accomplished my wish Sergeant.” 

Bucky tugged back at my hand, stopping the distance I kept attempting to make from growing further, “Just that little jig and you’re already done? Come on gorgeous, the night has barely begun. I know you have more in you than that.” 

The lively jazz music had settled into a swayful piano and soulful tone from the singer, pulling the remaining couples closer in a dance of intimacy. My heart ached to join them but time was ticking and I wasn’t sure if I accepted, if I would ever leave from between his arms.

“I have to get up early James-'' I played with his fingers in an attempt to unravel them from between mine–with little success–remaining stubbornly intertwined, “Has anyone told you you’re annoyingly persistent?”

A playful smirk laced his lips as his head shook, “You don’t know the half of it darling.” His grip along my right hand loosened enough to slide down my arm, placing it to sit along the back of his neck, the other still interlaced with his left, “One more dance is all I’m asking for.”

The distance I had succeeded at making, shrunk as my body flushed against his chest, hearts connecting in equal beats as if they were bonded, “One more and you’ll have to carry me home.” Our eyes locked, hypnotized by the power they held so strongly when connected. 

I guess Maria was right…Maybe I did meet the man of my dreams tonight.  

His head dipped to nestled at the top of my curls, smiling against the frizzed strands that loosened from their hairsprayed hold, “I can accept that.”

My head moved to rest along the curve between his neck and shoulder, allowing my eyes to close as our bodies swayed in a small circular pattern. It was blissful and serene, breathing in the mixture of his natural scent and cologne, sending me further against him in relaxation, radiating an energy from each other that felt so wholesome. Was I dreaming? Floating along the floor like clouds, in a slow waltz with a man that looked at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the room. 

I could live in this moment for the rest of my life…

“Could’ve fooled me with those moves you pulled before.” Bucky's lips were dangerously close to my ear, voice dripping like honey within it, “I never seen someone dance like that.”

I chuckled against his chest, shyly hiding my face within it, both reluctant to move from the comfort of it and because of the pink that returned to my cheeks, “You surprised me yourself you know.” The lights had dimmed, caging his sweat slicked face in an illuminating glow, meeting the intense blue orbs once more, trying desperately not to drown within the depths of them, “No one’s swept me off my feet quite like you have.”

Pearlescent teeth flashed down at me, soaking in my admiration, ”I guess we’re both full of surprises then Y/N.”

My cheeks twitched, the permanent smile plastered to my face aching but I couldn’t stop it even if I tried, “You don’t even know the half of it James.” 

Bucky pulled my body impossibly closer with a delicate squeeze against my back allowing me to fully wrap my arms around his neck, his forehead lowering until it rested along mine. I could feel the thin layer of sweat that built up on his brow, a bead slipping from under his hat every so often as his body began to cool, the scent of beer fanning my face in light waves as his lungs regained full breaths, “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

There weren’t any hairs to twirl along the back of his neck, buzzed too short but I still rubbed the shortened hairs fondly, my voice grasping playfulness as a brow raised suspiciously, “And how many times have you used that line Sergeant Barnes?”

“Only as many as you want me to.”

Hesitantly, his nose nudged against the tip of mine, silently asking for permission. Our eyes locked, lids dazed with exhaustion and admiration, “And if I want something else?” There was no hesitation accepting his invite, barely letting each other's lips touch in an innocent kiss.

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my lips as they hovered centimeters apart, coated lightly with the lipstick I wore, “You can have as many of those as you want too.”

This must be what Maria always talked about when you find someone who sends butterflies to your belly. The kind of feelings that make you hungry for more of that person, wanting every touch and smile, their voice playing in your ear for days. Only images of them flooding your memory with reality and imaginative scenes. That is how I felt as Bucky looked down at me, holding me as if I was molded to him like a piece of art, the missing link to a puzzle he desperately sought for. 

Maybe this was the chance worth risking for…

The skin along his jaw was rough against my palms from freshly shaving, sliding them up to his cheeks to pull myself back to his lips, greedily craving them with a ravishing desire. Bucky mimicked my passion, fisting a hand deep into the curls at the back of my head while the other cradled my lower back. 

Intoxicating was the best way to describe it, dragging me further into the depths of the paradise that was James Barnes and I wanted so much more. It was a kiss that made me lose sensation of my surroundings, full of new desires that enthralled me to explore and discover the man beneath the uniform. 

My fingers danced along his jaw as I broke away, staring up at him with absolute certainty, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

-

Part 2

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

Hey! I'm re-reading your Negan series and I've come across some chapters that are being rewritten. There are a place where I can read them? Just the old version if it's possible.

Thanks! And love the series! Xx

Thank you SO much, this really means a lot to me💕

And yes, they’re still “under construction” and it’s taken longer already than I wanted to but my goal is to entirely rewrite those missing ones until 11C.

Some of them are already rewritten, I’ll make sure to reblog the overview for you right after answering this!

The others are unfortunately nowhere else and I’m so sorry about that, but I ended up being so unsatisfied with them (with my writing style, with the way I handled some scenes etc because I just didn’t have the experience yet) that I took them down to kind of polish them up. They’ll have the same plot, they’ll just be written in the way I write now compared to 5 1/2 years ago. I want you guys to be able to read something that I see as being of good quality and those old chapters just weren’t it.

I hope that makes sense.

Again I’m so sorry about that but I’m working on rewriting them and they’ll all be back before 11C (hopefully already far before that but I can’t promise it, it’s really busy rn unfortunately)

I hope that’s fine, ’ll keep you updated and post about it each time I get an old chapter back up!♥️

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Hi I was hoping to ask for your advice on writing. I’m trying to write from headcanons to little short fics (like one shots) from the readers pov but I’m finding it difficult to do so smoothly. Any idea how to do the transition without it coming out as a fanfic readers worst nightmare?

Well, I cannot guarantee the quality of my “advice” but I will give it a shot! 

Apologies for you folks that hate my big essay length posts, but I do love infodumping about the writing process :P 

So just click “J” to skip the post (if you’re on mobile...sorry just exercise your scrolling finger a bit more)

- - - - - - - - - - 

So I’ll start with the distinctions between a headcanon and a fic. On one hand, you got simpler sentences, that summarize a broader idea or scene. You might have visualized the entire thing in your head, but at the end of the day all you do is write down a few sentences or pieces of dialogue that give the broader basis of an idea and/or scene. That’s not to say writing headcanons is easy, but it is, bluntly, the simpler method.  

Writing, obviously, is more complicated. Not only are you trying to convey a more abstract idea to your reader, but you’re doing so with more layers and complexities, given that what you are trying to write is generally more detailed. You have to not only account for what your basic premise is, but the method in which you convey it. So, in a “good” fic, it typically doesn’t just focus on the basic “what is happening right now” in a scene, but can give subtleties and intricacies with its tone, themes, point of view, connotation, foils, imagery, symbolism, sentence structure, diction, context, figurative language, narrative, foreshadowing, setting, irony, character arcs, and the thousands and thousands of other layers that go into constructing story. 

And I say “story” there deliberately, as I think the best way to summarize the differences is that a headcanon is a plot, while a one-shot is a story. Your one-shot has the ability to tell different messages, details, and themes, and give several points of interest to your reader, while your headcanon is limited to the structure of its initial premise.

[And before you English nerds bash me for my definition of story and plot, please know that I am using my film teacher’s old definition, which (to quote this quizlet I found) is “Story is all of the elements of a narrative that are involved, both shown and un-shown on screen. Plot is only all of the elements of a narrative that are shown on screen.” So yeah, it theoretically could be rewritten as a headcanon is a scene, and a one-shot is a story, but I’m just nitpicking at this point half of you don’t care and want me to move on anyway, apologies!]

So how do you transition between them? Well, in honesty I don’t exactly have a sure fire way for you, saying I do would be very hypocritical. However, what I can do is point out the “gap” between headcanons and fics, and perhaps from there you might be able to forge your own path..? 

Chances are, if you’re already familiar with writing headcanons, you’ve already knocked out half of the work. See in a story, specifically in our case, fic, you have eight elements that construct it. You’ve got

Plot

Setting

Conflict

Character

Point of View

Tone

Style

and Theme

With a headcanon, (assuming it’s slightly more specific than “Headcanon that this character likes peaches!”) you’ve already got plot, setting, conflict, and character down. 

Plot: being the actual premise of your story. What happens, why things happen, how other characters react, the beginning and ending, etc.

Setting: Being the location and time of your scene/plot. The setting might be a contingency to your story, such as a prison break that takes place in prison, or maybe it is the time that is essential for your High School AU fic

Conflict: Typically goes hand and hand with your plot, although not always (obviously, plot and conflict aren’t essential when talking about fics, *winks at the nsfw side of tumblr*) But if your headcanon does have a basic plot, then it probably has some sort of conflict whether external (The Calamity kills everybody) or internal (you’re character is going through grief)

Character: This whole aspect is practically already done for you. Whether by canon from the video game or media you got it from, or perhaps by fanon, with the collective fandom agreeing on certain traits about your character(s) in question. Obviously, if you got an OC, that’s another thing, as you have to create their traits, and construct a believable way that that character reacts and makes choices throughout your plot, depending on how you characterized them

So congrats! In writing up your everyday headcanon, you’re now halfway there to making a full on fic! Obviously, 50% is still a lot, which is probably the reason you were seeking advice in the first place, so now we should move on to the other half, and arguably it is this other half of elements that give the entire distinction between a headcanon and a one-shot. So in theory, if you get these elements down, you’re on your way to writing that much faster!

Quick additional note: Another way to think of your headcanon is as an outline. While not in every case, a good way to jump from your headcanon to a fic is to stick with the major elements of your headcanon, and weaving your writing style in between. Think of the headcanon as your skeleton, and the story being the meat and muscle. Idk if that makes sense, blame my old English teacher for the metaphor

Alrighty, so for demonstration purposes I’m gonna use the very first headcanon I’ve ever written as a basis. Bear with me for a moment:

“Zelink Headcanon: Zelda Just Wants Some Snacks

Everyone always jokes and adores about how Link eats so much and cooks great food in the game (he’s gotta carbo load guys, he walks like 9 miles everyday!)

However I propose, equally hungry and feral Zelda

After Link and Zelda defeat Ganon, one of the first things they do is stop by the nearest cooking pot and eat

She hasn’t eaten for 100 years!! She’s gotta be starving!

Link just cooks up some meat skewers

“…wait I forgot the Goron spice, gimme a sec…”

But Zelda just immediately snatched it off the fire and eats the whole thing in two seconds

Link keeps trying to go out of his way to make really nice food but Zelda is just like “I DON’T CARE RIGHT NOW PLEASE LINK”

So yeah, their first date is basically just Link cooking Zelda a buffet until his inventory empties out”

Again, this headcanon has already given us half of the answers. 

We got our plot: Link, a talented chef, is cooking food which Zelda scarfs down without fear and hesitation

Setting: They are by a cooking pot, perhaps in the wilderness, away from the prying eyes of nosey villagers. This takes place sometime after the initial defeat of Calamity Ganon.

Conflict: Link keeps trying to cook “good” food, but despite the Princess’ royal upbringing, she has no care for the whole “show” of cooking with spices and garnish. She is starving, willing to eat anything

And Characters: Link and Zelda. You know... (Today unfortunately is not the day in which I construct a thorough character analysis of the two...perhaps one day...)

So, now that we have this, we start adding the meat and muscle of our story with point of view, tone, style, and theme. These elements, could be summarized as your writing style. Yes, writing style is more intricate than those four elements alone, but they do fit in with its broad definition. 

So, in essence, a way to transition between headcanon and fic is to find out what kind of writing style you’re comfortable with. 

How do you do that? Well... shocker, I know, you gotta write. 

Write first, plan the elements of your one-shot later!! 

Allow yourself to write complete utter garbage. I know you said that you don’t wanna create a “fanfic reader’s worst nightmare,” but if you become more concerned with the quality of your content before you even start writing, you will never ever ever get anywhere. You’re gonna be stuck in writer’s block for eternity, so just let the garbage and nightmares out and write. You’ll never improve if you don’t have something to improve from, you feel me? 

So, now that your mind is open and ready to write anything, whether garbage or gold, let us dive in to the parts of your writing style. 

Point of view: Do you prefer writing in third person? First? Second? Each have their pros and cons. Second person is good for your “x reader” inserts. First person is good for your narrator’s characterization. Third person is good for describing elements of your surroundings that might not be inherently obvious to your characters or audience. There are hundreds of other pros and cons to the different POVs that you can search up online, but it’ is ultimately up to you to decide which method you like best. 

When you find the method you like best, make sure you use it to it’s full potential! Use foreshadowing with your third person POVs. Use connotation, and diction to further characterize your narrator in first person. Elevate the mood and senses of a scene when in second person.

Tone: Now, this element is often confused with another literary device, mood. The difference being that you as the author have more control over the tone, than the mood. The tone, is the attitude that you as the author (or as a character/narrator, depending on your POV) have towards something. For example, your tone might be suspenseful if you withhold information from your reader, or if you have a certain choice of diction. It is typically better to look to the type of genre you’re writing for to identify what kind of tone you want. 

Mood is the feeling that the reader experiences from your writing. It’s really much more simple, a beloved character dying give a depressed mood. A cute couple hanging out will give the reader a happier mood. This is your angst and fluff feelings, if you will. (Although, please remember than mood and tone are not a binary thing, it is a spectrum, as broad and diverse as the capabilities of human emotion)

Style: Ok yes this is a bit meta, me explaining how to use style to help you construct a writing style. Blame the bendable definitions of the writing world. So just think of this as the face of your writing. The more obvious and apparent part that is unique to you and your personality. 

Think cake. Your story is a delicious cake, it is a chocolate, Zelink cake. Now, your style is the way that you present this cake. Pink frosting? Yellow? A full cake or just a slice? Chocolate ice cream cake? Chocolate lava cake? Five tier cake? Cake pops? These possibilities are the infinite ways your style will present the story.

Style, sometimes called voice, is the combination of your use of tone, mood, POV, syntax, diction, and other literary device that you commonly use in your writing. This isn’t something you learn, it’s just something you do naturally when you write. It’s what readers will like about your fics, because they like the way that you use this or that, or the way you describe this thing or that person. It’s something that can change and improve over time, but in essence, it’s what readers can read and identify as you, without even looking at the username.

Style isn’t something you have to remember, per say, like other literary devices, but it is something to be aware of as you should try to keep it consistent through your whole story. Sometimes have people have different writing styles depending on their own mood, or what they’re writing about. That is fine, so long as you keep it consistent through your whole work. A good trick for this is to listen to music that fits with the style of your writing. Use that one catchy love song whenever you’re writing cute headcanons or fluffy one shots. Use that anime opening theme for your adventurous fics and fight scenes. This way, you are keep in a consist atmosphere and your brain will be in the “Oh! It’s time to write ____ stuff!” mood. 

So just be aware of when you’re in a descriptive style, a narrative style, argumentative, or whatever style you like using. You style might even derived of the way you already create headcanons!

Theme: This is a big one. Have a cohesive theme can easily bring any story from good to great! I like to think of it as you’re story’s destiny, or reason for existence. 

Theme is an outlier for the other elements in that not only is it not necessary for your fic, it is also not necessary for your writing style either. It’s really not necessary... at all. Yet, people always use theme in their writing, even accidentally. 

Theme is your story’s underlying message, or lesson. Yes, yes, if you paid attention in your basic English class you probably already knew that, but this is a big pet peeve of mine. 

The theme of your story isn’t “true love,” the theme isn’t “innocence”, or “failure”, or “trauma”, or whatever. Theme isn’t a broad idea, it’s a specific question and an answer. 

For example: The theme of Breath of the Wild isn’t “exploration” or “time”. The theme is there is always something to seek and find, so long as you have the curiosity and courage to find it. The theme is despite the eternities of time, we still found each other. 

Your theme shouldn’t be a broad, one word answer. What about love are you trying to convey? What specifically about failure are you saying?

Theme is the entire reason why the entertainment medium exists, because artist found a way to create something compelling and interesting while also connecting them to real life things. 

When you give your reader something to really chew on, even days after they finished reading your fic, then you did a brilliant job. Essentially, you want to use theme in your story because it is what will stick with our readers even years after they’ve read your work.

While that’s all sentimental and sappy, that’s still not your biggest problem, is it? You still need to practice, you still need to learn how to use the things you’ve learned to actually write. So, a summary of what I advise you should do.

Look over and improve your old headcanons, and keep making more! Keep making headcanons and litte prompts, and let them grow bigger and bigger, and more desprictive. This could help you ease into actually writing paragraphs a bit more

Find out what you like to write. Yes, you probably already have a fandom in mind, but think back to those first four elements. What types of plots are you comfortable with, what settings, characters? Genius is only the work of enthusiasm, if you don’t like what you’re going to write, you’ve already failed

Write, write, write. Practice, practice practice. Let yourself write complete and utter garbage and nonesense. Then read it over. See what you don’t like about it. Then change it and write again. I MEAN it when I say you should write garbage. Write a completely terrible, nightmarishly cringe scene. See what you don’t like. Then rewrite it again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. In fact, it doesn’t even have to be a scene or something from your fandom. Let it be your description of a shirt, let is be some cringy poem from 7th grade. Just write and learn how you like to write. It will be so much easier in the long run

Read stuff. The stuff you read usually seeps into how you write. When you get used to reading things a certain way, you usually unconciously try to imitate it when you write. So, got a favourite fic writer? Read their stuff over and maybe even analyze the elements you like (again, think back to those eight elements I talked about) and hey, writers like it when you analyze their stuff so maybe even hit them up and talk? We like book reports we swear, most of us don’t bite. 

When you finally think you’re comfortable with your writings, maybe think about what kind of themes you’re into, or what kind of messages you want to say. It doesn’t even need to be that complex. Could be as simple as “I love this ship because it shows that you can still have flaws and be loved” Again, themes are the rEASON for eVERYTHING in the entertainment world

For further demonstration purposes, I’m going to come up with further elements for a hypothetical fic I would write based on that Zelink headcanon. So I’ve got the plot, setting, conflict and theme down. Hmm... I’ll probably use a third person POV as that is what I’m most comfortable with. With third person, I can better highlight the descriptions of Link and Zelda’s surroundings taking in the atmosphere and the aromas and and tastes. The tone will be more happy, focusing on the fun of Zelda and Link’s banter, I’ll try to create a mood in which the reader is laughing along with them, and enjoying the scene. My style will be more descriptive, again with the tastes and smells and other senses of the scene. However, I might go into a more narrative style for Zelda and Link’s banter and dialogue. While typically some people don’t want to use two different styles, I am personally familiar with the styles and know how to write them so as to blend them together more seamlessly. I might have a hint of angst at the end of the fic, as a little climax, given that the setting of the fic is after the defeat of the Calamity. I might through in some themes about how it wasn’t the material power of Hylia or the Master Sword that saved Hyrule, but the courageous and wise bond between Link and Zelda. Then...idk, a little romatic kiss for resolution because this is a fic and I can throw in some fanservice because my writing my rules. 

Babam! I just converted a headcanon to a fic.

So yeah, go write your headcanons. Then maybe next a paragraph. Then next a scene, and then you’re well on your way to one-shots and chapter fics. Happy writing and good luck!

[sadpotatoondrugs]

Cold Nights (LadyNoir)

STATUS: REWRITTEN.

WARNINGS: None 

PAIRING

: Ladybug x Chat Noir - Ladynoir

Masterlist

~~~~~

Snow. Why did it have to be snow?

The newest akuma they were fighting, Ice Glacior, decided for some reason to cover the whole Paris in ice and snow. He was very similar to one of their previous ice-related akumas, Frozer, hence the name Ice Glacior But their motives were pretty different. While Frozer became an akuma because of the Ice Rink shutting down, Ice Glacior was an ice sculptor. He had been wronged by a friend of his and his studio where he made sculptors had been shut down by the mayor. One thing led to another and in an instant, he became a victim of Hawkmoth’s power.

He immediately used his powers to turn the whole Paris into a sculpture of ice. Unlike Frozer, though, not only did the ice spread through buildings and water, but through people as well. Soon, the entire city became an icy ghost town. People were frozen in their spots everywhere, changed into ice sculptures.

It was only by luck that Adrien and Marinette escaped the Ice Glacior’s powers. They were both in class at that time and were able to avoid the ice thanks to their blogger friend. It wasn’t a secret that the girl followed every social media possible to be one of the first ones to know if there is an akuma somewhere in the city, so it was no surprise when she stood up in the middle of their literature class to announce the new villain. Not a minute later, they all could feel the temperature in the room drastically decrease. By then, Marinette and Adrien were already halfway through their transformations.

Thankfully, the powers of their own miraculouses were able to withstand the power of the akuma and did not get covered in ice. That being said; even through the cold resistance their suits provided, they felt a slight chill. But that was nothing they couldn’t ignore. They needed to focus on the fight.

As Marinette, now disguised as Ladybug, left the girl’s bathroom, she couldn’t help but wince at the scene in front of her. Everybody was covered in ice, not moving, not breathing. Of course, it wasn’t like she didn’t expect that to happen, but it hurt nonetheless to see her friends basically, well, dead.

But that was the burden that came with being Ladybug. The fate of her friends and the fate of the other people in Paris was always up to her ability to bring everything back to normal. There was always that pressure in the back of her mind when she fought, the pressure that she has to fix everything.

It sucked, but hey. That responsibility had to fall on somebody. Somebody had to protect others and be there as the symbol of peace. And that somebody just ended up being her.

It wasn’t like she complained, no, not at all. She loved being Ladybug and was glad that fate gave her that miraculous, gave her Tikki. But the pressure was something she wished she didn’t have to endure.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and swung away from the scene and into the cold streets of Paris. It was not the time to think like that, she had to safe everybody.

She met her partner not long after leaving the school. They both discussed the villain, questions whether the akuma was Phillipe again were thrown in the air. They looked for the akumatized villain everywhere, it was quite difficult to do so since they had no idea of his whereabouts. They checked every ice-related building in Paris, but they were unsuccessful.

In the end, it was Ice Glacior who seeked them out. He, or rather, Hawkmoth didn’t want to wait any longer for their miraculouses and chose to fight. They did the usual, battling the villain while trying to figure out the akuma’s residence and the person’s motives.

Throughout their many fights, they figured out that it is easier to fight and defeat the akuma when the victim is in doubt of his decisions. That is why the majority of their battle consisted of blocking the attacks and reasoning with the Ice Glacior. They were somehow successful in making the villain doubt his decisions, but to their dissapointment, this villain did not choose to fight them with an occupied mind like the others and fled.

The two heroes tried to follow the villain, but it was like he had done some kind of a magic trick. As soon as they turned one corner, he was gone. Nowhere in sight. The two searched the Paris for him, splitting ways as to cover more ground. Neither of them wanted the fight to continue anymore, it had been quite a few hours since their transformation and fight and they were getting more and more exhausted as the day proceeded. They wanted to end it as soon as possible and get back home, rest and (in one of the hero’s cases) spend time with their beloved families.

When the sun began to sit, their hopes were getting thin, as was their energy for the day. Even with the Miraculouses magical properties enhancing their stamina and strength, their bodies energy levels remained the same. They decided to meet back up somewhere safe and figure out what to do next.

One thing was clear, they couldn’t fight if they were exhausted. They needed to rest. They both agreed on sleeping through the night to restore their energy and then resume their search for the villain. They needed to find a safe place where he wouldn’t find them first, though.

By the time they found a place, the sun was already gone and the Moon was in it’s place. They settled in a small family house. It was in a part of the town where neither of them had been before, even as heroes. It also happened to be a place that was halfway out of the range of Ice Glacior’s powers. The house was frozen halfway, and there was no way they would be able to get inside through doors or windows, as they were all frozen. But thankfully, the house had an attic with an accessible entrance from the outside. They were glad that the attic was practically left untouched, spare for the few spots of ice on the ground, which meant that they wouldn’t have to sleep on the ice and risk getting hypothermia.

Then again, that was another worry in their minds. The suits barely blocked out the cold before, when it was day and the sun was up. Now, the coldness of the night was mixed with the powers of the Glacior, making the cold even more unbearable. Even with the suits, they could definitely say they were cold now.

They were only glad that the attic blocked out some of the coldness and provided temporarily a shelter for them.

They searched the attic first for any blankets or pillows, possibly some clothes to cover themselves when they slept. The attic was mostly filled with old pictures and toys, some furniture here and there. At last, they found a few think blankets. They only hoped that would be enough to cover their cold bodies and warm them up even just a little in their sleep.

They used one of the blankets to cover the window they entered through and Ladybug used some of the furniture as a temporary trap. If the Glacior found them while they slept and tried to enter, he would make so much noise that he would alert the two of his presence and give them time to transform.

Now, both heroes had one thin blanket and no pillow. They were grateful for at least the blankets, though. It provided at least some comfort from the cold.

“Okay. Remember, no matter what happens, you don’t look in my corner, and I don’t look in yours.” Ladybug sterly reminded her partner as they prepared for their detransformation. Even though neither one of them used their superpowers, the kwamis must be getting exhausted, too, from aiding the heroes through other abilities.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take even a single peek. Even though it will be very hard to resist looking at your beauty, My Lady.” It seemed that the exhaustion was getting to him, it could easily be determined through the quality of his jokes. Ladybug rolled her eyes at him to which he put his hands up in surrender, noticing her seriousness. “Hey, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t look. Cat’s honor.”

Ladybug smiled gratefully and nodded. They both turned around and detransformed.

They immediately felt the temperature drastically change as soon as the suits disappeared from their bodies. They both gasped slightly when the cold air hit their skin. But the had expected that much. They both fed their kwamis and lied down, covering their bodies with their blankets as quick as possible to warm themselves up.

They didn’t transform right away, as to not tire the kwamis further. They couldn’t get more food for them since everything was turned to ice, so they chose to preserve the powers until the next day, when they would be able to search for the villain and take him down.

Marinette tossed and turned, the cold, hard floor along with the cold air didn’t seem to want her to rest. She expected it, yes. But that didn’t mean she was prepared for it.

Her whole body was shaking and she had to try to remain silent as to not wake up Chat with her heavy breathing and such. That’s right, he was able to fall asleep quite easily. Fast, too. She was kind of jealous of that, but ignored that fact and tried to fall asleep herself. That proved to be quite difficult. She could barely feel the fingers on her hands and feet, as they were getting numb from the cold. She breathed into her hands and stuffed them under her armpits to get them a little warmer.

She heard shuffling and prayed that she didn’t wake up her partner. Fate wasn’t playing in her favor this time, though.

“My Lady? Is everything okay..?”

Damn it.

“Huh?... Yeah… Why…. Why wouldn’t it be?” She internally cursed at her failed attempt to hide her shaking. She could only hope he would reason the stuttering with her being sleepy.

“You don’t sound like it… I can hear your excessive breathing, you know.”

How come he isn’t… cold?

…

Wait, HOW COME HE HEARS MY BREATHING WHAT THE-

“Okay, fine. I am… just a little cold…. Happy? ” She brought the blanket closer to herself, wrapping it even tighter around her small body in an attempt to create at least a little bit more heat. “But it’s not like… like I can do much about it.”

She heard shuffling, which startled her a little bit. It sounded like her partner had got up and begun walking somewhere. She wouldn’t say anything at that, if she didn’t catch the sound of his footsteps getting closer to her.

“Chat?.. Chat! What are you doing! I told you not to look!” Unwrapping her blanket from her body, she brought it up to cover her face as to not be recognized. While doing so, she sadly released all the heat that was built up inside the cocoon she created earlier. She mentally cried rivers but chose to ignore it since there was a bigger problem at hand at the moment. Before she could scold him again, he chose to reason with her.

“Relax, Bugaboo. My eyes are closed, I can’t see a thing…” As he finished his sentence, Marinette calmed down from her panic from before and relaxed. Although she trusted her partner with her life, she knew how he longed for the time where they would finally reveal their identities to each other. But she knew that that day was far away from becoming reality, not as long as Hawkmoth was out there.

She didn’t make a move to remove her blanket from her face, even though it meant that her feet were now completely uncovered and she could feel the coldness again. Even though he said his eyes were closed, she felt afraid of uncovering her face.

She heard his footsteps stop right next to her and she quickly came back to her senses and asked him again

“…What are you-?” She suddenly felt something, no, somebody hug her from behind. She tensed up again as Chat snuggled up to her from behind and dropped his own blanket over the both of them.  

“Don’t worry, My lady. I’m only trying to prevent you getting hypothermia.” He said gently, and Marinette could sense how genuine he sounded while saying it. And she believed him. Partially, she was freaking out on the inside, her mind screaming at her to tell him to bug off and go back to his corner. That this was way too much of a risk to take. But on the other hand… The warmth that radiated off of his body and mixed with hers was… comforting. She didn’t know if it was because of the addition of the second blanket being tossed over her body, or if it was actually thanks to Chat’s own body heat that she no longer felt cold.

Either way, she was grateful for the gesture.

“..:Thank you, Chat.” She mumbled, subconsciously leaning back into him for more warmth. “You really are the best partner that Ladybug could ever have.” And just like him, her words were nothing less than genuine.

“Always, My Lady.”

Maybe she’d risk accidentally revealing their identities, just for tonight.

[kryptsune]

In this world, it is hunt or be hunted~ 

(I apologize for the pic quality so I will write what they are saying this was a response to the, What do you think about Fellswap question from before.) 

C: “I am sorry did you happen to mention us? But of course, she had a soft spot for us. We are Fells you know~”  G: “Kitten’s been workin on our debut, ya can call me Grimm.” 

C: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Crimson~.” 

🌼Ok! Here we go! A few people asked me about Fellswap or SwapFell which understandably so I think by now everyone here knows my love for anything with Fell tacked onto the back of it. Secret discussion though that I adore Fellswap Papyrus and Sans so I had to make my own! As always I have rewritten the entire verse to have my own personal touch to it! I will just describe the main ideas and maybe some key character details in the process! Hope you all enjoy and if you would like to see more of these boys let me know! 

The Surface: 

I want to talk about the humans on the surface first to kind of set the stage for what this AU is going to be based upon. The surface has been overrun by corrupt leaders. It is very much the concept of big brother. If you are seen as a threat you will be immediately thrown into “prison” without a trial. They hold occasional public trials in the guise of being fair. Just as WTU claims, the very concept of magic is a threat to them so those that have it are quickly disposed of but leaders don’t always do the dirty work themselves. No. In fact, they use another source by means of execution...the monsters. 

More accurately it is very similar to the idea of throwing your enemies into a kind of gladiatorial arena. It is not technically considered an execution if circumstances lead to death. The humans are not stupid they know what is going on. Some believe in rebellion against the state and some wonder if the monsters could fix their corrupt world. Either way, the corruption continues and they are not above tossing innocents into “the pit” if it suits their agenda.  “The Pit” (aka the Underworld/Underground): 

The underworld is broken up into different factions by location. The only location without a faction or any type of ruler is The Ruins, because of its size and its isolation this is where humans try to reach for some form of Salvation. Asgore, the caretaker, has made it into an encampment for those that have fallen (the innocent ones). It is almost like a refugee camp only unfortunately very few make it to Asgore’s safe haven. He does his best. Poor goat dad. He is not like canon Toriel however as he will use violence if necessary as he knows that the humans are simply using them as tools to get rid of who they deem criminal. There are signs of old campfires, broken tents, and habitation. 

Before The Ruins is, of course, the main factions. I know a lot of creators tend to swap location names and since Snowdin is the beginning and my boy Crimson is one of the most powerful in the Underworld I am going to as well. Here is the list. Snowdin=Magmire, Waterfall=Windyspires, Hotland=Tundra. The Underworld is also backward to some extent. The humans end up trapped in The Capital instead and they have to make their way to The Ruins to escape. So it would go like this: The Capital -> Tundra ->Windyspires ->Magmire. The closer the faction to the capital the higher the rank in other words because both Grimm and Crimson live in Tundra and he is the lord of it he is one of the most notorious. 

“It’s Hunt or be Hunted”: 

The modo of this verse. Why? Well after so many centuries of humans being disposed of by monsters they become horribly bored. It also adds fuel to Queen Toriel’s fire that one of the humans that fell down the first time killed her son (;~; RIP my precious boy). That is when they realized that humans weren’t just falling into the Underworld they were not only throwing them down to them but also throwing the worst of the worst. 

At first, they just capture them hold them in the Capitals network of catacombs but then some began to escape causing damage across their “new home” Toriel wouldn’t allow it. Very much later it turns into a game of cat and mouse. The humans are detained and released and the monsters hunt them down. It used to be a protection thing but now it’s become a sick twisted death game. The forests of Tundra are littered with traps and deadly pitfalls along with the rest of the locations. 

Each faction has a lord or lady that rules over it. The ones loyal to Toriel’s (As a side note she is known as the ice queen) regime and their supposed way of life. This also means the closest ones receive the most benefits. Tundra is the one with the most prestige and of course other monsters are trying to stip that title from its current holder, The Crimson Lord. Due to Crimson’s loyalty, he is almost exempt from any wrongdoing in the Queens' eyes which means he can do pretty much anything he wants. Which is dangerous and I will explain why in a bit.

I have a faction ruler list sitting here so I am going to add that to this as well. They are as follows, of course, this does not account for potential power struggles during the story:  Tundra -> Lord: Crimson, Lady: N/A

Windyspires -> Lord? (I mean she wouldn’t want to be called a lady SHE IS TOO TOUGH FOR THAT!): Alphys, Lady: Undyne

Magmire->Lord: Grillby, Lady: Muffet

Some of the lords or ladies will keep humans as servants and things of that nature if they are able to be on their captor's good side. Some live good lives but others just become slaves essentially. It’s not a common occurrence in this I just wanted to make a note of it. 

The Brothers Grimm: 

Let’s get to the main event here. The two boys this post is showing. My Fellswap Sans and Paprus. Now I honestly was not planning to do them but I just. I love the puppy boi and I adore @cocofinny , @bis-cvit , @skesgo , @imjustalazycat and so many other interpretations of him. This... is mine. Sans name is Crimson, or the Crimson Lord and Papyrus is Grimm. I chose those names because originally I wanted a vampire and werewolf dynamic between the two and I think that still shines through. (I ain’t changin it~) Crim is the regal sophisticated seducer and Grimm is the wild possessive flirty type. 

Let’s talk about Grimm. Grimm is the wilder of the two brothers and is very much a predator type. His name is derived from the mythos of the Grimm or Black dog. I wanted to keep that dark omen symbology in both his name and design. He slinks around in the shadows so that the black dog aspect is not far off. He also loves watching from trees so if you see a shadow over you, whoops.  He enjoys the catching and hunting aspect of his job and even plays around with his “toys” (I know how that sounds) when he finds them. He will specifically call anyone “chew toy” in a mocking kind of way. That does not mean though that he will not spare you if he catches you. He is naturally curious by things. Fun fact he has a little skele tail too. Unlike his brother, Grimm doesn’t really have an ego he just finds his job fun. HE IS A GIANT PUPPY BOI WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

He admires his brother but he is not bound to his brother. In other words no master, dog nonsense. He is, however, the more accepting of the two. If he is asked to do something he doesn’t like then he most likely won’t. Also just because he has the whole puppy thing going on doesn’t mean he isn’t smart and cunning. Again he likes to play around with those he finds sometimes not even dragging them back to his brother for a while. If you are a threat he will kill you but if you’re not you can probably get on his good side. If he thinks you are cute he will probably flirt with you too. He is not beyond that. He plays the part of the dog quite well though well all know that there is more to him then that as is any Sans archetype. 

Crimson is more sophisticated. He doesn’t go out on “hunts” himself often as he has a faction to rule over but those brought to him will see first hand that he is an insufferable flirt. He also has a bad habit of keeping mementos from those he deems worthy (what those are... you don’t want to know). He is stern with his brother and seems very outwardly cold to most unless he is playing up his charm. He is not someone you want to make angry as Toriel considers him to also be the Bloody Lord. His weapon of choice is a scythe so if that doesn’t give the executioner vibe then I have no idea what will. His drinks of choice are red wine and champagne specifically the pink kind. Have to keep up that pink/ red aesthetic. Crimson’s incisor teeth also have that vampire point to them. They are longer than the rest of them (You can’t see it here since I decided to edit this prior to writing this up). There is far more to Crimson than just this as their backstories dictate but I wanted to give a general feel for what they are both like. 

Is there a story? 

Yes, there is. I will make it relatively short since this post is already massive in size. In my version, there are two siblings that fall into this world both twins. One is Frisk and the other is Chara. Since this is a swap, Frisk is more aggressive of the two and highly protective of her sister. Chara is the sweet and kind one that will abstain from any violence at all. Now Frisk in this is not the usual Chara swap because I want them to find their place amongst the world. Frisk has no problem using violence as a means of protection and self-defense but she won’t actively look for a fight. 

Why are they here you ask? Well, sadly they have magic within their souls hence the soul traits. They both also have the same soul outwardly, Determination, however, there is one other trait that is housed within their soul that makes them very different. Frisk’s is perseverance and Chara’s is kindness. As usual, the leaders of the Ebott Empire are threatened by their potential for magical abilities and as such are sentenced to be executed. Thus they become part of the hunt. 

Guess who runs into them? Frisk is the first to be captured by none other than Crimson and Chara is found by Grimm. It is strange that Crimson is not his usual self in their circumstances as he can tell, unlike so many others that they have captured in the past, that they are very different. Grimm can’t bring himself to harm Chara due to her innocence and Crimson enjoys Frisks headstrong and sassy attitude. In other words *slaps hands on table* you get a two for one. One Papyrus X Chara and one Frisk X Sans. They are adults by the way. 

Eventually much to Crimson’s reluctance they decide to help them escape as unlike most of the AU the monsters have no problem staying this way. Not all of them agree but the Lords certainly love their titles and don’t want to give up that power...that is until Frisk mentions that all those horrible corrupted humans on the surface could be like one giant... hunt. In which case Crimson is alll for so is Grimm but he is not dying to get to the surface. 

They make it to Asgore (who has all the souls btw the barrier is in The Ruins) who tries to get them to stay instead of sacrificing one of them for their freedom. It’s obvious that the brothers actually don’t want either of them to die. 

As Crimson says: “What is another century or two? We have all the time in the world.”  

Frisk and Chara become integrated into the Underworld and though Grimm continues his hunting he doesn’t want Chara to witness it. Crimson just has Frisk as his little huntress. It is unclear if they will make it out of the Underworld in this AU. It really depends upon how I feel the story would make the most sense and I think having the two sisters happy with and accepted into their lives is all they really wanted. They were considered “monsters” on the surface so why return there? (unless to watch it burn... of course). 

I have a lot more for this AU so feel free to drop any questions you may have in my ask box! I know this is a huge post so I really appreciate you all sticking with me if you made it this far! I really have enjoyed making my own FS for what I am now tagging Friskys multiverse! Have a great Tuesday everyone! 

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙

[annacwrites]

the wip list

Alright, gang. Buckle up. This is going to be a long one, and at this point I can’t even bring myself to be sorry about it. I meant to put this off but then I started thinking about it, so here we are (at 1:05 in the morning when I have to work at 8:30, what am I doing?). 

I’m going to break this down in a couple of ways—fanfiction vs. original fiction, fandom (if it’s a fanfic), series/universe (if it’s in one), and then the individual books themselves (if I have the ability to do that, because quite frankly, for some of these I don’t because I have no idea what the titles are or where I’m splitting the story yet).

Also, “WIP” is an incredibly broad term here. In some cases it means I’ve already written the whole thing but I plan to 100% rewrite it (and haven’t started yet). In some cases it means I’ve written half of the thing but haven’t finished yet. In some cases it means I have it all outlined but haven’t started writing yet. In some cases it means I haven’t really touched an outline on paper yet but I have it all worked out in my head. Take the “in progress” part of WIP with a grain of salt.

(Putting this whole thing under the cut because it is so freaking long. I apologize if the read-more doesn’t work on your dash. Idk what tumblr is doing.)  

Starting off easy—the fics:

Harry Potter: (JKR can fuck off with her transphobia and cultural appropriation and all the other stupid and fucked-up shit that she’s done/promoted but, as I said to my friends, she can pry my next-gen fanfics from my cold dead hands. Cursed Child is not canon in my life because I’ve never read it and I don’t care what nonsense she came up with.)

The “In Your Arms I’ll Stay” universe (Tedtoire/Scorose): 

The first fic in this universe is the first fic I ever finished. 110k words followed up by a ~137k word sequel. It is a disaster and a half but it’s also my baby and I fully intend to rewrite it one of these days. It is full of standard Tedtoire trope-y nonsense—best friends since childhood! two-year age gap! jealousy about other relationships! obliviousness!—and at 15 I thought it was a really good idea to try to turn it into a mystery too, which is a mistake that I have every intention of rectifying because it was unnecessary and I just didn’t know how to do drama and tension back then. 

Anyway. It will probably be two parts again when I rewrite it because one part per school year just works, yeah? We’re covering Vic’s fifth/Teddy’s seventh year and Vic’s sixth year/Teddy’s first year out of school over the course of these parts.

Within this universe we also have Heartbeat and Bone, which is a Scorose fic that I’ve written probably 75% of already but have no intention of actually finishing before I rewrite it. I want to get the stories in the right order so that I can get details straightened out, so Teddy and Victoire get the rewrites first and then I’ll be revisiting this fic. Also full of trope-y nonsense (and my continued acceptance of the headcanon that the Heads have their own dormitory at Hogwarts, because it’s just too much fun that way).  

some things were meant to be (Tedtoire):

Oh god, another fic with a cliché title taken from Can’t Help Falling In Love. I have zero regrets because it fits them perfectly.

This one is... half-done? I fully intend to finish it but I need to finish the outline first. It was my 2019 NaNoWriMo project and I am 100% just writing it for the lols (and because Teddy and Vic are like... my comfort ship where writing is concerned). I wanted to play with a different universe and change up their relationship and roles at school a bit, but once again... trope-y nonsense. It’s unavoidable with them. There is obliviousness everywhere. 

Star Wars: (it’s Reylo, okay? It’s Reylo. I don’t want to hear it about how the ship is ~so terrible.~ That is literally the furthest thing in the world from a hot take, you can’t say a single thing that I haven’t heard before, and I’m a grown adult and can do what I want. Bite me.)

looking for the map that leads me home (Reylo): 

Stole the title on this one from We Take Care of Our Own by Bruce Springsteen, because why the fuck not, right? 

To put it simply: musician AU. To put it a little less simply: he’s got a dead career, she wants to have even the slightest shot at one, Rose is the best, Poe’s a singing heartthrob, Finn is a love-struck goofball. You know, all that fun stuff. The entire thing is based on a playlist that I made and every chapter has a song that acts as its theme. I haven’t touched it since January 2018. I want to finish it eventually but it’s not really at the top of the priority list. 

There’s a few other fics from other fandoms that I’ve started and never finished but the odds of me touching them again are like... nonexistent, so I’m not including them here. I’ll update this post if anything changes on that front (but it probably won’t).

Now for the complicated part—the original fiction:

Maker’s Magic 

This is a trilogy (or at least, it’s supposed to be). This is also a rewrite of the first story I ever finished—the fantasy novel that I wrote for my first-ever Camp NaNoWriMo back in August of 2011, when I had literally no clue what I was doing at all and essentially stole the plot structure from The Obsidian Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey and built my own story around it. This is not a good way to write a piece of fiction that you want to publish, kids, but it is a damn good way to get your feet wet when you’ve never really written before.

I am reworking this story entirely from scratch. The characters are... kind of the same as the original story. Kind of. Maybe. I’ve changed a few names and merged a few people together and scrapped some others and entirely shifted the backstory of pretty much everyone, but... they’re definitely still the same, right? 

Basically, at this point the plot is really only similar to The Obsidian Trilogy in that we’ve got a trilogy, we’ve got some elves, and it’s your standard good vs. evil fantasy story (in its own unique fashion, of course). I’m still working out the details of this rewrite, but this is kind of the Holy Grail of all of my writing projects and the one that I’m most concerned about getting right, so I’m anticipating that I’ll be in it for the long haul on this one. I’m hoping I might be able to get a draft of the first book done this year, but... we’ll see.

(I also don’t want to give too many details about this project, ‘cause it’s the one that I’d really like to maybe publish one day, so...)

The Willow Hill universe

This started as a single story plus a standalone sequel set in the same universe, conceptualized when I was fourteen and missing horseback riding terribly (so yes, it is a story for all those Weird Horse Girls™ out there). I wrote a good portion of it, then deleted it, then rewrote the entire thing, then deleted it again a few years ago because I was no longer satisfied with the writing quality (after hitting top 100 on the Teen Fiction list on Wattpad way back when, so... I didn’t do too badly as a 16-year-old, but the writing still sucked). I’ve been promising a rewrite to my Wattpad followers since 2016 or something like that (2014? Whenever the hell it was that I deleted it the second time) but haven’t delivered at all.

I now envision this universe as a duology plus the aforementioned standalone sequel, except it’s not entirely fair to call it a YA duology in that the first book is definitely YA, but the second is more romance-y?

I originally just revealed the main character’s endgame relationship in the epilogue of the story, but I love both her and her boyfriend and their relationship so much that I decided that I’m going to be self-indulgent and write the story of them actually falling in love with each other, so that’s book two (so really, you don’t actually have to read book two to understand anything, I’m just writing it because I want to and it’s also kind of a present to anyone who read the original story when they were also a teenager and is now an adult who wants to read other stuff). 

Book one is now about the teenage struggle of crushes and trying to figure out what it is that you actually want out of your life and what you value (I say “now” because it was definitely way more self-insert-y the first time I wrote it and it is decidedly not at this point). It’s also sort of a love letter to trainers who are amazing and the kind of person we should all be so lucky as to be coached by.

These characters are my comfort characters where original fiction is concerned since they’ve been bouncing around in my head for the last ten years or so, and I’m hoping I can get at least the first book rewritten in the next year-ish, partly because I’ve been promising it for so long, and partly because I just really enjoy this world and I want to get back to it again.

The Coffee Shop Chronicles

AKA, I lived in one coffee shop on my university campus for pretty much the entirety of my college experience and it was a very inspiring place to be, so this has less to do with coffee shop AUs and more to do with the fact that I met several of my favorite human beings on this earth over a vanilla chai latte and mutual sass with the baristas.

(One of said baristas is very near and dear to me and introduced me to another regular who is now a very good friend with the statement “You’re both sarcastic assholes. You’ll love each other.”) 

None of the characters in this universe are based on actual human beings whom I know, but I liked the idea of the campus coffee shop serving as this thing that tangentially connected all of these people to one another, much in the way that I am tangentially connected to god knows how many people via my barista friend. Essentially, the idea is that the stories in this universe are all standalone, but the characters sometimes cross paths with one another at Caffeinated, so it’s sort of... Easter-egg-y in terms of who pops up where in which story. 

Currently I only have two stories in this universe that are legitimately plotted out, but there is room for any number of spin-offs based on whichever characters show up in those stories (or don’t—that’s the fun of it being a coffee shop. The barista is the only reliable character). Those two stories are as follows:

Chance Encounters (title so totally subject to change, also stealing the terribly summary from the Wattpad draft that never saw the light of day):

For Bennett McGuire, things with guys just didn't seem to want to go her way. From the disasters that were her attempts at dating in high school to the problem that had been Elijah Becker, she hadn't exactly had the best luck. With all that in mind, it made perfect sense to swear off dating until she finished college—that is, it made sense until one frozen day in February when Gordon Evans walked into her life. After that, who was to say what would happen?

What’s Your Metaphor? (once again, enjoy the terrible summary from the Wattpad draft that never was. I am cringing reading it but also too tired to come up with anything better):

"What's the point?" 

It's a question asked widely, for all sorts of reasons, and it's one that April Hayes didn't know the answer to any better than anyone else. All she knew was that she had her plan, and she was going to stick to it, because it was the only thing that seemed to have any sort of logic to it in her life. The things she thought, the things she believed—well, they all fell before the plan, because she didn't have time to ask herself "What's the point?"

That is, she didn't have the time to know the answer—her answer—until one guy by the name of Drew Collier showed up and made her consider things that she had never even thought of before.

High Blood

Yinz can go read my WIP introduction post for this one. It’s a fantasy story. Just for the hell of it, here’s the summary from said WIP introduction post: 

At the age of seventeen, Thessaly of Averak had a choice—take the crown of her people and her place as her father’s heir, or set it aside to become one of the High Warriors, dedicated to protecting their people and the country that her long-dead ancestor Enred built after leading its citizens out of a long and bloody war. Amidst raids and famine at the borders, she gave up her crown to better serve the people that her family rules.

Ten years later, all is quiet. At least, all is quiet until Beca’s pendant is stolen by a thief who disappears into the night on the journey back from the summer palace, Tess gets herself stabbed, and the discovery is made that the rock-solid foundations of their family’s claim to the throne—and the peace that depends upon them—are laced with hairline fractures.

(I didn’t write anything to speak of for Camp NaNo July 2020 and actually wound up deleting my project for this on the NaNo site because my dad was hit by a car while cycling the Friday before the weekend when I was planning to write like... 30k words to catch up, so obviously I gave up on that plan (he is doing well now, thank you for asking). I’m hoping I’ll get around to this one eventually because this particular universe arguably has the most potential for having multiple stories set in it, fantasy-wise.)

Emerson’s Lights

Natalie Flynn has been best friends with Evan Acheson practically since birth. They've stuck together through thick and thin, from her braces in seventh grade to his jump to stardom as a singer-songwriter their freshman year of college. 

She’d do anything for him, but spending a week with him on tour involves a lot more than she bargained for, culminating in the turn of events that is Caleb Blake, lead singer and primary songwriter of opening act Emerson’s Lights, moving into her house for the better part of a month.

She always knew there would be complications being the best friend of a rock star, but this? This was one that she didn’t bet on.

(Aka, girl meets boy in a band trope. Yay.)

(NaNoWriMo 2020 project)

The famous musician story (this thing doesn’t have a title right now and I’m not even going to try)

Stupid, trope-y nonsense idea that I came up with for my own personal amusement and nothing else. I’ve written a few chapters of it but genuinely have no idea where this falls in the hierarchy of things that I want to get done. Long story short, she’s in grad school for history, he’s a famous musician in town recording for a new album, they meet in the library, she pretends she has no idea who he is, and shenanigans ensue.

And that is where I think I’m going to leave it. There’s four other stories that I can think of off the top of my head that I could theoretically add to this list, but they are legitimately just ideas right now so they can be added at a later date when they’ve manifested themselves a little more strongly. There’s also another quartet in the Willow Hill universe that I came up with in high school that could theoretically be added but I think I might just steal those character names and give them their own little world instead. We’ll see.

Basically, if you didn’t get the point from this list: I am working on a lot of things, and when I say I’m writing, it could mean literally anything on this list (or any of the other ideas that I have floating around). The stories/universe here are the most likely candidates for my time, depending on whether I’m doing a deep dive into my writing or just playing around with something fun, and hopefully (god, hopefully) I’ll be able to move one or two of these to a “completed works” list in the next year(ish). 

(Or at least, as complete as a draft ever gets before you start going in on it again.)

[a-candle-for-sherlock]

Do you have any recommendations for some good post retirement, ACD Holmes/Watson fics? After listening to the Bert Coules version of His Last Bow I need something that will either make me feel better or let me have a good cry...

I do! I love this ask. Sussex is my favorite place for them. 

The Adventure of the Travelling Correspondent (10k, M, established relationship, casefic). Romance, drama, mystery.

“Why, you’ve turned into such a romantic.”

“Years of your pernicious influence, I suppose.” We laughed, and he stroke my cheek. 

The Bricks o’ the ‘Might ‘Ave Been’ (3k, T, established, WWI) by @tweedisgood. Watson talks with an old soldier about angels amid the wounded of the Great War.

“I think…” Watson began, “I think I was saved in battle by an angel once, but his name was Murray, not Gabriel, and he spoke my own tongue because he was made from stout Scots flesh and blood.”

Sun Song (7k, T, friends to lovers, jealousy) by @random-nexus. Holmes indulges in a little sentiment, and frightens Watson with his odd behavior.

“Words seemed to just fall out of Watson’s mouth without stopping by his brain for permission. ‘I saw you on the street earlier, taking leave of…someone.’”

Five Miles From Eastbourne (8k, M, established, casefic). Leaving Baker Street behind they find home again together.

“A fleck of grey now at his temple, a line or two across his brow, but still as sharp as the day we met.  More human?  Yes.”

Old Friends and New (1k, G, established, domesticity) by @gailbsanders. Holmes plots a party for his Watson. (This is a little scene from an ongoing series I adore.)

“Don’t pick the Chapeau de Napoleon rose today. I’ll do it tomorrow, myself, since they’re Dr Watson’s favourite.”

A Case of Immortality (2k, G, pre-slash, WWI; LJ). Holmes meets Watson at the close of the Great War.

“You will never truly die, Holmes, not so long as people love you through the pages of my ‘ridiculous romanticism.’“

Honeycomb, for a lover (200w, NR, first kiss). Watson behaves quite unexpectedly.

“I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.”

Envoi (5k, G, established relationship, domesticity; LJ). Watson records the hours of their intimacy.

“They’ve called each other ‘old men’ for decades. Now that it’s finally true, the tease has become more of an endearment than anything.”

Return Like the Sea (2k, G, pre-slash, addiction recovery; LJ). After so long a separation they find a way give each other home again.

“I just want to have you to talk to. Listen to. Even just…look at.”

All Nature is Our Satellite (1k, G, pre-slash, growing intimacy). Holmes retires, and Watson wonders whether he knows him.

“You needn’t say these things aloud, you know; you’ve got rather expressive eyebrows.”

Your Sweet Hue (1k, G, friends to lovers) by @gailbsanders. Sussex and how they make their way there.

“The meal passed in silence, but Holmes was aware of that comfortable quality that would fill a room whenever John Watson happened to be there.”

History Rewritten (5k, T, established, relationship negotiation), by @sanspatronymic. Holmes and Watson learn to live together again.

“If you must torment me with poetry, at least do it properly.” 

And ones I’ve rec’ed before:

Glad With Our Carols(1k, G, established, tenderness) by @oldshrewsburyian.

“He looked up at me over his toast. ‘I should be sorry indeed to think that I had entirely lost my ability to astonish you.’ ”

Pilgrims of a Sort (12k, T, established, retrospective; also Mary Morstan/OFC) by @earlybloomingparentheses. Holmes and Watson tell their story to other lovers.

“I am not going anywhere, Holmes,” I replied, amused. “You know as well as I that our female clients, no matter how lovely, tempt me not one jot.”

Something To Retire To  (9k, T, friends to partners, ace Holmes). In process toward Sussex they nearly miss each others’ wishes.

“A few minutes later, he shifted his body, stretching out along the sofa  and resting his head in my lap as if it was the most natural thing in  the world.”

Our Hospitality (1k, established, hurt/comfort) by @educatedinyellow. An old grief is unexpectedly raised.

“Many of my greatest pleasures in retirement were unanticipated.”

A Man Of Great Character And Better Humor (2k, G, established, caretaking) by @sanspatronymic. Holmes loves his Watson.

“He nuzzled his nose against the curve of Watson’s cheekbone so sweetly that when he muttered, ‘tough luck, old man,’ it was positively comforting.”  

Rewriting History (10k, T, friends to lovers, WWI, epistolary) by @educatedinyellow. Watson goes to war again, and writes to his Holmes.

“When I arrive back in England, then, I will come straight to you for our visit. We can read and argue to our hearts’ content.”

Thanks for the ask! Anyone else have Sussex recs? Add them here!

[courtorderedcake]

Roses (A CS AU)

My late contribution to @csmarchmadness.

I haven't been able to or feeling up to writing lately, and struggled to push this through before I began having health difficulties. It is only with the support of @shireness-says, @ultraluckycatnd, and @doodlelolly0910 that even this is done, and I have the utmost gratitude.

Cat has practically rewritten it to not only make sense, but to read beautifully, and she has been unknowingly the shining light in many a dark day.

I don't know if I'll finish this, or the two other pieces in this anthology besides what I'm finally finished with for @cssns, but if I decide to let it die I will post everything I have as continued notes on here and eventually Ao3.

I believe that with these and the last few stragglers in my WIP folder, I am done with the Fandom and giving up writing in general, and thank the organizers of CSMM for the amazing experience.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Roses, A CS retelling of Tam Lin

By Courtorderedcake and ultraluckycatnd.

Rated M - - - - chapters 1/??

If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category.

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off the dress underneath her rain slicker.

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script.

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.”  Emma replied, scanning the text. Her husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it.

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her.

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the inside she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

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The estate reading took place in Scotland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude.

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now.

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark.

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking.

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present.

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded.

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand.

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road.

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows.

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door.

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh.

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling.

And it was hers.

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet.

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on.

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand.

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her.

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan.

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone.

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook.

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised.

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life.

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled.

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard.

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The Irish accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Scottish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She extended a hand towards him which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.”

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[badsithnocookie]

bitter question asks

tagged by the lovely @buffkreia. tagging anyone who wants to i guess. you. yes, you, personally. answer these questions now. (or don’t. it’s up to you.)

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

satele/marr (wat). anyone/marr. anyone/malgus.

Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?

vette+sw. any variant on teacher+student (sw/jaesa, jc/nadia, etc). (jk/kira is... borderline, since kira is more a peer than a student, whereas jaesa/nadia/ashara are very much students of the player character, with ds!jaesa being not just a student but an abused one at that).

Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

hell yes. i once unfollowed someone (who is since long deactivated) for posting “tivva and her old moff cutesy headcanons”. what the fuck, fandom. 

i also make a habit of unfollowing people who do Shit that i complain about on the regular (fascism/wh-te s-premcy rhetoric apologetics, ab-se shippers, etc). (though i am more picky about who i follow than i used to be. for a lot of people though it’s nothing personal, i am just a Weirdo who likes to read their entire dash, so i keep the number of blogs i follow low. but if we interact on anything resembling the regular i probably have a nose at your bagel anyway)

Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?

as above most/any variant on teacher/student.

jk/scourge. i’ve seen it done ICly exactly once. most of the time scourge is rewritten as a noble romantic knight in edgy armour and not the manipulative borderline-stalker that he is. i hate the pairing for the shitty characterisation that usually accompanies it and i hate the pairing for the abusive relationship it would be were he IC. there is no winning move here except not to play.

corso/smuggler. i get the feeling that most people into this pairing like corso as they want him to be, not corso as he is. or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part, idk.

doc/quinn. this pairing is peak White Fujoshi and i hate it. i hate the examples where it’s doc repeatedly hitting on an increasingly uncomfortable quinn, because haha sexually harassing someone is both hilarious and hot am i right. i hate the examples where it’s quinn seducing doc for intel on the resistance (protip: that’s rape!). i hate it i hate it i hate it if i never see it again it will be too soon

Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

f!sw/almost anyone male, as a result of the endless shitty revenge adultery abuse fics that are all over quinn fandom. not all f!/sw/anyone male fics/ships fall into this category, but most of them seem to, especially /theron and /pierce.

(something something why is it that the majority of people who write f!sw/men of colour only do so in order to generate manpain for a white dude, huh)

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

nope.

Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

pugging EV/KP

Have you received anon hate? What about?

until i switched off anon, yes. it was fifty percent “you say mean things about quinn and that makes you an awful person” and fifty percent “you say nice things about quinn and that makes you an awful person”. proof that no matter what i do, i will never make The People happy. conclusion: do whatever the fuck i want

Most disliked character(s)? Why?

scourge. because i have an irrational dislike of people who manipulative borderline stalkers, who threaten to kidnap the children of others so they can be “raised correctly” into an abusive reactionary religious order.

Most disliked arc? Why?

republic makeb is where logic and my will to live go to die.

kotet is equal parts ‘empire apologia’, ‘vaylin torture porn’, and ‘excuses to be violent towards koth’. appo hates.

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

koth vortena. both for his intrinsic qualities as a character and because of the endlessly terrible way he is treated by the fanbase and th devs both. if i had a penny for every “but he said valk was good to zakuul” i would never have to worry about my income again.

jaric kaedan. he’s great i love him. grumpy, arguably less than ls, but passoinately dedicated to the jedi and the republic. hates scourge on sight. badassed the Dread Masters into submission. pushes for the jedi to take action in a war targeted at wiping them out instead of hiding behind the republic. he’s just *chef’s kiss*

Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

the jc story. imp makeb.

Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

major anri exists only to put a likeable face on the empire. she and brax are incredibly deliberate (not to mention hamfisted) attempts to Humanise(tm) a genocidal imperialistic fascist regime and to attempt to play on the guilt of players/characters who take the saboteur route. sadly what bioware seem to fail to realise is that i traded my ability to feel sorry for the empire for a magic bean. it was completely worth it.

Unpopular opinion about your fandom?

swtor fandom is a dumpster fire. racism, misogyny, fascism apologia, ablism, we got it all, folks. in that respect it is not abnormal for fandoms but this is neither an excuse nor a selling point.

it is also not welcoming in the slightest if you take issue with any of the above.

Unpopular opinion about the manga/show/game?

the old method of unlocking travel waypoints was way more immersive (even if it was a colossal pain in the ass). exploring the depths of belsavis for the first time was awe inspiring - seeking out ancient forgotten tech to dig into secrets locked away for untold millenia.

yes, it was a huge pain in the ass, especially if you were on your nth alt. i’d be fine with some system (maybe legacy based) where waypoints/speeder points for a planet are unlocked once you’ve completed the planetary story for the first time (or something). there is so much content in the game that just gets missed by first time players because bioware want to rush them through to the very end and it sucks.

If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

invent a time machine, arrange for the firing of those who okayed kotfe and its shitty story that glorified a repeat abuser and its shitty gameplay and its total lack of repeatable group content in an mmo. make the writers produce something that a. actually stayed true to the themes of star wars and b. didn’t glorify an abusive genocidal shitlord like valkoriate.

then find myself some lottery numbers and set up a fund for giving out money to people who are reduced to begging on social media for medical bills.

Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or biased?

shipping drama worst drama

What is the purest ship in the fandom?

vette/spewie

What are your thoughts on crack ships?

crackships which require you to ignore or worse betray a character’s personality (satele/marr, quinn/elara) - kill on sight

everything else - whatever

Popular character you hate?

darth marr. he is so overrated i don’t even know what to say. he has no personality, nothing. he didn’t even have a unique va in vanilla. he’s a shitty empty space that empire fandom hyped up up and away because he memes well and i loathe him.

Unpopular character you love?

i’m pretty sure this i a repeat of that question up there where i enthused about jaric kaedan

Would you recommend XXX to a friend? Why or why not?

join me in hell

Most shippable character?

eva kaayz. everyone needs a cute bisexual mirialan in their life.

Least shippable character?

darth marr. valkoriate. skadge.

[garamonder]

Said and Done

Peter pays Pepper and Morgan a visit for the first time since the funeral. Set just before Far From Home.

.

“Of course, Peter,” she'd said over the phone, “we'd love to see you.”

Peter had to give her the benefit of the doubt and hope she meant it. He couldn't blame her if she didn't. He hadn't seen Ms. Potts since the funeral. Even then they had spoken only briefly, Peter almost afraid to look at Morgan as he mumbled his condolences, shoving down his own misery and forcing himself to smile at the four-year-old. Her big eyes stared back, unsure of this stranger who'd shown up to her father's memorial. He must have appeared an adult to her.

Ms. Potts seemed to know Peter better than he would have expected, having never actually interacted with her before that day. But she'd also had a five-year head start on getting to know him. Peter kind of wondered at that until Ms. Potts told him that Tony had often talked about Peter to her.

For some reason it surprised him. Maybe because he'd spent more time dead than as Mr. Stark's 'intern' and Tony was not such a stranger to tragedy that Peter would've assumed he'd take up the lion's share of Mr. Stark's grief.

Then again, he'd recognized the look on Tony's face when Peter began to stagger toward him on Titan. It was the same instant, deep dread Peter was sure he'd worn himself at the sight of police lights flashing red and blue one night, and the horrified crowd gathered near a car he recognized as Uncle Ben's.

Peter was used to being the one standing graveside. He felt robbed, of course. But it was nothing next to losing a husband and father.

Peter hadn't explained his reason for visiting Ms. Potts and Morgan. Holding his cell and nervously fiddling with some machinery on his desk, he'd called with the intention of explaining everything then, but once he began to try he remembered who he was talking to and got glue in his throat. He only got so far as saying there was something he thought Mr. Stark would want Morgan to have.

Truthfully, he'd stopped himself clarifying because he'd been afraid Ms. Potts would refuse. Everyone dealt with their grief differently. What might seem a ghastly reminder to a widow would mean something entirely different to a four-year-old.

So here he was again, at the house in the woods. May had to work so Peter took a bus, forgetting to wear his earbuds while gazing at the city turning into trees, and easily covered the remaining distance. Happy could probably have driven him but Peter didn't really want to explain this to anyone else, no matter how sympathetic the ear.

He looked around. This place must have felt like an escape after the Snap. A born-and-bred city kid, Peter never lost a kind of marvel at unfenced green spaces. Gravel crunched under his sneakers. He'd always liked the sound of gravel.

Peter kind of had trouble picturing the flashy billionaire abandoning the penthouse view for a forest. But anyone who'd known Tony longer might have said the same if asked to envision him with a wife and daughter after all the supermodels who'd cycled through his life in an endless parade back out the door.

Ms. Potts walked out on the porch to meet him, dressed in a casual sweater and long pants. She looked around for the car that had brought him and Peter realized he hadn't said how he was getting there.

“I took the bus,” he said lamely.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “you didn't need to do that. We could've come to the city.”

“No, it's fine. I don't mind,” Peter told her.

Mindlessly he'd stopped at the foot of the porch. Ms. Potts came forward and hugged him warmly. “How are you?” she asked.

“Okay,” he said, adjusting the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Um—you?”

“Okay,” she repeated, with a small smile and a shrug. “Sad. Making Morgan a lot of cheeseburgers.”

Despite himself Peter gave her a faint grin. He'd had occasion to witness Tony's fondness for them.

“Happy says you're going on a school trip soon,” said Ms. Potts, turning to invite him inside. “To Europe. Wow.”

“I don't think it's going to be that fancy,” Peter said. He'd looked up the hostels on the itinerary, and after seeing the foreboding Yelp reviews had updated his booster shots accordingly.

“Oh, but it's Europe,” Ms. Potts said fondly.

“Have you been?”

“Uh huh. I dragged Tony to the Louvre and he complained the whole time. I told him he needed to appreciate art outside of heavy metal album covers.”

Peter grinned again. He suspected she was trying to lighten the mood. “We're supposed to see Paris.”

“You'll have to find a cute girl to give a rose,” she teased.

He was hoping to do better than a rose. Besides, the cute girl preferred black dahlias.

Dishes sat in a drying rack. Though of fine quality, everything in the house exuded homey comfort. It was a funny mix of old-fashioned furnishings with evidence of high-tech gadgetry spotting bookshelves and side tables. If Peter ever retired, maybe he'd like a place like this. Provided it had good wifi. And a lab. And pizza within deliverable distance.

As though she'd read his mind, Ms. Potts said, “Pizza's in the oven. We're a little out of the delivery range. You like the works, right?”

Another one of the tiny things Mr. Stark must have remembered and told her. Peter Parker had liked pizza. He always got the works.

(Actually, what Tony had said to Pepper was: “I once watched Parker demolish a giant pizza in one sitting. Before wolfing down a bouquet of churros for dessert. It was like watching an anaconda devour a goat.”)

Touched, Peter said: “Yeah, but you didn't have to go to any trouble, Ms. Potts—”

“Pepper, please,” she corrected him. “And it's no trouble. Eat first?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Maybe it was better for Morgan to get her bearings around him anyway, before he started asking her odd questions.

The table was set already. When was the last time she'd set the table for three? Yikes, don't think about that. Peter was a little nervy being the only guest now, no strangers to act as a buffer between him and Mr. Stark's widow. He leaned his backpack carefully against a recliner.

“Morgan!” Pepper called down a hall. “Pizza!”

Moments later a bright-eyed girl emerged from the hall, carrying an action figure with her. “Morgan, this is Peter,” her mom told her, brushing aside a strand of fine dark hair from the girl's forehead. “You met him a few months ago.”

She remembered. “You're a friend of my dad's,” she declared with certainty.

Peter nodded. “That's right.”

He was glad she remembered, because it boded well for what he'd ask her soon.

Dinner ended up being a lot less awkward than he'd feared. Pepper had a knack for guiding the conversation without forcing small talk, and before he knew it Peter was chatting away almost comfortably. Morgan divided her attention between the guest, her pizza and her action figure, which she rearranged in different poses throughout the meal. Tony Stark was, conversationally speaking, the elephant in the room, and they skirted mention of him in their discussion with the delicacy of probing around a flesh wound.

Peter helped Pepper clear the dishes, wiping them off with a flowery towel. Once the drying rack was full again, Pepper sat on the couch with an arm around Morgan and watched Peter dig restlessly through his backpack.

Finally he withdrew a funny-looking contraption that comprised of a set of glasses, on which perched a recording device wired to a hard drive. The glasses were tiny, designed for a child. The device was a somewhat hodge-podge Frankenstein of tech cobbled from Mr. Stark's files with some additions of Peter's own.

“So, um,” he started, suddenly nervous again, “I borrowed from some of Mr. Stark's B.A.R.F. software. You know he's got it so it doesn't need an implanted chip anymore? It works on a proximity basis now. So when someone wears the glasses, it'll, like, recognize the user and act as a kind of Bluetooth for their brain.”

Pepper nodded, following along. Half-sunk into the cushy pillows, Morgan was gazing at the pink, child-sized glasses, which Peter had bought cheap in Flushing.

Peter turned the small headset around in his hands. “I thought Morgan could use it.”

Surprised, Pepper said: “Morgan? Why?” At the mention of her name, the little girl peered at Peter curiously.

“Have you heard of childhood amnesia?” Peter asked Ms. Potts. “You know how you just...forget stuff from when you were really little? Maybe there's flashes here and there, but it's hard to hold on to much.”

As if prompted, Pepper's eyes flicked to the side in an unconscious effort to recall early memories. She nodded again thoughtfully.

Peter went on, relaxing a little: “As we get older it's hard to retain memories from early childhood. Some stuff will stick out but the little things, the day-to-day stuff, gets lost. There's a lot of debate about how it happens, whether it's”—animatedly, he started waving a hand around— “developing cognitive behavior or because the GABA neurotransmitter acts as a gatekeeper for early memory retrieval—” He stopped as Pepper's eyes began to glaze over and started over with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Anyway, it happens.”

He held up the gadgetry. “Morgan's actually at a really good age for memory retrieval. She's old enough to form autobiographical memories and young enough that they haven't been rewritten yet. Even better, she's able to process memory without emotion acting like, I don't know, rose-colored glasses. It's kind of hard to separate long-term memory from emotion, and that can almost change, um, your whole recollection of something.”

“Okay,” said Pepper, who was probably used to Tony babbling at her about this. “Tony mentioned some of these things during the early stages of B.A.R.F.”

Morgan giggled at the word 'barf.'

Smiling at her, Pepper added: “He said even though the system hijacks the brain, what it pulls back out might not actually be what happened—it's just our impressions. Even the holograms in his demonstration at MIT had to be padded out retroactively by computer modeling. I'm pretty sure he tried to make his younger self a little taller in the demo.”

Peter stifled a grin. “Well, maybe I would too.”

Pepper's eyes fell on the glasses. “What do you want Morgan to remember?” she said quietly. Maybe she knew the answer already.

“Her dad,” said Peter.

Faltering before the sudden silence, Peter fumbled for the hard drive and kept talking. “I uh, I've got this hooked up to a drive. Instead of projecting a hologram, the memories she consciously processes will be recorded on this. So you can, um—play it back. Like a movie, I guess.”

Pepper stared at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. Morgan abandoned her action figure to gaze up at her mother, alert to the change in demeanor.

Would Pepper tell him no? Thanks, but I don't really know if that's the healthy way for a child to process her father's death. It's the thought that counts. We appreciate you visiting, and please have a wonderful time in Europe.

A little desperately, Peter said: “It's hard to know now what memories Morgan's going to hang on to. Pictures and YouTube clips are good but they aren't really a substitute.”

He was speaking from experience, of course, but he didn't mention that.

“I thought maybe she could try it out. And if it works OK, you can spend a few weeks adding memories to the drive. The code is kind of complicated so I'll have to convert the files myself.”

When he looked up he saw Pepper blinking quickly. There was a long moment.

She turned to the little girl. “What do you say, Morgan? Wanna make a photo album of Daddy?”

“OK,” Morgan replied, still a little uncertain but it seemed to be the answer expected of her.

Peter blew his breath out. “OK,” he repeated, relieved. “Here, um—why don't you try these on?”

He passed the glasses to Pepper, who, gingerly considering the delicate tech barnacled to the frames, perched them on Morgan's nose. Perhaps knowing it drew from Tony's tech, and wasn't totally derived from a high-schooler's notebook scribbling, gave her confidence. “Stylish,” she told her daughter. Morgan preened.

Meanwhile Peter withdrew a laptop from his bag and opened it, setting it aside on the coffee table and attaching a cord to the hard drive wired to the pink spectacles. He'd already pulled up the software he'd use for conversion. He rubbed his hands together, suddenly energized as he always was when beginning a lab experiment. “Let's give it a test. So um, Morgan, what's your favorite animal?”

“A hippogriff,” she said promptly.

Pepper mouthed silently, “Don't tell her.”

“Oh—good choice. OK, can you picture a hippogriff? The last time you, um, saw one? You can close your eyes if it helps.”

Obediently Morgan squeezed her eyes shut. “Concentrate and think about all the different parts of the animal,” said Peter, scooting his laptop closer. “Like, what color is it? How big is it? You can answer by thinking about it.”

Morgan thought for a few moments. “OK,” she announced when presumably a hippogriff filled her vision.

Peter watched his screen as live data collected on the drive and took shape. It did not process like a movie file so much as a rendered model writ in code. She evidently had a very good recollection of what she thought hippogriffs looked like. When the stream tapered off he said: “Okay, pause your brain.” Morgan giggled.

Pepper watched Peter as he tapped away at his computer. “I honestly think Tony lost the ability to type,” she informed him. “It'd been so long since he actually needed a keyboard.”

Peter snorted. Tony must have thought it very confining, typing out one line when his brain was leaping ten lines ahead already.

“Let's take a took,” he said once he'd converted the file. “They take a while to render totally so it's low res for now.”

He took a miniature hologram projector Tony had once tossed him and hooked it to the laptop, which now resembled a nerve cluster with so many cords branching out. Then he pressed a series of buttons and a second later the slightly shimmering image of a hippogriff spun slowly above the device. Morgan had surpassed expectations: not only was the image of the creature clear (and a near-perfect replica of the one from Harry Potter) but she'd even envisioned its environment in the form of a forested clearing.

Morgan was delighted. “That came out of my head!”

Peter was familiar with the tech but he still marveled at its ability to draw out subconscious detail. Brains weren't a bank; they didn't store everything, but the software was very good at rounding out the model.

“That's awesome, Morgan. Now, let's try something a little harder. Can you turn your brain on again?”

Like an astronaut conducting a pre-launch checklist, she nodded, straight-faced.

Normally he'd run tests gradually building in complexity but this time he jumped ahead.

“This time, I uh, want you to think about something your dad's said to you. You don't have to say it out loud.” He shot a glance at Pepper, who merely gave him a small smile. “Think about when this was. Where were you? What were you wearing? What did he say, and how did he say it? Can you put it in order? What else was in the room? Go around the memory like you're looking everywhere in a room and memorizing it.”

He was half-afraid he was pelting her with too many questions. While her memory skills were developed enough for the device, it was a lot for a not-yet-five-year-old to juggle at once. But she didn't say anything, just sat with a face comically scrunched up from shutting her eyes so tightly.

Data began flooding through the drive. Peter sat and watched it materialize into characters on his screen. He waited patiently so his typing wouldn't disrupt her concentration.

While she sat and thought, Peter couldn't help letting his eyes wander around the living room, across family mementos.

It was just so different. Had Tony relocated here to escape the city? Following the Snap, it would have been full of shell-shocked mourners. When blows were so sudden sometimes the pain came belatedly, like a thunderclap following the lightning flash. The horror must have been worst the day after, when it became clear the disappearances were, in fact, deaths. Every day he would have encountered so many people he must have felt he'd failed.

What would I have done? Peter thought suddenly, startling himself.

Well, he'd failed people before too, and probably wasn't done yet.

Eventually the data slowed to a trickle. Peter cut it off after it'd leveled. “Brain off,” he said, and Morgan opened her eyes.

Pepper watched him work quietly. Peter felt tense again for a reason he couldn't explain. The data was much more complicated this time and required longer to convert to a viewable format. In the meantime, Morgan toyed with her action figure again, though her interest in it seemed feigned.

Finally Peter looked up. “Um—it's more 2D than anything,” he said, “for now. But I can project it. Just to show you.”

He picked up the hologram projector again and toyed with it. Light emanated from a lens and Peter looked up to see Tony Stark's face loom above.

Morgan watched with rapt attention. Her mother's hands were tightly entwined in her lap.

In the memory, Mr. Stark was putting Morgan to bed. It must have been very recently. For a four-year-old's recollection the image was quite sharp, though it was imperfect, vague in some areas, unrefined and lacked true three-dimensional modeling. The color was muted. You could see what he looked like and how his voice sounded. That was important; Peter had wanted her to retain that herself rather than having to round it out with computer modeling from archived data.

“I love you 3000,” Peter heard her childish voice say, tinny coming from the small speakers.

Tony seemed impressed. 3000 was a high grade, apparently. After telling her to go to bed or he'd sell all her toys, he went out and closed her door behind him.

As memories do, the hologram faded into an obscure, indistinct image and Peter shut it off wordlessly.

The room was hushed. Peter was startled to see tears falling down Pepper's cheeks. He felt uncomfortably like he'd witnessed something private. It seemed a little like eavesdropping.

“Play it again,” Morgan commanded him, and Peter dutifully played it back.

After they watched it again Peter said to Morgan, “You can keep those glasses.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. When you think of something you want to remember, you can put them on and think really hard about it, the way you did just now. Then I'll get the drive back and make it so you can watch them later.”

“Okay,” said Morgan. She might have started right away to try and think of other pennies to put in the memory bank. Still silent, Pepper nudged her. “Thank you,” she added, remembering her manners.

Peter smiled. “Sure.”

There was a danger to this kind of technology, of course. Peter was never really sure about the therapeutic benefits of B.A.R.F. He was never tempted to use it himself. When you couldn't actually go back and change anything, what was the point to reliving it and pretending otherwise? It almost seemed another way to kick yourself for roads not taken.

It was easy to get lost in the past, but a child was less susceptible. He knew Pepper would never use the technology to recreate her husband. Once they'd collected a garden of Morgan's memories, she'd give him the glasses.

For the first time he realized how late it'd gotten. The summer evening had grown dark. “Oh geez, I should go,” he said quickly after glancing at his watch. The last bus would be leaving before long, and he had two miles to swing before he reached the stop. He disconnected the laptop and hologram projector, leaving the glasses and the drive they were attached to.

Pepper stood up with him, carefully removing Morgan's glasses and setting them on a shelf until they were ready for round two. “I'll walk you out,” she told him. Something in her voice was restrained. “Say goodnight to Peter, hon,” she said over her shoulder. “Then it's bedtime.”

“G'nite,” said Morgan, wiggling her little fingers goodbye.

“'Night,” he said back.

As he glanced back on his way to the door he saw that Morgan had not yet picked up her action figure, but sat instead concentrating on something they could not see.

The summer evening was pleasant out on the deck. A light breeze ruffled the tops of the trees. As a child Peter had found this sound ominous, but maybe it had meant something else to Tony and Pepper. He could hear an owl hooting.

They walked across the deck to the top of the stairs, where Pepper drifted to a stop. Peter stopped too.

“Um,” he said, words sounding flat in the dark air, “So in a few weeks I'll get the drive back—or you can send it, whatever you want—and I'll convert them to a better quality. I thought maybe I'd have to add some archival data to flesh it out, but her memory's pretty good and I might just leave it. It's not, you know, polished, but I think it's more authentic.”

Recorded memories were a distant second to the real deal, but repetition was instrumental to memory retention. If Morgan saw the recordings every once in a while, it'd bolster her real recall—he hoped.

Pepper nodded minutely. Her tears had gone and she seemed to study him a moment. Then, without speaking, she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“This is a gift,” she whispered over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

After a long moment she drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders like Aunt May sometimes did. “What made you think to do this?”

“Oh.” Peter shrugged. “Ah, it was just an idea I had. That's all.”

It wasn't, and Pepper knew that full well. He felt dumb; she had to know about the plane crash. Richard and Mary Parker had died when their son was no older than Morgan. Mr. Stark would have told her that too.

Pepper wore a bittersweet smile. Just then he knew she was wondering whether he remembered them at all. If she asked, he'd lie and say he did. Why upset her?

It was different with Uncle Ben. Peter could remember the things he'd said and done. In a way, they showed the way forward. So, too, would he remember Tony.

Sometimes Uncle Ben would fondly mention his late brother Richard. Once, when Peter was in fifth grade, Ben had asked if Peter remembered the way his dad would swing him side to side, making a seat from his hands and whirling his cackling son around. Amused by the story, Peter had said no. He never forgot the flash of disappointment that crossed his uncle's face before Ben's usual cheer reasserted itself.

He hadn't wanted that for Morgan, that was all.

“Come see us anytime,” Pepper said kindly. “And have fun in Europe. Make the most out of Paris. I know there's a girl.”

Peter laughed. “Will do.”

He went to Europe and came back. It was a hair-raising experience. He did give a girl a flower, even though it wasn't a rose and it was in London, not Paris.

“Hot dogs sound good?” said Pepper over the phone. Morgan had recorded several more memories, and they were ready for conversion. “I got some Nathan's from the store. Relish or no relish?”

“Relish, totally,” said Peter. “I'm civilized, aren't I?”

“Hawkeye's kid puts mayonnaise on his,” confided Pepper.

“Ugh.”

Hot dogs sounded great. He'd catch the bus upstate later, right after his date with MJ. He was going to take her swinging for the first time.

.

.

(I actually put ketchup on my hot dogs, I don’t like relish)

[rightfulcaptxin]

Five times + restaurant (from OMC Li)

Send me ‘five times + a word’ and I’ll write a drabble about our muses based on it. | Not Accepting | @anhonourablecaptain

He saw the man’s reflection in the glass doors before he registered the presence at his back. Keys still in hand, Edward turned as his new companion politely cleared his throat, and took a moment to study the handsome face, and the head of beautiful dark curls. 

“Hi, sorry…” At once he heard the familiar musical lilt of Ireland in the man’s voice, something which brought a quick and easy smile to his face. “Are you the owner of this establishment?” He glanced up at the sign above the doors, and smiled. Anchorage. 

“I am, yes.” Ed held out a hand to him. “Edward Teach.” He waited for some glimmer of recognition to cross the other man’s face, but none came. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr Teach.” He took the offered hand, and smiled. “I’m Liam Jones. I just have a few questions for you, if that’s okay? There was an incident across the street a couple of days ago, and there’s a chance that you or another member of staff might have noticed something that could help us. If not…” Another glance up, at the cameras positioned on the outside of the building. “Perhaps you would allow me to inspect your security footage?” He fished into a pocket, drawing out an ID badge. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Ed inspected the badge, and gave a nod. “Sure, I’ll do what I can to help.” He lingered a moment longer, watching him curiously. “Why don’t you come on in? I was just about to open up ready for the lunch crowd, so…”

“Oh, excellent.” Liam smiled warmly, gesturing for him to lead the way. As Ed unlocked the restaurant doors and guided him inside, Liam glanced around at the nautical themed decor. “So, are you a chef, Mr Teach? Or do you manage front of house?”

Ed could only stare at him, before he smiled again. That confirmed it. This man had no idea who he was. 

—

“Thank you for doing this, Ed. I can’t stress how grateful I am.” Liam hovered by the pass, watching his partner move around the kitchen beyond the ‘window’. He already knew better than to venture into the actual kitchen area - at least, not when the restaurant was open and in business. Or, preparing to open. Generally he’d only ever been allowed back there after closing. Once.

“Aye, you’ve said. About four times in the last hour, actually.” Ed muttered, hands busy with preparations. He didn’t look up when he spoke - anyone else might have considered him distracted, not really paying attention to the conversation, but Liam knew better. He’d watched Ed work in his kitchen at home enough times to know he was more than capable of doing about thirty things at once. Probably.

“Sorry, I just… I know it’s last minute, and I hate to disrupt-,”

“Liam.” Ed did turn to him then, fixing him with a look that suggested he needed to stop before their conversation inched closer to an argument. “I said it’s no trouble.” When his words were met with a tense silence, he sighed, and crossed to the other side of the pass. Wordlessly, he leant through the gap and tugged Liam into a quick kiss. “Relax. You’re not disrupting anything.”

“Good.” Liam visibly relaxed, a smile creeping onto his face. He studied Ed’s expression for a moment, and his smile lifted into a grin. “But let me guess - get out of my kitchen?”

“You’re only going to hover and get in my way if you stand there.” Ed waved him off. “Head on back to my office, read a book or something until the place opens. I’ll take care of everything else.” When Liam opened his mouth to speak, he held up a hand. “If the words ‘thank you’ are about to come out of your mouth again, I swear to god…”

“Okay, okay. Understood.” Since Ed was still there, within reach, he leant over to steal another kiss. “If you can whip up a rum cake for Killian, I’ll be your dessert tonight.” He murmured, keeping his voice low - aware that Ed’s kitchen staff could easily be listening in. He ducked his head quickly and hurried off to Ed’s office, leaving his partner standing at the pass, watching him go.

Ed shook his head with a daft grin on his face. Throwing a last-minute dinner party for his boyfriend’s younger brother was definitely going to earn him some favours, it seemed. 

—

Ed had long ago picked up on the handful of small tells Liam had that told him the other man was frustrated. Currently, sat across from him in a fine restaurant, he was exhibiting several of them at once. Ed felt the faintest stab of guilt - for he knew he was responsible for it. 

Liam was quite easy to embarrass in certain situations, and the man hated being embarrassed in public. He hadn’t missed how Liam had sunk lower in his chair, shielding his face with one hand as he picked at his meal with his fork - no doubt hoping the ground would open up and swallow him - as he had argued with the waiter regarding his own plate. 

People had definitely turned to watch as he’d demanded to speak with the chef who, quite clearly, didn’t know how to cook a steak properly at all - and for the price they were charging, he expected a certain quality that he wasn’t receiving. Since the matter had been resolved - though he would definitely be making complaints afterwards - Liam had said nothing more to him, simply eating in silence and avoiding his gaze. Except to decline an offer of dessert, he hadn’t said a word.

Knowing it would boil over eventually, Ed waited until they were leaving the restaurant and heading for the car before he turned to Liam, catching his hand to stop him walking away. “I’m sorry.” Liam still didn’t look at him, and Ed sighed. “You know I can’t turn it off, Li. And honestly, I don’t know what that idiot did to that piece of meat but he certainly didn’t cook it-,”

“This was supposed to be a nice evening, Ed.” Liam cut in, finally meeting his eyes. “We hardly ever get chance to go out to dinner together, and I wanted to enjoy it. Instead, you made a scene, and then everyone was looking at us, and the evening was ruined.” He sighed, wearily. “Can we just go home now?”

“Hey.” Ed lifted his other hand, and cupped Liam’s cheek gently. “I’m sorry, Li. Really. I admit, I could have handled it better…” When Liam scoffed, Ed felt the faintest spark of irritation - but he held it back. He wasn’t going to ruin their date even further if he could help it. “I know I have high standards. Look… how about we swing by the restaurant on the way home, and I’ll grab us some dessert?” He laced his fingers with Liam’s, and gave his hand a squeeze. “The night’s not over yet, love. Let me make it up to you.” Liam said nothing for a moment, and then he sighed again.

“Fine. But you’ve a lot to make up for.” Despite the firm delivery of the words, Ed felt his partner give his hand a squeeze in return.

—

If there was one thing Ed had never imagined he’d do in his kitchen… well, it was definitely this. 

Leaning back against one of the storage cupboards, he dragged fingers through the damp tangles of his hair, a satisfied smile on his face. With his breath still returning to a more natural rhythm, he cast a glance about him at the disarray they’d caused. 

Liam stirred beside him, pushing himself upright to lean against him. Ed’s arm automatically curled around his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin against his own. There was still a delicious flush creeping down Liam’s neck to his chest, and Ed had the sudden urge to chase it with his lips - but given where that was likely to lead, he figured they should at least take five first.

“I’m going to have to clean up in here before we go.” He murmured after a moment, glancing down at where Liam had pillowed his head onto his shoulder. He felt Liam laugh before he heard it. “I think that’s a record for us, y’know.” With his other hand he tipped Liam’s face up towards his. “Didn’t even make it home.”

“Yes, well…” Liam shifted, holding up his own hand, upon which a new adornment glinted in the light. Seeing that ring - plain and simple, the way he knew Liam would like it - only ignited further desire in Ed. “We had good reason.” Ed grinned, leaning in to steal a long, lingering kiss.

“We did indeed. Now, handsome… get yourself presentable, and I’ll start on clean-up. If he can’t see his face in the worktops, Eric will know for definite that something’s happened back here.” He made to stand up, but Liam caught his arm and pulled him back.

“Five more minutes? I’m not sure my legs are working again just yet.” Ed laughed, and settled himself back into position against the cupboard door. 

“Alright. Five more minutes.”

—

Many events had taken place at Anchorage over the years - from wedding receptions to charity dinners, both its main dining room and the smaller private den rented out and reserved time and time again. One thing Edward could safely say had never taken place in his restaurant was a child’s birthday party.

Until today.

His artfully designed nautical interior decor was overshadowed by appropriately colourful and cheap decorations - which he and Liam, with the aid of Killian and David and a few of the restaurant staff, had spent hours putting up the night before - and the smart navy tableclothes had been replaced with flags bearing the skull and crossbones of every typical pirate. 

The tables themselves had been entirely rearranged to better suit a horde of tiny humans - and their long-suffering parents - and the beautifully crafted menus had been completely rewritten at the request of the VIP currently standing on her chair with a sword in her hand and a tricorn on her head. Beside her, bandana tied around his head and fake parrot fixed to his shoulder, her brother was in the process of stacking a pile of presents onto the table in the vague shape of a ship.

Standing at the pass, Ed surveyed the chaos of his sophisticated restaurant, and smiled. When Liam joined him a moment later, he took his husband’s hand in an automatic gesture, gently lacing their fingers together. 

“How long do you think we should wait before we roll out the cake?” Liam asked, leaning comfortably against Ed’s shoulder. “They’re already wired with sugar. If we make them wait too long they might stage a mutiny and turn on us.” Ed grinned.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” He shifted, glancing through the window to the kitchen, where the cake awaited. “I can bring it out now, if you like?” Liam turned too, smiling as he set eyes upon the cake. He had already seen in that morning after Ed had finished the final touches, but he was still amazed at his husband’s creativity and skill. He’d never seen anyone make a cake to look like a tall ship before, especially one so realistic. It even had edible sails that Ed had hand-dyed with colouring and a brush. 

“Have I told you how incredible you are, darling?” He murmured, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from him. “She’s going to love it. Her very own pirate ship.” He felt his heart swell with love for this man who continued, every day, to surprise him. “You’ve really done a good job with this, y’know. I know there’s a part of you that’s internally screaming over what we’ve done to your restaurant.”

“Everything can be returned to how it should be.” Ed waved him off. “And besides… it’s all worth it. You know I’d do anything for our family, Li.” He kissed him again, lingering a little this time. “Now go distract our little captain whilst I light the candles and sail this thing out.”

[addictivewriter]

Surfaced (part 1; rewritten)

Summary: Y/N was curious, plain and simple. At times it got her into certain amounts of trouble, always varying in degrees. But the most recent incidient pushed her past her point, enough that she decided to turn her back on her kind entirely and join the humans. Only what she expects isn’t what she gets. She walked right in the middle of an apocalypse. 

A Mermaid/Zombie AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

A/N: so the first draft of this chapter, the one I originally published, was terrible. I realized that when I started writing chapter three and couldn’t go further than a paragraph. So this is why I decided to rewrite chapter one and go on the way I originally planned. Sorry about this, guys… Rather have quality chapters than ones I rushed.

The wind nipped at Y/N’s bare skin, a shiver rippling through her body. She curled her tail slightly closer to her but other than that, she hardly moved. Her eyes were focused on the shore in the distance. In the darkness and with the light of the moon, the sand looked soft and inviting. Cool to the touch, even. Never in her life had she touched sand before. It was always wet.

Part of her wanted to swim further towards the shore, pull herself up and run her hands through the sand just to feel what it was like. She wanted to feel the sensation. But as always, there was something holding her back. This time, it was the painful reminder, the punishment, of rising to the surface.

Multiple marks ran from her shoulders down to her lower back. It’d been hours ago that she received and still the wounds stung. At least it stopped bleeding. Seeing the waters turn a dark red, almost a violet color, was the last thing she wanted to see. It was the reason she climbed upon a rock that easily hid her body when she needed it – if she needed it.

The moon was out and so were the stars. Humans were asleep and it was safe to go up to the surface at night. For the most part, at least. Sometimes there were incidents… not as many as there used to be, though.

A distinct splash in the distance made Y/N cringe. She sighed and pursed her lips but refused to move from the rock she was sitting on. Another splash happened, but this time it was closer. A third splash and then a voice sounded just feet away.

“Y/N,” she heard her sister’s voice call out to her. “Y/N, please. Come back. Get in the water before you’re spotted.”

“It’s night, Muriel,” Y/N spoke without looking down. “The humans are asleep. We won’t be spotted.”

“You don’t know that!” Muriel hissed at her. “Get in the water! Stop being foolish and come back. Mother talked to the elders and they came to a decision.”

At her sister’s words, she finally glanced down at her. Her sister’s hair was plastered to her skin but the jewels that were decorated in her hair stayed put. Muriel’s eyes had softened and almost a sad expression took place of the angry one that was there just moments before. She sighed, pushing away a bit of hair that got in her way, and spoke again.

“You’re to move to a new pod,” Muriel spoke gently, as if the tone would soften the blow. “By dawn you are to gather all that you need and find new waters to swim. You aren’t welcomed here anymore.”

Y/N stiffened, gripping the rock she was sitting on. She expected her punishments to come and knew they would be painful. But she didn’t know it would make her heart twist so painfully. She had turned away from her sister again as her bottom lip trembled and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. This sting hurt worse than one of a jellyfish.

“Banishment,” she spoke, her voice cracking. “How cruel.”

“Cruel? Cruel? You think banishment to be cruel?!” Muriel’s voice rose exponentially. For a moment she had forgotten where they were at and how quiet they were supposed to be. After a moment of gathering herself, she spoke much more softly. “Y/N you wouldn’t have been banished if you would have listened. You had your warnings! Plenty of them! And yet you still come to the surface like a stubborn, foolish child. Father indulged your actions long enough. Look where that got him!”

Rage consumed her at the mention of her father. Y/N cried out as she turned back to her sister. Her nails and teeth sharpened almost instantaneously as her eyes darkened until the irises were no longer visible. With one simple movement, she was back inside the water with her hand squeezing her sister’s throat.

“You have no right to bring Father up. That happened when we were little,” she hissed in Muriel’s face.

“Yes,” Muriel said calmly, hardly flinching at her sister’s harshness. “And I would have that you learned from that. Mother and I both thought you’d put your foolish obsessions aside. But we thought wrong.”

Slowly her claws and fangs retracted and her pupils adjusted. Y/N removed her hand from Muriel’s throat and took a deep breath.

“Yes, and I thought we were family. But I thought wrong, too.”

The words did the damage she intended. She saw as hurt flickered across her sister’s face, her lips parting. Her eyes watered but just for a moment. The pained expression was gone just as quick as it had appeared. A blank expression took it’s place.

“Very well then. If those are your parting words, I’ll leave you,” Muriel said, starting to swim away. Before she dipped underneath the water, she said one last thing before she left her sister’s presence completely. “Wherever you go, Y/N, may you find peace.”

And then, she was gone. 

TAGS:

@iamwarrenspeace, @owhatshername1 @lixbean (unable to tag you, sorry)

If you’d like to be added or removed from this list please send an ask or message!

[adventures-in-drabbling]

Lacewoodshipping Week Day 7: Hello/Goodbye

I DID THE ENTIRE WEEK 

the achievement is real omfg. I’ve never managed to keep to one of these before, baha.

This, as per the usual, became both wildly out of control, deviates totally from the prompt, the end is SUPER ABRUPT, and it was written between midnight-3:20am because what is a sleeping pattern.

If anyone wants to actually read something that does kind of stick to the prompt, I did actually do a series of alphabet oneshots, and G and H actually happened to be Goodbye, Hello, and bonus prequel Fight (to  be read in the order Fight , Goodbye, Hello). I haven’t read any of these back because I’m far too tired to deal with my old (awful) writing skills, but if you fancy dealing with my old (awful) writing, go nuts!

I’d like to thank @monsycamour AGAIN for organising this lacewoodshipping week! It’s been amazing to throw myself back into writing for this ship, and in a week I hand in my final project thesis of my masters degree, and I’m free from uni! (at least until I get the PhD position I’m aiming for lmao lmao). Until I figure out what I’m doing with my life, I’m gonna have a load more free time (hopefully), and I 100% intend to finish rewriting my old fics! So, the Sinnoh series rewrite will be completed, Written Words is going to be re-edited, probably rewritten and completed, and I might even finish the alphabet drabbles (because I’m fairly certain I only made it up to like, H or I or something and I have like, half finished oneshots for the rest of the alphabet just hanging out in my hard drive). I also might expand on a couple of these shipping week oneshots! 

HYPE.

Also, for fic clarification, I headcanon Serena as beginning her Pokémon journey around 19/20 (I know there was a little conflict with the ages of the player character ingame and such, but w/e, that was my age when I was playing so there we go lmao), with the main campaign lasting around a year or so, and her eventually becoming Champion around 20/21ish.

enjoy!!

---

The first time they meet, Serena is a strange mix of nervous and excited. It had taken some time, but she had finally made it to Lumiose City – and it was amazing. Even as she entered the city from Route 4, the atmosphere totally overwhelmed her – so many people moving confidently through the streets, the shops and cafes and attractions all begging for her attention. Still she resisted the urge, following Sina through the South Boulevard to the Sycamore Pokémon Lab.

“The professor can’t wait to meet you. You can find him on the third floor, so hop in the elevator!” the research aide grinned at Serena, clapping her hands together in excitement. Serena tried to smile back at her in return, though she’s fairly sure she only managed a slightly sickly looking grimace, before moving to the aforementioned elevator, eyeing the slightly rickety looking mechanics before gingerly stepping inside and pressing the button for the third floor.

She wiped her slightly sweaty hands on her skirt, straightening her clothes as the elevator rose to her destination. Heart jumping in her chest, Serena slid her way through the door before it had fully opened, gazing around the surprisingly bare room. Two desks sat before her, alongside a couple of bookcases overflowing into stacks of books on the ground, and what appeared to be a semi-temporary screen wall partitioning off a portion of the room into a more private area.

Before she could move more than a few steps, however, a figure in a lab coat rounded the partition wall – Professor Sycamore.

“So,” the professor grinned down at her, stopping a small distance ahead of where she stood and propping a hand on one hip. “We finally meet!”

Serena let out a faint laugh, tension ebbing out of her at the relaxed aura that surrounded the man. “It’s about time,” she agreed, remembering her manners and sticking a hand out in front of her. “Hello, Professor Sycamore. I’m Serena.”

“Oui, oui, fantastic!” He closed the space between them to grab her hand, shaking it up and down so enthusiastically, Serena was jostled by the force. “Come this way, won’t you?” He let go of her hand (turning away before he witnessed her shaking it in relief) and motioned toward the wall partition, leading the way around to where a slightly more grandiose desk (absolutely littered with papers) lay.

What followed definitely constituted as one of the more bizarre experiences of Serena’s lifetime. Being told she had a… what did he say? Je ne sais quois? Followed by a battle, being gifted a new Pokémon and some sort of strange stone, the rest of the ‘gang’ showing up, being asked to help with Mega Evolution… By the time Calem and the others had begun to head out, leaving Serena behind with the professor, Serena was more than a little overwhelmed.

“Everything alright, Serena?” the professor asked once he realised she had yet to leave. Serena nodded quickly, rearranging her bag on her shoulder and laughing a little.

“Yes, of course! Sorry professor,” she grinned, raising a hand in a small wave. “Goodbye!” He raised a hand in reply, but just nodded at the new pokeball in her hand.

“Take good care of Squirtle, OK?” A smile spread across his face. “Not that I have any doubt you will do a fine job,” he added. Serena nodded eagerly, before making her escape around the partition to chase after her friends, and maybe convince them to tour the city full of shops and cafes with her.

---

Since their first meeting, Serena and the professor had met a few more times throughout her journey – Courmarine City, Lysandre Café, their slightly heartwrenching conversation in Couriway Town after everything with Lysandre… Sycamore had been visibly shaken during that particular encounter. Even so, he departed with a cheery promise of a surprise (though Serena was convinced his cheer was mostly a façade ), and a hint of a treasure of his to be found in the town.

When she finally located the inscription at the train station, she squinted as she read it out. "To the person reading this,” she began, tracing her fingers over each word. “What are you like now? Did you become who you wanted to be? For starters, what was the person you wanted to become even like? I don't know, but it would be wonderful if you can boast that you're living each day to the fullest. To future Sycamore. From the Sycamore dreaming of the future.”

With a morose sigh, she let herself drop to slump on the bench next to the ‘treasure’, hand still pressed against the inscription as she thought of the conflicting emotions on Sycamore’s face during their last conversation. She was fairly certain the past Sycamore who carved a message into a train station bench certainly couldn’t have predicted the alarming events of the last few days.

“Am I becoming who I wanted to be?” Serena whispered to the ceiling, tipping her head back to stare up at the roof and pressing her fingertips against the words beside her.

She didn’t sleep well that night, plagued by dreams of what had happened within the Team Flare Secret HQ, ending with the image of a younger Sycamore – without the lab coat – staring back at her as the HQ crumbled around him.

---

Despite the questionable quality of Serena’s sleep now that images of the crumbling HQ plagued her at night, she somehow managed to beat Diantha, taking the mantle of Kalos Champion as her own. The parade at Lumiose was beyond unexpected – she might have bothered to actually wear something nice had she known she was going to be thrust into a spotlight the second she arrived in Lumiose as requested by the professor – but she enjoyed it nonetheless, allowing herself to relax at the afterparty at the lab with their closest friends and family.

As the night began to draw to a close, Serena  held her drink close to her chest as she peered around the room for the one person she really wanted to talk to. The professor had presented her with the Honour of Kalos during the public ceremony, dark circles under his eyes that he had clearly at least tried to hide with some concealer. At Serena’s concerned look, he squeezed her hand lightly as he handed the award over with a quiet promise of “We’ll talk later.” However, though he had made another speech at the beginning of the party, Serena hadn’t seen him since.

Slipping away from the main body of the party, she summoned the elevator and stepped in – it still looked rickety, but she was more willing to trust it now she’d been in the lab as many times as she had. She didn’t even have to step out at the second floor, a quick glance around the room after the door opened told her that there was no one there.

Stepping out on the third floor, however, the temperature instantly dropped. Making her way around the partition to Sycamore’s desk, she found the doors behind it flung wide open onto the balcony beyond, the silhouette of Professor Sycamore leaning on the railing illuminated by the bright lights of the city. His lab coat lay abandoned on the desk, and he suddenly seemed smaller without it, less an imposing figure of authority and direction, and instead more… human.

“Professor?” Serena tentatively broke the silence, skirting around the desk and stepping onto the balcony into the brisk air of Lumiose City.

As if broken from a trance, Sycamore jumped at her voice, spinning around to face her.

“Ah, Serena, désolé,” he apologised, the bubbling liquid in the champagne flute clutched in his hand sloshing wildly with his movement. “I just needed some air, I can come back-“

Serena cut him off with a wave of her hand, moving to his side and leaning on the railing to mirror his previous position.

“Don’t worry, Professor. I could use some air too, I just wondered where you were,” she reassured him, letting her own (empty) champagne flute dangle by the rim over the edge of the balcony.

Sycamore reassumed his position, twirling the stem of his glass in his hand with a sigh and let the silence stretch between them.

“Professor…” Serena broke after a few minutes, shifting her gaze to the man beside her as the quiet tension finally became too much. “Are you… alright?”

Sycamore shifted uncomfortably, refusing to turn his gaze to her as he hung his head. “I…” he began, but trailed off, the silence pressing down heavily on the pair.

“I still have nightmares,” Serena blurted, and that made him look up at her. “Lysandre is there. So is the legendary Pokémon, and then… then everything is crumbling, and I’m running but I can still hear him behind me.”

“Serena…”

“You’re there too, sometimes,” she added, and his eyes widened in surprise at that. “You as you are now, or sometimes you when you were my age – or at least,” she glanced to the side, an embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks as she thinks maybe she’s said too much. “How I imagine you probably looked, anyway.” She met his gaze once more. “But I have them. Every. Night.” She hesitated for a moment, then balanced her glass on the railing and moved her hand to lay it on his forearm. “We’re allowed to grieve,” she reminded him softly. “And we’re allowed to hurt.”

Sycamore breathed in deeply, breaking their gaze to tilt his head back and stare at the sky above them, his eyes shiny. “You are wise beyond your years, Serena,” he chuckled, though his voice was tight, threatening to catch in his throat. Another moment of silence before he continued. “I keep replaying our conversations in my head, Lysandre and I,” he admits, his voice soft and quiet, an uncharacteristic change from his usual confident and strong air. “Trying to see if I should have noticed earlier, if I could have saved him from… his own delusions, I suppose.”

Serena tightened her grip on his arm, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “No,” she replied firmly. “There wasn’t anything- if someone had any idea- this isn’t on you, professor.”

“Augustine,” he replied quickly, moving his wet gaze back to her face. “Unless you want me to start calling you Champion, I believe we are past the point of formalities. Especially talking about this.” Serena searched his face for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Okay. Augustine.” The name felt thick and foreign on her tongue, but a thrill of excitement ran through her, her fingers twitching slightly in their grip on his arm. “We can’t keep wondering what might have happened had we acted differently,” she added, her voice hushed.

Augustine sighed again, pressing his hand over hers on his arm. “Oui,” he conceded. “I know. Yet I still can’t help it.”

Serena twisted her hand to press their palms together, twining their fingers. The slight intimacy of the gesture felt strange, but the comfort it offered won over her hesitation.

“We need to support each other,” Serena squeezed his hand. “You, me, the others who were there. We don’t have to suffer alone.” She watched curiously as Sycamore balanced his still full glass beside her empty one, before pulling her into a tight hug, hunching over slightly to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” his voice was close, right beside her ear and she couldn’t help a slight shiver at the proximity even as she wound her arms around his back. “You’re the first… to really say anything. Diantha tried, but it was… too soon.” Serena squeezed him.

“You looked like you needed to talk,” she replied softly.

They both fell quiet, drawing what comfort they could, but neither moved from their position. At least not until a wolf whistle pierced the air from the boulevard below, followed by a chorus of laughs and jeers. Serena whipped back, scowling down at the group of guys stumbling along below them – clearly on their way back from some bar - and jabbing her middle finger up at them. A few more laughs, but they continued on their way without consequence.

“I apologise about that,” Augustine said nervously, his glass back in his hand and a respectable distance put between them once Serena turned back to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Serena waved it off, jamming her freezing hands into the pockets of her skirt as the chill in the air finally began to register. Augustine still looked slightly uncomfortable, his gaze following the group of lads up the street. “It’s fine, Augustine,” Serena reaffirmed, moving to bump his shoulder with her own. “Though I really should head back to my hotel. It is late, if the bars are turning out, and today has been… exhausting.”

“Of course,” Sycamore grabbed her glass from the railing and motioned inside, moving together to shut and lock the balcony doors behind them as they moved back into the building.

“Thank you for everything, Augustine,” Serena bowed slightly as they waited for the elevator to arrive to take her back downstairs.

“Ah, do not thank me,” Sycamore laid a hand on her shoulder. “I am truly so proud of you.” He chuckled as her cheeks became pink at his praise.

“It’s all because of you!” She argued as the elevator door slid open. She stepped inside, slipping from his grasp and turning to face him, raising a hand to wave farewell. “Goodbye, Augustine!”

“No,” he cut in quickly, half-entering the elevator to grab her hand mid-wave and squeeze it lightly. “Not goodbye. That always seems so… final. And I think we’ve had enough finalities for a while, at least.” Serena grinned, but nodded in agreement.

“You make a fair point,” she conceded. “Not goodbye, then. See you later?” Sycamore smiled and winked, bringing her hand up to press a light kiss to her knuckles.

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” he asked as he released her hand to step back, out of the small elevator. “Allow me to buy you dinner in thanks for… everything. And as a celebration of your achievements, Champion.”

Serena grinned, her cheeks reddening further. “That sounds wonderful,” she agreed. “I’ll message you in the morning?”

“Sounds like a plan, ma chérie,” Sycamore nodded. “I look forward to it.”

“Same here!” Serena laughed, finger hovering above the button for the ground floor. “See you later, Augustine!” At his wave, she pressed the button, waiting for the door to close before clumping against the wall and pressing a hand to her pounding heart.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Devilish Deals 2

Leo: For the next big scoop. Ah, I know now! Is it a graph of how fish would drive if we gave them cars? «Uh, no? It’s a detailed chart explaining the fiscal consequences of the new legislation being passed today by the senators that we voted for!» Ugh, if you’re gonna be that political about it, then you’re gonna turn me off further, man. «Okay, deal with your sour attitude then; it’s not like this is gonna affect you immediately. Your QOL’s gonna lower subtly over time, and your baby-brother’s gonna keep whining about the fact that he can’t go to an after-hours clinic anymore because they’ve slashed all federal funding for them. And when shit really hits the fan, you’ll ask why these bank-workers who don’t look like bankers at all are coming to repossess your home. Just sit by and let that happen!» [,] Look, are you playing a character or something? You have a bad case of crazy eyes going on, and I wanna know if I’m being filmed or not: My privacy is very important to me. «Ms. Palmieri, I can assure you that I don’t record any of my encroachments, as that’d jeopardize the privacy of whoever’s door I land on. So, there’s my answer to your concerns about privacy.» <Oro starts to twitch, giving away that he’s afraid of something, thus letting his “crazy eye thing” become obvious.> «What do you think I take you for: Some kind of purse puppy? I’ve seen plenty of them in my life, and you’re not one of them; you’re just abstract, and you can find a way to embrace that.» I have no idea what a “purse puppy” is, whatever your name was. I was immersed earlier purely for the game of pictionary you were hosting earlier. «Well, I was immersed in detailing how newly proposed legislation will screw you over, and you’re not giving me reliable polling data!» <An armadillo appears to enter the open Ola Diara van, causing a noticeable ruckus.> «Do not focus on that creature! Instead, focus on the issues at hand.» Agh, you’re doing the crazy eyes thing again! I don’t like it; stop. «I can keep doing it! And I’ll keep doing it until you decide to contribute to stop this legislation!» [,] < After furious conversation between the two persists for three minutes, Ms. Palmieri stares at Oro with a deep, contemptuous look that implies something heinous was done. She walks back into her house, and closes her door with meaningful force, but not enough to shake the front of her house. All windows begin to suddenly close, and the ground under Oro’s feet begin to shake.> Wow, cool. That’s the second person who just magically spawned an earthquake underneath my feet because I said something they didn’t like. Unbelievable!

Taurus: In your usual shop. Status update for the restaurant: I couldn’t tell if it was the smoke signals coming off of weirdos who like to nomadically tour this place, but I think we’re losing customers because something’s scaring them off. I’ve noticed a sharp 20% decrease in usual customer attendance, and this clearly isn’t a result of the degrading quality of my cuisine: I always ensure that it’s top-notch no matter the cost. Therefore, the reason must be external, and it’s likely coming from something that’s been making the Gieger counter go off the fritz lately. <As Gresham lowers the marker from the whiteboard, he points his gaze at Natuk.> «Uh, if I’m following correctly, that likely means it’s the noise of the damn thing scaring people away. If I heard a Gieger ticks when I first enter a building, I’m gonna assume there’s nuclear fallout.» Uh, I also think you’re incorrect with that: Strange and somewhat concerning noises are part of the dining experience up here, and I would’ve lost more customers a longer time ago if the disturbance of such sounds was the culprit. <Natuk softly whispers to themselves> «Oh no, he’s doing this again: This happens every harvest season ‘cause he doesn’t understand that’s when people eat their own food.» Regardless, there’s something among us: A haunting presence that peeks out the corners of my eyes whenever I go up from this place to scout the weather for today. «Ugh, <Natuk’s eyes roll at being deliberately ignored> are you gonna tell me to go out and search for it again?» [,] Listen, I’m not one for superstition, — please just ignore my conspiratorial diagrams in the backroom — so I’m not gonna send you on a cleansing mission that I did years before. «Oh, that’s what I always get a glimpse of whenever you go back there. In that case, I’m slightly more relieved I don’t have to do this again!» …Which is why I’m leaving you in charge of managing this entire place while I’m embarking myself. «Wait, what?» You should’ve learned enough from the thirty months you’ve been around, so it’s yours while I confirm my suspicions. From my local knowledge, there’s always been an inkling that bad spirits gazed upon those soon to be met with misfortune high up on the cliff sides. [,] «Wait, wait! Where are you getting this staring figures idea from? Also, literally anyone can run this place.» You except the presence of conspiratorial diagrams and Gieger counters in a restaurant, but you draw the line at figures? Have you not been listening to me, Natuk? «No, no, I’ve been listening loud and clear. I’m just wondering why that’s your conclusion, and not any natural causes.» <Gresham stares down Natuk.> I’ve trusted the natural before, and it’s let me down too many times.

Aquarius: By offering a bit of blood. Gazing at the ever-expanding, formless ocean that takes up every corner of your vision gets you thinking about how small you are, as typical as that sounds. «You’re not doing a good job at trying to make me think outside myself; you’re not using enough showy language; you’re using active language.» Well, sometimes we don’t need to show anyone anything; did that thought ever cross your mind? «No, I always think about the bigger picture, the nuanced implications, and the encompassing meaning. That’s why I’m the navigator on this ship: You thought of me as the only person who could stare at barren oceans for hours on end and not become bored.» See, I don’t have to show you anything; that’s the job of the seas and the skies. Now, going back to what I was saying: Being out here for so long makes you complacent in the fact that you’re simultaneously small and large. We’re small in how our selves need to traverse something so vast in little units of ships, but we’re big in how we collectively impact these seascapes… Do you get that? [,] «I mean, it’s a fairly easy concept to grasp, Aukai. We’re small, I’m small, the ship’s small, you’re sorta small: I get it. But together, when our gross, salty bodies conglomerate to form an extremely complex, interlinking network of saltiness, we stink up the whole world.» It appears to be easy to grasp, but then you recognize that there’s an infinite layer of possibility below us that I’ll only ever observe a random instance of if I were to dive downward right now. What if I were to dive just three minutes later? I’d likely discover a whole underwater utopia instead of finding some small rocks and a school of krill. «I mean, you could also drown given how deep the sea goes down at this point.» Yeah, I’m really liking your nuanced thinking here: Thinking of hypotheticals that vanish in probability the moment a spare second passes. […] «With how much time you spend out here, you’re practically a sea creature of your own. Maybe some aspiring marine biologist will read about you in the newest issue of National Geographic: One that I’ll publish personally because nobody knows your behavior better than me.» There’s several people who know me better than you. And what you’re essentially saying is that every major epiphany in my life will be rewritten in allegories that children can easily read and interpret from a shark’s daily existence: Is that right? «Well, we’re thinking far ahead with this, and just to be sure we’re on the same page, you were talking about humans morphing into amphibian-like creatures in the future and how that can be triggered from this instance if we continue, correct?» <Aukai disappeared out of sight, leaving a ripple in the water from where she jumped off.> «Fuck.»

Pisces: Offered Satanist theory. Every coach spins their keys like they have nothing better do (they really don’t actually). I’m spinning my keys right now, but it’s clear that I’m not a coach: I’m neither bald nor frustrated enough to be one. Yet, Idrissa just left and told me to take care of her keys lest somebody else takes them. She trusts me out of all people, which is correlated with how well my performance has been doing. I’m now in the, uh, some type of BMI category: It was the one I was in two weeks ago but shifted below because of the excuse that our “weights are broken.” To tell you the truth, it’s more likely that nobody has ever made solid measurements of my body mass because it’s an amorphous structure. I mean, I consistently anger coaches because I never wear the skin-tight uniforms, and I get yelled at that I’m granting myself an “unfair advantage” because my baggy clothes are an inaccurate indicator of where I should be grabbed. I say I blame the people I’m up against for not understanding after multiple tries that the thighs are the best place to grab my flesh because that’s usually where it’s concentrated. […] Sorry, I went off on a tangent, who are you again? «There’s a persistent worry that the desire to create presentations numerously complex leads to an overall decline in digestibility and further blossoming. Therefore, it makes the coach in question attempt to sacrifice their deeply held complexities promised towards his students in favor of beating in the mundane until it becomes extraordinary.» Ah yes, thank you Maghazi: Thank you for your comments, proving my theory, and exemplifying how dimorphic my mind is. «I didn’t say that; what the hell are you talking about?» Unfortunately, I’m not the archetype who has voices in their head; that’ll be elaborated on sometime soon. «Maghazi, it’s Idrissa. I’m here to get my keys back because I need them to make sure we can leave the damn courtyard. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds like you’re messing with me, so cut it out.» <Various objects in the courtyard start to become laced in bright lines, detailing their physical geometry.> «But what does the spinning action accomplish? Is it one of those deliberate confusions — something that exists purely as a complicating agent? It’s based off real, tangible motion but becomes mystified by human interpretation, and thus made into something abstract. Abstraction is always the grounds for worship, as we know through the dreaded faithful.» <Idrissa shakes her head violently and recalls distinctly fake names.> «God, stop doing this! You do this every time you have one of your pretentious monologues, and it’s getting on my nerves!» Yes, I can very much feel the nerves, particularly those in your brain. <Idrissa yanks the keys out of Maghazi’s hand and the illusion stops.> What? You’re acting like I’m a nuisance.