#blackinkpen

[lieutenant-sarcastic]

- A l p h o n s e E l r i c, at the End -

Merry Christmas to @blackinkpen ! Here is your sweet boy, at the end of it all for this year's @fmasecretsanta 🎁🎄

[musing-and-music]

Royai week 2023 fic recs

In honor of Royai week in the Fruits & Roots server, I chose to highlight some of my favorite Royai fics I gathered these past years (not many years, since I've been on AO3 for 2 years and a half only). Each day, I'll recommend a few fics in a particular setting

Day 7: Happy Royai Day! Free for all - On-going fics

To end this series of fanfic recs, here is a list of a few on-going fanfictions that I love and think about sometimes. Go give them some love, because they all deserve it! And don't hesitate to comment, because you know what? Comments are the writer's fuel

Another point: this post is not here for you to pressure the authors to update their fics, but to give you things to give love to!

one single thread of gold tied me to you by fullmetallizard

Roy is a single father who is carrying a torch (terrible pun for the flame alchemist, I know) for his best friend, Riza Hawkeye. Is she carrying a torch of her own? Yes. Will they get together as a cute little modge podge family? Proabably.

One of my earliest bookmarks, it's fluffy, it's so good!

to heal by priscilladm, vadeofspades / @priscilla-dm @mayfieldarc

In the aftermath of the Promised Day, Roy Mustang ponders two things: how to ensure the wellbeing of Riza Hawkeye, and how to follow through on an offer made to him by the Xingese princess who saved Riza's life.

I love this one a lot!

Humanity hangs on a blood-iron cross by blackinkpen / @blackinkpen

Berthold Hawkeye built the first jaeger, an uncontrollable nuclear heart meant to take out the seven Kaiju. Alone, brutal—the first and last of the pilots to try maneuvering the giants on their own. Sins, they were named, coming in waves... Lust and Envy, Gluttony, with its bulging stomach and Pride, faster than the rest of them. Sloth slumbered until near the end, taking down three Jaegers at once... but we're not here to talk about them. Not yet, anyways. Berthold's work is commandeered by the military. Iron Prophet, the first of the Jaegers to rise, and the first to fall. A monster slices right through his heart, sending nuclear clouds shattering across the sky. Berthold makes it through that day... but not many more, as he hides the cough and blood and pain from radiation poisoning. Years later, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye pilot his final work.

FMAxPacRim? I say yes! Filled with angst but also hope, I keep this fic close to my heart

memento amare by firewoodfigs / @firewoodfigs

Riza pays a hefty price when she’s forced to open the Gate in Roy’s stead.

Actually, my first bookmark. Angst for Roy, hope for Riza, slow burn for both

a study in reformation by firewoodfigs / @firewoodfigs

She doesn’t like him, doesn’t like his hair, doesn’t like his face, doesn’t like his conceited attitude and the way he’s looking at her like she’s wasting his time (and not the other way round). Roy doesn’t care. - or the college au where Roy is still a pain in the ass, a thorn in the flesh and the bane of Riza's existence

Does it show that there's authors I love? And their fics as well?

The flicker by Beryllium_Astatine / @beryllium--astatine

I'll sing of the years you will spend getting sadder and older Oh love, and the cold, the oncoming cold Riza spends a few of her young years with someone she didn't want to.

Young Royai, depicted with rich and poetic writing

Unexpectedly by waddiwasiwitch / @waddiwasiwitch

Riza discovers she is pregnant and confides in her best friend, Roy, who has got some secrets of his own.

I want to lock those two idiots in the same room until they've confessed their feelings. It's so good to read this one!

Five Times (series) by 13IceAngel13

Five times Colonel Mustang didn't kiss Lieutenant Hawkeye. One time Roy kissed Riza.

&

Five times Hawkeye didn't kiss Mustang and one time Riza kissed Roy. Companion piece to Five Times Mustang didn't kiss Hawkeye and one time Roy kissed Riza.

Mutual pining at its best, and 5+1 things!

Voices of the Court by Quietshade / @qs63

A meeting gone south spirals into a full investigation of one of East Area's most powerful Generals.

I love how Royai work together here, and the way the themes are approached

Show me a hero by GelatoSushi / @gelatosushix

As the Ishvalan conflict still casts a shadow over Central even six years after the Promised Day, Mustang and Hawekey are violently separated hours before Mustang is meant to be finally named Fuhrer. Now, Hawkeye is desperately searching for a man she's not sure is still alive, while Mustang still waits for a woman he's been told is dead.

Heavy plot and angst!

~~

Thank you to all the people who reblogged and liked these fic rec lists for the past week! I hope I gave you good recommendations!

[nightofnyx8]

Thank you @firewoodfigs for tagging me to share some snippets of a wip! I've already shared my demisexual agent twilight one, so I'll share a small royai one I've been chipping away at 😊

-

The clock positioned exactly above General Howard’s head could not have moved any slower. Roy risks a glance at it every chance he gets, wondering for the millionth time why Grumman had scheduled such a long, soul-sucking meeting right after lunch.

(Perhaps he shouldn’t throw the phrase around so lightly. His soul wasn’t the one forever tethered to a suit of armor, after all. Damn kids, what were they even thinking?)

“We still haven’t discussed what to do about further skirmishes in the south,” Howard drawls on in that pompous voice of his as if he were trying to fill every nook and cranny of Eastern Command with the sound of his own importance. “Our sources say Aerugo’s putting up quite the standstill.”

Roy resists the urge to snort. Of course Aerugo wasn’t going to back down. They’d been a pain in the military’s ass since 1835, being the proud and stubborn people that they were. Not that Roy can really find it in himself to blame them. It wasn’t their fault that Amestris had decided to invade a once-peaceful neighboring country.

But that was old news. Same old problems, same old answers. It infuriated him to no end.

Underneath the table, a small, swift nudge brushes against his boot. It could have been a mistake, perhaps even an innocent shift in weight. But he’s known his second lieutenant long enough to recognize when she’s trying to get his attention.

He spares a glance in her direction, grateful for the distraction. Her blonde hair is pinned up in its usual style, bangs falling into amber eyes focused intently on her notes. The corner of her mouth dips in a slight frown, an expression he knows all too well. At least try to pay attention, Lieutenant Colonel.

The unspoken retort is immediately on the tip of his tongue. Why should I, when I have you to pay attention for me? Still, he lets out a short huff through his nose in acknowledgement and turns his attention back to Howard.

He almost wishes Hughes were here. At least it would make this meeting a little less insufferable, even if he did have to endure having baby pictures shoved into his hands underneath the table. But he hasn’t seen Hughes since a particularly brutal murder brought him down to the East a few months ago, the bastard returning home early and leaving Roy to finish the majority of his paperwork.

Great. Just great.

“Lieutenant Colonel, are you listening?”

Roy jerks his head up to find General Howard glaring down the long table at him, looking entirely unimpressed. “Am I boring you, Mustang?”

Riza hides a slight cough behind her hand. You’re on your own. Mustang’s most devoted right-hand woman indeed.

“Not at all, General Howard,” Roy says coolly, a well-worn smirk sliding onto his lips. “Just had a bit of a late night, that’s all. Can’t say I regret it though, I have quite a preference for redheads. Could you perhaps repeat the question?”

-

uhhh tagging @blackinkpen and @fluffmelange and @whateversawesome

[klainelynch]

The Fruits & Roots server came up with some Royai Week prompts a little bit ago, so I’m going to use those as inspiration for creating some mood boards for some of my favorite Royai fics!

Prompt: "What is this woman to you?" "My protector"

Fic: "If you can see the fire in my eyes, you’re too close to the flame" by @blackinkpen

Rating: T

Word count: 1,112

Summary:

Roy Mustang is still blind, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see. Plot: Roy gets hilariously drunk at his Aunt Chris’s bar, celebrating a birthday of someone on his team. Riza starts to walk them home, and Roy starts making a fool of himself by pretending they’re Roy and Elizabeth, flirting as they walk home.

Photo credits under the cut

jello shots by nic_r

Piccadilly Circus at night by Can Pac Swire

second opening de SrathWest by tnarik

Silhouette of Man and Woman Kissing in Front of Sun by Image Catalog

Support by Nita J Y

London Black Cab by Tophee

FMAB screenshot of Roy's blind eyes by me

espolon shots by Nino Vasilkovskaya

[theaceofdragons]

WIP titles!

@dairogo tragged me for this:

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

This isn't everything, because my disorganized mess has a lot overlap...

Always In This Twilight (FMA)

Ink (FMA)

Yellow Rose (Original)

Old Republic AU (FMA)

Gladiator/Dragon (FMA)

Ensemble De-Aging (FMA)

Antigone as performed by Royai (FMA)

Spicy Urban Fantasy (FMA)

KotOR Novelization (SW)

The Seeing Bowl (AtLA)

DAI with Fenris (Dragon Age)

Tron AU Collab (FMA)

Tagging @digitaleruckus @magipies @jedidragonwarriorqueen @poppy-pelican @lantur @swearingintengwar @blackinkpen@waddiwasiwitch@villainousmiss@goneadrift@okiedoketm

[khrysopoeia]

Last Line Tag Game

I got tagged by @jedidragonwarriorqueen

rules: write the latest line from your wip and tag as many people as there are words in the line. make a new post, don’t reblog.

"Keeping the fact that you're a fucking wizard secret counts as hiding who you are, Roy."

No pressure tags for: @goneadrift @swearingintengwar @flourchildwrites @xmedea @vadeofspades @megthemighty @poppy-pelican @firewood-figs @lantur @blackinkpen @borkthemork @x-rainflame-x @envythepalmtree @loquaciousquark @okiedoketm @scentedbygunpowder

I do not even really know all of you, but... maybe?

[marvel-girl-13]

Time for writers to self-promote or at least show some pride in yourself! What is a chapter or one shot or even just a paragraph or sentence that you wrote that you can't get over or just love so much?

I know it can be so hard to show self-love for ourselves as writers, but I give you permission to do so!

Tagging some of the writers I follow who may consider participating: @samwpmarleau, @eidetictelekinetic, @buckyhoney, @blackinkpen, @cosmonauthill, @crimsonrae, @mamashitty, @boxofbonesfic, @themisadventuresofem

[margoyagudaart]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Margo Yaguda G. | Art for you (@margoyaguda)

Ordinary black pen on canvas…

#doodle #разминаемруку

#blackandwhite #линии #album

#drawing #londonartist #artcollector #abstractart #conceptart #чб #brightspot

#blackinkpen #conceptualart

#sketchbook #doodles #MYGallery #shapes #margoyagallery #artistsoninstagram #margoyaguda #букетик #чернаяручка #linesart #margoyaguda_art #margoyagudagallery #vudumast #artsy #flowers #canvas

[ittybittywordsmith]

couple of modern day moses’ searching for the promised land

CHAPTER ONE

Ms. Mariana Navarro James 1632 Mulligan Street New York, NY WZ10023

Ms. Navarro James,

On behalf of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, the Department of Magical Security has reviewed your application and is pleased to invite you to join us at the Auror Academy this coming fall. We are thrilled for you to join the ranks of the nation’s bravest and brightest. We look forward to your attendance on September 1st.

Mariana Navarro James has always known that she wanted to be an auror. She had declared it with utmost confidence to every vocational counselor, friend, and nosy old biddy who had inquired about her future since she was five. And of course, how could she not? What else could a kid ever dream of being when they had the Director of Magical Security as their dad and grew up snuggled against his chest, listening to him recount his adventures of the week?

(It was only in the last year or two that it had occurred to Mari that perhaps her father had tidied the stories he told her, sanitizing reality until it was an appropriate bedtime tale for a little girl. She had taken some advanced History of Magic courses in her last few years at school and had eventually come to the realization that some of the more terrible events in their recent history didn’t match what she thought she knew. Sometimes the bad guys won. Sometimes the good guys never made it home again. Sometimes the mundane becomes a nightmare. That thought had shaken her a little, but then again, she supposed they weren’t known as the nation’s bravest for nothing, were they?)

In the end, it wasn’t just the stories or the long shadow of Scott James that had drawn her to this field. Mari was eighteen, fresh out of Ilvermorny, and certain she knew what she wanted from her life. She wanted excitement, she wanted adventure, she wanted meaning. She wanted to know that the things she did made a difference. And the letter Mari had just opened in the foyer with trembling hands – it was everything she knew she wanted. The first step of the rest of her life.

So, quite rationally, her first reaction was to stuff the letter in her sweater pocket and dart out the front door before anyone had even seen that she had come home.

Mari rushed down the sidewalk she had jogged up only a few minutes before, trying hard to not look too much like she was fleeing the scene of a crime. She had no idea where she was going – only that she needed distance, room to breathe before she suffocated to death. She turned random corner after random corner with no specific location in mind, and eventually her panicked heartbeat began to calm. She drew in deep, needy breaths and slowed down, but she continued to let her feet take her where they would. What was she doing? Why was she being like this? It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected the acceptance letter, of course she had. Her dad would have told her if anything had gone wrong with her application process–

A car honked aggressively, followed by an impressive amount of swearing, and Mari jumped, jostled out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time since she’d run out of the townhouse. Oh. She’d somehow made it into the city proper. She must have been walking longer – or perhaps just faster – than she’d realized, to have made it this far. She almost never came out this far into the city on her typical runs. Usually she liked to use running as a way to clear her head, but the noise and distraction of the congested New York streets battled with the noise and distraction in her own thoughts, almost always resulting in nothing more productive than a pounding migraine.

Mari began to slow down, to let her brain catch up to what her feet had been doing, and was immediately shoulder checked by a woman behind her with a large purse, complete with very sharp brass hardware. “Ow!” she complained as the purse’s buckle smacked her hard enough to leave a bruise. The woman didn’t even glance back. Mari scowled, but kept up the pace to avoid being run over by anyone else. It was only a momentary distraction, but in that moment, the realization of where she had subconsciously been heading smacked into her harder than the purse.

Oh. Duh. Jacob’s apartment was only a few more miles away.

In the couple years since her brother had moved out of the townhouse, Mari had rarely gone to visit him on foot. There was a period of time after she’d gotten her Apparition license where she’d taken to popping up right in the middle of his living room, but it hadn’t lasted long – Jacob had instituted a ‘Front Door or Floo Entry Only’ policy after she’d caught him eating cold pasta in his boxers for the third time. Still, Mari felt pretty confident that she was going the right way as she took in her bearings with this new context. Oddly, she found that having this destination alleviated some of the pressure on her chest. Taking a deeper, steadier breath, Mari increased her speed to an easy jog and wound her way up the streets of New York.

It didn’t take long to find the right building. Mari jogged to the front door and punched a code into the adjacent keypad – a code, mind you, that her brother had no idea she knew, which she took as concrete evidence that she would be great at investigative work.

The door swung open with a short, sharp beep!, and as she ducked inside, Mari caught her reflection in the window. She wrinkled her nose. Her hair was back to its natural color – a mousy dark blonde that Mari insisted automatically made her fifteen percent more boring in any conversation. She had gotten the hang of changing her hair color on a whim and keeping it that way without much thought before she’d even started school, but sometimes when her attention was thoroughly engrossed elsewhere, she slipped and the natural color came seeping back without her even noticing. That wasn’t something she was willing to deal with today.

Mari glanced around the lobby – once she was suitably convinced that she was alone, she closed her eyes and concentrated. With a little pop! that was almost definitely just in her mind, she felt the change take over. She glanced back in the window, and her reflection this time was sporting her pulled back ponytail in her preferred color of bubblegum pink. She managed a little smile.

Much better.

Turning on her reflection, Mari bounded up the stairs two at a time. By the time she made it to the fourth floor, she was wheezing – she leaned against the railing for a moment, fighting for her breath. It had been unnecessary and had certainly worked up a sweat, but it made her feel better to have a reason she understood for her erratic heartbeat. Mari gave herself ten seconds for her breathing to become less dramatic before she pushed herself off the railing and stumbled down the hall. She knocked at the door marked 4D and leaned heavily against the doorframe while she waited, her gaze down to the floor as she regulated her breath. One breath. Two breaths. Three. Then the door swung open.

Mari glanced up, a flippant greeting to her brother already on her lips – and immediately, she found herself snapping ramrod straight. “Atticus!” she said in a bit of a gasp. “. . . hi!”

Stupid, Mari chastised herself. Stupid, stupid. It had never occurred to her that her brother’s roommate might answer the door, and now here she was in front of him, sweaty and breathing hard and probably not the best she had ever smelled. Rationally, Mari knew it was a dumb thing to be worried about – she’d known Atticus Prewett since she was a little kid, from back when  Jacob first started bringing friends home to visit over the summer. He’d certainly seen her in worse states, but that didn’t mean Mari wasn’t cursing herself for not taking the extra minute to lengthen her eyelashes or make her breasts a little perkier when she was fixing her hair downstairs.

Atticus blinked blearily at her, tugging absently at his worn, crinkled shirt. Clearly, she’d woken him up – probably better for him, really, since it wasn’t exactly what Mari would call early in the day. He gave her a lazy, somewhat confused smile, and even with the disorientation in his expression, Mari felt her stomach do a small flip in response. “Uh, g’morning?” he said, half reply, half question. He glanced over his shoulder at the fireplace in the living room, dark with cold ashes. “Is our floo out again or something?”

Mari felt her cheeks flush, but tried to comfort herself that, after her sprint up the stairs, she was probably already so red with exertion that he wasn’t likely to notice the difference. The thought wasn’t all that comforting. “Uh, n-no, I, um. . . I was, y’know, just in the neighborhood,” Mari stuttered, embarrassed. She shifted back and forth from her heels to her toes, awkward, before the words she needed finally came to her. She looked past Atticus into the apartment. “So, uh, is Jacob up yet?”

To her surprise, his expression fell. Mari’s brow furrowed slightly and she nearly asked if Jacob was alright, but Atticus spoke first. “No, he’s been at Vanessa’s all week,” he replied with a shrug. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”

“Oh,” Mari replied, her voice hitching a little in surprise and disappointment. Jacob had always been good to talk to. He never got impatient with her rambling, no matter how many tangents she went on – it was why, when her head had finally cleared enough for her to figure out where she was going, she had come here. Jacob had always had time for her. . . except, of course, that had been before he’d gotten himself a girlfriend. Pursing her lips, Mari considered heading back home – but the thought sent a panicky thrum through her chest, and she knew right then that she wasn’t ready for the scene that awaited her at home, when her parents found out she’d gotten her acceptance letter. No, Mari couldn’t go home, not yet. . . her gaze fell back to Atticus, still looking a bit like an abandoned puppy.

Well, she was already here, wasn’t she?

Mari walked past Atticus into the apartment, perfectly uninvited. “Got any water?”

Atticus looked after her with a frown. “Sure, come on in, I guess,” he muttered under his breath before closing the door. He made his way into the kitchen. “Tap okay with you?” Mari gave an acquiescent shrug in response. She was parched enough now that he could have juiced a shoe into a glass in front of her, and she still would have drank it. He grabbed a somewhat dingy looking glass from a shelf and filled it in the sink before passing it to her.

Mari took it with a nod of thanks and perched herself on a wobbly barstool, looking around as she rehydrated. She caught sight of the living room – there were scattered sketchbook pages everywhere, covered with half-realized drawings, and a crumpled blanket and pillow on the couch. She raised an eyebrow and looked back at her begrudging host. “What, did you sleep there last night?”

Atticus cringed and raised an arm to run a hand through his dark hair, exposing a few inches of midriff. Mari tried not to be too obtuse as she stared, but subtlety had never been a great skill of hers. She’d have to work on that at the Academy. “Uh – more like I slept there this morning,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish. “I sort of hit a block with the novel, and I was up all last night trying to figure it out. All I managed was a pile of wasted paper. Normally I would have bounced ideas off of Jake, but. . . y’know. . . he’s been preoccupied. . .”

Oh, the novel.

Mari couldn’t help a sympathetic look. Jacob and Atticus had been working on a graphic novel together since they were sixteen and now, seven years later, it was still coming along at a trudge. Jacob was the writer, Atticus was the artist – and what an artist Atticus was, although Mari could never admit that out loud without sounding like a doe eyed lovesick schoolgirl. Jacob was good at what he did too, she guessed, and for a while, it had almost seemed like they might be able to actually put something together. But then they had their graduation exams, and then they’d had to go out into the world and find jobs, and then Jacob started his apprenticeship with their grandfather, and then he met Vanessa Thornwood (who Mari was convinced stole her brother’s heart, brain, and testicles to keep in a bottle around her neck), and the longer time when on, the more progress had slowed to an almost nonexistent crawl.

And yet, neither of them could give up on it. Certainly not Atticus, if his expression of tired frustration was anything to go off of. “What do you think the problem is?” Mari asked gently, her own problems already fading to a distant glimmer in her mind.

“I don’t know,” Atticus sighed, leaning against the counter with a defeated hunch to his shoulders. “I think I’m just. . . in a rut? I don’t feel like I have any new ideas, or at least, nothing worth playing out. So maybe – maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve just used them all up?” Mari sipped her water and nodded sagely, trying not to overthink the situation. She knew Atticus only saw her as his best friend’s little sister – or, worse, as practically his own little sister. The vulnerability he was showing now was the kind that you can only get between childhood friends who have known each other almost as long as they’ve known themselves, the ones who have seen you at your worst and most embarrassing. It was the way he would have opened up to Jacob, or any of their old school friends, nothing more. He sighed again. “I know that must sound dumb – but it’s like I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Without thinking, Mari reached out a hand to rest comfortingly on Atticus’s arm. He didn’t even glance up at her touch. “It’s not dumb,” Mari said firmly, before taking a second to reconsider. “Or, well, it does sound kinda stupid–” That got his attention, and Atticus looked up at her, looking vaguely hurt. Mari winced. Oh Circe help her, why was she so bad at this? “What I mean is, uh – maybe you just need some new inspiration. Go see some new sights, hear some new sounds. Have an adventure or something. You can. . . refill the barrel, or whatever you artist types need to do.”

Atticus scoffed lightly, looking at her like she’d just suggested they picnic on the moon – a lovely idea, of course, but completely unrealistic. “I can’t just up and ‘have an adventure’, Mar. I’ve got, like, adult shit to take care of. I have a job. I have rent. And besides, what about Jake? He’ll be at your granddad’s all summer, preparing new wands for the next school year. And all of his free time is going to be spent mooning over Vanessa. It’s not like I’m going to be able to convince to just up and leave for a month–”

“So? Who needs him?” Mari replied with a sniff, slightly less enthused now that her heartfelt suggestion had been met with stark incredulity. Still, she persevered. “And I know you have all that grown-up bullshit to deal with, but come on – that’s just an excuse. You can find someone to stay in your place for a month or two, some rich kid right out of Ilvermorny or something. And as for your job, you hate that place anyways.”

Atticus blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

Mari tapped the top of her nose playfully and winked. “A lady never reveals her sources.” The truth was Mari only had one source, and it was Jacob, who tended to relent information after an extended period of constant annoying questions. That was how she knew that Atticus had for a short (and surely meaningless) while dated the lovely hostess at the fancy white tablecloth restaurant he waited at. That was also how she knew they had broken up six months ago, and he still had to see both her and the bartender he’d caught her with every day when he went to work. After that, it was only a hop, jump, and skip away from the conclusion that Atticus probably hated his job.

See? She was good at sleuthing.

As for her current proposition, Atticus still didn’t look convinced. Mari had only been talking out of her ass, really, when she’d originally made the suggestion – but the more they went back and forth, the more sure she felt that this was the right option and the more determined she was to make Atticus see that as well. Her mind, unbidden, went back to the folded up acceptance letter in her pocket, and her breath hitched for just a moment. Was it possible that she could kill two birds with one stone? Before she could doubt herself, Mari spoke again, trying not to sound too eager. “What if– what if we . . . ran away? Together?”

Atticus looked at her sharply, clearly alarmed, and seemed to notice for the first time that she was touching him. He pulled away from her gently and shifted to put some distance between them. “Mari. . .”

Panic flooded her system and Mari launched into damage control mode. “Not like that!” she blurted out sharply, her voice a little higher than usual. She winced and cleared her throat before pushing through in a voice that was a closer approximation to her usual, casual tone. “I meant, uh– you’re not the only one who could use a change of scenery, y’know. I want to spend my last summer of freedom doing something– something totally insane. I want to be crazy and spontaneous one last time before I’m tied down with all of that bullshit too, and I can’t just live my life anymore. So. . . what if we went off on separate adventures, together? Just to keep each other company and make sure the other is alright and stuff? Would that be so bad?”

Atticus still looked dubious. “You don’t have school friends your own age that you would rather do this with? One last hurray and all that jazz?”

And honestly. . . Mari didn’t. Oh, sure, she had friends and all that, she wasn’t a complete loner – Vee would be down to go to Hell and back as a lark, if she asked, and the girls from her dorm were always up for a good time. But if she took this trip with them, it would wind up being something silly and juvenile – one last beat of her school days before she gave it all up. The idea of going with Atticus. . . that felt different. Bigger. Like– like the first step of the rest of her life?

(Mari might have laughed then, at how that thought now in this ridiculous context didn’t scare her nearly as much as the same thought she’d had earlier this morning, but she didn’t want to freak Atticus out by explaining, so she held herself back.)

“Nope,” Mari replied cheerily, completely confident. “Can’t think of anyone.” Atticus rolled his eyes and looked away from her, his gaze settling on the window. The view wasn’t much, just the gray stone of the too close building beside them, but Mari could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. He was considering her offer, really considering it. . . and in his own way, she could tell he needed this as badly as she did. He just needed one last push. She gave him a few moments of peace, and then wheedled in a singsong voice, “Also, I have a bank account my parents have been adding to since I was a kid that is begging to be blown through with irresponsible abandon.”

That drew an unexpected laugh from Atticus, and for a moment, Mari beamed with pride. Atticus could be so serious sometimes – it felt like a victory, to be able to make him laugh. But the joy she felt from his laugh was nothing compared to what she was about to experience in the next few minutes. “Okay,” Atticus agreed suddenly, nodding to himself. “I mean. . . yeah. Sure. Okay. What the hell, right? It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

For a moment, the world stopped turning. “Really?” Mari asked breathlessly, unsure that she could actually believe it. But Atticus was just looking at her – no correcting her misinterpretation, or laughing that she had fallen for such a joke. Just Atticus, serious and somber as a headstone; except, of course, that headstones never have smiles slowly creeping into their expressions. Mari gave a wide grin in response and, to keep herself from doing something phenomenally stupid (like launching herself into his arms), she downed the whole remaining glass of water. She might have choked, but who cared about something as stupid as that at a time like this? “Okay then!” she said in a tone of declaration, jumping down from the barstool. “We leave tomorrow, first thing in the morning! Show up at my place bright and early, seven am on the dot. No sleeping in. Bring everything that you’re going to need for the next two months. And bring plenty of sketchbooks!”

“Tomorrow??” Atticus said in alarm, scrambling to keep up with Mari’s sudden decisiveness. “Like, tomorrow tomorrow? You don’t think we need a little more time to get affairs in order and shit?”

“Tomorrow!” Mari shot back in a tone that brokered no argument. She strode to the door in her best imitation of the long, confident walk her mother used when she wanted people to get out of her way. “You said you would go, and it’s too late to turn back now.” Mari opened the door, and glanced back to see an awestruck Atticus still standing in the middle of his kitchen in his wrinkly pajamas. That was a sight that she would end up seeing a lot, she suspected, over the next two months. Her grin brightened. “See you in the morning!”

Mari closed the door behind her without waiting for a response. For a moment, she didn’t move, her brain too preoccupied running over what had just happened to consider anything so much as directing her feet to walk forward. She had really did just convince her brother’s best friend, the object of her ridiculous schoolgirl crush, to run away with her to nowhere in particular for an entire summer. It didn’t feel real – and yet, it was starting to feel more real with every passing moment. She laughed and pushed herself off the door, making her way merrily back into the real world. Tonight, she would let her parents celebrate her acceptance into the Academy. Tomorrow, she and Atticus would leave everything behind. And after that–

Well, who knew what would be waiting for them after that.

[beehivebabbles]

philautia

Some people never do it—even though it’s legally mandated, there are likely thousands of Japanese citizens around the world who ought to have relinquished their allegiance to the land of the rising sun, and never have. He doesn’t have the luxury of hiding, however. In a moment, his teammates—his Argentinian compatriots—will wrap a blue-and-white flag around his shoulders and hoist him into the air, boisterous Spanish sung loud and strong, all the way to the Olympic Games.

Oikawa will let them carry him there, to Tokyo, where he’d once dreamed of wearing red on his back and gold on his chest.

[winterhelps]

hi! I was wondering if you could suggest a sister for Gemma Chan, around 30s. :) thank you so much in advance!

hey! hope you like my suggestions (:

Crystal Yu (31)

Ma Sichun (32)

Yang Mi (33)

Celina Jade (35 - half-sister)

Jessica Lu (35 - half-sister)

Sunny Du (35)

Tiffany Tang (36)

[musing-and-music]

Et moi je rêve de gestes défendus for the WIP ask meme!!

The title comes from a French song that I love "Elle a les yeux revolver" (She has eyes like revolvers) by Marc Lavoine. It's a song that perfectly fits Riza and that is perfect sang by Roy. You can find the translation of the lyrics here

The OS is in the same universe as we gonna have a ball today, a few months later, with an established relationship between Roy and Riza. And it's smut, I must say it. Roy gets a late accidental phone call from Riza, and it doesn't leave him unmoved

It's been a WIP since June, but I looked at it today and realized it could be a two shot with a few edits on the first part

That could motivate me to finish it! And translate it by the way (I think I'll keep the same title for the English version because I love the song)

[nightofnyx8]

tell me more about "interpose: Team Mustang character study, Fuery's is almost done"!!!

Ahhh this one has my heart! It's basically a character study of each member of Team Mustang right after they're all separated and how they all make it back to the Promised Day (which was a headache, by the way, Arakawa really made me read between the lines of how their coup actually happened).

Fuery's piece focuses on the South, which if you look carefully, is more of trench-fighting style, so the WWI vibes are pretty prevalent in this one.

"At night, when his mother is sound asleep after putting his brothers and sisters to bed, he creeps down the stairs (skipping the third one that creaks) and into the darkened living room. The tubes warm, the copper coils quiver, and music streams out of the radio and into the earpiece through some sort of invisible pathway. He'll get reprimanded the next day for sure, but for now, Kain lies on his stomach, listening to invisible voices halfway across the world, eyes shining like the stars."

[klainelynch]

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @singersargentboi !

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I know I've done this game before, but it has been awhile, so hopefully there won't be too much overlap.

the world weighs on my shoulders (but what am I to do?): ATLA, Iroh and Zuko in the aftermath of the Agni Kai

Iroh lived in seconds. Rose from his seat in one, made his way to the aisle in another, somehow managed to put one foot in front of another as he descended towards the platform. There was no point in wondering what the Fire Lord had meant as he exited the arena. Capturing the Avatar could only happen if his nephew were alive to do so, and the closer Iroh got to the crumpled boy, the less realistic that possibility seemed.

we will pay the price (but we will not count the cost): ATLA, outside POV of Iroh as he watches Lu Ten's final moments

Min pulled herself up to her feet using the nearest boulder as leverage. The Fire Nation soldier could only manage a sitting position. His head was bleeding, and he was clutching one of his arms as if it were broken.

for all things seen, my dear: It's a Wonderful Life, a quiet moment between George and Mary

It’s hours later—a time that neither of them have seen on the clock for years, ever since Pete was born and began the tradition of their children needing all of their attention at any given hour of the day—and George finds himself looking into his wife’s eyes, tracing his fingers through her hair. The braids came undone at some point in the minutes after the families had left their home.

This love: FMAB, poetry from Riza's POV about Roy and the love they've built

isn’t something / I thought I wanted, / and it’s certainly not something / that the world ever / led me to believe / that I could deserve. / No, this love

you wanna show the world (but no one knows your name yet): FMAB, Royai ATLA AU

“Again,” repeated the even voice.

I can’t stand the rain: FMAB, a quiet Royai moment

The thing about rain in Central was that it never knew when to leave. Out East, Riza had thunderstorms: rains that swept in quickly and darkened the sky in a matter of minutes, whose thunder could shake the house down to its bones, whose downpour drenched all who were unlucky enough to be caught unawares. And then, just when you started to wonder if you ought to start damage control in case the basement flooded again—the rain left, done with you and ready to surprise the next county over.

in your hands there's a touch that can heal, and the power to kill: FMAB, introspective Riza on the power she holds over Roy

Your life always looks the same. The players move around, leaving the board entirely when they can’t cut it, but another always takes their place. It doesn’t matter who they are. They never last.

bring wings to the weak and grace to the strong: FMAB, Royai in the hospital after Roy's eyesight is restored

The bandages made his movements awkward, but Roy wouldn’t have stopped running his hands through Riza’s hair for the world.

relief: FMAB, Riza overthinking things

This was a mistake. Riza shouldn’t have invited him up, and she shouldn’t have let him fall asleep in her bed. Not that she regretted the sex itself—no, that had been exactly what she needed. He’d taken care of her, as promised, and she almost smiled as she brushed his dark hair off his forehead.

[podfic] Never knew I could feel like this: FMAB, Royai in the hospital after Roy's eyesight is restored (yes, I've written sooooo many versions of this story, and I wrote/podficced it all in one go)

The cool compress the nurse had left for him lessened the pain, but Roy kept peeling it off. Itching eyes were a fair exchange for this sight.

Tagging @rousse @terracyte @goneadrift @figuringitoutasigoalong @blackinkpen @theaceofdragons @itsmoonpeaches @dairogo @scienceoftheidiot @musing-and-music if y'all want!

[musepirations]

oh sweet, thank you! we're a post-potter Wizarding World forum-based RP with no apps, just looking for 2-3 more dedicated writers! we're called the geeking shack and would love to meet some new folks interested in writing with us! private discord server for whoever joins to chat in :) unfortunately I can't link???)

❞ A MASSIVE SHOUTOUT to this HARRY POTTER-INSPIRED FORUM-BASED roleplay !! I wish you guys the very best of luck !! Xoxo ( 4/5 )

[violetsbaudelaire-archive]

38!!

since there were two ask games with this number I combined them:

38. a hotel + “You leave whenever you feel like it.”

I decided to take the mild angst with a happy ending route on this.

---

Alejandra dropped the luggage onto the bed at the center of the room and stretched until the fabric of her tank top lifted above her belly button, showing the light brown skin of her midriff. This, as usual, caused her wife, who was coming in the doorway behind her, to blush. 

"Damn, I hate car rides," Alejandra said as she flopped on her back onto the bed. 

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Two hours, 'Jandra, it was two hours. You wouldn't survive my Dad's 'tour of America' on the way to Pop's." 

"If your grandparents ever want to see me and Tasha they're going to have to bring themselves out west from Philly." 

Michelle laughs. "No way. Gran and Pop haven't left Pennsylvania since they got married in 1968 and they, and I quote, "sure as hell aren't going to now that we have one foot in the grave.'" 

"Don't they want to see a beach or something?" 

"And get pulled out to sea? No." 

"They almost sound like mi abuela. It took my dad and his brother, Uncle Javi, three hours to get her within a foot of the water on their first beach vacation when my dad was 5. My dad says she thought, and I think he's exaggerating, that the mermaids would leap from the water and get them all." 

"Has your abuela always been so hydrophobic? My dad says Gran showers with clothes on."

"Yeah," Alejandra affirms with a nod. "What's it with grandmothers and water?" 

"Mom loves water so I'll never have a story to tell Tasha. It's kinda sad to see the tradition go…" 

The two women burst into fits of laughter. 

As the night goes on, the women order pizza and share more banter. 

Over the next few days Michelle notices Alejandra checking her phone more and more. At breakfast, at morning admission, in the line for Space Mountain. At first, she hopes her wife will bring it up. If something is wrong and they need to call off the honeymoon, she would in a heartbeat. When the women arrive at the restaurant for their evening reservations, Michelle gushes over the large fish tank separating the dining area from the store. Her wife checks her phone and nods absentmindedly. This goes on for the next two days. They're both enjoying the trip but Michelle feels like Alejandra isn't here with her one hundred percent of the time like she's meant to be. 

In the hotel room on the third day, she's mad. Her cheeks are red and it all feels like an overreaction but she asks in a huff what's up with her. Alejandra stares at her, taken aback and a bit scared.

"It's our honeymoon and I feel like you aren't here with me. Why aren't you here with me? Tell me where your head's at." 

"I am here with you, Chelle," Alejandra says in an attempt to be reassuring. Michelle clenches her fists. 

"You've been on your phone the whole time, how's that here with me?!" 

Alejandra crosses her arms and shouts: "I was worried about the baby! She's at home with a woman that you're friends with not me! I don't know why you wouldn't leave her with one of my cousins." 

Michelle pales at her wife's unusual volume but retorts: "Your cousin lives in San Francisco. I've never seen her house, not once. I know Diana. I've known her my whole life. And I don't see how this is your problem: Tasha is my daughter!" 

Alejandra tenses. "I love her as my own but if that's how you feel, then fine. I'll go home to my own family." 

Without thinking it through Michelle mumbles at her wife, who is now gathering her things "Fine. You leave whenever you feel like it. I don't care anymore." 

Alejandra is halfway out of Anaheim when Michelle calls her, apologetic and in tears. Alejandra turns the car around and comes racing back to the hotel. Michelle is flipping through the scrapbook her wife gifted her when Alejandra comes through the door. She looks up and runs to her wife mumbling apologies and affirming that Tasha is and will always be her daughter. Alejandra nods into her chest then looks up to take her wife's face in her hands. She wipes away the tears on her cheeks and kisses her slowly. The last day of their trip ends in pure bliss and the boom of fireworks.