#resilience fic

[sinfullyrosey]

Y/N: *gently holding P’s face in their hands* A good boy, a precious boy! The sweetest boy in all of Krat!~

P: *springs whirring in happiness* 

Carlo: *totally not jealous over the lack of attention* Hey, what about me? 

Y/N: *looks over at Carlo with an unimpressed look* And you… You are a naughty boy, a mischievous scoundrel. The most troublesome boy in all of Krat. *goes back to cooing over P*

Carlo: They seriously prefer that puppet over me?!

Romeo: Looks like it.

[thevioletcaptain]

I know the ask is about ships but could you make a non ship one with Dean and Carlos from the Winchesters? I can't think of an exact thing for Dean to say, but the first sentence can be what Dean would say for their first meeting. Thank you if you can (*^‿^*)

"I like your hair," Dean says, staring up from where he's clinging to the bottom of Mary's winter coat, and Carlos grins wide when he adds, with all the breathless gravity of a four year old eager to impress their opinions upon a new friend; "It's swooshy and it's pretty like Mommy's hair, and your-- your beads are pretty and shiny and shiny is my favorite color."

"Swooshy and pretty and shiny is exactly what I was going for, so thank you, little buddy."

Even with almost six years between now and the last time he'd seen Mary, Carlos is relieved to find that they still have a good sense of one-another -- can still communicate silently, swiftly, like they used to when it was life or death. He meets her eye, and her face softens, and understanding passes between them before he slides one of his lucky beaded bracelets -- the bloodstone one -- free.

Dean's eyes light up when he takes it.

When he smiles, he looks just like his mother.

[for this askbox game if anyone else wants to send me a prompt]

[talibunny30]

Echoes of Resilience

Chapter Two - Here Lies Nesta

Nesta prepares to take the journey to rescue Feyre. Little does she know, plans are already in motion for her life.

So it is just after 1am and I finished this chapter.

To say I am nervous to post is putting it *extremely* lightly.

I hope this next chapter has the same vibe?

Read on AO3 here

Chapter begins under the cut ✨🖤

“To Hel with it all.” Nesta thought as she placed the final pin in her coronet braid, now wound a little too tightly around her head.  In just a few hours she would be well on her way to securing a guide for the journey ahead.

Running through the mental list of all she needed to finalise before she slipped away from the sprawling manor home, how ever she was going to manage that, Nesta stopped by her window. There must be something irreparably broken within her to walk away from this type of security so soon after never believing she would have it again.

Looking down on the well-manicured grounds, Nesta watched Elain tending to her perfect little slice of peace, her garden. So much about Elain’s appearance had changed since that fateful night in the cottage. The golden colour of her skin, proof of all the time spent carefree in the sunlight.

Nesta always wondered how her parents could create such opposites in children. Where Elain was soft curves and kind smiles, Nesta was jagged edges and withering looks. The moon and the sun would sooner be confused for sisters than Nesta and Elain.

Elain with her rich brown doe eyes, her petal pink lips and her positive outlook on life. While in the trenches of poverty, Elain still foolishly thought that it was only a matter of time before the Mother smiled on them again. Perhaps Nesta was the fool after all.

Memories bled through her mind like ink in water, turning her vision black; slowly at first and then all at once. As if she were seven again, Nesta felt the sharp sting of that mahogany cane rap across her knuckles. 

“Children are to be seen and not heard.” her grandmother reminded her. “It is improper for a young lady of polite society to have untoward thoughts, let alone voice them in public. There will not be a repeat of this, Nesta.” The icy tone with which her grandmother delivered the last words told Nesta all she would endure should she fail again. “Yes, Grandmother,” Nesta replied, keeping her eyes focused on the floor.

Shaking her head in the hopes of ridding the thoughts that assaulted her, Nesta straightened her spine and turned from the window. Let Elain have her bliss. If Nesta succeeded in what she was about to do, it would be short-lived anyway. “You must focus.” she scolded herself.

The halls of the house were filled with the usual drone of servants walking briskly to and from their latest task to keep such a large estate running. It was ridiculous. All of this was just for the three of them that were left. How many from their village they left behind could fit into these walls?

There were at least ten bedrooms, most of which had adjoining bathing rooms. The maids made sure to always have hot water to draw them baths whenever they fancied. Food was available at any hour of the day or night and private seamstresses tended to them for every imaginable taste in attire. Utterly ridiculous. 

Her breath hitched as she suddenly realised the trail her thoughts had started to wander. No. Accommodating those heartless folk was not her duty. Where were they when the great Archeron household fell from grace? Where were they when the only way they managed to fill their bellies was from their father’s begging before Feyre first ventured into the wods? For all Nesta cared, they could rot.

The only thing she needed to focus on was pulling all the threads of this harebrained plan together to get Feyre back where she belonged. With her - them - again. Maybe Feyre would still remember the night she was taken. Maybe Nesta would no longer be alone in her worries. Maybe Nesta could succeed in something.

“Good morning,” Nesta spat at the cook as she breezed into the kitchen, the picture of perfect grace. Without waiting for a response, she listed what she would need for her journey. “I am to attend a picnic and expect a basket prepared with fresh bread, hard cheeses, cured meats and a water skin. Two.” … “A lady should always mind her manners. Ps and Qs, Nesta. Ps. And. Qs.”... “Please,” she added, turning her head away as a faint blush painted her cheeks.

Making a swift exit, Nesta’s next item on her itinerary was a mode of transport. She would be damned if walking was her only option for the first portion of the fright she must endure to ease her addled mind. One horse won’t be easily missed, now that they have a full stable of the beasts.

“Henry, have my horse readied for my morning ride at once.” Startled by her presence in the mucky area, Henry stumbled through his greeting. “G-good morning, Lady Nesta. Y-es of c-course, right away,” and dashed off before she could scold his stammer. Insufferable.

In her brief moment alone, Nesta recalled her first endeavour at horse riding with a cringe.

“Gods above, Nesta. Can you do nothing right!?” It was the only time she remembered her mother raising her voice. Unsure of which tone she least preferred. “I am sorry mother. I will do better.” Shaking off the mud and other matter, Nesta attempted to mount the chestnut mare chosen for her. At her mother’s next words, Nesta clutches the reins so tightly that the leather creaks. “Your father spoils you with all that doting. You will never achieve greatness if you continue to be exposed to his weak nature.”

“My Lady?” The sound of Henry’s voice pulled her back to the present. “I have just watered your horse and will have her saddled and waiting as soon as you wish to depart.” Sucking in a sharp breath, Nesta nodded and left without a word. She had to get it together. “Enough,” she commanded herself.

All that was left to do was to prepare the necessary clothing for the journey. It should go unnoticed if there were woollen tights under her day dress. The servants would know better than to question her if she chose a fur-lined winter cloak; it was still Winter, after all. And so what if she opted for boots in place of her usual silk-and-brocade heeled shoes? This plan had to work. There was no other option.

“Breathe. Just breathe,” she chanted in her mind as she made her way to the door, finally ready to begin. Not a moment after Nesta felt herself relax did the voice of her father cause her steps to falter. 

“Nesta, dear, won’t you join me in my study?” He asked as he passed her on the landing. 

“Father, I was just set to leave for my morning ride. The matter can wait until my return.” Of all the times he chose to acknowledge her presence, of course, it would be now. Ignorant fool.

He had the nerve to respond over his shoulder without even a glance back, “It will only be a moment of your time, but it is an important thing I wish to discuss.” 

What would he know of important things? Spending his days flitting about as the Prince of Merchants once again, pretending that they never lost their status at all. Weak nature indeed. It was only the years of conditioning that allowed Nesta to bite her tongue as she indulged the man this once, and followed after him as a dutiful daughter ought to.

“What is it?” She immediately asked as the door closed behind her. In the silence that followed, Nesta allowed her eyes to take in the sight of this unfamiliar room she now found herself in. The only word she could use to summarise the space was gaudy. A large bureau at the centre, so dark it was almost black, covered in ledgers and letters. No doubt inflating the important role he thought he held in society. “If only those who seek your replies knew who you really were,” Nesta thought, holding in the scoff she felt crawling up her throat.

“With the recent discovery of our finances and the re-establishment of our position, we must focus on the responsibilities and expectations placed on a family such as ours. I know we have just returned to our status after our previous situation, however, what I have learned from those years is that there is no time like the present.” Her father answered in a placating tone. 

Unease crept up her spine as Nesta replayed the words he had just said. Expectations. The world clanged through her as her father continued, not noting the change in his firstborn daughter. “In order to cement our family’s future it is a requirement that we foster good relationships with those of our standing and beyond. I have had the pleasure of discussing this with Elain, my sweet, and she agrees that this is what is best for us.”

“What are you talking about!?” she yelled. “Stop your incessant rambling and make your point so I can be on my way.” How could this man be more irritating each time she had the displeasure of his presence? Gods, this conversation could not end soon enough. While he spoke of family and relationships, his youngest child was the Mother knew where being subjected to things Nesta did not want to imagine. If the stories told to them as younglings were true, the creature that took Feyre could only be a despicable Fae.

“Spit it out, old man. What do you require from me to end this unpleasant exchange masquerading as a conversation between family?” Nesta was very quickly losing her grip on the leash reigning in her anger. “Emotions are for the weak. Are you weak, Nesta? You must have complete control at all times. Do not give those who wish to better you any insight into what you truly think. You must be better, more intelligent and more than the snivelling wretches you choose to surround yourself with. I will accept nothing less. Am I understood?”

She was not weak. She was not like him. But she could not help recoiling from his words as he cooed, “You are to be wed, Nesta dearest. That is my point. A betrothal is in the works and, should all go to plan, you will be a married woman by Summer Solstice. You are free to go now.”

“No,” Nesta whispered, all fight having left her. No.

~-~-~-~

A/N: Are you as shocked as I am? This story has already started to run away from me!!

I refuse to cage Nesta, that happened enough in canon. So I will be led along the journey this story wants to take and hope to keep my main plot points along the way.

Thank you for reading! ✨🖤

~-~-~-~

Echoes of Resilience tag list:

@christeareads

@shadowsandlint

@achaotichuman

@c-starstuff-man0

@dawneternal

@jules-writes-stories

@the-darkestminds

Let me know if you want on/off the tag list :))

[privatepixiestrove]

A Home Within Shadows

This is a quick, family and resilience fanfiction about Rolan from BG3 Nothing spicy, just a moment of peace for once.

The view from the window was abhorrent. Nothing but warped darkness spanning further than he cared to let his thoughts linger on. But he couldn’t help as his mind wandered back to it. Just yesterday he was out there, adrift amongst the shadows, so blinded by his desperation to rescue his siblings that he refused to see just how in over his own head he was. Nowhere felt safe, but he had managed to make matters worse when he stumbled into a swarm of those demented shadows, holding them off only just barely. Until they had arrived.

The alluring strum of a lute drew his attention back inward to the bustling sounds of the inn. The mood was nothing if not somber, a gray cloud had seemed to seep in and saturated the survivors with a melancholy so deep it would stain their thoughts and memories for the rest of their lives. They were alive for now, but how long until those shadows breached their tiny slice of salvation?

Rolan’s siblings had tucked themselves into a corner nearby. They had been rescued, but it wasn’t because of him. He had been so focused on saving the children, it wasn’t until he heard Lia’s screams dissipate into the darkness that he even knew they had been seized by the cultists. It wasn’t until he had made it into Last Light Inn that he even uttered a word. Drinking to excess, hoping that anyone close enough would assume it was his beer furiously sloshing around in his tankard and not tears rolling down his cheeks.

By the time the adventurers had arrived once again to ‘save the day’ he was dangerously intoxicated. Riddled to the brim with guilt and grief, pouring over and taking it all out on anyone within an ear shot. Desperate, he thought. You’re always so desperate without a damn plan to do anything about it, you fool.

Even the children sat in silence now, circled around the bard to listen to her tune. She was normally the expert at bringing a smile to their faces, but even a light as bright as her was dimmed by the curse. As quickly as the lute began its next cheerful tune, Alfira struck a sour note, causing him to furrow his brows.

A flash of light had illuminated the entire room, causing every occupant to look toward him. He straightened his posture out of some strange sense of duty or responsibility, but they were looking past him, out into that endless blackness. Or, at least, what had been endless. Rolan snapped his attention back out the window to stare at something altogether new.  A beam of silver light shot through the sky like a comet, dodging its way through the stars like a persistent battleship on a rough ocean.

They did it.

He thought he had spoken those words aloud, but the air had been sucked from his lungs, perhaps sucked from the room all together as the awed silence remained. His jaw slacked as he watched the beam of light continue past the inn, through the dreaded lands of rot and decay, straight for Moonrise Towers.

They did it.

Like a great thunderous wave, every single person found their way to a window, or ran out the front door, watching that same streak of light. Some began to cheer while others immediately began drumming up a plan to go and assist at the towers. But Rolan just sat there, bathing in the radiance of whatever that was, but more so, he was overcome with a warmth that spread from his chest up into his cheeks, down into his stomach, wiggling its way down to his toes. His cheek twitched as his lips came up into the slightest grin. He stretched his fingers before lifting one hand to support his chin, continuing to stare almost obsessively into the light.

Among the cheers and scheming that had quickly filled the room, Rolan didn’t hear as Cal and Lia walked over, each of them wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He froze, that small grin still plastered on his face, his eyes not moving from the sky, but he felt his shoulders relax, his entire body releasing the tension it had bottled up. His own arms came up to wrap around each of his siblings, drawing them even closer to him.

This was home. Even as they ran from darkness, huddled in this inn with only a thin shield of light to protect them from the shadows. No, they hadn’t made it to Baldur’s Gate yet, they didn’t have a house, or any type of roof over their heads to call their own. But it was there, wrapped in their arms, watching as that single burst of hope streaked the night sky with light, the rot and decay somehow bubbling back to life in its wake, this was truly home.

[brazenskald]

In my first year of university, I was going through a very tumultuous time. There was all the many new things that come from leaving home, some good, some bad. There were the difficulties of a demanding if rewarding job, and I first became acquainted with the not-so-fondly-remembered and not yet fully un-internalized “student lifestyle.” Terrible food, awful sleep schedule, and this omnipresent sense of impending doom that was, at least in my case in Fall 2019, surprisingly prescient. Throughout all of this, I was not prepared to be struck by the warmth and depth and resonant Truth that cut through the noise and spoke to me with a certain book I picked up, by happenstance, because of its pretty cover. That book was A Conspiracy of Truths by @ariaste. You may have heard of them. https://www.alexandrarowland.net/a-conspiracy-of-truths

Now, needless to say I devoured aCoT, and subsequently its excellent sequel A Choir of Lies. I was sorrowfully disappointed to find out after finishing the absolute rollercoaster of Choir that there was in fact, no further reading yet to do. And so, profoundly affected as I was by this (for now) duology, which I will doubtless craft a dedicated and appropriately lengthy treatise at some point in the future, I set the books in a prime place upon my shelf and turned to face the rest of the year buoyed in my hopes for the brightness of Spring and the long lusty laughter of Summer. Alas, they were all of them deceived for another global epidemic was to begin. One (or two) life-altering years in a pandemic later… I returned to university, fully prepared to enjoy the hell out of an actual honest-to-gods academic institution that didn’t begin and end with a computer screen. It hit like a truck. Same awful student lifestyle, more bad habits piling up, and a rapidly growing sense of my own undiagnosed issue rearing its ugly head. I made one decision that saved me, probably. I kept buying and reading phenomenal books. I kept looking for stories to motivate, enervate, and inspire. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I remembered that fateful message spoken by a Chant on a page three years past. To loosely paraphrase, “Stories [are] people, and the way people are.” I chose to focus on resilience, made it my motto, and sure I still had lots of work to do, but it helped. It gave me the push I needed to keep going.

That last long Winter that seemed so dark that the sun was never going to come back? I went a-wandering, and lo, a new instalment from @ariaste ‘s Mithalgeard universe! Not a Chant sequel as such, but I couldn’t get my hands on it fast enough. It was an oasis. A respite from the grind and dreary routines. It was also gay as… well as gay as a rainbow covered in gold, let’s say. And I cannot recommend A Taste of Gold and Iron fiercely enough, because although in many ways I managed to end my degree on a high note, that book drew me out of the darkness of the coldest part of the year. It gave me the sense to smell the flowers, to bask in the green and golden glow of a soon-to-be-attained victory, long overdue.

Alex had by this point also published several shorter works, (and a whole library’s worth of content on AO3, naturally) which I leapt to read whenever they crossed my radar. It helped that I joined their discord community which was leaps and bounds more reliable in terms of getting updates and also just having the chance to share in mutual fandom gushing. If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about what I’ve talked about here, you should join in! https://discord.gg/XHJ9Uy5gef Everybody there is absolutely lovely. So why do I bring all this up? To summarize a preamble that is, to put it mildly, not short, Alex’s writing sings to my soul. I love it more deeply than my non-existent children, and their body of work continues to evolve and grow and deliver on the themes and core messages that hooked me with that first book.

But wait, there’s more! Life carries on, and with it comes new stories! Specifically, Running Close to the Wind! It’s Our Flag Means Death meets Mithalgeard, which if I haven’t convinced you to go and read those other instalments, well just trust me when I say that is a potent and persuasive pairing! It’s also going to be dropping at an important time for me, what with convocation, another big move in my life, and a whole whack of uncertainty. Much like Avra, Teveri, and Julian though, I’ll just have to brave the rocky waters and hold on to those nearest to me, and that’s what I’d like to focus on at the end of this post. A Conspiracy of Truth taught me that stories are people, A Choir of Lies showed how stories can change people, and A Taste of Gold and Iron drove home that stories we tell ourselves are the hardest to rewrite, but also the most rewarding when we take ownership of them. I anticipate that with Running Close to the Wind, Alex will likely show us (with ample amounts of pomp and queer circumstances) how the story of ourselves can only ever be written by interweaving the tales of those closest to us. Perhaps, we’ll even discover how to navigate the often stormy seas of uncertainty that seem omnipresent these days, whenever we deign to pull our noses out from whichever books we’re currently nestled within. I know that’s certainly something I’ll be looking out for, come this June, and now hopefully you will be too! (This last link does go to the webpage for Running Close to the Wind, Tumblr’s just being weird I guess.)

[junemermaid]

thought of the day:

I think the reason I don't enjoy a lot of fandom meta anymore is that it's so preoccupied with pathologising everything characters do. Every negative reaction is a sign of trauma, every bad decision is motivated by deep psychological distress or abuse. I enjoy deconstructing characters just as much as the next person but people are more than their mental health diagnoses, and characters definitely should be.

Sometimes they make bad choices because it makes for better story. Sometimes they are unhinged because it is more interesting. Sometimes genre dictates that characters bounce back from events that might traumatise a real person (and also, on average it takes a lot more to traumatise a real person than fandom seems to believe), and that is okay because we're going for a good story and a dramatic time instead of watching a character go to therapy.

Like, it's fine to identify with a character's issues and if you like that sort of thing, it's also fine to put your own issues on a character in fic, that's part of what fic is for, but for god's sake do it with a thimbleful of intent. A crumb of recognition for what the character is about. Maybe a soupcon of genre awareness so you know when a text intends for a character to be deeply affected and when a world-shattering horror is just gonna be Tuesday for them.

I don't have a further point. I'm just ruminating. But even so, I'm tired of this "send every character to therapy" mindset whittling away all the rough edges and drama that make characters gritty and textured and enthralling.

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Resilience. by Vrishchika

💙Resilience.

by Vrishchika

T, 7k, Wangxian

Summary: Five times things get out of Jiang Wanyin's control and the one timeline where everything goes right for Lan Wangji. Kay's comments: In which Jiang Cheng time travels, but things are just not going the way he's expecting (because he time travels sometime after Wei Wuxian's death and doesn't have all the puzzle pieces yet) and meanwhile, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are thriving. Really loved Vrishchika's take on a time-travel fix-it, especially one from Jiang Cheng's POV, because I don't think he's got it in him to be an actual mastermind behind a time-travel fix-it. Excerpt:The Sunshot Campaign begins in earnest soon after. Like the last time, they manage to retrieve their swords within a month. Jiang Cheng watches as Wei Wuxian greets Suibian with a wide, delighted smile, twirling it around with effortless grace. The sword responds by singing to its master, pulsing with electric spiritual energy. The scene pleases him and baffles him at the same time. Wei Wuxian hanging onto his sword means less trouble for the Jiang Sect in the future but what of the Ghostly Path? What of Wei Wuxian's wicked tricks? Didn't Wei Wuxian give up his sword around this time? Why is he embracing it now like a well-missed companion? … can they win this war without that power? Without the Yīn Hǔ Fú?

pov jiang cheng, pov lan wangji, canon divergence, time travel, time travel fix-it, golden core transfer fix-it, not jiang cheng friendly, everybody lives, implied/referenced homophobia, getting together, marriage proposal, 5+1 things, first kiss, @vrishchikawrites

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[i-bring-crack]

[kay-elle-cee]

Fic Author Self-Rec Tag

Thank you for the tag, @charmsandtealeaves! I think the last time I was tagged I only actually had 5 fics, so I suppose I actually have to make choices this time. 😅 Will be listing in no particular order.

When you get this, reply with your 5 favourite fics that you've written. Then pass it on to five other writers. Spread some self love.

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) || 14k. Oneshot. Rated M. Sirius, Lily, and James deal with the fallout of the events from the end of 5th year.

No one is surprised by this one. The idea for this fic is what pulled me back into writing and will forever have my whole heart.

restless waves rise and fall || 48K. Complete. Rated T. Pirate AU In which James Potter is a gentleman pirate and Lily Evans is his loyal but vastly more competent First Mate.

My first completed multichap AND my first AU <3 RW Jily has a hold on me after this and I love them with all my heart. I briefly wrote for the POTC fandom years ago so this was just like....a very fun cross-section of my interests.

A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine || 2k. Oneshot. Rated T “You know what I'm getting at — you're like a really good thing personified. Take a compliment Potter, God.” She turns on her stool to face him, sliding one of the firewhiskies his way. Or: Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

This came about so suddenly and was so fun to write...it was just really enjoyable to write something light and flirty!

Echoes of a Love Lived || 13.7K. Complete. Rated T. A collection of Jilytober ficlets.

A huge undertaking for me, but it was a great opportunity to kind of play around with styles and POVs and I'm really proud of these little moments.

When Resiliency Shatters || 1k. Oneshot. Rated M James and Lily grapple with isolation in the week after undergoing the Fidelius Charm.

I delighted in writing this kind of sorrow with a cheerful holiday background. Also, I just really enjoyed getting to write a moment where James' whole personality is thrown for a loop and we see him kind of stumble numbly through life.

Tagging @sunshinemarauder, @possessingtheproperspirit, @emeralddoeadeer @wearingaberetinparis and @uncertainwallflower if you feel up for it!

[nostalgia-tblr]

i am not doing very well at writing fic, i feel like i should finish those sylki fics before s2 starts but like. i also can't be bothered? i think i am convinced people judge me for writing it 'wrong'? (i can't really manage fluff and i DO think the selfcest element is funny/interesting and i fear this puts me in an unwanted niche - idk if it does but that's the feel i has.) i am all sunk-costed here i neeeeed to finish these things in case i go off the pairing by the end (which might happen, i can be fickle). i've mostly stopped scrolling the AO3 tag in case i start worrying about not writing the sorts of things people will actually like.

i think maybe because i've spent a year writing this pairing and still feel like i am an unwanted interloper Doing It Wrong and i think i do often end up feeling Bad At Shipping things and writing fic is a certain amount of effort and hard to do when you're a bit convinced that nobody wants you to be doing it.

is this just an anxiety spiral? possibly! i feel out of step and weird. i am also not managing to go "fuck it, i shall INFLICT this on people" and writing things despite my uncertainties and telling myself that i am doing it out of spite. (which is a weird motivation yes but sometimes it works.)

BUT. i will be annoyed at myself if i don't finish at least some of these things before it is Too Late. but then that feels like an obligation, and the more effort it is (practically or emotionally) the more discouraged i get if a thing i post kind of sinks. then i'll be annoyed at myself on several levels (because i should not care about such things apparently).

[riceballannie]

Ao3 is down for maintenance and I don't know how to cope. How am I supposed to ignore reality and all of my silly problems when there is nothing to distract me? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE IN THESE DIRE CONDITIONS

[sunshine-dragon]

Ok friends I need help finding a white rose fic. I’ve been searching for days with no luck. I can’t remember if it was on AO3 or FFN but what I do remember is:

It was an arranged marriage AU where Weiss was supposed to marry Cardin Winchester so he could inherit the SDC (because misogyny)

Weiss falls in love with Ruby instead and literally leaves Cardin at the altar and runs out to find Ruby in her wedding dress

Background Bumbleby and yang is there driving a truck and I think Ruby drives a motorcycle???

It was before we knew Weiss’s dads name was Jacque and before we knew he was an asshole so he’s surprisingly chill with Weiss bailing on her wedding

Willow is there and she’s an alcoholic per usual

Weiss ends up inheriting the SDC and is a badass

I’ve tried searching for days. Literally any help would be appreciated 🫡🫡

[cicadaknight]

y'all ever see a word and think "i forgot that word existed, better use it it to death in every paragraph i write"

[kiriona-apologist]

nothing is ever going to bring my little fanfic heart more joy than a good

[nudist-squid]

fimfiction authors that make the mane 7 trans in their stories get balls of steel 

[orcelito]

ok currently inspecting July Events to figure out wtf happened to Vash's coat

so we see him at the start of July in this:

which upon inspection IS different from his coat at the start of the series:

which makes this shot immediately post-july make some sense:

he's got the same belts pants, so clearly not ALL of his outfit got blown off, but it seems like his prior coat didn't survive the explosion. so at some point, he'd have to contact the floating ship again to get another coat made (these ppl really are working overtime keeping up with his coat and prosthetic demolishing lmaooo) WHICH on the topic of his prosthetic, it seems like it DID survive the July explosion, which is interesting!

smth im wondering about. In dialog, we hear from Brad that he met Vash when he was 4 years old, but hasn't seen him in the 13 years since (this being after the 2 years post-jeneora). at that time, it's 8 years post-july (since july happens 6 years before the start of the series, and then add the 2 years time skip post-jeneora), which sets the events of July THEORETICALLY to happen 5 years after his last visit to the flying ship.

so, how did he get his new coat if he hasn't been back to the flying ship in 13 years? Well, i assume he has some way to contact them from afar, considering he manages to get Sensei to bring him a new coat post-jeneora in some random town (& Sensei now brings Brad, who is 17, but would've only been 9 the last time).

this brings the question: how does he contact them? some kind of communication device? i remember his earring's a radio, but i dont remember him having any specific way to contact them directly. so maybe it's just not shown? i cant imagine he'd be able to send letters, all things considered, so it's probably some kind of radio transmission. the technology Does exist, & they almost definitely would pin a special radio on this disaster-prone asshole so he could still keep contact during the long years he's away from home.

the more you know 🤔