#basically its a canon divergence after it devours!

[falloutboyyaoi]

do you guys want a snippet of a fic im trying to write? no? too bad *throws this at you*

The smiling god screamed as it died. No one thought a centipede could scream, but it did. It screamed for a long time.

Somewhere, where the sun never sets and the sand stretches for miles and miles, a man who is neither tall nor short, neither thin nor fat, screams too. He screams so loud it burns his throat raw. It’s an all encompassing grief, like a piece of him has been cut out. A blinding light sinks into a sightless void, the warmth that had just moments ago felt as if it was burning his skin off was gone and the man shivered its absence.

Kevin made an attempt to open his eyes, only to realize that they were infact open, it was just to dark to see. He screams once more, but no sound will slip out of his mouth. He closes his eyes and sees flames and the smell of gasoline, and when he opens them, hes back

[true-blue-sonic]

Hello, Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening!

I was rambling here and then my mind pulled the "Gold is Silver's equivalent from Blaze's dimension" theory from no where so now I am wondering: How would Gold stick to this role? What would her approach to the whole timeline-alteration-stuff to be?

Thinking now, this scenario would surely diverge a lot from canon (like The Second Devourer incident as well as the Council had a big role in shape Gold's personality) so I'm sorry if the things got somewhat out of hand 😅

I'm wondering how Silver and Gold are going to find out they're dimensional counterparts! Assuming her history happened like it does in the comics, I figure Gold would be suspicious about the many direct contrasts and similarities between her and Silver, but it's difficult to really pinpoint for sure. Not helped by the fact that Silver's line of reasoning is basically something akin to "But if we are dimensional counterparts, how come you are so much taller?", lmao. So altogether, it's quite a challenge to really get any proof for such suspicions!

But if they do ever get any confirmation for it... I think Gold is going to be crushed most of all. After all, her dimensional counterpart is Silver: the guardian of the future, a hero in both their present and their past, the one who saved Onyx City from the Second Devourer and who is directly responsible for ensuring the city is becoming a more equitable and hospitable place for all (at the end of Genesis). The bar could hardly be higher. And Gold's track record meanwhile exists of having her home dimension be ruined and then spending ten years being unable to do basically anything in Onyx City to help her citizens. She'll be devastated by how badly she and the things she has managed to do in her life look compared to Silver, even if she knows it's absolutely not Silver's fault and also not really hers. But even if she tries to keep it to herself, it's easy to see that the fact she cannot live up to Silver's legacy is clearly making her unhappiness and sense of self-loathing even worse.

Though, in a world where the Second Devourer did not strike the Sol Dimension and she could grow up there without any influence of that monster, fleeing to Onyx City, and being raised by the Council, I can see Gold be somewhat more proactive and extroverted. She's definitely not a fighter still: her powers don't really allow for much physical combat and definitely not with enemies like robots and the like, after all. But perhaps she would still fulfil a hero role, but then more on the side. The one who is gathering intel or who gets to her goals with sneakiness and remaining as hidden and unnoticed as possible, contrary to Silver's Guns Blazing Let's Get Yeeting approach. I think she would try to exert her desire to help others through a role in a government or a similar party, to contrast Silver's general solo actions. If presented with a scenario wherein she has to travel back in time to undo a disaster in her era, I think Gold's sense of responsibility and desire to help would urge her to do so. But she'd first do extensive research, not only about the disaster but also about the past itself, its customs, its remarkable figures who could help her, etcetera. Everything to make her blend in as well as possible and stop her from getting any attentions of villains and the like! But overall, I think she would tackle things entirely different than Silver usually does. More extroverted and proactive or not, I doubt Gold will ever reach Silver's levels of stubbornness, self-sacrificing, and utter inability to give up and lose hope, and that makes her visits to the past quite different than Silver's. She'd do it if she truly had to, but overall the entire experience is one giant stressor, and it'd be quite taxing for her!

[elsanna-shenanigans]

November/October Contest Submission #5: secret garden

Words:  ca. 4,500 Setting: Canon Divergent AU Lemon: no Content: violent cough, mentions of blood, Anna in significant pain, Angst

—x—   ELSA   —x—

They were young then, Elsa reminisces. Devoured by the vestiges of youth yet still strikingly shaped by the responsibilities of their adulthood. Their joyous laughter, once unbridled, has now tapered into a more polite giggle. The chaos that once led to even more debauchery, now only a memory evident from the various scuffed markings scribbled on the marble floor. And how could she forget the illusion of freedom—sweet and alluring, taken for granted before they were truly old enough to learn the consequences of losing it?

—xxx—

She was twenty-one and her sister was eighteen. They were off to a field south of their home at the crack of dawn, riding their steeds in the hopes of finding a bouquet fit for their mother. They made a quest of it, and a competition at Anna’s request, for whose flowers should be the prettiest. Elsa had emphasized that a bouquet, while still judged by the sum of its parts, is admired for its unity and cohesion. Anna begged to differ as she plucked every unnamed flower she could find in her path. Once the sun started to blister upon their skin, they rushed back home with fluttering petals upon their trail.

Elsa remembers it so clearly as one of the few fond memories that she has been able to cherish over the years. Queen Iduna had welcomed her daughters, ruffled and dirtied by the mud and grass, and cooed at their gifts for her birthday. She praises Elsa’s flowers for having colors so pleasing to the eye, while Anna is praised for probably acquiring a whole field of wildflowers. When her daughters insisted on which bouquet had won her heart, Iduna gave them a tender smile before choosing the king’s. It is no wonder that the two have steadfastly objected.

“That is such a non-answer, mother.” Elsa huffed, but Anna wasn’t as politely displeased.

“Regardless, I’m sure I would’ve won. What with the amount I’ve gathered—it’s basically a testament to my immeasurable love.” She boasts.

Before the argument escalated further, Iduna had quickly interjected by clearing her throat. “While I do appreciate your confidence, my dears, I have not judged with bias. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

She leads them to the vase where their father’s flowers bloomed. What they were met with is nothing but a dull arrangement that would have made Anna’s loud flowers cry. They were sure to protest once more until Iduna continued, “See, it isn’t as colorful as either of yours. Not as numerous as Anna’s, and not as calculated as Elsa’s. However, do you wish to hear the secret of its beauty?” She leans in close and whispers, as if what she’s about to divulge is nothing short of a national secret. “It’s the hidden message.”

With a gasp, Anna quickly inspects the vase for any unusual markings, letters, or cyphers. True enough, she found nothing. By then, Iduna had procured a book before them—“Flora’s Interpreter,” it states. This had definitely piqued Elsa’s interest, while Anna admired the delicate craft of the bindings, “This was a gift to your father a long time ago. He was young, no older than Elsa. Though we had met by then, he had trouble expressing his admiration for me. Upon learning the secrets behind these unassuming flowers, he had brought them to me. One after the other, with every meeting we’ve had. And though he thought I was ignorant of their underlying truth, I knew full well what he wanted to tell me.”

She flips a page and points to a flower on Elsa’s fingertips. “These are white primroses. Though it seems as if it talks about purity, it signifies sadness and mourning.” Elsa’s face fell. “Worry not, however, for these,” she points at its yellow variants, “signify love, happiness, and warmth.” She then gestures at its equivalent in their father’s arrangement.

Then, another illustration from the book is shown, and Iduna points to a flower in Anna’s bouquet. “These are snowdrops. Lovely and beautiful in their own right. However, they are known to be a sign of death—or bad luck, if you will.” Quickly, Anna throws the snowdrop away from their gaze as if she was burned by the very prospect of its existence. Iduna merely chuckled at her daughter’s antics. “Though, it can also mean innocence, purity, and sympathy.”

“Wh— mother!” Anna exclaims. Elsa snickers behind her palm.

“Do you understand, now, how powerful these could truly be?” The pair nodded, acquiescing. Iduna then points at the rest of the flowers in the vase, reiterating each and every meaning behind them. While Anna seemed excited by its prospect, Elsa eyed it with reluctance. At the very end, Iduna wished to impart the book to them, one that Anna delightfully takes. Elsa, on the other hand, isn’t as interested in the implications of its messages as much as she admits.

—xxx—

She was newly twenty-two and Anna was nineteen. It was her birthday, after all, and the celebration had been extravagant. A ball was held in her honor, for her complete transition into adulthood. Elsa wanted to pretend that turning twenty-two isn’t all that different, but she’d be lying. For one, there is a line of pushy suitors waiting to dance with her during her parents’ speech. And for another thing… a metaphorical gap extends between her and Anna, it feels. Though blurred and unseen, their distance seemed all-encompassing, and Elsa felt as though it was her fault for growing up too fast.

When the band had once again resumed its upbeat symphony, a man rushed to ask for her first dance. Before her is Prince Caleb, she believes, one of the older boys from the Southern Isles. Though her discontent is palpable, with his smarmy boyish grin and greased up hair, she takes his gloved hand in hers and accepts his giddy invitation. Sure enough, he wasn’t a joy to be a partner with. He talked her ear off, with spit flying from his mouth. He also had a distinct smell of horse manure that seemed to waft off of his coat in droves. But worst of all, amongst his tall tales, his only subject of interest is to talk arrogantly about himself. Elsa was sure that if given the chance, he would’ve gleefully danced with himself, if only for the satisfaction of autoflagellating any further.

It was unfortunate that her succeeding dances hadn’t fared any better. Her second dance was from a duke from Weaseltown—“Weselton! I hail from the dukedom of Weselton,” the man would constantly correct. Much like Prince Caleb, he is a very talkative dance partner. And unlike Prince Caleb, he only talked about the wonders of Weaseltown’s—Weselton’s!— trades. By her third dance, Elsa felt as if the night would never end. She strains her ears to listen for the distinct ring of the clock tower bells, but her impatience wasn’t rewarded.

It wasn’t as if Elsa was never excited by the prospect of romance. Being a princess, her wedding vows were already tailored for her potential political spouse. Being the crown heir, it was ever more important for her to find a man that would suit her well. Much to her regret, however, seeing as none of the men had passed the test.

By the end of the umpteenth waltz, her arms aching and her legs sore, Elsa was sure that she could never dance again. If not from her limbs falling off, it would surely be from the tremendous emotional pain she would incur if she was to follow another flailing box-step in pinching shoes. Having feared that her father would incite another suitor upon her, she quickly dismisses her purposeful retreat back to her traitorous family. Instead, she redirected her escape through the stairs and atop the mezzanine. Elsa finally found reprieve in the cold winter air by slipping into one of the open balconies. The night was beautiful, she mourned. It should be cruel that she spends her birthday with the arms of unbecoming men instead of basking in the glory of the moon’s light. She watches as her breath turns into fog, like clouds upon the sky. It has been so long since she’s felt gratitude for the simpler joys of life.

“Care for another dance?” A voice called behind her. Elsa would have groaned from hearing that phrase, but she didn’t want to pretend any longer. Her heart leapt in joy from the sound of Anna joining her.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.” Anna finally stands beside her, giggling at Elsa’s plight. For the first time in the entirety of the night, she was able to see Anna. She wore a beautiful green gown— it had always been her color, Elsa thought. It wasn’t puffy like some of the dignitaries wore, nor was it too revealing. Instead, it moved with her, as if Anna were the goddess who blessed the land she walked on. On her neck was an emerald pendant strung on a silk sash. And under the moonlight, she seemed to glow.

When Elsa didn’t grace her with a response, Anna’s gaze bore into her own. “I’m not,” she says again, more reverently, and extends her hand as an invitation. The pulsating chorus of the wind instruments carried itself in a soft hum around them.

Elsa takes it with mock exasperation, but ever so glad to have Anna in her arms, if only for a single dance. “Hopefully you don’t step on my toes, dearest sister, the Prince from Wales all but mangled my poor feet” she teases, but with their first step, she felt herself glide. Anna, taking a more traditional leading role, flawlessly carried Elsa around the balcony as if they were one with the wind. She felt herself breathless, not from exertion, but from the majesty of it.

In that moment, Elsa remembers her father saying, ‘Dancing is important for nobles because it measures the amount of chemistry one may have with their partner. It requires a lot of close contact, holding, and synchronization. What is a better way to know that a person is perfect for you if not the sharing of both mind and body?’

How cruel it must be, she wonders, that the only person befitting for her heart is none other than her own sibling. She was dipped low, with the moon framing Anna’s head like a halo. She looked ethereal, with love and admiration exuding effortlessly. For a moment, Elsa felt her heart expand, as if compensating for the amount that Anna would give. However, it overflows, from her chest and into her limbs, and down to the tips of her fingers. This is what dancing should feel like, she thought.

She would have addressed that brief moment of sanctity if it weren’t for Anna heaving and sprawling on the floor. Her body shook from violent coughs, and her gasps and sobs followed the thundering crescendo that echoed from the ballroom. Elsa scrambled to hold her, but Anna had held her hand out to stop her. She didn’t heed her warnings, however, and enveloped the fatigued body in her arms. She tucked the stray strands of hair that clung to her forehead sheening from sweat. Finally bringing her arm down, Anna opens her hand to reveal a flower. It was pink, almost reminiscent of a rose, yet its full bloom suggests that the petals are far more numerous than her initial guess.

“Camellia,” Anna raspily supplies, but she stated it with an emptiness and detachment uncharacteristic of her personality. It’s as if Anna scorned the flower itself.

“It looks beautiful.” Elsa tries to keep it light, though the silence that remained made her hesitate whether this is a battle she could fight.

However, Anna finally gave her a small smile, agreeing. “You’re right, it is beautiful.” She caresses its silken petals before meekly offering it to Elsa. “Do you… Would you like to have it? It’s magic, you know? It never withers.”

“If it’s from you, of course.” Elsa holds the hand that held it. “But how did you ever have the opportunity to find a magical flower?”

“I made it just for you.” Anna easily says, reaching to tuck the flower in her neatly braided hair before letting it rest on her cheek. She then whispers, almost as if saying it louder might make her cry thereafter, “Happy birthday, Elsa…”

A beat, perhaps, a moment of hesitation.

“I love you.”

They let the soft diminuendo fill the unspoken words between them. By the end of the symphony, Elsa allows her thumb to caress her sister’s freckled cheek. “I love you, too, Anna.”

Anna’s response was to resume the violent fit of coughs until the palace servants had come to retrieve them.

—xxx—

Elsa was twenty-three and Anna was twenty when their parents decided to embark on a journey. They had to leave, they said, in the hopes of finding a cure for Anna’s sickness. By then, Elsa was prepared for the royal duties left by her parents. Though busy from overlooking their kingdom’s affairs, Elsa only had a single worry in mind.

Anna tried to placate her, yet her weak voice only served to dissuade Elsa. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. Come to me.”

Elsa approached her quickly, dropping down to her bedside. Anna sat up and procured a Dahlia to join the rest of Elsa’s growing garden. She cherishes them, the enchanted flowers that Anna seemed to have an endless supply of. Though, on the breast of her blazer, only the first Camellia was pinned— never withering, always eternal. She had brought it with her everywhere she goes, to remind herself that Anna is always in her heart. Meanwhile, she kept the Dahlia in a flower box for safekeeping.

When night comes, she would knock on Anna’s door and await for her approval before she entered her bedchambers. And there she was, sitting idly on the large four-poster bed, reading the book their mother had given them years prior.

It felt haunting to watch someone filled with life and fervor be snuffed by the cruel apathy of the known universe. Still, Elsa seeks respite from her own thoughts. Tomorrow may be her turn to give Anna a flower crown fit for giants, but tonight she is alive and with her.

Once the last flame had turned to smoke in the kerosene lamps, they would talk about their day. However, there are nights where neither of the two had anything to offer. Instead, they would lie on the bed, reminiscing their earlier years like weary spinsters rocking their chairs on a porch.

“Gods, I miss playing in the snow.” Anna whines. “What does my weakened state have to do with enjoying winter?”

“One day,” Elsa promises but both know it’s empty. “And maybe we could rebuild Olaf once more. Do you remember him?”

“How could I not!” She laughs. “He is practically my son, the sweet thing. His love for warm hugs definitely came from me.”

“He’s my child, too, you do realize?” Elsa would declare. “I have fond memories of trying to make him as you pilfer my stones or pelt me with snow.”

“It’s called labor, sister dearest. Surely, you’ve listened to the disgusting lessons about pregnancy and consummation even when you’re adamant about your maidenhood.”

“Oh hush, I have no need for any man when I have you by my side.”

Occasionally, Anna would start to cough, and Elsa would rush to her side with some water. Almost always, she would hack and sob; almost always, a flower would bloom. And though worried and afraid, Elsa would always compliment its beauty as she held her sister in her arms, thereafter, promising to keep her gift safe. They varied, Elsa observes. Sometimes a daisy, sometimes a gladiolus, and sometimes, it is paired with chrysanthemums. Though rarely, Elsa would keep a handful of hyacinths, and a litter of rues. It never mattered what they are, she kept them all.

She then waits for the shuddering breaths to taper into a soft rattling hum. She knows that Anna is too exhausted to fight the vestiges of sleep. Her breath is still labored but it will soon calm into a more natural ebb and flow. Elsa doesn’t dare close her eyes in fear that when she awakes, her sister would be gone. That from her slumber, all that will remain is a bed of petals in her wake.

—xxx—

She was twenty-four and Anna has recently turned twenty-one. At that point, she knew their parents were long gone and all that’s left in the world is her and Anna. Fellow dignitaries visited with their condolences, but most had their own private agendas in mind. Some asked for her hand in marriage in order to solidify the crown, while some tried to entice her with quack medicines to aid her dying sister. They sickened Elsa but such is the privilege of a political figure.

Aid came forth in the form of Queen Arianna of Corona. It surprised her, truly, since the monarch was rarely seen travelling after the disappearance of her dear cousin, Princess Rapunzel. Nevertheless, her visit had been well-appreciated.

The woman bore gifts for both sisters: a vial of magical tears for Anna and a story for Elsa. The tears, Queen Arianna had forewarned, can only aid Anna’s ailment for only a while. Though, it may give her enough time to truly heal what has been hurt before all would be lost. Even then, once the time should come, Elsa will believe that the woman’s gift to her was more valuable.

She had been cryptic, but Elsa was sure the Queen knew the cure. She did her best to goad an answer from her, but she stayed adamant and stubborn. “We must do this carefully, Elsa. Please, trust me,” she would insist, and Elsa would do her best to seem placated.

Her impatience was at its precipice when the Queen reminisced about her parents. It was supposed to be bittersweet, but it felt more of a reminder of what Elsa had left. With the scattered ceramic on the floor and boiling tea upon the carpet, she all but broke the hardwood table from slamming her fists. Her wail echoed in the library, begging for Queen Arianna to heed her request. The latter merely sipped her tea.

“Sit, Elsa, that is no way to treat a monarch of an allied kingdom.”

“My sister is dying, and you keep vital information for her recovery in tight lips. I do believe that my good will has been suffused and ample enough.” Elsa would growl from a shaky breath. “What is it that you need from me, Arianna? My riches? My kingdom? Please—!“

And Arianna would stand up to walk. Elsa scrambles to follow her, suddenly silent. If anyone should wonder what she thought at the moment, it’s that she feared her anger had trampled upon the hopes of saving Anna.

“A few years after the birth of Rapunzel, I gave a book to a young bumbling boy who tried his best to woo a sweet girl. He was meek and reckless though his heart willed to capture a wild and untamable flame.” She wistfully recalls. “When his poetry and poor attempts of masculine feats failed, I suggested that he do a bit of reading. So, I gave him one of the books from a collection my husband and I had obtained during our quest to find the healing flower.”

Queen Arianna then procured a book, ragged and dog-eared. Clearly, it was well-loved. Upon flipping its pages, what greeted Elsa were annotations upon annotations written on its edges, while some illustrations had soon become familiar to her.

Recognition must have swept her features when the Queen’s voice had grown softer, “The young Frederic was a hasty and pragmatic man. However, the ways of love are not met with logic but with subtlety.” She then flips the page to an illustration of the eternal flower while wistfully saying, “Repay the heart that belongs to the heart.”

Camellia, adoration;

Love;

Longing.

  —x—   ANNA   —x— 

She was young when she knew her heart had failed her body. At first, the royal physician only advised rest and a few sips of tea for her cough. However, it soon progressed into a throat-ripping hack of which a single petal would fall from her lips. It tore from her lungs and crept through her neck in order to bloom on her tongue. The wisps of tulips littering the satin handkerchief gifted to her by Elsa. They were budding, then, and only a whorl of immaturity rather than a full florescence. With time, Anna was soon able to adore the colors of unwithering tulips in the dead of winter.

She wasn’t a fool. Anna knew full well when her breath was caught so her lungs could give way for another season of blossoms. She’s aware of the itch in her chest when the ring of her sister’s laughter reverberates through the corridors. She’s aware of the breathlessness of her obstructed lungs when Elsa touches her with great affection. She’s aware of her intrepid gaze, her wandering eyes, and her lingering lust. She is not a soft and demure lady, raised as bed-warmer for the noble men’s repose— no, Anna knows full well how she feels;

And how destructive it is.

She kept it a secret, a feat that is completely inexplicable to those that knew her well. Of course, there were curious and worried looks but it didn’t deter Anna from lying through her teeth. “‘Tis nothing but the spring air,” she would say, “I’ve gone and choked on my own spit!” She would exclaim, all while her hands stealthily flicked the remnants of petals away. No one must know.

No one must know the punishment I’ve incurred from loving you.

—xxx— 

She was flipping through her newly acquired tome while Elsa hummed a tune from her perch. She looked beautiful under the light of the setting sun, Anna mused, but quickly averted her eyes when she felt the tell-tale sign of a bloom. Instead, she continued to pore over the pages, ignoring the strain she felt from uncharacteristically reading for hours on end.

“I’m surprised to see you quite taken with a book, sister,” Elsa jovially teased. “And an open one, at that!”

“Hush, you,” Anna pouted, “I never faulted you for being born with two left feet.”

“Yes, but you were happy enough to teach me how to dance, either way. I distinctly remember how much you abhorred reading. We believed you to be illiterate when you only admired the bindings!”

“I was not—“ She whips her head to see a bright grin from her usually graceful sister. She was close, with the faint freckles that painted her pale cheeks easily admired from such a distance.

“I’m glad you found it to your liking.” Elsa softly said, smiling so tenderly. Her hand brought up a daffodil and tucked it behind Anna’s ear. The sunlight framed her so ethereally. It should be blasphemous that such a woman could put goddesses to shame. Her fingers ached to trace the outline of her cheek and the edge of her jaw; perhaps, to finally answer the mystery behind the softness of pink lips. She longed for her, wholly.

Anna then rushed out of the room, stumbling back from bright teal eyes that matched hers. She crawled quickly, with tears from her eyes from suppressing the urge to spit out the flora that grew in her chest. Once in the safety of an empty room, she curled into herself and began to quake. And when she finds relief, she would find a full flower. Bright red, akin to the blood that speckled its fine petals, with white upon its center. Its pistil was dark blue to black, contrasting the otherwise loudness of the ensemble.

She knew it well because Anna had seen its illustrations. Underneath it was a looping cursive describing its secret message.

Anemone, forsaken love.

—xxx— 

She pretended to sleep while Elsa snuck into her room. She is no longer able to hide her shame when she divulged the dirtied and sullen roots of her condition. The physician had noted the significant weakness of her lungs. When he slipped away from the room with her parents, she understood her wick was nearing its end.

She stilled when a cold hand ran its fingers through her hair. She tried to deny the lull of her ministrations, but she remembered the looming shadow of death upon her door. With a moment of indulgence, Anna rolled over to face Elsa. She wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and pulled her close.

In the morning she would find her throat sore and a Dahlia between them.

Eternal love.

—xxx—

She was bound to her bed while Elsa sat on the available chair. Though, she would see less and less of her after their parents’ departure. Every night, however, she would retire in their room. Before, Elsa would make excuses about her presence but through the weeks she did away with them. Thus, Anna’s bed had also been hers to sleep in.

Anna couldn’t complain since it is her who truly benefited in their arrangement. When the clock strikes at ten, the fire would be snuffed from the lamps. She cherished such moments and tried her best to stay awake. Unfortunately, the hours are easily interrupted by her own greedy heart who longed to gift unspoken words to the person who truly owned it.

At times, it would spare a daisy when they reminisce old memories—innocence; childhood; purity. Though she would spare a gladiolus during acute moments of affection—you pierce my heart. Then, when she holds her sister’s weary body or her shaking hands, Anna would remember that her eyes no longer shone its child-like mirth. It would remind herself that her bereft love had torn her loved ones asunder. And during such downtrodden nights, she would procure a rue.

Regret.

—xxx—

She had awoken while Elsa sobbed by her bedside. She tried to open her eyes but she was too weak. Those days have become more frequent. She heard the faint news of their parents’ death but she was unable to comfort her beloved.

Instead, she allowed her remaining strength to cough out what she knew would be hyacinths.

Please forgive me.

—xxx— 

She could hardly breathe. Her chest is full and aching, yet her lungs hardly contain the air she needs. She was mostly robbed of consciousness, cradled in the sandman’s arms. Every exhalation was heard from the dead silence of her room, as her restful state was tainted by the roar of her labored breathing.

She doesn’t have long.

And before she coughs out a snowdrop, she catches a glimpse of a curious bouquet of imperfect pink and red flowers amongst the withering dahlias and camellias. Having memorized the Flora’s Interpreter, Anna could easily distinguish them even when she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

Dogwood, she quickly remembers.

Our love will overcome travesty.

—end— 

[tossawary]

Because my brain does NOT stop even when I’m grounded, today my brain told me, “Hey, I figured out how to make a Hobbit Fusion AU work.” And I was like, “Great! We’re working, though.” And my brain was like, “I’ve figured out how to make it a Pre-Canon Canon Divergence AU for Moshang.”

And I was like, “...I’m listening.”

The Hobbit is another one of my Comfort Media and it got brought up when I was asking about that, but I was feeling kind of “eh” about mixing Tolkien mythology with SVSSS. I mean, the mental picture of Dwarf Mobei-Jun is extremely funny and Shang Qinghua would make a great hobbit! But that interpretation felt a little too direct for my AU tastes.

So, hm, now I have another potential Big Bang contender. My love for The Hobbit is very, VERY strong and looking at my current outline, I have to be like, “Yeah, this could be 50,000 words, no problem.”

It’s a very good outline!

-

After saving Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua bailed A.S.A.P. because he honestly thought Mobei-Jun was going to kill him. He psyched himself out of sticking around before Mobei-Jun woke up. Mobei-Jun didn’t get enough information to track Shang Qinghua down.

Shang Qinghua (who isn’t SQH because he isn’t the Peak Lord) decides that he can’t fucking take it anymore and bails from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect too. The System objects, but also falls into line when Airplane shrieks at it. Airplane is going to go become a humble merchant and inventor and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him!

It turns out that Shang Qinghua’s presence or help was actually crucial to stop some Emperor of the Abyss from taking over the Ice Palace and the Northern Desert. Airplane is like, “Oh, yeah, I remember… offhandedly writing something about that happening in the past off-screen?” It was one of those things that he just threw in there because it sounded really cool, and it gave Mobei-Jun another reason to “owe” Shang Qinghua and not kill him immediately, but he never got to elaborate on it because he was too busy writing stallion novel bullshit.

So, borrowing the lore from my “Horns” one-shot, an extremely powerful Emperor of the Abyss escaped the Eternal Abyss. This is some devouring horror being from the depths of the abyss, which ate everything in its vicinity in the abyss itself and crawled into the Demon Realm to eat more things. The Emperor of the Abyss was attracted to Mobei-Jun’s father. They fought. Mobei-Jun’s father should have won, but didn’t, because he was too fucked up (thanks to his own hedonism or something) to fight properly. What an asshole.

Mobei-Jun’s father was killed and devoured by the Emperor of the Abyss, which has made it… exponentially powerful. It’s now… basically a calamity. The desolation that it leaves in its wake across the Northern Desert is unspeakable. Mobei-Jun and his family, their allied clans, and pretty much all demons in the Northern Desert have had to flee.

Mobei-Jun is currently essentially a “guest” of the Sha Clan. He’s homeless. He’s lost the power of his ancestors. He’s a “king” without a kingdom. It’s humiliating. He needs to kill the abyssal creature to retrieve: his title, his ancestors’ power, and his kingdom.

While working for other demon clans to support his family and people, Mobei-Jun crosses paths with Airplane. Airplane has become a relatively successful merchant and inventor, and he calls himself Shang Houhua. He lives a very comfortable life and does his best to ignore anything resembling the plot. He’s pretty successful at ignoring the plot.

Mobei-Jun is never in a good mood these days, but he’s especially pissed off to see that human who abandoned him all those years ago. Airplane tries to argue that Mobei-Jun told him to fuck off, but Mobei-Jun is too angry. Airplane makes lots of offers in an effort to get Mobei-Jun to spare his life, one of which ends up being a claim that he can help Mobei-Jun kill the Emperor of the Abyss and make him a king again. Mobei-Jun pauses, now even more pissed off than before, and Airplane just starts babbling desperately to save his own skin.

Mobei-Jun was already forming a company to take on a Quest for the Northern Desert - in the hopes of slaying the Emperor of the Abyss and retaking his homeland. Part of the issue has been that forming the company is difficult. Mobei-Jun wants people who are loyal to HIM and ONLY to him. He won’t owe anyone else anything or promise them pieces of his homeland.

(Airplane is like, “Bro, I don’t know if you can afford to be so picky, but okay.”)

So Mobei-Jun is like… “I still want to kill you, but fine, you can come on our quest and help us.”

So Airplane ends up on the Quest for the Northern Desert, led by his very angry future murderer the “king without a kingdom” Mobei-Jun, to fight the calamitous Emperor of the Abyss who killed Mobei-Jun’s father. Fuck.

Some details beyond this opening premise:

Airplane and Mobei-Jun fall in love over the course of the quest, obviously. They have their own hijinks like each chapter of The Hobbit (equivalents to the trolls, to Rivendell, to Goblintown, to Beorn, to Mirkwood, and to Laketown, etc.). 

Oh, damn, I just realized that making a pre-fall Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang the Beorn equivalents would be so fucking funny.

The Emperor of the Abyss is a horrifying Smaug equivalent. It can totally talk because Airplane having a conversation with a draconian horror sounds incredible. I would love to have Airplane outwit the Emperor of the Abyss in some fashion.

Mobei-Jun and Airplane somehow manage to successfully kill the Emperor of the Abyss together. Like, together. Probably using some plot device whipped up or some clever plan devised by Airplane on his feet. Mobei-Jun trusts Airplane at a crucial moment and it all works out. Airplane actually gets Mobei-Jun his kingdom back.

I’m tempted to just skip over the Ring and not having a Ring equivalent. BUT if I made this into a longfic instead of a one-shot, I would have a Ring equivalent (if it was a one-shot, I would ditch the Ring equivalent). I think I would make Xin Mo the One Ring equivalent. During the Goblintown equivalent event, Airplane falls either into the Eternal Abyss or into Bing-Ge’s dimension, where he proceeds to successfully take up Xin Mo because he knows the trick and portal himself out of the Eternal Abyss, or he proceeds to outwit Bing-Ge in some fashion and uses the Xin Mo sword to portal himself back to the right dimension.

So then Airplane is stuck with this super powerful sword that he doesn’t want to use again because he KNOWS that it will fuck him up. He KNOWS that it will FUCK HIM UP. So Airplane has to go through the rest of the quest ignoring the temptation of the Xin Mo sword that he is absolutely not supposed to have and can’t possibly let anyone else have.

(Oh, man, imagining the influence of Xin Mo giving Airplane extra horny thoughts about Mobei-Jun on the rest of the quest is very funny. Like, Airplane was already hot for Mobei-Jun, but now it’s worse and he might never have a normal thought ever again.)

Bagginshield Movie Hug when Airplane turns up again, for sure. Mobei-Jun thought he was dead. Mobei-Jun smiles and everything, until he remembers to frown again.

I’m feeling like I don’t want Airplane to use Xin Mo to help defeat the Emperor of the Abyss, but it makes sense if he does. Him not using it doesn’t make much sense. I do like the idea of Airplane dealing the killing blow and Mobei-Jun’s pride being hurt by Airplane being the one to kill it. I also like the idea of Mobei-Jun being a little smitten by Airplane just… loyally handing him his kingdom and restoring the power of his ancestors. I also really like the idea of Airplane just… not having some super powerful plot device up his sleeve on the quest.

Like, instead of Airplane’s Author God knowledge totally setting him up to deal with this thing no problem, Airplane had NO FUCKING PLAN when he set out with Mobei-Jun. He was talking completely out of his ass when he said he knew how to help Mobei-Jun. That this all worked out at all is almost completely due to luck and improvisation.

That feels MUCH more true to both Shang Qinghua and to Bilbo Baggins. Lucky lads of fast-talking, complaining, lying, not knowing what the fuck is really going on, thirsting after kings with tragic backstories, and somehow not dying despite winging it all the time.

Instead of goldsickness, Mobei-Jun is forced to deal with some side-effects of consuming the Emperor of the Abyss to regain the power of his ancestors. (Demon cannibalism rituals. Yeah.) He starts acting really scary and out-of-character and forceful, until Airplane loses his nerve and runs away. Maybe under the influence of the late Emperor of the Abyss, Mobei-Jun actually tries to kill him? I could see Mobei-Jun trying to kill Airplane for the Xin Mo sword which dealt the finishing blow on the Emperor of the Abyss.

(I need a better name for this thing. If I can’t come up with something that actually sounds good, I might just call it “The Calamity”, but that’s giving me BOTW vibes so I don’t like it. Maybe I’d call it “The Desolation” or something? Ehhhh, I don’t really like that either.)

I want to have a Battle of the Five Armies equivalent, if only so Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang can swoop in as benevolent helpers as the Beorn equivalents. Currently, I’m seeing three options. 1) The orc army equivalent are neighboring demon lords who want to strike while the new Mobei-Jun is getting established. 2) The orc army equivalent is Linguang-Jun trying to kill his nephew and take power at the last minute. 3) The orc army equivalent is Bing-Ge here with an army and he’s pissed off and wants his sword back.

On one hand, 1 and 2 would be SO MUCH EASIER to pull off. I could be really lazy about the whole thing. On the other hand, 3 would be much fresher (more surprising and links back to the Xin Mo element), more challenging and the idea of pre-fall Tianlang-Jun facing off with Bing-Ge delights me. Kick his ass, Tianlang-Jun!

(Su Xiyan gets involved? My brain says YES. Kick his ass, Su Xiyan!)

Also, I was sad about there being no Fili and Kili equivalents, because Mobei-Jun has no friends, and I’ll have to make up a company pretty much from scratch. (Sha Hualing is too young and Luo Binghe hasn’t been born yet.) BUT then I was like, “Where’s Linguang-Jun in all this?” And I would absolutely have Linguang-Jun be a part of Mobei-Jun’s Company. Instead of nephews, Mobei-Jun has a sketchy uncle who might be trying to kill him. Keeping Linguang-Jun out of it might be easier, but actually doing some character-building with him sounds fun and challenging, and I’d rather limit the number of OCs if possible.

Mobei-Jun manages to shake off the goldsickness equivalent somehow, probably through “the power of love” (and/or straight-up “dual cultivation” with Airplane?). Moshang makes up while Mobei-Jun is apparently mortally wounded from fighting Bing-Ge and Airplane thinks this is all his fault. But Mobei-Jun doesn’t die! It’s all good!  

It’d be pretty funny if there was a “Returning to the Shire” equivalent where Airplane leaves because he thinks Mobei-Jun hates him now and never wants to see him again. So then Mobei-Jun has to track his man down like, “Get back here and marry me. (Also I am so sorry for trying to kill you. Please forgive me. I hate myself so much for that.)”

And they all live happily ever after!

Holy shit, this wasn’t in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

[gomiworm]

YO WHATS THE NIGHTMARE DIMENSION - ALSO - GENYA’S SPOISES /pos ??

Oh, yea, I suppose some context is long overdue, isn't it? Have a long winded explanation below the cut!

The nightmare dimension as I have dubbed it is really just Genya's subconscious. After Ch. 174 (where my AU mostly takes its divergence from canon), Genya comes under a lot a stress, more than he's already had to deal with. He starts having stress dreams which slowly shift into prophetic nightmares. Eventually, it just comes down to Kokushibou's superego and his own debating which one of them is in the "right". Because, if you think about it, it's all a matter of perspective.

Kokushibou's argument is that demons are just doing what they need to survive, just like any other creature. And the only reason they're seen as evil is because humans have demonized their actions taken to fulfill basic needs. You wouldn't dedicate your life to hunting down every wolf because one devoured your family. You wouldn't vow to slaughter every bear because one attacked you. There's a system of checks and balances in nature and to think humanity is above that is criminal.

Genya fails to offer a proper counterargument to this, and this falter in morality is what allows Kokushibou to take over his host. It's really just good, old fashioned demonic possession but with work put into it.

As for the question about Genya's spouses...

[elderkale]

I wish you would write fic where canon diverges during or after the Utgard arc and the armored and colossal Titan reveal goes down differently. (there is SO MUCH canon divergence potential there? I and have only found ONE fic for it (aside from basic Ymir stay' fix-its)

You’re right and you should say it.

Got a bit off-track and ended up with 1K of sad Ymir. . . You choose the ending (I personally prefer the gays live but)

AO3

She couldn’t stay.

She knew she couldn’t stay.

But god (and wasn’t that a laugh), she wished she could.

The inside of the Titan was hot, and wet, and suffocating like nothing she’d ever felt before. The fleshy prison she was buried in scorched her skin through the rough fabric of her clothes, pulsing and throbbing like something alive with every beat of its shrivelled sandy heart. Like being buried in concrete, except the concrete was boiling and red and tugging her deeper and deeper like something desperate to devour.

Quicksand, then.

Shouting. All she could hear was shouting. Jean, Mikasa, Sasha, the bald one, Kris—Historia. Like horns blaring in the tiniest room of a baby’s dollhouse, words that rang and echoed and overlapped each other and set her teeth on edge. She clenched her fists and her claws dug deeper into Reiner’s shoulder.

Her cheeks burnt like it was being pierced with a hundred white-hot needles, and every movement, every breath, every shift so small Shadis wouldn’t have been able to pick it up the thing made pressed them in further, clawing past the boundaries of flesh and digging deeper, deeper into her. The skin around her eyes was a mess of charred black flakes and raw pink meat, and her eyes watered with the steam that came from more than just the healing. The salt was good for the burns, at least.

She wondered if Eren felt this way.

She wondered if the others did, too.

Historia was still clinging to her hair—clinging to her, her, not the others—and she held onto that like a lifeline, like it was the fraying rope that was the only thing between her and a death drop into a bottomless chasm that opened up to oblivion (because it was more than that, it was so much more).

Historia.

God, Historia.

It was a pretty name, Historia. Fit for a princess.

It suited her.

Bertolt was screaming. She said screaming. Crying, more like. Not sobbing, not quite. Just crying.

He was always crying. Always sweating, always shaking, bottom lip always wobbling like he was a kid who’d just found his goldfish floating belly-up in its bowl.

She listened. She didn’t want to, but she did.

That’s the problem with being at the top, see. There’s never anything to miss.

She listened and—

She remembered.

She remembered empty bellies and scraped knees and little feet caked with dirt and shit. She remembered broken glass and splintered wood and stones that bit like bug, or tiny bullets. She remembered wild dogs that might as well have been men, and men that might as well have been wild dogs. She remembered rumours, and whispers, and watching limp, broken bodies leaving trails of red in the streets that took weeks to wash away. She remembered children holding guns like they were dolls, and wearing armour like they were pretty dresses, and showing off the pointed star like it was a shiny new bracelet. Explosions that rocked the streets from miles away, and screaming that they had all pretended not to hear under the crackling of the flames. Pain, and fear, and burning yellow lightning seventy years ago, seven years ago, a night ago, five minutes ago.

Empty eyes and ragged blond hair like piss-stained straw.

Okay, then.

She let go.

She heard Historia (and maybe a few others, and maybe herself) scream, and felt a weight vanish off her shoulders. She didn’t bother to check whether she’d survived, didn’t check whether the Scouts had come after her (the Scouts, not the others—she wasn’t stupid enough to think she was one of them anymore. Not that she’d ever been, in the first place).

If the giant haggish rat she was stuck in was good for one thing, it was jumping.

The plating on Reiner’s nape split beneath her claws and the creature roared, throwing its head back. The Scouts scattered like little green flies as she clambered over him, biting here, scratching there, tearing out chunks of flesh and armour like moldy toenails when she got the chance.

It was what she was made for, after all.

There was a lot she could have done. She was spoiled for choice, really. She could have turned tail and ran, gone back. She could have kept going until the Armoured Titan was a steaming pile of ash and Reiner Braun was a red spot in the grass. She could have crawled out of her Titan’s nape and put her fists on her hips and laughed like they’d just shared a great joke. She could have stayed still and been crushed under a massive, plated foot. The possibilities were endless.

She didn’t do any of that.

Two screaming little things hung from Reiner’s chest, bouncing up and down as he flailed his arm, grabbing at her, like the world’s dumbest nipple clamps. One in blue, and one in green and still without fingers.

The angry one with the stupid hair went flying over her shoulder. She’d just hope Mikasa would catch him.

The tall one went in her mouth, and she went as fast as she could.

She could hear him roaring behind her, screaming after her in a language only he could speak, but everyone understood. Her tongue was wet with blood and the roof of her mouth was hot with steam, and the skinny one was thrashing around like a speared fish, an analogy helped all the more by the needle-like fangs speared through his shoulder, chest, and legs.

She felt the earth rumbling behind her. He was coming after him. Just like she knew (alright, guessed) he would.

The things worth corporal punishment for, eh?

She was faster, but she was also smaller, and his was stronger by far. He’d catch her, either eventually or soon. All depended on the man bleeding out in her mouth, she supposed.

It hadn’t been the dumbest plan in the world. She bet her right leg (again) the Survey Corps had tried worse. It was probably on the list for contenders of the worst executed, though.

Ha. Executed.

Maybe she’d fail. Maybe she’d already failed. Who knew. Maybe they were busy scraping the Titan-hating dunderhead off the ground and, somewhere, there was a kid being born who wasn’t going to live past puberty. Maybe Reiner would take the time to tear her apart limb by limb, then turn around and pick up right where he’d left off.

Maybe when she opened her eyes again, she’d be standing in that ashy desert, and she would kiss her under the light of a million lives.

Bertolt let out a scream like a wounded animal, and a shadow like a raging mountain fell over her.

She should risk life and limb more often, she thought. She didn’t remember the last time she’d managed to be this poetic.

[springramblings]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: 신의 탑 | Tower of God Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Khun Aguero Agnis/Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Khun Aguero Agnis & Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace Characters: Khun Aguero Agnis, Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Rak Wraithraiser, White (Tower of God), Ha Jinsung, Hwa Ryun, Yeon Woon, Rachel (Tower of God), Evan Edrok, EnRyu, Ensemble Cast - Character Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anime Spoilers, Heavy spoilers up to S3E68, Written before S3E69 so I take no responsibility for canon-divergent facts after that, Angst with a Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death, Introspection, So shounen it slapped me in the face, Weaponizing plot armor, Because what else are you gonna do, wear it?, Slightly yandere!Bam, Bam and Khun are so done with each other dying or almost dying, But they’d do it again anyways, the idiots, Oh god I hope I did Enryu justice, Because he deserves Justice, And more screentime, i regret everything and nothing, They’re basically Soulmates, They both confess but the other one doesn’t hear it, If you like Rachel probably shouldn't click this Summary:

It starts with Po Bidau Lyborick Khun and ends with Khun, his Khun, smiling sadly from the other side of the battlefield as he speaks of broken promises and bygone dreams. This is the one goodbye Bam has never wanted to say, but he can only watch as flames greedily devour everything in its wake, taking his last remaining sanity and a good chunk of his soul along with it.

...But Bam’s come too far to let something like death or fate separate them. Enough is enough.

(In which Khun dies, but Bam refuses to let it end there, so he takes matters into his own hands, 25th Bam-Style)

[crackinglamb]

7,15, 18, 28, 37 for fic writer questions! Thank you!

@natsora out here makin’ me think this early in the day....

Thank you, though, truly.  I love doing these.  I’m going to put this under a cut, because it came out really long.

7: Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

From Junkyard Dogs:

“Hancock?” she asked after a while.

“Hmm?”

“How am I going to do this?” He was silent for a moment as he framed his thoughts, enjoying the silk of her hair running through his fingers, clinging to him with static. She was relaxed, almost boneless, as the heat of the water worked a magic on her tense muscles no amount of chems could do.

“You’ll do what you gotta. You and me, we’re like junkyard dogs. We find a scrap of something and call it ours. We defend it, fight off anything that comes our way and take no prisoners. We fight with anything that comes to hand, even our teeth and nails. Everything becomes a tool in our hands. The Institute will be no different.”

Obviously, this is from whence the fic gets its title.  This was my very first published piece of fanfiction.  The lines Hancock says describe the entire tone of the story in just a few words.  Sometimes I surprise myself with that sort of thing.  This is also my most popular and ‘successful’ work, although Flash In the Pan is catching up.  I’m proud of it still, even though I don’t write for the Fallout 4 fandom anymore, simply because it was first, it was proof I could still write (it had been a long time), and that people liked what I created.  Personal and public validation in one.

15: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose? 

...I have no idea.  I just sat here for a solid five minutes thinking about it and not a one came to mind that couldn��t already be done with the right mods and editing software, since all of my work comes from video games.

Not to mention, considering my penchant for writing explicit content, the rating on that would be...prohibitive.

18: Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines? 

Not especially.  I’ll make notes for myself at the end of a document to keep myself on track or jot down ideas to be fleshed out later.  That’s about as far as I go with outlining.

28: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. 

(For all my other lovelies out there, please don’t feel snubbed.  I love you all, but this ask is just for 3 faves, so I will go with the ones that I read over and over.)

words-writ-in-starlight, because OMFG the levels of emotional intensity make me feel incredible, indescribable things.

MizDirected, because the sheer intricacy of the butterfly effect combined with the truly stellar psychological horrors therein is what inspired me to write my very own canon divergent ME fic.  I cannot compare to that, nor do I try to, but I enjoy every moment of reading their epic Future Imperfect.  The volume alone was at first intimidating, but then I literally couldn’t walk away, couldn’t stop, even when my heart was breaking and I was ugly crying at my computer at 3 in the morning.  I have read all 988K words four times.  In a year.

And finally, Azellma.  I will read anything by this author, anything.  I have devoured each and every one of their works, regardless of fandom.  Again, levels of talent and thought that I simply don’t have in me, but that’s okay.  Cuz I can enjoy theirs and get lost in the word sauce happily.  Seeing an update email fills me with squee.

37: Talk about your current wips.

This is a list, you realize.  I have like...five.  No, I don’t have a life, why do you ask?

Racing Down the Barrel: a sequel and part two of my series Soldier, Spectre, Savior.  Mass Effect trilogy retelling with canon divergence, namely that Garrus and Shepard were already a couple before the events of ME1.  Headcannons galore, thought out reasoning behind paragon choices, true love.

Maker Damned Fools - Fluffy Version: my first attempt to write Dragon Age.  Again with some divergence because canon does not spark joy.  Varric/Female Hawke pairing.  I will go down with that ship.  Part of the Fluff-uary 2020 series, a prompt challenge that I am co-creator of with @ir0n-angel.  The basic premise of this will eventually be expanded into a longfic.

Cross-Species Liaisons: the other part of the Fluff-uary 2020 series, this being all Mass Effect.  Shakarian and Shryik.  Post canon ficlets for Jayne and Garrus, interspersed ficlets for Henna and Nihlus, with some Henna and Garrus thrown in soon.

Accidental Synchronicity: the aforementioned headcannons?  Yeah, one of those became this.  Jack/Thane.  Short, not so sweet although it has its moments, almost finished.  One of two works of mine that actually needs the archive warning ‘Major Character Death’, which I usually don’t write and don’t tend to read, honestly.  But you can’t save them all, and it’s already established in my timeline that Thane will remain true to his canon arc.  Uh...spoilers.

Some Kind of Resolution: a Nihlus fix-it.  Turned poly on me, which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows me.  Don’t make me choose between turians; I have an alternate solution.  It was initially only going to be the first game.  Then of course Garrus popped up his head and said ‘what about me?’  And...yeah... now it will span the entirety of the trilogy.  Gonna be long, this one is, I foresee it being a second fic of mine that breaks 100K words.  Currently on hiatus while I work on Fluff-uary stuff, since it’s the only WIP without a backlog of already completed chapters.

[sobriquett]

Dear Yuletide Author 2017

To my very dear Yuletide author,

I can’t believe it’s that time of year again, can you? I hope you enjoy writing this. I’ll definitely enjoy reading it, don’t worry about that. If we share one of these fandoms, I’m already delighted.

I’m fairly easygoing as a reader – no triggers and only a handful of minor squicks, but anything with context is fine with me. If I were to ask you to avoid anything, it’d be AUs that take the characters out of their social/historical/cultural context. They are at their most fascinating, to me, in their context. My other do-not-want is graphic depictions of (physical) torture – if I can imagine it in cinema quality and I wince, it’s a no-go.

Broadly speaking, I like gen and het and women in starring roles, although I’ll read anything that works. I love romance and will defend it in all its forms. I love angst, but I equally love a happy ending – although a happy ending is far from necessary. Just as long as it makes sense, you can break my heart; if something’s doomed, that’s fine – better than fine – but show me why? I am 100% on board for heartbreak, if you want to go that way. Of course, if you want to go the other way…

I adore AUs – not in the coffee shop/high school AU sense, but an AU with a clear point of departure from the canon (canon divergence, what if this had happened instead of that?) to see what would happen differently. Does this give us that non-canonical happy ending, or the potential for it? I also love missing scenes that elaborate on characterisation, or seeing the story from someone else’s side. I love stories where the setting is so vivid you can taste it, but also stories set in a single room. Basically, I love any story that makes use of the characters’ context. The social, political, cultural context is what makes me interested in particular characters – how they react to the opportunities, restrictions and unspoken rules of their worlds. Work with that and I’ll be thrilled. But optional details are optional, make yourself happy first.

So, my fandoms this year:

1.       The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)

Apollonia Vitelli Corleone

Last year, I was lucky enough to see The Godfather on the big screen accompanied by a live orchestra and it brought back all the feelings I had when I first read the novel and saw the films as a teenager. In particular, I found myself wondering about Apollonia. We see her entirely through Michael’s eyes and I was left wondering who this woman was and how she had changed during those months. Had she changed at all, or simply lost her shyness? How she would have changed more if she’d lived?

I wonder about her relationship with Michael. Did she love him? Why? What did she think of him, and their situation, and what she was getting herself into? Was she aware of it? Why did she marry him, and what did she think her future might look like?

I wonder about the relationship she might have had with her new family. What would Mama Corleone have thought of her new daughter-in-law? What if Apollonia had lived, and they’d returned to New York, and she’d lived in the compound? What place would she find in that family, in that life, in that country?

 What were her hopes, her ambitions? Every girl has them – what were hers? Did they change as her situation changed, did she see a way up or a way out or was she on the path she wanted all along?

In short, I have a lot of questions about Apollonia. For all that I’ve phrased this as a series of questions about her, it would be just as interesting to read a fic from the perspective of another character contemplating or observing her – I would just love to fill in the Apollonia-shaped blank space in my imagination.

2.       Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden

Nitta Sayuri, Nobu Toshikazu

I’m never going to stop requesting fic for these two. The film overlooks it somewhat but their interactions in the novel were my main source of delight, the curious balance of bickering and respect. Neither character knows much kindness in their life; I like to think they’d find that in each other, sort of kindred spirits.

I’ve requested Sayuri and Nobu because I’d love more of that relationship in any form. That might be Sayuri appreciating Nobu platonically, or even a full romantic relationship (danna AU?), or choosing or accepting Nobu over the Chairman (post-canon AU?) – or not (how does Nobu feel? Angst!) Anything with a focus on the relationship between these two will fill me with glee – as I said before it doesn’t need to have a happy ending, I just want more.

For bonus points, this relationship raises all kinds of issues worth exploring: the value of Sayuri’s ability to make her own choices; the restrictions placed on her by her culture, both within the hanamachi and broader Japanese culture; the way Sayuri pins her life’s ambitions to the idea of the Chairman; the physicality of Nobu, in his eyes and Sayuri’s; the circumstances of Nobu and the Chairman, with the former unattached and interested and the latter married and, to Sayuri, distant and unreachable; not to mention the incongruity of mixing notions of Western romance with another culture. An attachment to Nobu casts all these issues in a different light compared to Sayuri’s attachment to the Chairman. There are many reasons why he might be a better choice – and an active choice too, while she’s been on a trajectory towards the Chairman for many, many years without truly questioning it. Perhaps you might show Sayuri changing, growing like she did in the novel, or maybe you could show the wit, kindness and grudging mutual respect when they interact. Don’t be afraid though, I just want these two to be vaguely affectionate towards one another, even gruffly or distractedly – they both need and deserve it. All the rest is a bonus.

3.       The Loneliest Girl in the Universe – Lauren James

Romy Silvers

I need to know what happens next.

I devoured this novel in only three or four hours a few days after its release, and it was so much more than I was expecting. It lurched between genres in a way that delighted me and the tension in the second half was magnificient. I spotted the clues in the paratexts far enough in advance to be truly uneasy without quite being able to put my finger on why.

Romy must have such great obstacles to overcome concerning trust, intimacy, physical contact and relationships with other human beings. I would love to see some of the fallout from the climax of the novel. For example, what, if any, relationship does she develop with Isaac? Does she get back in touch with Molly and tell her what happened? How does Molly respond, and when? In fact, would you like to tell Molly’s side of the story? Does Romy keep writing fic to process her experiences as she forms her first proper adult relationships?

I will be truly delighted with any story in this fandom, I can’t even tell you.

Above all, dear author, write something you’ll enjoy. I’ll love it too, I promise.

Happy Yuletiding,

Sobriquett