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meanscarletdeceiver · 2 years

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Hello! I love your blog and I was just wondering if you had any LGBT+ headcanons for Pride Month?

Happy Pride 🌈

Hmm, let me tackle human characters first.

Earl of Norramby is gay. Obviously.

Nancy is bi and demi.

Also... in classic "at first I was joking, but now I really like it" fashion… I HC the first Fat Controller as trans.

No one ever named their child Topham Hatt OK????

But a sufficiently ballsy dude might choose it if they were forming a new legal identity. And we know Hatt I was ballsy indeed. He stole everything that his neighbors didn't have nailed down and some things they did. He bricked up a gauntletted line even though it shut down his railway. He told the LMS to pound sand. He drained Tidmouth despite the fishermen wanting his head on a platter. You'd have to be a VERY strong personality to be such a successful, powerful transman in the early 1900s but you'd have to be a strong personality to be him anyway???? I'm serious. An ADHD transman with zero chill who literally made his own world. I'm tempted to write a fic of the Young Topham days, who knows. Those old British schoolgirls could be tough birds and I love reading their bits whenever they break through conventional history. I like to think the first Lady Hatt used to be a roommate of him at the girls' school they attended. Jane probably helped him the night he ran away to get a job at the GWR shops. And then maybe she didn't see him again until after he transitioned and became successful and he wooed her for a little while before the reveal that it was her old friend, Euphemia or whoever.

And Jane was soooo pissed off. (Luckily she was also in love.)

I also absolutely adore the idea of an FC5 (not sure Richard will ever get a chance to be FC4, at this rate) who is a woman. But butch. Everyone calls her "sir" but she is also she.

Okay, vehicles! This is where I've hesitated, unsure if I can make myself clear.

I don't particularly vibe with putting human gender and sexual labels on them.

This is not because I want to erase or minimize the diversity of human gender and sexuality.

It's because they are not human.

I mean, okay, I do have my old 'conversion AU,' so I do mentally play around with them as human every so often—to catch most readers up, my notion was that sometime within the 2020s-2040s a large portion of our cast is turned into humans as a fancy alternative to maintaining or retiring them as engines. But even in this AU the whole point is that they adjust to being human but are still rather 'alien', so, like many fans, I kinda take it that they are pansexual by default. There are some more specific things, though (incomplete because, again, I don't think of my human AU very often, so I still have a lot of question marks):

Thomas, I think, would be aromantic

Bertie -> also aro

Edward -> intersex (specifically XX male)

Henry -> gay gay homosexual gay

Gordon -> some sort of greyscale but also he has no clue about this and pursues (straight) dating because it's the 'normal' thing to do (good luck, dude)

James -> will figure out his human gender identity only if given another hundred years to experiment

Percy -> fine with identifying as male but also quite gnc

Toby -> straight and demisexual

Duck -> agender

Stepney -> nonbinary

Donald -> asexual spectrum (unlike Gordon he does know this about himself)

Emily -> lesbian lesbian homosexual lesbian

Philip -> multigender

Harold -> pan. i know i said pan is kind of the default for ex-vehicles but Harold merits a special mention for being, uhh. how shall we say. very sex-positive. a big gallant flirt.

But, again, I'm not too interested in forcing myself to figure out everyone's full identity profile in my human AU because I find the concept of 'gender' and 'sexuality' in them as trains to be far more interesting.

From a creative standpoint, it's actually a lot of fun to play them 'straight' but to use their experiences to explore the whole concept of gender, to push the idea of sexuality to its limits, and also to play around with metaphors for human identities...

Again I know it looks like LGBT erasure but, well. It feels very queer to me.

Here's some of how I see engine gender history. The allegory to real-life stuff is not intentional; it just sort of naturally sprung up when I played around:

At the period (RWS) canon begins, the normal, "natural" order of things is for an engine to be romantically bonded with their coaches.

This very much has a similar status to human heterosexual marriage. It appears to have the seal of tradition. It's acceptable. It's expected. In general (subject to the approval of your manager) it's allowed. (Yes, there is the obvious difference that the union is between one engine and several coaches but it was rare that the convention was for you to exclusively commit to one among the rest. Basically... harem culture I guess.)

If you were built to privilege—if you actually had some coaches you regularly handled, and you did feel this sort of special bond with them—then you might fail to have any occasion to start asking some otherwise very... obvious questions.

Such as:

What if you and your coaches despise each other?

What if you develop particular feelings about just one or two of 'your' coaches, which are increasingly impossible to hide? Like... do you have to?

What if you feel absolutely neutral about your coaches, but your firebox starts to burn with the heat of a thousand suns when you catch sight of that smart tank engine runabout at the end of the line?

What if your line is so big and busy that you don't have coaches that you pull 'regularly'?

What if your railway grows so big that you hardly see any coaches consistently?

What if you are strictly a goods engine and you've only ever exchanged five words in your life with any coach? Okay, so you're just... condemned through no choice of your own to solitude and abstinence, with no hope of happiness? Sounds like horseshit, doesn't it?...

... Say, what's this whisper you hear from the old wheels that fifty years ago the managers didn't approve of these kinds of relationships? That Back In the Day this sort of romantic attachment that is now considered 'the norm' was actually considered scandalous and beyond the pale? What?

'Fifty years' is just an average; different regions and railways progressed at different rates. But, in general, the earliest period of rail history saw an insistence that Useful Engines don't have any such attachments at all. For all its pomp and status, the model of 'passenger engine and coaches' was itself considered quite unnatural before it won acceptance.

But for a good period circa 1900 it was The Thing That Was Done. It became the norm by which rail romances are still rather judged. And it's telling: although humans tended to assign engines human gender (at first usually female; as the idea of a romantic bond between engine and carriages became normalized, humans started to see their engines as male, in a reflection of human marriage), probably the best analogue for vehicular gender remains type. Powered vehicles are one gender; unpowered stock is another. There are also gradiations within those two poles, of course.

And, when freed from human surveillance and control, vehicle sexuality tends to express its preferences in that way. So, to take engines: They very rarely give a rat's ass as to whether a potential mate is male, female, nonbinary, whatever. They recognize the distinctions among themselves but they are seldom relevant in matters of attraction ever, really. Instead, an engine might have an attraction to rolling stock or other engines (or of course both! but 'both' is definitely not a given). Then, within those categories, they are very likely to instinctively be attracted to a subcategory pool based on vehicle type.

I feel like I should give examples but I actually feel more comfortable using my OCs to illustrate:

Joscelyn — a female engine who is attracted to coaches exclusively (she is also absolutely terrible at forming any such connections so she is effectively maidenless)

Skimmer — a male engine who is attracted to both coaches and other engines. This does saddle him with the stereotype of being kind of slutty. (I mean he is kind of slutty but he is judged as such based on his 'sexuality' rather than his actual history.)

Poppet — at the risk of spoilers... she is attracted exclusively to trucks and lorries (which, in her era and culture, is definitely one of the more transgressive "sexualities" for an engine!)

Lizbet (she was formerly Lillibet but I didn't realise at the time how that nickname is not quite so rare and quirky for Brits as it is for us) — attracted to other engines exclusively (which—of course!—means m, f, and nb engines; no meaningful difference from an engine PoV). She is old enough that this 'inversion' caused her significant trouble with her humans back in her day. (She never exactly repented, albeit she did act circumspectly to preserve her friendships with the engines she lived with.)

Araby — male engine who has a hopeless thing for ships. When he worked a landlocked railway this didn't matter. When he was sent to Sodor for a while... oof! did our boy have an awakening...

Columbine (this is a real-life engine, of course) — the equivalent of human 'pansexuality'; she is potentially attracted to anything with wheels

Coppernob (same; sue me) — the loco equivalent of 'asexual'. He does know how to play the role of gallant beau to lovely coaches (which he had to learn late—it wasn't tolerated on the F.R. during his first couple of decades) but I reckon he just thought everyone played it as a role and will be endlessly baffled as engines over the years assert their rights to form bonds with each other because why do you all care about this so much? it was just a bit we had to do for a while for respectability... innit?

Because a vehicle's build is essentially their "gender," that means that I have long kind of viewed rebuilds as having strong metaphorical ties to gender reassignment!

Absolutely horrifying when imposed upon you against your will, of course.

But I imagine there are lots of cases where it wasn't. You can usually tell by whether or not the engine (or whatever) thrived after the rebuild. While I consider 'human AU' Henry to be cis, I read 'engine' Henry's history as very much a trans allegory: he was originally made wrong. I mean his builder canonically had no idea what he was doing! The form he got later at Crewe at last made him into himself. There are plenty of real-life cases that I like to see as similar in an RWS universe. The SECR 'Rivers' had endless problems and angst in their original form; being converted into tender engines felt right for them. Some of them had been consciously eating their heart out wanting such an impossible change for years. The 'Queen Mary' type brakevans I consider to be similar, or at least some of them: unhappy as locomotives, never really feeling right as an engine, perhaps even pestering the engineers for ages to make them into brakevans...

Of course, I don't consider all such transitions to be successful. Some engines, like poor No. 62768 of the LNER., found themselves much unhappier after their rebuild (he was just chosen at random when he was in the shop for repairs, it's not like he wanted it!) Then there are situations like the GWR autotanks who were given panelling to disguise their locomotive nature so they could pass as coaches. Do I read this as cross-dressing, or a sort of cosmetic transition? You bet I do! 😇

Can an engine be assigned a human gender but later determine that it was given to them in error? I mean, it's possible and it happens that engines choose a new human gender but it's quite rare, rarer by far than in humans. They are much more preoccupied with the engine dimensions of their identity. What is much more common is actually what I suppose we'd consider genderfluid or multigender: Various owners (or, if they are unnamed, drivers) over the course of their career might assign them different genders and in virtually all cases the engine (to forgive the pun) rolls with it, untroubled by being a 'he' one decade, a 'she' the next, and perhaps later again being a 'he' even while he answers to the name Lady Eleanor or whatever. To them human gender is very arbitrary and they tend to be perfectly content to just go with it. Often they wish to choose their own name, but even very early in their lives their builders or owners have already gendered them and they seldom care to change that because, again. That bit is all very arbitrary and meaningless to them. The humans seldom treat their engines differently no matter what gender is assigned and therefore the engine sees little distinction.

Soooo, yeah. As for some of our characters, well... this is also very unformed and embryonic still, but...

I do think a lot of our classic lads would have thought they had No Romantic Feelings Whatsoever. Some genuinely were! Neville and Donald spring to mind (Donald is also Duck’s queerplatonic partner, natch.) But for most of them, this was just because they didn't care for coaches, nor indeed other engines of their own type.

However, I reckon as the decades went on their complacency was shattered. (I call it complacency not because acephobia isn't a thing but because for engines in this universe 'asexual' would be considered a positive trait. Useful Engines Don't and all that. So there is some privilege there.) For instance, Thomas may find that he is attracted to non-rail vehicles? And Percy definitely has a thing for flying vehicles, poor chap... (Percy also has long been comfortably attracted to engines, coaches, and ships too. But whirlybirds, man. Kinda ruined/enhanced his life.) James and Gordon found that they weren't "above" such ridiculous things as "playing at" love; they were just diesel-sexual. Henry liked other engines for a long time, so he is open to steam and diesel; he did however get knocked through a loop of his own within this century when he encountered his first electric car and was absolutely useless for the two hours afterwards...

Anyway. God it's late and I hope this makes sense. In any case I don't see the engines as 'gay' or 'straight' or whatever but I do think they have as much gender and sexuality diversity as we humans do; in fact they probably have a good deal more! I also think that they have had a long struggle for most of these identities to be accepted. So they get it. And, most of all, engines would absolutely not understand homophobia at all. Human gender is such an arbitrary thing! Why anyone would get so hung up on policing something like that is baffling to them. They are keen to be of service to all humans, they really love seeing all humans happy, and apart from that they don't have any opinions on humans' peculiar romantic or sexual lives (they barely understand what human sex is!)

Now, how humans board trains or polish an engine or mend their fences or behave in any way even remotely connected to the running of their railway or yard... well, that they have opinions on. Strong opinions. That they will argue with you about. That matters. ;)

#chatter #ttte #ttte headcanon #ttte analysis #priorities on the island of sodor #the railway series #the fat controller #it's way too late i'm not tagging all those characters (:#happy pride 🌈#long post #i would apologize for taking so long but actually you getting an answer in less than a month is probably a record for me #thank you for the ask <3

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

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I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess?#am i qualified to give this?#no #but im doing it anyway

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scarletslippers · 2 years

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11, 24, 37 for the fic writing asks! (And I will add...if you wanna add anything, anything at all, about the Say Anything AU please feel free! 😁)

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

I 100% jump around. And usually don't start outlining until the fic becomes too big and I have to start figuring out where everything goes, which is why my docs look insane 😂. But I like the flexibility of writing what comes to me and filling things in later, it lets me leave the 'I’m stuck’ bits for last, or wait for inspiration to strike.

....which is why Say Anything AU is a collection of random scenes and half-outlined plot translations. But for you, my dear, and your endless love of this fic (mostly dialogue because that's all it is right now lol)...

“I used to have friends, you know. Not great ones, but I had them. Until my mom died and suddenly no one knew how to talk to me. Suddenly no one did talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you.”

She smiles, faintly. “I threw myself into academics. It was a way to fill my time and take my mind off things. Be successful, make her proud. Have a purpose.”

Ace nods. “I can understand that. Wanting a purpose.”

“What, dishwashing doesn’t give you that?”

24. How do you choose whose POV to write in?

Ooh I like this question! Usually influenced by a few different things:

- What/whose story am I trying to tell? For something like she cries (and you want to hold her), or I’m with You , getting Ace’s perspective was the whole point. Or with warm blood, body (and I lost it, when you found me) , I obviously wanted Ace’s perspective on all those moments, and exploring Nace through Bess’s eyes. But in Purranormal Activity , Nancy’s inner voice is what makes it. And that might change as it goes - on a current wip I really wanted to write Nancy’s POV, but then as it got going it wasn’t working and I realized it was really Ace’s perspective that would be more impactful and be the story I really wanted to tell

- Sometimes it’s more stylistic, like in warm blood, body (and I lost it, when you found me , I really wanted the changing POV’s, or with blushing and brilliant, I wanted to hit both sides and parallel them as they come to that big moment

- Perhaps most often, I just start writing whatever is in my head and then figure out whose perspective that is 😂

37. What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

Most difficult was I know you (and I'm not going anywhere) - getting all the flashbacks figured out and how to make all the moments fit. There were lots of outlining changes trying to figure out how I could structure it to be what I wanted.

And of course I’m with You (sorbet fic!) - It was a challenge, weaving the canon and my scenes, making it fit together, and particularly making the ending work - those last 3-4 scenes post curse-break. I think I wrote those parts 3-4 times 😩 All of that and the emotional weight too - that fic goes all in and I’m sure some people probably click out because of that. I tried to balance not shying away from the hard parts, but also not drowning in total angst either.

Send me a fanfic writing ask!

#thanks Bethany!#ask game #please I don't want to do real things today

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

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Around the Carousel

Catch me joining Damian Wayne Week after it started with some impulse fics. This is for day 2 (I almost made it to actually posting on the 14th my time). I selected the: Undercover prompt.

Summary: Bruce and Damian go undercover at a school fair. They're supposed to be investigating, instead they stop to enjoy themselves.

AO3 Link

Bruce tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled down at Damian as the boy adjusted his hat. It was the third time he’d done it in ten minutes as the wind kept pulling at it, trying to tease it off his head.

It was a windy night for them to be out. A steady breeze blew through fair stalls, kicking up banners and tablecloths, and threatening to blow papers and smaller items off of tables. It cut the late Spring heat in a nice way, making the night mild and perfect for a school fair. Which, was exactly where they were at.

“If you’d like, I can carry that for you.” Bruce said.

Damian dropped his hands and looked up at Bruce, “I am fine, Fa--Uncle Matches. It is not bothering me.”

“Alright, whatever you say, kiddo.” Bruce smiled, “You wanna adjust those glasses while you’re at it?”

His son frowned, his nose wrinkling, and sending the glasses sliding a little further down it. It was unreasonably cute. Bruce held up his phone and snapped a photo of his son. The flash went off and when Bruce dropped his phone Damian was looking surprised.

“For posterity's sake.” Bruce explained, examining the picture, it had caught Damian’s expression perfectly.

He attached it to a text and sent it to Dick, anticipating a response of jealousy from his eldest. Dick was in Bludhaven, working his own case, and had to bow out of joining the Matches boys as they went undercover.

“Uncle Matches, are you planning to spend all night looking at your phone or are we to explore the fair? You promised to examine my entry for the art exhibit.”

How Damian had managed to get a piece in an art exhibit at a school he didn’t even attend Bruce was still figuring out. Apparently he’d had Oracle hack into the system and create a profile and enrollment information for one Matthew “Matches” Malone. Damian’s art was set up under the moniker Lil’ Matches, and even thinking about it made Bruce smile.

“Of course, lead the way.”

Damian nodded, the action shaking his glasses loose again. Bruce bit back a smile. It was Damian who’d insisted on going the Clark Kent route with glasses and selecting clear ones to help obscure their identities, instead of the normal shades that paired with the Matches persona. It would be hard to defend sunglasses at a fair that took place mostly after dark.

It had been a good call, so far no one had recognized them in their suits and glasses, and they’d been able to enter the fair and purchase game tickets with ease.

His kid adjusted the glasses again, turned on his heel and began to lead Bruce. He followed at a leisurely pace, enjoying the lights strung across stalls, the smell of food frying, and the calls of students manning games and trying to get them to use their tickets to purchase sketches or experiences.

“I believe our target is one of the art students. Most have been asked to spend time by their pieces at the exhibit.” Damian explained as he walked.

“What time is their slot?” Bruce asked, eyes catching on a bottle toss game.

“He should arrive in approximately an hour.”

“An hour you say?” Bruce hooked an arm around Damian’s shoulders and spun him back towards the bottle toss, “Then why don’t we spend some time enjoying the fair, my dear nephew?”

Damian stopped and looked up at him with open surprise, “But we are on a case?”

“At a school fair. The likes of which I don’t think you’ve ever properly attended. Didn’t the one at your school get interrupted?”

“No.”

Bruce frowned, “You didn’t go, I remember that. What happened?”

His son looked down at the ground, fascinated by the way dust coated his shoe, “There was a Scarecrow attack the night prior. I--was incapacitated by it.”

He remembered now. Damian had taken a dose of toxin for Tim when his brother’s mask had cracked. Both of them had been down for a while, but Damian had been exposed longer than Tim by the time Batman and Spoiler had arrived. He’d been shaky and sick for days after.

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder, “All the more reason to enjoy this one.”

He tried not to think about how Dick would have remembered right away and not pushed the subject, or how even if he had fallen in this pit he’d have figured out how to cheer Damian right away, “We can afford some distraction, you don’t want to be bored for an hour do you?”

Damian hummed, and glanced up, “I would not be opposed to trying a game or two.”

“Perfect, let’s start with the ring toss.” Bruce smiled.

They traded in some tickets for both of them to get a chance at the ring toss. The operator pointed at some green rimmed bottles, “Get at least three rings on the green and you’ll win a prize. If both of you get three onto green you can get one of the big ones or two smaller prizes.”

They had four chances each. Bruce glanced at Damian. He was focused, feeling the weight of the rings in his hands, and eyeing the bottles like he was doing the math in his head calculating what it would take to get them perfectly in place.

After a moment Damian tossed the first ring, it caught at the edge of one of the green bottles and slipped off. He frowned at it, nodded, and then tossed his remaining three in quick succession. All three landed around bottles.

Bruce grinned, and looked up to see the surprise on the operator's face. His son was extraordinary, and Bruce loved seeing him show off.

He took his own time tossing his rings, landing three as well, and missing his last. He shrugged, not minding missing one. They still met the requirements for the big prize.

“Well, kiddo, what do you want?” He asked.

Damian looked up at the racks of plushes hanging from the top of the booth, considering. He pointed at two of the smaller ones. One was a dog dressed as Batman, with a little cowl and cape, and the other was a duck wearing a green deerstalker cap, with a small magnifying glass attached to one of its wings.

The operator handed Damian both animals with a smile, “Good choices, looks like you’re a fan of detectives.”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I am, as is my brother. He will enjoy the duck. Thank you for the diverting game, and best of luck with others.”

As they walked away, Damian handed Bruce the duck, “I trust you to keep an eye on this.” he said, “If you lose it Timothy will be terribly disappointed. I cannot miss bringing him a souvenir twice in a row.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, “It’s not for Dick?”

“Tt, I would have selected a different animal for him, perhaps an elephant or bird.” Damian fiddled with one of the ears of the cowl on his dog, “I promised Timothy a prize if I won one last time, it was supposed to be in exchange for driving Jon and I. Even though the event did not happen, he might still enjoy one from here.”

“I’m sure he will.” Bruce said, resisting the urge to tug Damian into a tight hug, “What would you like to do next? That didn’t take us very long.”

His son looked around the fair, “Perhaps we could try one of the rides? Is there one you particularly enjoy?”

Bruce looked up around them, the fair had a variety of rides. The school had managed to hire a good selection, including a carousel. Bruce pointed at it, they could just see the pointed top from where they were.

“The carousel, you’ll love it.”

This time Bruce led, with Damian close by his side, as they walked, Bruce gave into the desire to reach down and take Damian’s hand in his own. When the boy looked up at him Bruce smiled, “It’s normal for families to do, especially in a busy place like this.”

The crowd wasn’t so thick Bruce was worried about losing Damian, but the move felt natural. He’d held his other children’s hands at events like this before, even Tim’s, though they’d gone well after the boy was the usual age for hand holding when wandering around an event. Damian didn’t seem too upset, in fact he gave Bruce’s hand a squeeze.

“That makes sense. As my Uncle you would be concerned for my safety and wish me to stay close.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded.

Soon they reached the carousel. Bruce watched Damian with a close eye as they approached. Damian’s face went from cautious and curious, to delighted. There was something about being at the fair and undercover that seemed to let his son react a little more openly than he might if they were somewhere else. Bruce contributed it to the magic of the night.

“It has animals?” he asked, looking up at Bruce.

“Yep, different types. Carousel horses and animals are actually a really unique type of art. There are some horses that have sold for tens of thousands of dollars.” He explained, “And some artists who spend their whole lives making just horses for them.”

Damian’s eyes had gone very wide now, his face open with childlike delight, “And we are allowed to ride them?”

“Most yes, this one probably isn’t as fancy as some, but if you’re interested I’m sure we can visit a few of the more famous ones. I bet Dick’s seen some really cool ones from when he was younger.”

The look on Damian’s face, of excitement and anticipation was enough to melt Bruce’s heart and say yes to anything the kid might ask. Bruce tugged him forward.

“Come on, let’s get in line.”

They didn’t have long to wait, just until the ride stopped and emptied off. From there, they traded in a few more tickets for a chance to ride. Damian wandered the whole of the ride before selecting a white horse with gold trimmings. Bruce took the brown one beside it. They’d taken so long selecting, that almost the moment after they were settled, the ride began to move.

Damian’s laugh when the horse he was on began to rise and fall along with the forward momentum of the carousel was like music. Bruce wanted to take him on every carousel in the world to keep hearing that laugh and seeing that smile.

“May we go again?” Damian asked, the moment the ride stopped.

“Of course.” Bruce told him.

After the second ride, they stepped off and back into the crowd. Bruce checked his watch, they still had some time to spare before they had to be at the art display. He glanced around and caught sight of some food stands.

“Have you had a funnel cake before?” He asked, elbowing Damian.

His son shook his head.

“Then we’re getting one.” Bruce declared, “They’re the perfect mix of fried dough and toppings. We’ve got enough time to enjoy one before getting back on track.”

Damian looked less excited by the prospect of fried dough, but agreed to try it. Soon, the two of them were seated at a picnic table with a funnel cake between them. It was topped with powdered sugar, chocolate, sprinkles, and even some whipped topping. Damian gaped at the concoction, but Bruce passed him a fork with confidence.

“You just have to go at it.” he explained, “Dig in and enjoy.”

His son snorted, “That sounds like something Richard would say.”

Bruce grinned at him, “It should, he told me the very same thing when he introduced me to funnel cakes.”

Together they managed to eat the entire funnel cake. As Bruce set his plastic fork down, he thought finishing it off might have been a mistake even if they weren’t in the middle of an undercover operation. His stomach felt heavy with grease, sugar, and bread.

“That was--a lot.” Damian said, finishing his bottle of water.

“Yes.” Bruce said, wiping at his fake moustache, “It was. But I think we’ll be fine. It’s about time to head over to the exhibit.”

He wanted to get there early enough to see Damian’s piece. The kid had been very secretive of what he’d been working on for it. Taking the project as seriously as he would have as if it were for his own school fair. Bruce wanted to be able to enjoy it before they disrupted everything.

They were here to catch one of the students in the act of trying to blackmail a teacher. Damian had gotten news of it from his friend Collin, letting him know that strange things were going down. After some research, Damian had found some discrepancies in grades with a few of the students, and noted one teacher withdrawing large sums of money on a regular basis. Not enough to make a kid rich, but enough to placate a teen who’d watched too much television.

Damian had brought the case to Bruce, and together they’d worked out that this would be the next best place to find the kid and teacher interacting in a public location. From what Bruce could tell, the teacher hadn’t done anything against his students, instead he seemed to be in the middle of an affair with a seperate teacher. The plan was to bust the student, or at the very least record the exchange and get it in the hands of the administration.

The teacher in question? One of the art instructors.

They tossed their trash into a bin and Bruce let Damian lead him over to where the art exhibit was put up. It was tucked in one of the further corners of the fair, out of the way of chaos, but on a busy enough route that plenty of people were stopping by to look at the art.

“Which one is yours?” Bruce asked.

“Ah, it is this here.” Damian led him to a painting hanging up on a temporary pillar.

It was a painting of the garden outside Wayne manor. Done in bright beautiful colors it looked like you could step right into the painting. Portions of the paint were raised up to create texture and shadows, like the petals on flowers. In one portion, Bruce could see Alfred the cat sleeping in a patch of sun.

“It’s gorgeous.” Bruce said, “the detail is incredible.”

Damian was blushing, “It is nothing, a quick painting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I know you were working on this for hours.” Bruce told him, “Do you get to bring it home?”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I was not sure what to do with it.”

“We’ll hang it up, of course. There’s a spot in the library I think will work well. Some greenery in a very brown room.”

At this point, Damian’s ears had gone red, “If you are sure.”

Bruce nodded, “I am.”

They spent a little longer looking at Damian’s painting before they shifted to look at some of the other pieces on display. There were quite a few that were really good, and a number of interesting ones. Some looked as if they had been submitted just for a grade, but all in all it was enjoyable.

Bruce was busy looking over a self portrait when he felt a small sharp elbow jab him in the side. He looked up to see Damian staring at another young man. Probably about sixteen, who’d just walked into the display area.

“That him?” he asked.

Damian nodded, “Let us wait to see if he approaches Mr. Franklin.”

Bruce slipped his phone out of his pocket and played with it, as if he were taking general photos.

“Matches, why don’t you stand by your painting? I want to get a picture of you with it.” he said, affecting a delighted uncle voice, “I’m sure your dad would love to see it.”

They moved over to the painting, and Bruce aimed the phone as he walked. Mr. Franklin was situated just behind the pillar with Damian’s painting on it. He snapped a few pictures of Damian, directing the kid to smile and pose, before slipping the phone’s setting over to video. He shifted slightly so that Franklin was in frame and hit record.

After a moment, the other boy approached him. Bruce inched forward to make sure he could get sound, and glanced over at Damian. The kid was hurrying away, off to find a separate teacher to bring over and hopefully stumble on the blackmail scene.

The exhibit was a good place to meet as Franklin was in charge of it and there wasn’t any reason for other teachers to wander over unless they were just checking things out. Most were too busy for that, with their own booths and class exhibits to care for.

Thankfully, Bruce did catch the conversation clearly from where he was. He hoped that no one would notice he’d stopped recording his kid, and started just recording the area. If he had to, he’d just say it was b-roll for a home video or something.

It wasn’t very long before Damian came back, a teacher at his heels. Bruce shifted the camera subtly back towards Damian’s painting.

“And here is my Uncle Malone. He can vouch for my skills if my piece does not convince you.” Damian was saying.

The teacher opened her mouth to say something, and then suddenly the boy speaking to Mr. Franklin shouted, “This is not what we agreed on!”

“I’m sorry--” she said, “Matches, Mr. Malone I’ll be right back.”

With that, she split from them to intervene on the argument. Bruce stopped his recording, and sent the video to Oracle who was going to forward it to the school.

“Well, that should take care of that.” Bruce said, turning to Damian, “How about we enjoy the rest of the fair? We’ve still got tickets, and there’s some rides we haven’t tried yet.”

Damian nodded, “That sounds acceptable. This fair has been, quite fun. And I am enjoying spending time with you.”

Bruce grinned, and tugged Damian into a hug, “Me too.”

“We should do the carousel again.” Damian said, stepping away to take Bruce’s hand, “And after that there is something that apparently spins you at such a speed you are stuck to the wall.”

“Oh? Well, lead the way, we’ll go until I feel like I’ve had a full patrol.”

Damian grinned at that, and Bruce felt his heart soar. He was going to have to figure out other ways of getting them undercover to things like this. Or just take Damian out to fairs more often as father and son.

#damianwayneweek2021 #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #undercover #day 2 #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #like this is just an excuse for Bruce and Damian to hang out #it's kind of also Damian has a good day #but they are undercover as Matches and Lil Matches #becauase it's ADORABLE #precious posts #fanfiction

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sunlight-moonrise · 4 years

Text

The Five Dates (Reid Request)

Summary: Reader decides that she wants to help Spencer experience the things he missed out on when he was a teenager.

A/N: I had a couple of people ask for a part 2 to The Five Times so here it is. Originally was gonna leave that fic as a standalone but writer’s block on my other WIPs led to this sequel. I strongly recommend reading the first part before reading this one so that the story-line makes more sense. As always, thank you to the lovely @spencer-reid-in-a-pool and @wishingwellwriting for being fantastic betas. They have amazing fics, so if you need another Spencer Reid fix, they can most definitely deliver. Enjoy!

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 6.0K

Masterlist

The first date I had with my neighbor, I don’t think it really counted as a date.

Spencer and I were eating dinner at my apartment after he told me the man who tried to attack me was in custody. We were sitting on the couch with the TV on but I didn’t know what was playing since we were talking the whole time.

He told me that he does magic tricks, enjoys ghost stories, and loves to learn. In return, I told him my favorite hobbies, some habits that I can’t get out of, and food that I enjoy cooking. He listened with rapt attention, hanging on to every word I said. It was amazing being able to spend time with someone like this. It felt like I’ve known him for years rather than a few months.

“…and that’s probably my worst experience from school,” I finished, recounting the tales of my teenage years. “What about you? Anything you wish you can take back from the early days?”

Spencer suddenly turned away from me and became silent. I looked at him in confusion. Was it something I said? Did I offend him?

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper because of how low I spoke.

He quickly shook his head, as if driving away some bad thoughts that plagued his mind. “It’s not you. It’s just that I was a 12-year-old prodigy at a public high school in Vegas. I didn’t have a lot of fun experiences.”

I could hear the sorrow in his words when he told me this. I know how cruel kids could be, especially to someone they considered an outcast. My heart ached for the little boy who went through so much misery at such an early age.

There were a few more seconds of silence before I had a lightbulb moment. “Well, maybe we can change that,” I suggested. “We can do some things that typical teenagers do.” A million ideas immediately came to mind. We can go bowling or ice skating or bike riding.

“I don’t know. I kind of got over that point of my life.”

“Oh.” There was no hiding the sadness in my voice, which made me feel worse. There’s no reason for me to feel dejected over his statement. I shouldn’t be so selfish.

Spencer must have sensed that something was off with me because he quickly tried to correct himself. “It’s not that I don’t want to have these experiences. I just find it embarrassing that I haven’t had them yet, even now.”

“I’m not going to judge you, Spencer. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed with me,” I assured him. I moved my hand towards his as an offer to hold, which he surprisingly took. His hand completely enveloped mine. “Tell me some things that you’ve always wanted to do when you were younger but never got the chance.”

He took a moment to think while I anxiously waited for his response. “I never had the chance to have a sleepover. I had too many responsibilities at the time. I always wanted to go to a festival or a carnival. I also—” he suddenly stopped talking. I noticed his face turning slightly red as he bit his lower lip, his other hand patting against his leg.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“I-uh always wanted to wine and dine a girl, maybe take her to see a play or movie. I wanted to take an evening stroll and just stargaze for a while.” His voice became smaller the more he talked. I hated that he started to feel self-conscious around me but knew that it couldn’t be helped. I was going to change that. I was going to make sure that Spencer Reid experienced teenage fun.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” he said, removing his hand from mine. “I have to go in tomorrow and I am sure you have an early day as well.”

“Let me put these dishes away and I’ll walk you to the door.” I grabbed our plates and walked to the kitchen, placing them in the sink. My mind was racing with thoughts on what to do for Spencer. When I returned to the living room, he was already by the hallway, grabbing his belongings.

I slowly opened the door for him, watching as he stepped out of the apartment. Before he made it too far, I grabbed the sleeve of his arm, prompting him to turn around. Here goes nothing.

“Spencer Reid, would you like to go on a date with me?” I asked, the pitch of my voice a lot higher than normal. Despite feeling nervous, I made sure to look him in the eye and maintain contact. He stared back at me, mouth agape while his face was turning pink.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, looking down at his feet. Mental note: build up Dr. Reid’s confidence, at least around me.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” I answered honestly. I smiled at him when I noticed his lips tugging upwards.

“Yes. I would like to go on a date with you, (Y/N).” The smile on his face was adorable and I was happy to be the cause of it. “Uh m-maybe I could get your number, so that we can talk,” he added.

“Sure.” I took my phone from my pocket before giving it to him. He put in his number, a bit slowly but I wasn’t complaining. I saw it as more time I got to spend with him. Once he handed my phone back, we just stood in front of each other for a while.

Before I lost my resolve, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his cheek. Before either of us could do anything, I muttered a quick “Goodnight Dr. Reid,” and closed the door. My heart thumped erratically as I slid down the door.

“Goodnight (Y/N)” I heard through the block keeping us apart. His footsteps got quieter and quieter until he eventually opened and closed his own door.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely infatuated with Spencer Reid.

●●●

The second date I had with Dr. Reid, I was a nervous wreck.

Spencer and I have been texting back and forth these last few days. Luckily, we were both free this weekend, so we planned on going out. I haven’t told him yet where we’re going, much to his dismay. The only hint I gave him was to dress casually.

I’ve done some research and found that there was a food festival happening Saturday afternoon. A lot of local restaurants will have stands and distant establishments will be sending food trucks. Their theme is “Around the World” so we’ll get to explore various cultures. I’m hoping we can learn some new things from the different cuisines that would be showcased.

Saturday came around and I made sure I had everything ready. I wanted our date to go off without a hitch. I wanted this to be one of Spencer’s best experiences.

I heard a knock on my door, causing my heart to pick up a bit. I don’t know why I started to sweat. Sure, I’m going on a date with a good looking and successful man but there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? Right.

I heard another knock, more hesitant this time. I quickly made my way towards my door, taking a deep breath before opening it. Thank the angels I took in that breath because I immediately lost it again at the sight of him.

Spencer was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Lavender roses and red carnations were a few that I could identify. I think the purple flower might be an orchid.

He lifted them towards me, a slight tremor in his hands. “These are for you.”

“They’re lovely Spencer, thank you.” I grabbed the flowers from him, taking in the smell of the blossoms. “I’m going to put these in a vase. I’ll be right back.”

I made my way to the living room to do just that. I grabbed my bag and a jacket before checking myself in the mirror one last time. Happy with my appearance, I returned back to Spencer. I shut the door behind us as we walked towards the elevator.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Spencer said as we entered the elevator. I can tell he was still nervous, the thrumming of his fingers against one another and the bouncing on his feet a few signs hinting towards his anxious state.

“You look dashing as well. Although I do remember telling you to dress casually, mister,” I said, a small smile appearing on my face at the sight of his own.

Spencer was wearing a dark pair of slacks with a light purple button-down shirt. His hair was slicked and combed back. He was rocking back and forth on his beat-upped chucks and I can see the mismatched socks peeking through. He looked a bit silly, especially considering where we are going, but handsome nonetheless.

“I don’t have casual clothing. Plus I wanted to look good for you.” I could feel my face getting warm because of his words. “By the way, it’s doctor.”

I giggled at his comment, which caused him to laugh as well. We exited the elevator and out of the lobby.

“We’re going to take the subway to our destination,” I informed him. “It should take less than half an hour to get there.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“It’s still a surprise, doctor,” I beamed at him.

Fortunately, we did not experience any delays on the train. We spent the duration of the commute getting to know one another even more. He told me some stories involving outings with his co-workers and I could tell that he really loved each and every one of them. I shared some work stories and funny memories with my colleagues as well.

Once we got to our stop, I grabbed his hand and led us to the festival. It was a 10-minute walk from the exit. I turned to him as soon as I saw our destination within our sights.

“A food and wine festival?” he questioned.

“Yeah, I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when we were talking the other day but I thou—“

“I like it, especially since I’m spending the day with you.” There goes my heart again, picking up pace as if I ran a marathon. I’m sure he says these things on purpose just to see me flustered.

Spencer squeezed my hand in his and we explored the grounds. We decided to share a plate from each stall so that we can experience as much as possible. Spencer walked us to the first stall he saw, which showcased food from the Philippines.

“Did you know that Filipino food draws roots from their neighboring Asian nations as well as some Spanish countries?” he stated as we looked at the menu, “It is considered to be a perfect blend of Western and Eastern food. Actually—” he suddenly stopped himself. I looked at him curiously, wondering what caused his interruption.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I want to hear what you have to say. Let’s order something and you can finish telling me.”

He smiled brightly at me and squeezed my hand. After ordering a siopao to share, we sat at a table while he finished telling me facts about Filipino cuisine. As a matter of fact, he told me a lot of information about various cultures and countries as we walked from vendor to vendor.

We tried risotto from an Italian booth, which Spencer said was not as good as his friend’s cooking. We also got carne asada tacos from a Mexican food truck, where I discovered that tomatoes, dragon fruit, and vanilla originated from Mexico. We ate some sake nigiri sushi from a Japanese stand. I found out that Spencer cannot use chopsticks to save his life. I decided to feed him so that he doesn’t accidentally drop our food. We ventured to numerous vendors and had our fill in almost everything that was offered. We even had desserts and some drinks.

By the time Spencer and I made it back to our apartments, we were both stuffed. I was close to going into a food coma and I knew Spencer wasn’t far behind either.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in my life,” he commented as we stood in front of my door.

“You and me both. I’m sure I gained 10 pounds,” I joked, enjoying the way he laughed at my attempt at being humorous. I still held his hand in mine, not wanting the evening to end, but I knew it had to. We had spent the whole day together and we were tired.

Spencer made the decision for us. He lifted my hand, placed a chaste kiss on my knuckles and wished me sweet dreams before he retreated to his own home.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely charmed by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The third date I had with Spencer was ruined, but then fixed.

I was organizing a picnic basket when I received a call from him. I was puzzled as to why he was calling, especially when we’re supposed to meet up in a couple of hours.

“Hey (Y/N)” His voice came out gruff as if he just woke up.

“Hi Spencer, are you okay?” I heard some coughs coming from his end and I immediately became concerned over his well-being

“I don’t think I can go out this afternoon. I’ve been sick these past few days. I was really hoping to get back on my feet by now. I am so sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, because I knew he would in his remorseful state, I interrupted him. “Spencer, it's fine. We’ll raincheck,” I assured him. He tried to thank me, but another set of coughs came over. These sounded worse than the first ones.

Spencer managed to get out a goodbye before hanging up the phone. I contemplated what to do. He sounded so sick and miserable on the phone. He likely has a sore throat, maybe even muscle aches. The idea of him alone and shivering caused a dull pain in me.

I decided that I was going to see this man. I could make him something warm to eat and lend him my thickest blanket. We could even watch a movie together too.

With that in mind, I made some chicken soup and herbal tea. I put the items in containers before placing them in my picnic basket. I grabbed my largest and heaviest blanket, placing it over my shoulder. It wouldn’t fit in the basket, no matter how many times I folded it. Lastly, I grabbed my laptop, so that we can stream movies. Spencer once told me he wasn’t big on technology so I had no idea whether he owned a TV or not.

Once I had all the essential items, I made my way across the hall, knocking on his door. Unsurprisingly, it took a while for him to open the door. I waited a minute or two before he answered and was disheartened by what I saw.

Spencer was pale, well paler than usual, with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His under eyes were dark and his nose was so red. He wore a robe over his pajamas. He looked as if he was about to fall over any second now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the blanket wrapped around me. His voice was slightly slurred and he was leaning on the doorframe to keep himself up.

“Well I figured since I couldn’t take you out on a picnic, I’ll take the picnic to you.”

He looked down at my hands, noticing the basket I was holding.

“You shouldn’t be around me, you’ll get sick.”

“Spencer Reid, you’re worth the cooties. May I please come in?”

He relented, leaving the door open for me to follow. I took in his apartment, appreciating his more vintage style. He had a massive collection of books, some of them in languages I couldn’t even identify.

“You have a miniature bookstore in here,” I commented. I turned towards him, seeing his figure laying down on the couch.

“I like to read,” he simply said, the words muffled by the couch cushion he was lying on. I went towards him, shrugging off the blanket from me and placing it on top of his lap.

“If you get cold, use this to keep you warm. I’m going to heat up the soup and tea. Try to stay awake for me.”

Spencer nodded his head, bunching up the soft material in his hands. I quickly grabbed the content from the basket and dashed to the kitchen. It took me a few minutes to find where he puts his utensils, but I had everything taken care of in no time. I even found a tray to help me carry the food.

I brought the dishes to him, warning him of the heat. “I hope you like chicken soup and ginger tea. I added some honey to satisfy your sweet tooth.” He thanked me, holding the bowl close to him to keep him warm. I settled myself on the couch next to him, happy that he wasn’t complaining about our proximity.

“I have my laptop with me. We can watch some movies if you want.”

“I’d like that a lot.” We ended up watching The Matrix and Minority Report. Spencer tried his best to stay quiet during the films, but couldn’t help but to comment about certain technicalities and improbabilities. I found his rambling endearing, adding in my own opinions after he finished sharing his thoughts. I had to remind him to not strain his voice when he got on a tangent on how the idea of living in a simulation is not possible. He lost me once he started talking about quantum physics.

Spencer looked at the clock, noticing the late hour. “Are you going to leave?” His voice was low, and I am positive it was not because of his ill state. He was talking with passion and intensity a few moments ago.

“Do you want me to?”

“No. Is that selfish of me?” My heart skipped a beat. Knowing that he wanted me to stay with him gave me feelings I couldn’t quite describe.

“Of course not, Spence. We could have that sleepover you missed out on,” I stated enthusiastically. He stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if I misunderstood the situation. Before I could apologize for my assumption, he started talking.

“That’s the first time you called me Spence.” He’s right. All this time I’ve been addressing him as Spencer or Dr. Reid. “I like it,” he finished.

“Let me grab my pajamas and some toiletries. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I sprinted to my apartment, changing into my sleepwear and grabbing my necessities before returning to Spencer’s. I am sure I was there and back under five minutes.

Spencer and I continued our evening playing board games. We played some chess (which I lost at) as well as poker (which I also lost at). He showed some card tricks and tried to teach me a basic one. I couldn’t do it as smoothly, but he said that with practice I could become a magician.

I knew the night was coming to an end when he began to yawn every few minutes. Despite saying that he could stay up longer, his body needed to recover.

“You should take my bedroom,” he offered after coming back from the restroom, “You’ll be comfortable there.”

“Absolutely not. Slumber Party rules dictate that we sleep in the same room.” He laughed at my proclamation.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Now I’m going to use your bathroom. Do you keep your spare sheets in the closet?”

He nodded drowsily as I made my way to his bathroom. I did my nightly routine and grabbed a blanket from the closet. When I returned to Spencer, he was already dozing off.

He looked so peaceful at this moment, I’ve never seen such a look on him. I kissed the bridge of his nose and made my way to the armchair.

I settled myself as comfortably as I can.. Before I fell asleep, I could have sworn I heard a “Goodnight” coming from his direction. When I peeked to see if he was awake, his eyes were still closed but he had a wide smile on his face.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely captivated by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fourth date I had with Spence, he was in charge.

Spencer told me that he wanted to take me out as a way to show his gratitude. I wanted to tell him that it was unnecessary, but he looked so eager and I didn’t want to take that away. Plus, I was looking forward to whatever he came up with. I know that with Spencer, I am bound to have a good time.

He kept everything a secret for me, which was no surprise considering how our first official date went down. The only thing he told me was to dress nicely, yet comfortably.

My body was pulsating with excitement. I made sure to spend extra time with my makeup. I didn’t want to go overboard, but I definitely wanted to accentuate my features. I chose to wear a maxi skirt with my favorite blouse. I added a few accessories and paired everything with some heels.

I didn’t have to wait long before hearing a knock on the door. He always seems to have impeccable timing. I practically floated towards my door with how happy I was.

Spencer was dressed in black dress pants and a deep blue button-down. The outfit was accompanied with a dark tie and blazer combo. He even had dress shoes on, which came as a surprise since this man loves his chucks.

“You look as handsome as always, Doc.” He smiled at my words. I love that he was more comfortable with my compliments. It seems like we came a long way from him stammering over his words and fidgeting with his hands. Although I must admit that I am going to miss his bashful behavior.

“I got this for you.” He revealed what appeared to be a corsage in his hands, the flowers of the accessory matching the one pinned to his blazer. “Uh- I-I know it is probably a bit um juvenile. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

“Spence, I love it. And I’ll love it more if you put it on me.”

He beamed at me, taking the corsage out of the casing and carefully securing it on my wrist. He was so gentle and patient while doing the task. Once he was done, we headed down to the lobby.

“I hope you don’t mind that I am driving,” he said as we made our way to what I assumed to be his car, a two-door pale blue Volvo. I was not surprised, this is his exact style.

“As long as you get us to our location in one piece, I don’t mind at all.” He opened my door for me before settling in on the driver’s side.

As Spencer drove, we talked about the antique style of his possessions. He shared that his Mom had a similar taste and he was very close to her when he was younger. I wanted to ask more, elated that he was telling me about his family, but decided to hold back. The way his voice wavered as he was talking showed me that this was a major effort for him. I decided to share some stories about my family and their influence over my own lifestyle.

Time always seems to fly with Spencer because before I knew it we were already parked. Being the chivalrous man that he is, Spencer made sure to open my door for me. He held my hand as we walked to the restaurant. I admired the ambiance of the venue. There was a band playing soft jazz music and lights scattered upon the ceiling. The décor was beautiful and the overall atmosphere was very cozy.

The hostess led us to our seats after Spencer informed her of our reservation. We sat at a corner table, providing us the perfect amount of privacy.

“Have you been here before?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine recommended this place. He said that it was the perfect place to...uh, woo a girl.”

“Well, I am entirely wooed. But that is mostly due to the present company.” He smiled at me, before looking at the menu. I decided to do the same after noticing the pink tint at the tip of his ears. I still got it.

The rest of our dinner went smoothly. We ordered our meals as well as a glass of wine, in which I was informed of the many health benefits that come with drinking a glass of red. I was able to convince Spencer to show me a magic trick using a coin and napkin. He did it multiple times, yet I couldn’t find out how it worked. We talked about music, literature, art and so much more. We were so deep into our conversation that we didn’t notice our food had arrived.

My food smelled amazing and tasted even better. I couldn’t help but ask Spencer for a bite of his. He was willing to share as long as he got a piece of my food as well. We ended up splitting our meals with each other.

After paying for the entire bill, much to my protest, Spencer took my hand and led me out of the restaurant. I thought it would be the end of our night together but was wrong. Spencer said that there was one more surprise for me.

The car ride this time was a bit on the longer side and I wondered where on earth he could be taking us. It wasn’t until I saw a sign that a large smile appeared on my face.

“A drive-in theater?” I excitedly asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I hope you don’t mind watching a scary movie.”

“As long as you don’t mind me holding you when I get scared.”

“Deal.”

It was not difficult to find a good spot to enjoy the film. I screamed and jumped multiple times for two hours straight, much to Spencer’s amusement. He attempted to distract me by telling me facts about certain aspects of the movie which marginally helped. By the end of the film, I had started to get drowsy due to all the mini shots of adrenaline.

“Did you have fun?” he asked as he drove us home. I could hear the uneasiness in his question. I’m not sure why he was nervous, this was hands down the most fun I ever had on a date.

“Of course, Spence. This had to be the best date I ever went on. Thank you.”

He smiled widely at the road and I made sure to cherish the moment. It was not often that I got to see such a large grin on Spencer’s face. Happiness was such a good look on him. It makes him appear much more lively and handsome.

I closed my eyes, allowing them to rest momentarily. I didn’t expect to be so tired from an outing. The motion of the car driving on smooth pavement was almost like a lullaby that lured me into a light slumber.

I’m not sure how much time has passed before I was lifted into someone’s arms. If it wasn’t for the scent of coffee and cinnamon, I surely would have panicked. I felt the press of warm lips on my forehead and couldn’t stop the sigh that left my mouth. I buried my head deeper into the arms that cradled me.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I definitely adored Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fifth date I had with Spencer was unplanned.

Spencer has been going on cases more often recently, so we didn’t have a chance to meet. We’ve been texting one another, even calling if time allows it, but I wanted to see him.

When he told me that he was finally flying back home, I decided to meet him at his job. I considered whether or not this would be crossing boundaries, but chose to accept the consequences of my actions later.

The drive to the building where Spencer works was not as long as I imagined. After receiving a visitor’s pass from the front desk and a vague direction of where to go, I found myself lost on the sixth floor.

“Can I help you sweetheart?” a feminine voice asked me. I turned to see a brightly colored fashionista in front of me. I was in awe of her vibrant attire. “Hun?”

“Oh uh, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m waiting for Spencer Reid to return. Umm, is there a place where I can wait for him?”

She beamed at me, her comforting smile providing me some relief. “The team isn’t coming for another half hour. You can wait in my office if you’d like.”

I nodded my head and followed her, taking in my surroundings. I have never been in such an official building before.

“Here we are,” said the kind stranger, leading me to a room filled with a bunch of monitors and computers. “I’m Penelope by the way. I work with Spencer and friends.”

“I’m (Y/N), Spencer’s neighbor.” I practically saw a lightbulb go over her head as she let out a squeal. Penelope started talking a mile a minute, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. It wasn’t until she saw the bewildered expression on my face that she paused and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that Spencer has spoken about you a few times. I didn’t want to assume initially but I figured who you were earlier. Our resident genius doesn’t get many visitors here.”

My face heated up. I was stuck on the fact that Spencer spoke about me to his colleagues, the people he considers his second family. I wondered what he said. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing, he always seems to catch me at some mortifying moments.

“Anyway,” Penelope continued, “you have to tell me about yourself. Spencer doesn’t share enough details and I promised not to search you up.”

For the next half hour, Penelope and I traded information about ourselves. She told me how she got the job as a technical analyst and some other activities she does outside of work while I told her about my typical routine and favorite pastimes.

Penelope’s phone vibrated and she immediately looked at her screen. “They’re here. Let’s go meet them upfront.”

We walked back to where I came from, standing in front of the elevators. We didn’t have to wait long for the doors to open before I saw a pack of people exiting. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer, he was the tallest in the group.

Spencer was currently looking at his phone, typing something on the screen. He finally brought his head up once he put his cell away and I felt mine vibrate with a notification. Once his eyes landed on me, he pushed past the people he was with and darted towards me.

I opened my arms as he drew me into a tight hug. It is a shame that I have not embraced Spencer more because he gives the best hugs. Everything about him automatically puts me in a tranquil state of mind.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once he put some space between us.

“I wanted to see you. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay. I missed you.” That beautiful smile graced his face one more. How is it possible that this man is in my life?

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled Spencer and I away from our bubble. My face heated up as I saw his friends surrounding us.

“Who’s this pretty lady Reid?” asked the muscular man. I looked at all his colleagues, recognizing the blonde as the woman who was at his apartment a couple of months ago. That was when I mistakenly thought she was his girlfriend. She smiled at me, no doubt knowing who I was.

“This is (Y/N), she’s my gi—uh she’s my ummm …” he trailed off, glancing at me. I didn’t notice that we have yet to establish our relationship with one another.

“I’m his neighbor,” I finished. Spencer introduced me to his team before telling me to wait while he gathered his belongings. During his absence, Penelope convinced me to join her for a girl’s night out in the future with the other ladies. I couldn’t say no to the offer, her enthusiasm was seeping through her pores.

When Spencer returned, he grabbed my hand and said his goodbyes while leading us to the elevator. I saw Penelope whisper excitedly to the muscular man that I learned was named Derek, before the doors even got a chance to close.

“My car is here. I can drive us back home,” I informed Spencer.

He nodded his head as we exited the building and made our way to the car. I know that Spencer does not particularly like to discuss his cases, so instead I asked him questions of the places he has been at recently and whether he had the chance to explore. He animatedly told me of a book he purchased that was in a foreign language as well as a vinyl record he got at a music store.

“Can we go to the park?” he suddenly asked. I was a bit confused but decided not to question him.

“Yea, sure.”

The park was not far from where we currently were. After finding a spot and getting out, he took my hand in his once again, leading us down a serene trail. The sound of crickets chirping while the soft wind breezed through us was very relaxing. I looked up at the sky, taking in the tiny visible stars and full moon.

Spencer stopped walking in the middle of the trail, tugging my hand so that I was closer to him. He stared at me as his tongue brushed across his lips.

“(Y/N)?” His voice had that shy tone once again.

“Yes, Spencer?” He brought his hand up to tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

“May I kiss you?”

My heart started racing at his question. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. My voice was stuck in my throat so I nodded my head instead.

Spencer’s hand gently held my cheek as he leaned down towards me. I closed my eyes once his soft lips landed on mine, wrapping my free hand around his neck. He tasted sweet, as I knew he would. I pressed more firmly against him, enjoying the sound of his moan when I swept my tongue across his lower lip. He allowed me to explore his mouth as he did the same to me.

I pulled away after a while to catch my breath. Spencer placed his forehead against mine, breathing heavier than I have ever seen.

“(Y/N)?” he panted out, his voice a lot more confident than it was beforehand.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

I looked into his gentle hazel eyes, embracing all the emotions he was showing me through them. That gorgeous smile adorned his face once more. He looked so beautiful right here.

“I would love to be your girlfriend, Spence.”

I captured his lips this time around, relishing the warmth of his mouth on mine.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely in love with Spencer Reid.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #reid fluff #reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #dr spencer reid #fluff #mgg

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straighttohellbuddy · 3 years

Note

📓 !!

Okay im so excited please know I think about How The Light Gets In's world every day still, and so anyways here is a side story I want to write but there's a lot of set up regarding the reader and eef becoming friends again. For context, they were incredibly close around 2014-2017, but people were getting creepy and invasive and demanding about their friendship (think 2012 toxic side of the Phandom, if that makes sense), and a lot of the reader's relationships were strained at that time because while they had been successful before, they were absolutely blowing up after their first album released and they became far more mainstream. They felt like they were bothering the people they had become closest to, both because they're worried that they're a bother, and because gossip rags and paps would harrass their friends looking for a scoop, and so they ended up just completely cutting off contact without warning one day right before they went on their first tour. the start of HTLGI is about 3 years since they'd been in proper contact with any of the creators they were close to at that time.

DON'T LOOK AT ME on their 2017 ep Hyperfocus was a more general song in response to everything that had been happening in their life around that time, with a focus on how they stop associating with anyone for a while, without outright addressing it, but on their latest album n o s t a l g i a, read at 5am ft. Troye was specifically written at the start of quarantine, when the reader was getting back into YouTube, about their feelings regarding how their friendship with ethan ended, as they spent a lot of this time looking back of their YouTube career, and he was the person they were closest to for a very long time, before they iced everyone out.

OKAY SO THERES MORE OF THE BACKGROUND OF THE WHOLE FIC AND THE READER BUT

Werewolf Ethan & Mark. I'm sorry I don't make the rules. They have golden retriever energy you cannot change my mind. But also because this is the HTLGI you know that supernatural characteristics are able to be activated rather than just triggered by the full moon. What I'm trying to say is since this is set in the year of Unus Annus, they film a video together that's like, you know that show where a person has to try and outwit a professional tracker? Except its the reader being tracked by two werewolves at night in a national park. Reader is wearing some sort of night vision camera on themselves so whenever it cuts to them the audience can't actually see how they're using their powers, if that makes sense.

Also the reader agreed to this knowing it would probably be when they ended up telling Mark and Ethan about them being a demon.

Video is titled Hunting Down An Old Friend

A few Moments that the boys edit out:

The reader using their stupidly sharp prehensile tail to swing from tree branches, though they leave in shots where the reader's tail can't be seen.

Knowing that with the werewolves having advanced hearing, the reader would give themselves away by talking to the camera, they take a few minutes having flown up to a high tree branch, to pull out a notebook and do a little sketch of how Mark and Ethan appear in their Demon True Sight, and holding it up to their camera.

Werewolves being one of the animals who can kind of sense demons without being able to identify them, essentially like dogs can sense natural disasters and are often good judges of character, this can be heightened on command for werewolves. There's about 15 minutes of footage cut out of the boys discussing or mentioning how this place has awful vibes and that they should have done this during the day. It gets worse as they get closer to the reader, who didn't realise that the boys hadn't thought to ever use that particular power around them before.

("I say this with so much love and appreciation for you, dude," Ethan yells, looking up at you from the base of the tree they'd finally found you in, "but I- this is making me anxious I feel like something terrible's gonna happen, and we should probably get out of here and film the rest of the video back at Mark's." And behind him, Mark's nodding, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes scanning the trees for whatever was most likely the cause of this terrible impending doom.

Oh. It's you. And they don't know its you.

Now or never, you suppose.

"Can you cut the cameras for a second? You're going to be fine I promise," you called back, and though they obligingly did, they both seemed antsy. You cleared your throat awkwardly, "that... that terrible feeling, that's not the park or anything in it- well I mean, it is, but it's just- it's me."

and later

"Dude your wings smell like rotten eggs."

"To YOU Ethan! And no they don't!"

"If it makes you feel better they smell like burning and rotten eggs."

"It does not."

(for reference, when enhancing their sense of smell werewolves can kind of distinguish various supernatural creatures, or parts of supernatural creatures. Some creatures have an inherent scent, but some, like angels and demons, only have distinct scents when they've activated certain attributesor abilities; demon wings smell like fire and brimstone, which unfortunately means burning and rotten eggs. I like to think angels wings are like the love potion in Harry Potter that smells like the things you love the most. Mark and Ethan usually don't enhance it around each other because they smell like wet dog to the other)

This gets about 2k notes on tumblr. The reader likes it:

Ethan finally finding Y/N at the end of Hunting Down An Old Friend (2020) Colourised.

Other things to note regarding all this:

It takes a while to rebuild their friendship to the point where they're comfortable enough to be on camera together (eef and reader specifically).

However, the Unus Annus video is the first thing they properly do together, and the reader, in an effort to connect more and make up for the past, will join in multiplayer gaming streams if asked.

Impromptu duet in proximity Among Us of Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy, which has their respective chats and fandoms losing their minds, except it stops abruptly after the first chorus as they both remember the opening lines of the second verse (make it easy, say I never mattered -- those lyrics hit a little too close to home)

But also the reader convinces him to join him for a proper cover in like, February of 2021, and it's something deeply sappy (I'm thinking Bon Iver by mxmtoon because I think its sweet and fits them well)

Also Ethan being reminded that the reader is kind of a much bigger deal than when they'd been friends before.

designed to hurt (touch me) from their ep Working On It is nominated for a Grammy for Track of the Year, and n o s t a l g i a wins Best Pop Album (because it's my fic and I said so)

FIRST OF ALL designed to hurt (touch me) is a beautifully produced song about Corpse (which people do not know) and the title itself is literally making fun of something he said IMAGINE his reaction to it being Grammy Nominated 😂😂😂 God he'd be proud but lowkey fuming, meanwhile the moment the nominations are announced the reader tweets:

me: here is an album where I processed my entire world view including heartfelt explorations of the trauma of existing and oversharing in the public eye from a young age without the traditional barrier between audience and entertainer

the grammys: that's cute BUT you know the song you wrote to bully your boyfriend and also be horny on main for him before you guys were even dating? THAT deserves its own recognition.

meanwhile Ethan's like..... this is the same person who I filmed a video with playing cards against humanity, and you laughed so hard you almost threw up. I am very proud but deeply confused.

The Hot Meme of Late April 2021 is "2 time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" with a gif, still, or quote from the reader where they're just being an absolute chaos gremlin.

Of course we have "If I bleached my asshole for charity I'd do it tastefully."

2 Time Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N speaking to their actual boyfriend in the year of our lord 2020: You are being executed for Clown Crimes.

ethan posts a short video to twitter simply of his screen where he's renaming a folder from "Never Before Seen Images of Grammy Award Winning Artist Y/N" simply changing it to 2 time Artist. The reader responds specifically to his tweet with a video of themselves asking Google how to hard reset someone else's computer.

So many screenshots from old videos surface that week.

I miss this world. Sorry this is rambly!!

#shut ur pretty mouth #how the light gets in #corpse husband x reader #your local homosexual with no chill #htlgi

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tossawary · 4 years

Text

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction.

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything.

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK.

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either.

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...”

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH.

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan).

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point.

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

“Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example.

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui.

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things?

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH.

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here.

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation.

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?”

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!”

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.”

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down.

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on.

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders.

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking.

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension.

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever).

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea.

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant!

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does!

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

“‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

“‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes.

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.)

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent.

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.)

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss.

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master.

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control.

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers.

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

“He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later!

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into.

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

“He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

“Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations.

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him.

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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dear-wormwoods · 4 years

Note

Do you have ships in sp outside of the big ones?

Hmmm, yes but not that many. Mostly I stick with the big ones, which I have to mention because I can’t just ignore them!

The main big one is obvious. Style is the endgame for me. No matter who I imagine either of them with in between, they always end up together in the end for me. It could happen when they’re 16 and hormonal, 20 and feeling the weight of college separation, 28 and reuniting after getting established in their careers, 40 and divorced, all of the above, it doesn’t matter - it just happens eventually. And even when they aren’t together, Stan is still whipped for Kyle and they still argue dramatically like they’re a couple in a movie, and everyone around them is just waiting for them to take the leap. The way it happens varies, but it always happens. I have names picked out for their kids. I know how their parents would act as in-laws and grandparents. I know how they’ll merge religions and celebrate holidays. I know who will die first (Stan, because Kyle’s not allowed to die until he does). There is no universe where they don’t end up together, in my mind.

Creek is a big one in fandom that is less big for me, I guess. I love Creek fanart but I don’t usually go out of my way to read fic about them, nor do I have any ideas of my own for them. I just like everyone else’s headcanons! They truly get the best fanart, it’s not fair. And at this point there’s so much fic for them, I wouldn’t even know where to start. But I love what Matt & Trey have done with them in canon.

I have a love-hate relationship with Kyman, which makes sense for the pairing hah. I think it’s basically canon that it’s one-sided, and I also think it would be very, very easy for Kyle to get sucked into some kind of relationship with Cartman in high school, with the possibility of it continuing for years in a toxic, on-off cycle. I’m actually writing a fic about that right now, a sequel to something I wrote ten years ago. Whenever Kyle doesn’t have Stan as his rock, he gravitates into Cartman’s orbit, so I think in some ways they’re inevitable? But never endgame. I actually really dislike stories in which they have a happy ending, because I don’t think it’s possible and Kyle deserves better than that.

I like Stendy; it’s the only Stan pairing I’ll allow other than Style. I think they’d be that on-again, off-again couple for years, but then break up permanently in college, probably by Thanksgiving break freshman year. Wendy is destined to be with someone a lot more ambitious than Stan, and Stan is destined to be with Kyle, and I think they’d both always know that about each other (particularly Wendy), but they’ll try to make it work over and over again in the meantime because they’re just comfortable with each other.

Candy is pretty good too. I think it could easily happen in the heat of the moment, during a drunken argument about politics at a winter break house party, and Wendy would be angry at herself the next day for enjoying it so much lmao. They wouldn’t date though. She’d never stoop that low (unlike Kyle, who in some AUs would stoop that low at least three times over the years because Cartman “changed”, but Wendy always knows better than that). Cartman would probably get a little too attached, but no amount of begging and pleading could get her to go out in public with him.

I never really liked Bunny back in the day, but it’s grown on me over the last few years. Mysterion and SOT changed the game; I really like gnc Kenny and think that idea works better with Butters than the Super Masc Horny Kenny from days gone by. It’s one of those pairings I won’t read on its own, and probably wouldn’t write, but it works as a side pairing if it’s done well. I like the idea of Kenny and Butters exploring gender expression together and dealing with their traumas through roleplay, since they have that tendency in common. They’d have a mutual understanding that they both have a preference for feminine-leaning folks, and they just get each other, so it’s a chill arrangement.

Another side pairing I like is Clybe! I think Bebe is honestly way too good for Clyde, but that’s kind of why it would work. They’d both be so aware of it. Clyde knows his place and he’d spoil the shit out of her. And she’d become a doctor or a lawyer and make way more money than him, and people would be like “why the FUCK is this beautiful, smart, ambitious, successful woman with this small town douchebag?”, but Clyde cries at the end of sad movies with her and always remembers their anniversary and is a great cook and is always willing to talk about his feelings, so they have a smooth, comfortable relationship.

Pairings I like the art for but never really think about include Crenny, K2, and Bendy. They’re just aesthetically cute, but I can’t bring myself to care about them beyond that.

Pairings that are or were canon that I like but don’t really seek out in fandom include Token/Nichole, and Token/Wendy. Heiman I have mixed feelings about because while I LOVED that whole plot line since it exposed Cartman as the abusive boyfriend he was always going to be, obviously he wasn’t good for Heidi, so I can’t really categorize it as a pairing I like.

Crack pairings I’ve RPed that I still like to this day even though they literally do not exist in fandom and only really worked in those very specific circumstances are Gregory/Kyle and Trent Boyett/Bebe.

OH and Kenny/Henrietta? I saw a post about them one time, which has stuck with me for some reason.

#south park #sp hcs #sp style #kyman #creek #stendy #sp candy #clybe #sp bunny

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lunaverseimagine · 4 years

Text

Didn’t Think You’d Remember

Prompt: I don’t know if you remember me

Pairing: Ron x Reader

Summary: Reader has been thinking about Ron ever since she first saw him in Diagon Alley. Now that she’s finally made the quidditch team for her house, will he notice her? (Note: y/h = your house, reader not in Gryffindor)

Warnings: None? (Unless - spoiler - kissing counts? xD )

Word count: 1.9k

Fic:

You jumped up and down, muddy, soaking wet, and absolutely ecstatic. You couldn’t wait to tell your friends - you’d just been selected as a Y/h chaser! You had tried out for the team every year, never losing hope, practising whenever you could. Being on a quidditch team had been your dream ever since you found out what the word ‘quidditch’ meant, and you couldn’t believe your hard work had finally paid off; you were in fifth year and you’d made it!

Your team’s practises began the very next day. They were gruelling, tiring, and everything you had hoped for. Apparently training was even harder than it would normally be this time of year, because your captain wanted you to be prepared for your first match - which was against Gryffindor. When you’d found out who the new Gryffindor keeper was, you couldn’t help the mix of excitement and nerves that danced in your stomach.

The first time you saw him was in Diagon Alley before your first year at Hogwarts. As a muggle-born, you were absolutely awestruck by everything around you. The first thing you did was have your muggle money exchanged for wizard money by a goblin... goblin! To be honest the creatures had creeped you out a bit, and they still do, but you soon got over that when you started exploring all the magical shops. Even the seemingly mundane items, like your History of Magic book, absolutely intrigued you, and you were sure that you were walking around with your mouth hanging open the whole afternoon.

Of particular interest to you were the wizarding families - it was obvious who had grown up around magic and who hadn’t. For one thing, the wizarding families were all wearing quite peculiar clothes, and for another, they were looking at the whacky shops as though they were as normal as a Greggs or a WHSmith. It was when you neared Ollivander’s, where you’d been advised to get your wand, that you saw several redheads, obviously witches and wizards, chatting and laughing outside. You politely squeezed past them to get inside the shop where you saw another two redheads - a boy about your age, and a short, kind-faced woman whom you guessed was his mother. The boy was flicking a wand in the air with a look of determination that you found endearing. Eventually Mr Ollivander gestured for the wand back - it didn’t seem to be doing anything - and the boy glanced over at you with a shy, slightly embarrassed smile. When he was handed the next wand he did the same flicking motion, but this time you saw a glimmer all around his body that looked.. well, magical. The cutest smile you’d ever seen lit up his whole face, although it dimmed a bit when his mum tipped the minimal contents of her purse onto the counter and had just enough coins to buy the wand.

Since then, you’d heard of Ron’s endeavours throughout the years at Hogwarts: that game of wizard’s chess in first year where he nearly died, going into the chamber of secrets in second to year to save his sister who nearly died, that mysterious event in third year where he broke his leg and probably nearly died, and let’s not forget fourth year where he was one of the four treasures in the bottom of the lake to be found in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament (although you don’t think he nearly died that time). And let’s not forget flying his car to school - you knew it was reckless, but at the same time you admired the courage and resourcefulness, and feared that he would be expelled. You were so relieved to see him wolfing down breakfast in the Great Hall the next day.

Despite your attentiveness to activities, you were sure he’d never noticed you. There was the occasional shared smile in the corridor or in classes that you had together, but you thought that was more out of politeness than any specific feeling towards you.

All that was going to change though - he was bound to notice you in a few weeks’ time because you would be trying to get the quaffle through the very hoops that he would be defending. You felt the butterflies in your stomach again.

The day of the match had finally arrived. Your training had been absolutely brutal but you were grateful, because at least now you felt a little prepared. After a quick pep talk in the changing rooms, you followed your captain onto the pitch to loud cheers coming from the stands. The Gryffindor team were approaching the centre where Madam Hooch stood, and as you neared them you could’ve sworn Ron shot a smile in your direction. You brushed it off - he was probably just being friendly before the game.

The captains shook hands and Hooch’s whistle sounded. Thoughts of Ron immediately disappeared from your mind as you focussed on trying to gain possession of the quaffle. You didn’t have to wait long - thanks to a bludger heading towards the Gryffindor chaser the ball had been dropped, and you were perfectly poised to catch it. You flew straight for the hoops, feeling the wind rush through your hair, checking around you for any bludgers or players who might compromise your flight. Surprisingly it was smooth sailing to the posts, and you found yourself face to face with him. You shot Ron a cheeky smile - you were always most confident when on your broom - and faked a throw into the right hoop which successfully fooled Ron and allowed you to score through the centre. You heard the stadium erupt with cheers.

Ron had a shocked expression on his face, like he hadn’t quite comprehended what had just happened, and you gave him a wink before flying a celebratory lap of the pitch.

During the rest of the match you had four more attempts at a goal: two successful and two blocked. In the end it was Harry who caught the snitch, leading inevitably to a Gryffindor win, but you were in good spirits regardless. Three goals scored in your first proper match! You’d talked your parents’ ears off about quidditch, and while they still didn’t quite understand the concept (“Why is it 150 points for the snitch? Isn’t that a bit much?”) you knew they’d be delighted to read the letter you were going to send later telling them about your goals.

There was a brilliant feast in the Great Hall that evening to celebrate the first match of the season. You took great pleasure in eating one of every type of food that was laid out before you. Your appetite was a force to be reckoned with and your friends always seemed quite impressed at how much you managed to eat every meal time.

As you were making your way through a delicious pumpkin pie, you noticed your friends looking at something behind you. Turning, you saw a familiar face.

“Y/n,” Ron smiled at you. You were surprised that he knew your name, but hoped you’d managed to keep the shock off your face. “Mind if I take a seat?” The people on your left had already scooted along the bench to give him room.

“Of course,” you smiled back, trying to suppress the butterflies that had once again made themselves at home in your stomach.

“Well played today,” he complimented you as he helped himself to a generous serving of chocolate eclairs. If any student in Hogwarts had an appetite to rival yours, it would be Ron.

“Thanks,” you said breezily, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush in your cheeks, “you too.” You busied yourself with finishing off your dessert while Ron spoke to the other people on your table. They seemed very happy to engage in conversation - it appeared it wasn’t just you who thought highly of him. You loved how friendly and open to conversation he was, even with non-Gryffindors. When you’d both finished your food and the hall started emptying, Ron asked if you’d like to walk around the grounds with him. You tried not to agree too quickly.

There was an autumn chill in the air but at least it wasn’t raining - not that any weather would stop you from spending time with Ron (who knew your name! and wanted to spend time with you!). You hugged your cloak around you and listened intently to Ron talking about his favourite quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, who just so happened to be your favourite team too.

You’d just finished discussing which Cannons chaser you thought had had the best season when you reached the edge of the lake. You both stopped walking and took a moment to just look at each other. His eyes wore a soft expression, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the breeze, which made him look more adorable than usual.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you remembered me.” You said quite suddenly, not even knowing yourself that you were going to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about you since I saw you in Ollivanders,” Ron spoke gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “You- you didn’t look put off when you saw my Mum emptying… Well anyway, I thought you seemed really decent.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Ron using ‘decent’ as a flirtatious - is that what it was? - word.

“Anyone who cares about that isn’t worth your time,” you replied adamantly, “especially with all the amazing stuff you’ve done over the years.” Now it was Ron’s turn to blush.

“I haven’t really done anything, Hermione’s the brains and Harry’s done all the hard stuff, I just, sort of, tag along.” Is that really what he thought of himself?

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, so you took his hand in yours and looked straight at him with an earnest expression on your face. “I bet Harry wouldn’t have been able to do half that stuff without you by his side, without your courage giving him strength.”

Ron searched your eyes, trying to work out if you really meant what you were saying. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, because the next thing you knew he was lowering his face towards yours. He paused, barely a centimetre away, as if waiting for consent. You happily obliged, closing the rest of the distance between you.

The butterflies turned into fireworks. You ran your hands through his hair - you’ve been wanting to do that for so long - and it was just as soft as you’d imagined. You gave it a gentle tug and he let out a quiet moan, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip. You pressed your body against his, revelling in the feeling of being so close, of being one, with this boy you’d been thinking about since you were 11. His hands were on your waist, holding you tightly, and you knew that he’d been thinking about you for a while too. You’d only had one proper conversation with Ron, but your lips were so in tune with his that it was as though you’d been doing this forever.

Eventually you came apart, your heavy breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” you remarked.

With his forehead touching yours, Ron grinned at you and said, “Y/n, that was bloody brilliant.”

End

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :3 Please feel free to send imagine requests to my ask, and if you liked this please lmk by liking/reblogging/following (it’s super encouraging!)

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ljandersen · 3 years

Text

More 100 Days of Writing! Yay! I love that I get a hundred days of seeing everyone's writing process on my dash. I’m not strictly following the questions in order or posting every day, but it’s fun to still play along. Thanks, @the-wip-project !

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Question from Day 2 (I know it’s not day two, but I’m erratically cheating, remember?) For your current WIP: Do you have many WIPs? What motivates you to write this specific story? What makes this story special for you? Is there a special twist/trope/setting you wanted to explore? What got you started on this particular story?

My current WIP is “Sideways,” a 5-part fShenko post-war long fic. I’m posting it like a box set, essentially all the parts (books) in one big post on AO3. I have the first draft written for all five parts and am currently posting part 3.

What motivated me to write this story was a string of “what if” questions that haunted me after finishing my 300k fShenko post-war long fic, “Burning Barriers.” My mind kept spinning on questions about human-asari relationships. What would it be like to be with someone who would live a thousand years? You’re just a blip on their radar, while they’re you’re whole life.

What would it be like to have a child who’s another species? Asari have unique abilities like mindmelding, strong biotics, long lifespan, monogendered, not to mention unique culture. Would the child feel less “yours” for being so . . . well, alien (pun intended)? How would it feel knowing your partner and child would live on long after you?

That’s when I started thinking, what if the asari parent died? Whoa. Then my mind was blown by the complexity. Your child would be another species, bound to live a thousand years, and the parent meant to take care of them is gone. Since your partner was going to live hundreds of more years, the human partner probably never even considered the possibility of losing them. Now the human parent is all this alien child has. It had so many implications, my mind kept going.

I wanted to explore these ideas in a story, but I didn’t want to write an AU of my own fanfiction. I didn’t want to write a story that wasn’t fShenko. FemShep and Kaidan are my favorite characters, and it’s their relationship I find compelling.

That’s when I thought, what would Shepard think of this alternate storyline? It’s interesting enough to think of her outside perspective, but what if it was further removed than even that. What if she saw it like I did having this other canon story ending in mind? What if the Shepard who finished my story in “Burning Barriers” and who ended up with Kaidan went to this other AU reality?

I could follow an idea from “Burning Barriers” that wasn’t realized but intrigued me. Kaidan’s asari wife is dead. He has an asari child now. How much better if he and Shepard are even enemies? Maybe Shepard has been a bad person in this timeline. After all, Mass Effect is all about the Paragon and Renegade timelines. Add in this story being told from the POV of the Shepard who’s been happily married to him in the “real” timeline, then the complexity and nuances expanded. How would she reconcile his identity to her, being both the person she knows and loves the best, but also the person she knows the least and who is also an adversary?

Then, I thought . . . What is Bad Shepard took my canon Shepard’s place? I ended “Burning Barriers” with Shepard being human Councilor. She lives on the Pacific with Kaidan and their daughter. That was already there in my post-10 year epilogue. What if this switch went both ways? It’s always a fascinating trope taking someone who’s a maverick loner and dropping them into a family situation. Do they become a better person?

False identities always interest me, and both stories lines would play so well to that interest. How would this imposter function? Both Shepards would be taken as the their altero ego, at least, initially if not longer.

So I started writing “Sideways.” I needed to tell the backstories to fill in the ten years of lost time for both timelines. But how to do it? Just through present-day revelations? A bit boring. Flashbacks are often considered unnecessary and needlessly complicate a story.

What if the flashbacks had more meaning beyond just revealing the past though? What if they provided a ticking clock. I needed a ticking clock, after all, and this was the perfect way to hit two birds with one stone. The present day revelations about the past could provide tantalizing clues and hint toward scenes that aren’t revealed yet. There would be gradual progression of stories from the past connecting to the present storyline. Perfect.

I actually wrote several chapters of “Sideways” and then discarded it. I didn’t want to pour myself into more fanfiction. It was time to move on. Do something original. Who would read a long fShenko fic that jumped off my 300k story? “Burning Barriers” wasn’t read. I think a year after posting, it had 25 kudos, under a thousand hits, and was pretty stagnant with the hit count even moving. I had a few wonderful people who made the process worthwhile through their generous comments and friendship. It would go on to get a lot of great feedback that would change my feelings about it, but at the time, the story’s reception was disappointing. It seemed unwise to take an already abysmal turnout for 300k words and cut the readership even further for a new story +100k story. So I tossed my first few chapters of “Sideways” aside.

I came across the chapters again a while later. I still had these ideas in my head for it that I was trying to squelch while I focused on ideas for an original sci fi series. When I was flipping through a notebook, I came across the story I had abandoned, and I started to read it. By the end, I was left thinking, “But then what happened? This is actually pretty good.” At that point, I decided I had to write it. I had too much passion in the project, and I had to see it through.

I decided for it to be successful (or at least, not catastrophically unsuccessful), it had to stand on its own. Hardly anyone had read the preceding 300 k story, which I had made the mistake of posting all at once. I needed this to be its own story. It had to be less words than “Burning Barriers,” which at 300 k was already too much of an investment.

Then I started writing my new story . . . 800 k words later (or so I estimate), I obviously didn’t meet my goal. But I loved writing every word, and I love how the story progresses and develops. It had a good pace, and I’m proud of it. It lent itself naturally to being divided into a series, since it had mini-arcs with mini-villains and achievements being reached. By editing each part separately, I was able to start posting, which after two years of writing the story was beginning to feel like would never happen.

Now, here I am posting part 3. I have amazing people who support me and have made the experience rewarding by sharing their enthusiasm and thoughts in comments and tags. “Sideways” surpassed “Burning Barriers” initially low turn out and has managed to stand on its own as I hoped. For a story that took so long to make it to this point, it’s been fulfilling to have so many fandom friends who cheer me on. I appreciate everyone who supports “Sideway” and just me in general as part of the fandom community.

And that’s how my supersized story came into being.

#100daysofwriting #not doing my questions in order I know #I feel like day 1 and day 2 were the most important general questions #Which is why I'm doing them now #on writing #my writing #on fanfiction #on mass effect fanfiction

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gt-ridel · 4 years

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Several hundred words of Half-Life Borrower!AU goodness

(Hi, this is Passportinspection!) Oooh goodness. I actually started writing this as an ask. I really thought what I had to say would fit into an ask. Since sending that anon about having 350 words of thoughts, I ended up getting distracted for a few hours, and then when I came back to this, I apparently had 400 more words to say. I just love rambling what-ifs about AUs. :’>

Hi Passportinspection! Sorry it took so long to reply to this. I had more work than I thought yesterday. >__< I totally agree! Rambling about what-ifs is WAY more fun than actually writing a story. ;;>__> _

These are… not all A-list ideas, and I was very tempted to cut it down to the best bits, BUT I know that if someone said to me “I had 5 ideas for your au but only told you the 2 good ones” I would be extremely interested in hearing the 3 bad ones anyway, so… here it all is. This was written pretty stream-of-consciousness and then rearranged a bit to form my pinballing thoughts into something a little more linear, but, fair warning, it wasn’t edited much beyond that.

_ Ooo, I absolutely want to hear everything! All ideas, good and bad! Are you kidding? (Gets comfy) _

I keep thinking about the end of that “gordon takes borrower!barney with him through the events of HL1” scenario; Imagining gman’s speech at the end, I like the idea of him saying something like, “As for your.. /passenger/..” and both of their bloods running cold. I can’t decide if I’d rather barney actually go into stasis with gordon or not I think it could be an interesting/cute concept- the idea that gman/his employers figured barney was enough of a factor in gordon’s success that they thought it would be wise to keep them together for future “assignments.”

_ Bro I'll be honest, I hadn't gotten that far in the AU because I still haven't finished the game. My only reference for G-man is Mr. Coolatta. So I'll have to at least look the ending up on youtube before I'll be able to give my informed opinion. But taking it as is? That would be freaking terrifying. They've met some other scientists and security guards during their escape, but the HEV helmet was a perfect hiding place. None of them ever noticed that Gordon wasn't alone. But somehow this reality bending creep knows, and it looks like he's not going to let Barney and Gordon just go home, which was basically what they were fighting for the whole time. _

I’m also thinking about, like.. With Barney in Gordon’s helmet with him, Gordon must be able to feel him tense up and hear his breathing speed up whenever something particularly scary/dangerous happens, maybe even at times faintly feel the fluttering of his heart, and it strengthens his resolve to make it out of there bc it’s not just himself he’s saving. 🥺 Also Barney can provide running commentary, which perhaps soothes both of their nerves a little. Maybe he even helps with some puzzles. :> I also think it’s funny/convenient that that would work really well for an actual video game format. A friend that’s with you wherever you go that sees everything you see but can’t interact with the world but provides commentary and occasional helpful tips? That fits in nicely!

_ Ha! Something I was thinking about was how Barney has spent his whole life living in the vents and such. He would probably be a perfect guide for Gordon. :3 As for Gordon feeling when Barney gets tense or scared and that fuling his drive to escape, that was ABSOLUTELY one of the reasons I wanted Barney in the helmet. It would be uncomfortable, inconvenient, and down right dangerous sometimes. But you cannot deny the unique opportunities for deeper emotional exploration it would present. _

…But also, now that I think about it, maybe there are parts where the only way forward is for Barney to slip through a crack in a blockaded doorway and use a control panel that opens another door- that sort of thing. He gets to help with more than just talking sometimes! :> Oh, dang, imagine the part where gordon gets jumped and almost killed by the military. Poor Barney. D: Maybe a factor in Gordon escaping the trash compactor before it crushes him is Barney frantically trying to wake him up.

_ I was defo hyperfixating on what the whole beat down would be like from Barney's perspective a few days ago! Gordon would be at an extra disadvantage in the fight because he'd have to be careful not to accidentally bash Barney between his skull and the helmet while he's being smacked around. Imagine Barney being tossed all over the small space, maybe ending up pinned when Gordon finally passes out. Noticing when a small stream of blood starts leaking from his friends mouth and soaking into his clothes. Gordon is completely helpless, and so is Barney as he hears the soldiers talking about what they're going to do with the body. I just think that whole scene and the escape from the trash compactor would be so fun and exciting~ -

Also, unrelated, but I wonder how barney would wake up in city 17, if he did go into stasis with gordon. That is, since gordon is wearing a citizen outfit when he comes out of stasis, barney obviously can’t be in the helmet anymore. Maybe gman elects to move barney to a pocket somewhere instead lol. I’m imagining as soon as gordon is released from whatever effect gman had him under and he’s able to move again, he starts patting himself down looking for Barney (the same way one does when they forget which pocket their phone is in ), bc last he knew Barney was right up against his face and now he’s /not/, and that man SAID they’d be “hired” as a team so /where is he/ because Gordon needs to know he’s /okay/. As Barney is released from the same effect, he probably moves and makes himself apparent, so it’s only for like a second that Gordon is doing that.

_ Once again, I can't speak much to what would happen in a HL2 continuation of this story, but that sounds about right for an initial reaction scene. Imagine Barney just coming out of it and being in some sort of... bag? being jostled around? He feels a giant hand pat over him from outside and he grunts in surprise. Then the hand rests against him and Barney realizes he's in a humans breast pocket, being held against someones chest as beside him a thundering heart slowly begins to calm. He figures this must be Gordon. He doesn't KNOW any other humans, and he can't imagine that man in the suit would be all that concerned about Barney's wellbeing. _

Barney doesn’t know where they are/who else is out there at all ‘cause he can’t see from where he is, and Gordon can feel him shifting to lean out of the pocket and get a look, and he just puts a hand over the pocket, covering the opening in the process, and applies a gentle pressure for a couple moments, and Barney knows that means he needs to stay put because it’s not safe to come out yet. Thankfully Barney heard Gman talking to Gordon and addressing him by name, so he doesn’t have to worry about whose pocket he just woke up in. He would probably somewhat recognize Gordon’s gait/the feel of his hands at that point, too. As for how Gordon avoids boarding the train to Nova Prospekt without canon barney there to stop him, I have no idea.

_ YEAAAH that is a good point. Barney is kind of vital for that role. Maybe we can slot a different character into his place. ^__^;; _

Oooh, going back a bit, maybe when the nihilanth is teleporting gordon around in the boss level, or from the very beginning when gordon jumps into the portal to Xen, they get teleported separately and end up in different places? (Ignoring for a moment the parts with portals in Black Mesa ^^;) That sure is an additional level of distress for the both of them during the Big Final Level(s). And then perhaps at the end, part of gman’s speech can be like, “As for your.. companion, you can rest assured he was recovered safe and sssound. After all, you two performed so well, together, it would be ideal to hire you as, a team.” Or whatever

_ Imagine Barney, stranded and alone on Xen, desperately trying to find Gordon, and having his OWN creepy G-man encounter. :U _

Our Barney AUs differ in some exciting ways and it’s fun to play in someone else’s sandbox for a while. :p I’ll probably cut my notes doc down into something readable and post it sometime in the near-ish future.. Either that or actually write the dang fic.

_ I would absolutely LOVE to hear about your AU too! So if you do either of those things, be sure to @ me! Thank you so much for playing in this sandbox with me. I am ALWAY down to talk Borrower AU stuff. It's just so much dang fun! ^0^

#Half-Life #Borrower!AU #Borrower!Barney #Gordon Freeman #Barney Calhoun #G-man

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lorelylantana · 4 years

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Spontaneous Chapter 1: Step One

Last fic post in 2020! It's been a wild ride y'all but here's one last beginning before the year ends.

Ao3

Chapter rating: G Overall rating: T

What-

What in Hylia’s name did she just watch?

During her captivity, Zelda imagined several different scenarios for Link’s clash with Ganon. It gave her hope to think about standing before him as he smiled at her once again. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would take her into his arms, reunited at last before riding away to rebuild Hyrule. But never, in her wildest dreams, did she think of this situation.

There was the Hero of Hyrule, walking toward her in all his barely dressed glory, giving her the most roguish smile she’d ever seen on his face. A horse walked up to him, unsaddled and almost identical to Epona, his steed from a century ago. The mare nuzzled his shoulder, and he grimaced, looking down at the side of his ribs where one of the Blights must have nicked him. He moved to cover the gash with his own hand but she smacked it away.

“Now you stop that!” she scolded. His hands were covered in all manner of grease and dust and no doubt several other kinds of dirt you kept away from open wounds at all costs. She turned him around and batted his arm away so she could take a closer look at the cut, her hand coming to rest on his stomach as she did so, an inch above the waistband of his shorts. She felt more than heard him suck in a breath.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Did he have internal damage? His face was flushed and he shook his head. Did he have a fever? That’s a bad sign. She turned her attention back to his bleeding side to look for signs of infection. It didn’t look too bad, actually. Still, without Mipha’s Grace, may her soul rest, Zelda wasn’t comfortable leaving it alone. She grabbed his arm, which was noticeably thinner than it was 100 years ago, and dragged him towards the Sacred Ground Ruins, where the water thankfully still ran clear. It was a short trip, but she was still shaking with exertion but the time they reached what was left of the stone platform. The Epona horse followed without instruction, which implied some measure of domestication, but without any tack to speak of she couldn’t be sure.

She sat him down and began tearing at some of the cleaner sections of her dress. Link scratched the back of his neck.

“You don’t need to-”

“If I never wear this dress again it will be too soon,” she huffed, sitting on the lip of the fountain. She dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out. She turned back to him and patted her lap, “Come here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. She wasn’t amused by his hesitation, especially when the growing flush on his cheeks could be indicative of a fever.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure. Now lay down so we can see to that cut.”

He waited a beat longer, as if waiting for her to withdraw her offer. Then he settled in her lap, letting out a soft sigh as he relaxed. He wasn’t shivering, so perhaps it wasn’t as severe as she feared. She pressed her hand onto his cheek, which was warm, but not alarmingly so. Perhaps it was a reaction to the warm summer’s day rather than illness. She hoped so. In a perfect world she would have a Hyrule herb poultice to spread around the cut, but for now they’d have to settle with a simple bandage.

“Tell me,” she prompted as she began rubbing the blood away, hoping to distract him from the pain a little, “What happened after you woke up?”

“Not much,” he admitted, “I woke up, followed the old man’s instructions, and then he gave me a paraglider, and then I flew to the castle. I made my way to the top, and then I was here.”

She paused, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She needed a moment to process the implications. “Exactly how much time has passed since you woke up?” Her perception of time was a bit skewed when she was imprisoned. For all she knew, he’d been running around Hyrule for months, but that didn’t explain his conspicuous lack of pants. He considered a moment before answering.

“A day. I think?” he looked sheepish when he clarified, “I may have spent more time necessary exploring the plateau.”

Zelda wasn’t about to complain about his response time when he single handedly beat down the apocalypse mere hours after his return to the living, so she focused on their next steps. She had him sit up while she tore off more of her dress to wrap around his torso.

Her first thought was that he needed to get dressed, but he made it this far without clothes, so he’d probably survive a bit longer. Infection or no, she wanted to get the cut taken care of as soon as possible, and without any degree of medical equipment, their best option was a hot spring. There was one inside the castle, but with monsters still lurking with the walls it was hardly an ideal, despite its proximity.

Zelda looked to the sky, it was still late morning, so there was enough time to ride to lakes at the foot of Death Mountain and have an hour or two to soak before the sun went down.

“Alright,” she said, standing to stretch. He followed her to where the Epona horse stood. “A hot spring would do us both a world of good, and the closest one is to the northeast. Is that agreeable to you?”

He shrugged, content to follow Zelda’s plan. He helped her mount before settling behind her, and though she couldn’t be certain, she would have sworn she could see a solitary spirit wave them goodbye as they passed. It looked like her father.

The guardians were still walking about, lit up a bright orange. Even if her mind knew they posed no threat now that they were freed from Ganon’s control, she couldn’t help how her heart sped at the sight of them. Link must have noticed, because he insisted they urge the Epona horse into a canter, despite Zelda’s reservations. It seemed that his skills as a rider weren’t lost to time, which was a relief. The roads were empty, even when they left Hyrule field, but Zelda was too exhausted mentally to ponder it for too long. They passed Foothill Stable as the sun began to set.

As they came up on the turquoise water, she swung a leg over the Epona horse’s neck, a move made possible by her freshly shortened dress, and slid down. Zelda untied the bandage around his waist and dipped her feet in the water. She put her hair in a ponytail while he sank into the spring with a moan. Link had offered his hair tie, but Zelda wasn’t going to take an accessory from a man wearing only his undershorts, so she declined, opting instead to tie it with a spare scrap of dress. She absentmindedly brushed his hair back before taking stock of the meager inventory.

It wasn’t as sparse as she’d assumed. There were a few odds and ends, bundles of wood and various herbs and mushrooms. She also came across a few gems and a handful of rupees, which she set aside. She tried to make the best camp she could, listening to Link paddle around idly. She built a fire and arranged the mushrooms and found a stick to skewer them with. Once she returned she found Link by the fire, slicing a trout into chunks to cook. If he’s quick enough to catch a fish with his bare hands, then his skill hadn’t depleted, only his strength.

Yet still strong enough to best Calamity.

They ate in relative silence, until Zelda finally scrapped up enough courage to ask the devastating question she already knew the answer to.

“What do you remember?” she asked. He shifted next to her, his shoulder brushing against hers.

“Nothing.”

She nodded, taking a bite before speaking again. She didn’t have the strength to face reality as a whole. Not yet, so instead she addressed the small pieces she could handle.

“Can I have these?” she asked, pointing to the gems. He nodded, tossing his empty skewer into the fire before going to sit in the water again. Zelda took the gems and walked back to the stable.

She made it as far as the sign marking Death Mountain's ascent before she had to stop and rest, huffing as she sat down on the warm rock. She tried to adjust her sandals, only to have them come apart in her hands, so she just tossed them aside. If Link could fight six different abominations in quick succession barefoot, surely she could walk to a stable.

But as she stood up on shaking legs she felt a gentle bump against her back. The Epona horse had come for her, and Zelda was not proud enough to refuse her assistance, using the rock as an impromptu mounting block.

“You’re a brave one, girlie,” Ozunda said, walking up to the counter, “walking about after the day went red like that. Everyone’s been buckled down since.”

“The disturbance has since passed,” she replied. She didn’t tell them the Calamity was no more because she didn’t think she could handle a celebration surrounded by her kingdom’s ruin. Instead she walked to the merchant sitting on the floor, placing the gems on his makeshift table.

“How much can you give me for these?”

He ended up giving her 210 rupees for the stones, which she in turn used to purchase a set of Hylian trousers and a sturdy tunic. He even threw in a hair comb he had in stock, though she suspected he pitied Zelda for her tragically bare feet and disheveled hair.

Zelda walked out of the tent to where the Epona horse waited patiently. She looked around for a rock to help mount, but a stable hand came to help her up. Zelda focused on thanking the young woman instead of how frail she must look to warrant unrequested assistance.

“You want to register that horse, miss?” Ozunda called as she turned to go, “It gets you a stable issue saddle and bridle, just twenty rupees.”

“It’s not my horse,” Zelda answered, “We’ll come by later.”

She returned to their campsite with the bundle of clothes to find Link already stretched out, fast asleep. She tucked the clothes under his head and set the boots to the side and placed her fingertips across his chest lightly, only removing them when he felt him take a breath. She ran the comb carefully through her hair. Letting it down from it’s braid for the first time in one hundred years. Then she ducked behind the rocks to give her some measure of privacy while she stripped off the dress. After several careful tears Zelda was able to separate that dreadful outer layer from the rest of the gown. She set them aside while she finally stepped into the water, letting it melt away some of the physical strains weighing on her.

And then Zelda was alone with her thoughts, without an activity to occupy her thoughts. Zelda was left to grieve.

She hated herself for it, but she felt a flood of relief overpower that grief. Granted, she’d had a century to come to terms with devastation of Calamity, but it felt wrong to rest when the Champions, her dearest friends, were tethered to this world, not allowed to pass on. They would have to visit each Divine Beasts and release them of their duty.

And then what?

Things didn’t go at all as she’d expected them to. She wasn’t so foolish as to believe everything would go according to plan, but she never would have thought Link would charge the castle before he had a chance to remember himself. A trip to Kakariko was in order. Impa would be able to tell them where to go from there. Perhaps Purah lived still, and she could share some of her findings with Zelda.

For the time being, she had to help Link get back to what he was. She knew it wasn’t fair to put her beloved Champion through all this to begin with, much less without so much as a memory to guide him. He might not want to travel with Zelda, perhaps only freeing her out of a lingering sense of duty before exploring the wilds at his leisure. She owed that to him, if that was his desire. She could make her own way once they reached Kakariko. At the very least, she was obligated to point him in the right direction.

Before all else, though, she must rest. Her eyes were closing of her own accord, and her mind grew hazy.

She pulled herself out of the water, using the torn cloth to wipe herself down before slipping back into the revised dress, now coming to a stop right above her knees. Zelda sat down beside the long dead fire. She leaned against the warm red stone, Link’s sleeping figure the last thing she saw before falling asleep.

#zelink #botw #botw speedrun #botw zelda #botw link #spontaneous #post botw speedrun #LantanaLore

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alia-turin · 4 years

Text

It has been a WHOLE minute since I have mentioned Caranthir so here is a fic for yall. I have alot of ideas about young Caranthir, his relationship with Avallac’h, him joining the red riders etc.

@house-of-inspiration you asked for Caranthir joining the red riders, where as I said I was just writing it, so I hope you enjoy.

Fic Name: The Last Straw Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Characters: Eredin, Caranthir, Avallac’h, Imlerith Pairing: none Warning: Angst, mention of rape (no one is actually raped, just a mention) AO3: Click Summary: A very young Caranthir discovers how he actually came about and that a lot of what he thought about his life has been a lie. After he confronts Avallac'h he takes a decision that will change his life.

Avallac’h was somewhere again, to see the king or on one of these trips to the Aen Seidhe world where he never took him even if Caranthir loved going to other worlds. He was bored out of his mind, already had read every book he wanted to read, tried every spell that Avallac’h had forbidden him to try...

There was a place that had been off limits for him and he had always been curious about. It was a room, the door always closed and locked with magic. He had tried opening when he was very young, probably ten or so, but the door didn’t move. He had also tried different spells through time, every few years when he learned a spell that might help, he would wait for Avallac’h to be away and he would try, but nothing had happened. This door had become an obsession of his, at some point he didn’t even care what was behind it, although he did wonder why the Sage was so secretive. It had become a test of his skills, somehow he felt that if he opened that door, he would prove he was better than Avallac’h.

Caranthir knew today was his day to open the door. He had learned a new spell and found some other useful tricks. For all he knew behind that door could be just a collection of these drawings Avallac’h always did of naked women. His curiosity was just eating him and he also couldn’t admit to himself that there was a spell he couldn’t crack.

Caranthir placed his hand on the wooden door and cast the spell. He was surprised when he felt it unlock, he really didn’t expect it. Almost fearfully he walked inside. If Avallac’h had locked the door so well, what was stopping him for putting traps inside? He couldn’t however sense any traps, at least not magic, and he slowly walked inside. He wondered what the Sage would do to him if he figured out Caranthir had been here. He had been punished few times as child and he did not have fond memories of it, but he wasn’t a child anymore and he could certainly stand his ground.

The room he was in was...a study of a sort. There were bookshelves, a desk, chair, glass vials, papers all over the place. He looked first through the books, not all of them were magic. There was anatomy and history, but not history of the Aen Elle, it was history of families, genealogy and alchemy.

He sat behind the desk and the first thing that caught his attention was a journal with his name on it. Caranthir opened without even thinking if that was wise or not. He started reading and the more he read the sicker he felt. Page by page there was his whole life, the way he learned magic, the way he used magic, manipulating time, using space, travelling...he had to toss it away half way because he just couldn’t read any more. He grabbed another journal, there were scraps of paper inside, old paper, some of it damaged. It had notes on Navigators, Auberon looking for travel to different realms, experiments on…

“What are you doing here?” Avallac’h was standing at the door.

“Making sense of my life.” Carathir grabbed the journal with his name and opened it on a random page. “You have never been good with words, but reading that makes me sound a bit like an...experiment.”

Avallac’h didn’t answer and that was more of a response than words would have been.

“All my life I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Caranthir looked around the study, books, herbs, glasses and other tools. “All my life, I knew you were not my father, but I wished you were. I was just stupid child and I didn’t know better. Here it was little old me, a child without his parents, the scars on my face and body and the great Sage Avallac’h was teaching me. Me of all elves out there.”

“Caranthir…” Avallac’h started, but he did not give him a chance to finish.

“You can explain, I’m sure. Go on. Try to make it believable.” he taunted his teacher.

“When we lost Lara…” Avallac’h stopped for a second, even mentioning her name was still painful for him. “We lost the Elder Blood power. I needed to find a way to fix that....we couldn’t leave this world anymore, not without being ‘lucky’ and stumbling on a portal and that took time. I started working on how to fix things...came to the idea of what became the Dearg Ruadhri Navigators. But it wasn’t good enough. None of them was good enough, the portals were not stable and accidents happened.”

He read some of that in the notes, about the Navigators and how it was difficult for most of them to keep it going. No one was ever as strong as the Elder blood no matter how many Navigators they tested. Most of them couldn’t even pass the trails created by Eredin.

“Where do I come in all that?” he asked after Avallac’h did not volunteer any more information.

“You...were supposed to be a Navigator.” Avallac’h finally said. Supposed? All his life he had wanted nothing more than to join the Red Riders, what did ‘supposed’ mean? “You were my most successful...subject.” Caranthir grinded his teeth when he heard that word. But he was a subject wasn’t he? He was a product of an experiment that is usually called subject. “I knew you have power since...I believed that having the ability to travel again will save us, but I saw what Eredin is doing and Auberon is going weaker. That is whyI never brought you to Tin na Lia or even introduced you to Eredin.”

“How did you do it? I read the notes, you picked families with potential, did my parents know?” he read the notes in detail, the herbs, the magic, the other material added...at some point he had felt sick imagining some woman, his mother, being strapped to a table and pumped with all that. The notes did not specify how exactly it happened, but he had imagination. Maybe his parents did hate him, his mother for sure if Avallac’h used her as a test tube.

“They did.” Avallac’h admitted.

“Did they dump me at your door or you took me away.” Caranthir was not sure what he wanted to hear. Probably both would hurt just in a different way. When Avallac’h did not respond, one way or another, he knew they had just left him. All his life he believed that his parents gave him to the great Sage Avallac’h so he can learn to be Sage as well. Was even anything in his life real? He never thought much of his parents, but now he knew for sure they hated him. “Come on how did you do it? Was my mother forced? That’s why she left me, she didn’t want anything to do with me? The little abomination.”

“She was not raped, if that is your question.” Avallac’h answer was very measured and controlled, again what he didn’t say meant more than what he actually said. Caranthir thought himself stupid for not seeing that sooner. The Sage had always been like that. Half answers. Half truth. But he never lied, did he? He just said what was convenient and whatever was going to inconvenience him, was left out. He always thought he was smart but he missed that. Maybe he wasn’t as sharp as he thought he was.

“I read a book once.” Carathir got from the chair, Avallac’h following him with his foxy eyes. “It was about this mage, he really wanted to create life out of nothing. Necromancy really as he collected corpses and built them into one powerful being. The thing was ugly and grotesque, but it was powerful.” Caranthir started laughing, hysterical, he just couldn’t stop himself. “You know what I thought when I read the book? That this is sick! Robbing all these corpses and just the ugliness.” he ran a finger through the scar on the right side of his face, it was starting just above the ear and then running down to his jawline and slipping onto his neck. “I guess you didn’t build me from corpses, necromancy is not your thing, I know. I’m the ugly, grotesque and powerful monster, am I not?”

His laughing gave way to anger, he could blow this place to pieces, everything, maybe even have a go at Avallac’h. He opened a portal behind himself.

“Caranthir, wait!” Avallac’h’s shout became just a distant echo as he stepped through the portal.

He was in the mountains overseeing Tir na Lia, snow was covering everything around. He had found this place with Avallac’h years ago when the Sage had taken him to explore the nearby area. Caranthir must have been...sixteen or seventeen at that time, still a child. He had been absolutely fascinated by snow, the purity of everything, but also the destructive force of the cold. He remembered thinking if he could be something he wanted to be that. The winter storm that just covers the earth and hides everything. He felt the need to destroy something, hurt something more than he was hiring right now, his mood gave way to magic and a powerful storm wrapped the mountains.

Caranthir waved with hand and all the old fires and candles in the ruins lit. He sat on the cold floor looking at the storm outside. He wondered how long can he keep it going...hours, probably days if he really tried.

All his life has been a lie, but he could not even blame Avallac’h for that. The man was secretive and Caranthir never asked questions. He knew there was something strange about his life, how he had no friends, how he was never allowed to do things others did. He remembered once telling Avallac’h he wanted to be one of the Red Riders, he must have been seven or eight. The Sage just told him that will never happen. Caranthir had taken that as lack of ability on his end and he had found motivation in it. Since then he has been looking for opportunities to watch the Red Riders, whenever Avallac’h will take him to the castle. He remembered seeing Eredin for the first time, dressed in armor, on his horse...regal.

Avallac’h was going to hide all that from him. He was meant to be one of them. He was meant to be with Eredin and the rest.

He was created with a purpose, Avallac’h never cared about him beyond that purpose. Looking back at his childhood memories it all made sense. Avallac’h had spent a lot of time training him, teaching him, showing him how to control his powers, but he had never disclosed anything to him. The man was secretive, but this secrecy had gone out of hand. Caranthir had been a child then and he didn’t understand so he had made the stories he believed. He wasn’t a child anymore, he was almost a grown man.

He spent the night awake thinking, he let the storm run its course as well, his mood had moved from anger to depression and regret. His life was ahead of him, he wasn’t even hundred years old. He could do...anything. Avallac’h couldn’t stop him, from what Caranthir knew he might be more powerful than the Sage.

In the morning he found Eredin in the countriyard with Imlerith, training. He watched them for a while, not wanting to interrupt. Eredin was like...wind. The sword was moving as if it was part of him. Imlerith was...brute force. Caranthir never understood how that could be helpful, the man was massive and that made him significantly slower than Eredin, but at the same his mace was leaving holes in the ground every time he aimed at the Red Rider’s leader.

“Somehow I suspected I might find you here.” Avallac’h came to him, but Caranthir ignored him. It wasn’t the first time he watched Eredin and Imlerith go at each other, he liked watching them dreaming one day he might join them.

“My lord!” Caranthir jumped from the wall he was standing at and ran at Eredin.

“What?” the leader of the Red Riders turned toward him, expression absolutely bored.

“I want to take the trails.” Caranthir had to control himself not to shout that as he was so excited about it.

“Are you even allowed to drink?” Imlerith asked laughing.

“Caranthir, no!” Avallac’h jumped in.

“Do whatever.” Eredin didn’t even look at him when he said that but Carathir didn’t care. He was used to everyone’s attitude. He had always been Avallac’h shadow, the kid that was hiding his face and never talked much. They all treated him as if he was invisible, but he knew he was better, not because of what he saw in the study, but he knew his power.

“Eredin, he is too young, he cannot!” Avallac’h sounded concerned but Caranthir just smiled. Everyone was underestimating him, but was going to end today.

“Is he your slave?” Eredin looked at the Sage with interest. “If he is not your slave, he can do whatever he wants. Also didn’t you tell Auberon some time ago that he is your best...experiment.” the man’s grin was cutting through his lips. “Your Golden Child. If he is that good, he will live. If he isn’t…” the man just shrugged in apathy. Two portals opened in front of Eredin and he looked at Caranthir. “Come on. Off you go. You need to find your way back to the other portal.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second, he didn’t look at Eredin or Avallac’h, he just went through the portal not even sure what he would find there.

Imlerith leaned on his mace watching at the portals with curiosity. The last idiot who tried the trails came back, his whole body burned, he died maybe a few minutes later. The one before that never came back, given that the kid was probably half of their age, he was not holding his breath.

More enterianting was the staring match between Avallac’h and Eredin. The Sage was not an emotional man neither was Eredin so that was a bit like two statues looking at each other with hate.

“Calm down, Avallac’h, he is just a lab rat, I’m sure you can find some poor woman to breed and do whatever nasty experiments you were doing on her.” Eredin grinned knowing that was going to throw the Sage off the rail. Imlerith made a step back, whatever magic these two were going to use, he was not going to be in the way.

Before Avallac’h could answer the kid showed back from the portal...in one piece if it was not for a wound on his shoulder. Imlerith was impressed, but most importantly Eredin looked impressed as well.

“Interesting.” the leader of the Red Riders said and looked at his general, Imlerith couldn’t hide the smile on his lips. “How old exactly are you?”

“Forty three.” the kid didn’t even look tired and his shoulder was bleeding but he was not showing pain. Imlerith had no idea what exactly was in the trails, Eredin and Avallac’h had created them some time ago to ensure the Navigators would be able to manage their work. However, he had seen Navigators return after these trails and nobody had made it as quick as this kid did.

“You will be the youngest Navigator and Red Rider.” Caranthir was smiling at these words, it was a cocky smile, confident, Imlerith knew the feeling every time he won against an enemy and smashed their skull. “Get him patched, get him an armor.”

Imlerith just stared at Eredin, he wasn’t a babysitter, but he was going to obey.

“Come on, kid.” Imlerith nodded at him. “Taking you to the healer.”

“My name is Caranthir.” the Navigator corrected him stubbornly but followed, surprisingly Avallac’h as well.

“Whatever, kid.” Imlerith teased and he saw the anger in the pale blue eyes of Caranthir. He missed having someone to tease and make angry. It wasn’t the same as the rest of the Red Riders because they were all terrified of him and well he was their general. Eredin was their leader so he could give him a hard time only in private. That kid had to grow some tough skin and Imlerith knew exactly how to help him.

#caranthir ar feiniel #avallac'h #eredin #aen elle #my writing #the witcher fandom #wild hunt

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