#surface fic

[the-writing-mobster]

| You’re What I Want | Chapter 1 - City On Fire - Excerpt | ❤️‍🔥 ⚜️ ♠️ |

CW: Graphic violence / Gore

———

Ragged breath after ragged breath huffed from a man as he sprinted through a busy street. His boots cracked against the wet pavement, his legs were jelly. His body hit a wall, and he pushed off for leverage, throwing himself down a tight alleyway, music pouring out from a club’s open window.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He breathed as he pressed himself behind a dumpster and unsheathed his pistol. A nine millimeter Chimera handgun; a sleek black model, with a tinted glass magazine and a bulbous barrel that wasn’t exactly made for bullets but something much more powerful.

He fumbled for ammo in his pockets, and seethed when a full box fell to the ground. Shouting from down the alleyway; he wheezed and stooped down to collect the ammo shimmering with various colored lights; lethal fireflies.

The man loaded the fireflies into the glass magazine and cocked the slide. He flung himself out from behind the dumpster, aimed and fired. There was a blur of orange light and as soon as it made contact with one of his opponents, it exploded in a burst of hot fire. Electricity spilled out of the wreaths of flames, its tendrils striking the other men around the target, whose guts and blood were now raining down upon them.

The man turned on his heel and continued running. He cocked the gun again and spun the nozzle at the end of the barrel. A hand grabbed him and he spun around, trapping his opponents arms in his and pressing the pistol to the man’s skull. He squeezed the trigger and a beam of yellow light cut right through. He dropped the man there and kicked him to the wayside.

Another man dropped down from the fire escape and tackled him to the ground. Another burst of yellow light sliced straight through the opponent and blood sprayed on his face and clothes. He gagged and shoved the bisected man aside, staggering to his feet and continuing his sprint.

He was getting tired. He could not become tired! He had to warn the don of the attack on their shipment of sacrifices! Of the weapon their treacherous allies would use against them! He’d made it out when no one else had. If he got tired now… the entire empire would crumble into nothing!

The man snagged a glass vial from his holster and he glanced down at it to check which one it was. Yellow smoke drifted inside and he growled under his breath. Not that one.

A motorcycle engine revved and he choked, turning on his heel and making a break for it down the street. They were going to corral him into the tunnel leading out onto Highway ninety-five! He jumped onto the sidewalk as the motorcycle weaved around cars.

People screamed as the motorcyclist unsheathed an automatic pistol and let fire. RATATATATA!

The man yanked one of the bystanders in front of him as he continued running, using the decrepit old man as a shield to the onslaught of bullets. His blood poured over him, his dead weight sagging against his arms. He peaked out from behind as the motorcycle swerved into a u-turn and brandished their gun.

He poked the barrel of his pistol over the dead man’s shoulder and let fire. The beam of energy shot through the crowd; it seared a hole through several cars and hit the motorcycle in the center, the rider’s leg incinerated clean off.

The rider screamed bloody murder tumbling across the street. The man threw his human shield onto the ground and continued to run. He spun the gun’s nozzle again -the setting it was on was much too destructive- and cocked it.

He was almost there! He just needed to lose those assholes and then—

—He was knocked off his feet by a blur of orange light. His gun went clattering to the ground and he hit the concrete with a hard thud. The air was knocked clean from his lungs and he gasped. No… no! It had found him!

There was a crazed, childish giggle that resounded through the alleyway and he choked. As he tried to reach for the pistol, the blur of orange shot through the alleyway again and kicked it far from his grasp.

.

.

.

Chapter Theme:

[theminecraftbee]

you know the excellent quadruple life fan comic has me thinking about double life again. and MAN. thinking about the soul bonds mechanically. like, before I get into my meta-analysis it’s worth noting that non-diagetically the soulbond mechanic being based on how many hearts someone has is basically the only way I can think to do it in minecraft that’s sensible, but diagetically…

so do you ever think about how the marker of what made people soulmates in double life was pain?

like, soulmates share injuries/pain! that’s the whole premise! like, to the point that day one people were making up elaborate ways to hurt themselves so they could test for their soulmates! you met your (very romantic-coded) partner and confirmed they were the person you were looking for by hitting each other, generally!

being a soulmate in the double life universe isn’t about being compatible, it’s about literally sharing pain, and it’s just… I think about how for some pairs, they share the burden between each other, and it brings them closer. for some pairs, though, the only way they know how to communicate is by hurting one another. and the thing is, this isn’t just a literal thing. like, mechanically, the thing soulmates do is share pain and communicate with pain, but metaphorically, can you say desert duo doesn’t have trouble communicating because half of how they know how to exist is either sharing in pain or causing it for each other? can you say that ranchers’ strength wasn’t a pair of people who understood each other’s pain and desperation to be better than they’ve been before? can you say that divorce quartet isn’t, well—

so pearl wins after scott hurts them one last time don’t you ever think about that,

[izzystizzys]

There is a scratch mark on the floor of the Council chambers that Mace has never noticed before. Not a deep one, mind, quite shallow. This matters because it’s making the white-hot pulse of agony stabbing through his eyeballs ebb momentarily. Then, he chances a glance upwards at the fidgeting Knight in front of them, and it returns in full force.

Huh, he’s never seen Oppo Rancisis’ face turn that colour before.

“Hmm”, Master Yoda hums, deep and scratchy. His expression is unreadable even to Mace beyond a baseline gremlinness, and the force with which he grips the edges of his seat is making his bones creak. Master of the Order you should become, they said. Follow the calling of the Force, you should. A fulfilling purpose, it will be. Mace is going to hunt the little goblin for sport when this is all over, and he’s going to laugh the whole time.

“Show us the livestream again, could you, Knight Parvo?” Yoda asks. Mace bursts a capillary, he’s pretty sure, and so does poor Knight Parvo, whose orange Mon Cala skin tips all the way into blood red with stress. “Most unusual, this is.”

“Absolutely not!”, Ki Adi intervenes before Mace has to, thank the Force for little mercies. Plo Koon’s tusks tremble slightly with either suppressed laughter or abject horror, maybe both, and Stass Allie has her head in her hands. “The holo stills should be enough”, Ki Adi proceeds to add, and Mace has to reconsider all feelings of grace he just felt towards his fellow Councillor.

He never wants to watch Yoda zoom in on someone’s abs again. Or Depa raise her eyebrows at the curve of thighs bent over the dripping front of a speeder.

“Speeder Wash For Our Troops”, his former padawan reads out loud from a still of what has to be hundreds of the things gathered in the public senate parking lot. “Fund Our Boys And Get A Wet Seeing-To!” The series of images features dozens of Coruscant Guard troopers in various stages of unkitted, gleaming and shining with soap suds and water. The fact that the whole thing is also massive shatterpoint after massive shatterpoint is, quite frankly, insulting.

“Well hello- oh dear”, Obi-Wan’s blue form crackles to life in his chair, followed by several sounds of choking that are definitely not him. Good, Mace thinks acidly. If he has to deal with this, then so does kriffing Skywalker. “I’m sorry, why am I looking at Commander Thorn using a washrag like a lasso on top of a speeder?”

“Oh, the Guard’s little fundraising project”, Bail Organa says, as he steps into the Council chambers. Normally, Mace likes the man well enough. Now, he just smiles and adds on, “I’ve already donated, in mine and Breha’s name. Remotely, of course.”

“The Guard’s fundraising speeder wash?”, Obi-Wan repeats, edges of his holo form flickering with what Mace suspects is Skywalker very unsubtly trying to edge in. Force, but the man really is horrible at any and all stealth, like kissing his secret wife in an open arena in front of his Master. “And they are fundraising for…?”

“GAR budget allocations have to come from somewhere”, Organa shrugs. “And with the tide of public opinion turning, they’ve been tending towards cuts. The Guard feels them more keenly than any other sector - they’ve been reduced from half to quarter rations, and medical supplies have not made more than a token appearance in the last draft. The Chancellor has cancelled three consecutive meetings on the matter, and thus it was agreed that a more hands-on approach was needed. Any surplus will go into the Army fund.”

“Surely it can’t be that dire”, Oppo protests, a slightly less concerning shade of purple now. Senator Organa shrugs again, jostling the smattering of cracks slowly building around his person in a way that makes Mace wince quietly. “It’s all publicly available data, Masters.”

It really can be that dire, as it turns out. And quarter rations is only scratching the surface of how dire, considering the Guard has apparently never had access to bacta in all their posting, and also includes requisitioning forms available to the Senate for reconditionings and decommissionings, two words Mace has only heard Ponds whispers amidst shuddering in the early days of the war before Shaak Ti went off and just about tore some throats out over it.

“Alright”, he concedes, rubbing at his temples. “Fair enough, we have failed to tackle a massive blind spot in the Guard’s well being. There is no Jedi assigned to Coruscant, and that’s an oversight on our behalf. But how in the everloving kriff did this get past the Chancellor and Commander Fox?!”

Who have both signed, black on white. Bail Organa smiles cryptically. “Well, if you scroll a bit past that one image, up to the industrial speeder in the back - Commander Fox is currently having credits stuffed into his codpiece in the back, I believe.”

“HE’S WHAT IN THE WHAT NOW”, Commander Cody screeches through the speaker of Obi-Wan’s holo image, and Mace has to summon every bit of Jedi-serenity he possesses in his body to keep from dropkicking a cackling Yoda through the chamber windows.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

[starryeyedjanai]

counting the days till i'm coming home

lake monster steve fic steddie | Explicit | part 1 of 4 | read on ao3

The first time Eddie stumbles across the monster in Lover’s Lake is right after he fails senior year for the second time.

He doesn't know it’s the monster everyone talks about at first—because no one has ever really seen it.

People only talk about how there’s something in the lake, something that sometimes pulls people under, something that’s been there since before Eddie was even born.

He’s sitting at the edge of the lake—just watching it ripple, thinking about how he’s probably going to be stuck here, in Hawkins, for the rest of his life—when he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye.

His head snaps over to look—because for as long as he’s been coming out here to Rick’s, he’s never seen anyone in the lake.

But there’s someone in there now.

This guy, he’s almost ethereal looking—smooth tan skin, hair slicked back from the water.

“What are you doing in there?” he asks before he can stop himself.

The boy looks up at him, his eyes lighting up. He swims over to Eddie—he’s fast, probably faster than anyone on the swim team even.

“Hi,” he says after he stops a handful of feet in front of Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie says, almost breathless.

He’s even more gorgeous up close, with his full mouth and doe eyes and moles dotting his face and neck and shoulders.

“What are you doing in there?” he asks again.

“What do you mean?” the boy asks.

“People say there’s a monster in the lake. You should be careful.”

A smile tugs at the boy’s mouth as he says, “People say a lot of things. But nothing’s ever happened to me when I swim here.”

Eddie nods. People say all kinds of shit, so he isn't surprised that the monster in Lover’s Lake is probably just a myth that got repeated too many times.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, wondering where this guy came from. He doesn't recognize him from school—he’d remember a face like that—so he must be visiting relatives or something over the summer.

“I’m Steve,” he says, drifting a little closer. “You should come in the water sometime. It’s nice.”

Eddie smiles. “Maybe sometime. Not exactly dressed for it right now though,” he says, a little ruefully, looking down at his jeans.

He kind of wishes he had the confidence to strip down to his briefs and dive into the water, feel its cool touch on his overly warm skin. He’s been sitting out here a while now—and now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember hearing a splash when Steve got into the water. He must have really been distracted by his thoughts.

Steve shrugs and wades back further into the lake. “I’m here all the time, so if you ever decide to come in, I’ll find you.”

Those words haunt Eddie after he leaves the lake, after watching Steve disappear under the surface and not seeing where he popped back up.

He sees Steve in his dreams that night, whispering the words I’ll find you over and over as he reaches out as if to touch Eddie, but the touch never lands on him. He spends the entire dream craving that touch, wanting it, but never getting it—just listening to him tell him he’ll find him.

He wakes up in a daze, thoughts only on the boy in the lake—his voice, his hair, the way his skin looked in the sunlight.

He slips a hand in his boxers and he isn't surprised to feel how wet he is. The dream was confusing and weird, but craving someone’s touch isn't new.

There have only ever been a handful of guys here in Hawkins that he’s been attracted to, but he’s always only ever crushed on them from afar. There’s no way he’d risk the wrath of some backwater jock by hitting on him.

There’s something alluring about Steve though, even though from what little Eddie’s seen of him probably suggests that he’s also a jock. But he’s not from here. There’s something about that that makes it less scary, thinking about approaching him, asking him if he wants to fool around.

Worst thing that could happen is that he gets the shit kicked out of him and can't go to Lover’s Lake for the rest of the summer. But Steve will be gone back to wherever he came from come September. A guy like him has probably got plans for college already neatly lined up, swimming scholarship or whatever sport he plays that makes him almost inhumanly fast in the water.

So he thinks about it as he touches himself. Thinks about going back to the lake and finding him there, waiting for Eddie.

I knew you’d come back, he’d say when Eddie dove into the lake.

Eddie imagines being brave enough to wade close enough to feel the heat of Steve's skin.

He’d say something like I came back for you or something equally as cheesy.

Eddie fucks two fingers into his cunt, the palm of his hand grinding against his dick as he thinks about Steve reaching out just like in his dream, but this time actually touching him.

He thinks he’d probably gasp at the first touch of Steve's fingers grazing his skin, touching his tits, thumbing at his nipples.

His breathing picks up as he thinks about Steve's hand slipping between his thighs, touching him like he’s touching himself now.

Maybe he’d spin him around and let him feel the expanse of his chest pressed against his back as he touches Eddie’s dick with deft fingers.

He’d press them tight together so Eddie could feel how hard he is for him, just for him.

Maybe he’d take him like that, right there in the lake for anyone walking by to see. He’d press inside him, stretching him out on his cock until Eddie's eye crossed from the pressure building inside him.

Maybe he’d turn Eddie's chin with his free hand and kiss him, slow and deep as he fucks into him from behind.

Eddie comes with his fist pressed against his mouth to keep the noises from spilling out as he clenches around his fingers, riding it out.

He sinks boneless into his sheets, still thinking about warm brown eyes and big hands all over his body.

chapter 2

[jade-of-mourning]

sorry sometimes i think about mako and my heart hurts so much. this kid raised himself and his brother on the streets in homelessness and utter poverty from eight through fifteen, promptly after seeing the violent death of his mother and father. he turned to the triple threats because they couldn't survive as a pair of wretched kids without any adult support, and the environment forced him to turn into the exact character that killed his parents in a terrible twist of irony. and after sheer-fucking-luck hits and they aren't homeless anymore, their livelihood wavers on the outcome of what's a literally game to everyone but them; and after things are finally starting to look up and their team is going places and things just might be okay, his gradually stabilizing world unceremoniously expands and everything goes to shit.

and the city that chewed him up and spat him back out, ruined him as a child and took away his ability to stay afloat in a true sense of normalcy as an adult — when it's on the verge of destruction and falling to pieces before his eyes, he gives himself to save it with the full expectation to die. he went from the kid who didn't and couldn't care about anything outside of himself and his brother, to finding redemption for his younger self in his police work despite its injustice against him, to willingly sacrificing himself to a world that had never loved him.

he's a desperate people pleaser, socially and emotionally stunted for the adult he had to be as a kid, unable to navigate interpersonal relationships easily yet still trying his damned hardest. he's intensely and entirely devoted to the things that matter to him and for so long it was only him, bolin, and ensuring their survival — yet by the end, that devotion has expanded to protecting the rest of the world. he starts out entirely self-reliant and ends in trusting the people he cares about to know their own needs, to be able to take care of themselves, to be okay without him despite having spent so much of his life defined by his role in others' well-being.

just. what the fuck i'm such a big fan of this fictional guy and i'm unashamed about it at this point. also let him cry please (if you won't i'll do it i'll let him cry)

[blood-orange-juice]

I suddenly groked why Childe's friendship with the Traveler is important to me. It makes him look more inhuman.

Same with his attachments in general. It all looks so sweet on the surface but this is *not* how humans handle attachments.

Humans are awkward, and afraid to admit they like someone, and they want reciprocity, and they are careful about how a new person will affect their life. They are very cautious about placing their trust in someone even if they like them. They often lie for the sake of maintaining the relationship.

And then there's this guy who loudly declares you a friend the moment he starts liking you enough, expects nothing in return and seems to trust almost blindly (personally, I think it's calculated risk rather than that, but it still removes the usual weight of trusting someone). Who is honest and straightforward in ways that don't really benefit him. And it's not exactly hero worship (he has that towards Skirk and Capitano and we know it looks differently), he just sees someone like himself in the main character.

His other relationships (siblings and Her Majesty) could have been interpreted in multiple ways but his attachment to the Traveler establishes those as genuine and more on the warm side too.

(and more weird)

We also get reminded that he isn't nice even when he likes a person, he still has his weird ideals and obligations and doesn't compromise on those.

If he was a brooding loner or someone more sociopathic in his approach it would be too easy to clock him as a traumatised kid or at least a flawed human. The way he relates to the Traveler very clearly establishes him as more than that.

I've also seen takes on how he doesn't really love his siblings, he just wants to be the best in everything and that includes being the best older brother. That would be awfully human, too, I think.

It's a subtle distinction, fae beings can be obsessed with beauty and perfection but not with being the best. A desire to be the best is a narcissistic dynamic, it's painfully human and rooted in insecurity.

(he says and shows multiple times how he doesn't seek narcissistic fuel at all, even on an average human level. he seeks improvement but doesn't really care about winning or impressing other people

he's also committed to doing the best he can without being worried about perfection in the current moment)

He loves them dearly and he's doing what's best for them as he understands it, but it doesn't matter whether they love him or whether anyone else including them thinks he's a good brother.

So we once again get a lovely paradox with him. Everything is the opposite of what it seems.

Could be read as a different form of trauma or just arrogance, of course, but also it connects him to other Abyssal beings (Elynas, Durin, Caribert to an extent too. one could say Enjou as well). Horrors of Teyvat love with no reservations but also it doesn't mean what you think it means.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 5 - Surface

@jegulus-microfic May 5, Word count 468

Previous part First part

Sirius was so shocked by his brother's words that he transformed back into himself, Remus’s fingers still tangled in his hair.

“No.” He told Regulus. Regulus glowered at him. 

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Potter.” James didn’t know what to make of that. Regulus had barely said more than two words to him before tonight, and even those had been scathing. Why on earth would he want James’s help? “Well?” Regulus asked, almost politely for him. 

“Well what?” James had forgotten the question. He could see Regulus bite back whatever venomous retort he’d been about to say. His annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Will you show me how to become an animagus?” And even with Sirius waving his arms and mouthing the word ‘NO!’, James found himself saying.

“Yes,” Even his own eyes widened at what his mouth had said. Godric what was he getting himself into?

“No! I forbid it. James, you’re not showing him how to do anything.” Sirius snarled. James was taken aback. Sirius had never spoken to him like that before. Regulus turned on his brother, that simmering annoyance bubbling over. 

“You have no right to say what I can and can not do. Potter has said he’ll help me become an animagus and that's that.” Regulus drew himself up to his full height, staring Sirius down. Sirius leapt off Remus’s bed and came to stand nose to nose with Regulus. There was only an inch or so between them, James realised. When had Regulus grown? He’d always been a lot shorter than Sirius, which Sirius relished in pointing out whenever he could. Neither brother backed down. 

“Fine,” Sirius finally spat, “Prongs can train you, but if you breathe a word of what Remus is, what we do every month, I’ll obliviate your mind so thoroughly, you won’t even remember your own name, let alone Remus’s furry little secret.” Regulus snorted in his face. 

“Salazar,” He chuckled, addressing Remus over Sirius’s shoulder. “Is that really what you call it?” 

“You’d be surprised how many people had heard him say it and not a single one has figured it out.” Remus grinned mischievously. “These two and Peter are the only ones who guessed what I am.” 

Sirius sat back down on the edge of Remus’s bed and Remus patted his hand gently and murmured something in that low voice he’d used before. Sirius sighed and nodded. “Good boy,” Remus said, so they could all hear it as Sirius flopped backwards across the mattress. 

“When do we start then, Professor?” Regulus mocked, turning his attention back to James. 

“Tomorrow night. Er,” He turned to his friends. “Where would be the best place to meet?” Sirius and Remus looked at each other and both said. 

“The come and go room.” At the same time.  

Next part

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday 📝

Tagged by @tizniz

It’s nice having something to share ☺️. Here’s something that’s not angsty from my secret buddie wip

Eddie smiles at him, all warm and bright like the sunrise slipping in between the curtains. His fingers caresses Buck’s cheek as they travel up to card through his hair, his thumb gently stroking over Buck’s birthmark before pulling Buck towards him for another kiss.

Their lips move languidly against one another’s, the soft sounds of their kisses and content exhales filling the room.

“I love you,” Eddie says, burying his face into the crook of Buck’s neck.

He’s heard Eddie say those three words countless times over the past year and a half, yet he still feels them ignite a warm sensation that spreads throughout his body like he did that first time.

Like there’s a star in his chest bursting with colour and light, its shimmering particles embedding themselves into Buck’s bloodstream until he’s glowing with Eddie’s love.

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @wellcollapse @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sibylsleaves @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @queerdiazs @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @diazheartsbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @captain-hen @bekkachaos @neverevan @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @kitteneddiediaz @lover-of-mine @lonelychicago @disasterbuck @inell @smilingbuckley @bucksbignaturals @ladydorian05 and as always, anyone who has something they’d like to share -> consider this your offical tag 🏷️

[idkaguyorsomething]

The Problem of Susan Fic Recs

For many reasons, The Last Battle is probably the most contentious addition to the Narnia canon. The standout, though, has to be the infamous Problem of Susan, wherein the Pevensie children are all killed in a train crash and brought to Narnia 2 Electric Boogaloo aka heaven, then declare that Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia because of her interest in “lipsticks and nylons”. Hardly any time is spent on this, but the implications have been the ground for a lot of argument and discussion. What exactly would happen to Susan, and should it have happened? Over the years, dozens of fic writers have thrown their hats in the ring and weighed in on the subject, making the Problem of Susan almost a prism for the fandom: everyone shines through it a bit differently, resulting in a wide spectrum. Here’s some of the highlights under the cut.

http://shedletsky.com/blog/the-god-who-loves-you

Starting with the fic that coined the term, written by Neil Gaiman himself, this fic is a reflection and deconstruction of the idea that Susan would be able to find Narnia again by delving into the trauma that the experience of losing all her family at once as well as the social injustices that a young woman of her time would’ve faced, something that the narrative of The Last Battle never really addresses. It took off for a reason, as it presents a lot of good food for thought, but it’s also got some pretty weird shit that can feel like it’s conflating adulthood with edginess. Well worth a read for all the points it raises, but if you’re fond of canon you probably won’t like the way it takes a hammer to it.

Now this one is exactly what you’d want to read if you wanted some feel-good time. This story is probably the closest to how C S Lewis would’ve written Susan’s return to Narnia, detailing her rediscovering all the things she put away as well as what led up to her rejecting Narnia in the first place. It falls more to the end of being almost uncritical of canon, with the focus on Susan basically having the same sort of religious rediscovery that C S Lewis himself had in his life. Because of how she was treated in canon, that can be pretty frustrating, but the ending feels nothing short of joyous.

Swinging back to the other end of the spectrum, this fic is very critical of the idea of The Last Battle being a pretty happy ending for everyone, unambiguously stating that life is always worth living for all the Pevensie kids. It explores what their lives could’ve been like if they didn’t die, being a rebuttal of C S Lewis’ themes rather than a continuation of them while feeling equally as happy as the fic directly above.

And this story feels like a midway point between the above two. It dives really deep into the emotional damage that Susan would’ve suffered before and after the train crash in some absolutely gorgeous prose, showing both her and Aslan with great sympathy while maintaining that what happened to her is not a punishment in any way. Bittersweet and very, very good.

Heading back towards the more critical end of the spectrum, this fic presents a Susan who is not interested in finding Narnia again, only her family. She is very much a character straight out of an ancient myth rather than a teen trying to make sense of a senseless situation here, filled with determination as much as desperation. It’s probably the closest fic on here to having something close to a plot as well as a character study, with the exception of The Queen’s Return and one other:

Being a crossover with what’s pretty much the antithesis of the Chronicles of Narnia, His Dark Materials, it’s probably easy for you to guess which side of the spectrum this story falls on. It’s more of a HDM story than a Narnia one, but the two worlds blend together surprisingly well, and it gives us a rare look into a Susan who’s lived decades of her life when the story picks up. She’s pretty much the Professor and it is fascinating, as is everything left to interpretation by this gem of a fic that is ambiguous yet deeply satisfying.

¡And here’s Susan as a Doctor Who companion! This isn’t directly a Narnia story so much as it is one about two people much older than they look mourning the loss of their worlds, with a Susan who is a queen wise beyond her years. Reading it is like taking an ice shower. It doesn’t hold back on the grief, and as a result it manages to feel honest as it reaches a warm ending.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/24311

Despite also being a crossover, this is in some ways the opposite of touch the sky with two arms. Susan is more of an everyday young woman than a queen, and [SLIGHT SPOILERS] Narnia itself does feature directly. But y’know, that’s part of what makes fandom so interesting. Not everyone is going to have the same take on everything, and the ending of this leans more happy than melancholy.

¿A shipping fic that’s also a crossover with Peter Pan that features neither Neverland or Narnia? Yes, this one probably has the least to do with Narnia or Aslan, but it tells a very compelling story about living life and growing up, something that isn’t perfect but can be good if you find someone you want to spend your life with. Susan Pevensie and Wendy Darling are a really good couple, pinky promise.

Technically more a series of ensemble oneshots, but Susan features very prominently in a lot of them, and they will make you feel every feeling that everything else on this list might’ve given you. Satisfaction, devastation, simple joy, just go give it a shot.

[the-writing-mobster]

Y'all I'm so behind on YWIW it's incredible. 😭

I'm literally just now outlining Part 2. I project a long hiatus, but I'll be sure to post frequent updates and you know, maybe even some sneak peaks and fluff on Tumblr as well so, just... Stay tuned for more and be patient while I write this behemoth of a fanfic lmao.

Some things to look forward too:

Frans fluff (I promise. I promise. I PROMISE we'll get more fluff with them I promise)

Frisk learns more about her magic and how to truly get it under control

Sans learning more about his new abilities (all the characters just leveled up tremendously after the barrier breaking didn't they? Lmao)

Sans & Papyrus putting in the work on their fraternal bond.

Monsters on the surface!

An evil politician (wait isn't that all of them?)

That being said, I do have some other big projects in the works to feed the hungry lions teehee (but I won't post anything until Baby Face is finished), and I plan on holding a Poll on Twitter for which one to focus on while also working on Part 2.

Here are the options:

🖇️ Two Weeks Notice 🥂

— Fell Frans Office Rom Com

🎬The Cynic & the Starlet✨

— Fell Frans Actor AU

♠️ The House Painter ♦️

— Mafiafell AU

🏴‍☠️ Souls on the Water 🐚

— Piratefell AU

🌕 Dancing in the Light of the Blood Moon ✴️

— Westfell AU

[hiemaldesirae]

thinking of a witch/fae radiostatic au after rereading some of my guilty pleasure fandom fics hhhhhnneuhg

basically the gist of it is, unseelie king alastor gets kidnapped by witch vox's village and now vox needs to figure out how to keep alastor from dying because his death means the rest of the court coming for blood while also trying to make sure the fae king doesnt try and fucking eat him or something. oh also they knew each other before.

Vox's mother always used to say, there's comfort in routine.

Perhaps that's why Vox finds himself redoing the same three-card spread over and over, despite always managing to get the same results. He chews on his fingernails as he frowns harder, reshuffling once more.

"Whatcha doing?" Angel Dust, the only other witch in the village, pops up behind him, startling Vox, who sighs and relaxes once he realizes who's behind him. "I thought you were busy helping the healers, man. Are you just doing tarot readings while we're working ourselves ta' the bone?"

Vox frowns, pressing his lips together.

He doesn't have anything against Angel, really, it's just difficult talking to people who aren't Vel or Val. And maybe it's more difficult talking to Angel because of his relationship with Val, but that isn't something he's willing to admit in front of his best friend's boyfriend. "Well, I got basically put on house arrest today because apparently, the fae they brought back was so strong they didn't trust me not to get too interested in them and throw the whole plan off."

"Couldn't they've least stationed ya with the healers? You can serve that house arrest after we make sure no one's dead," Angel groans. "I mean, didya see the state everyone came back in?"

He had. Vox had watched with white knuckles as they'd brought Velvette and Valentino's unconscious forms across to the healers lodge and tents, doing and redoing protection spells around their home and the village wards. He had wanted to help as soon as he'd seen them, but the village chief had ordered for him specifically to stay home.

So he'd busied himself with tarot cards. But it seemed even that wasn't working out for him, because...

"Oh, shit. This is... a pretty fuckin' bad spread, ain't it?"

"You tell me," Vox grouses. He shuffles the cards again and tries another time, only for those same three cards to appear again as if mocking him. Three of Swords. The Tower. And of course, Death.

Now, of the three, death was probably the most positive card of the spread. All it meant was change- not necessarily as dark as its name. But the tower and three of swords... well. Those only spelt out foreboding fates.

"What didya even ask?"

"It's about the fae they brought in." Vox taps his hand against the counter before starting to reorganize his cards. No sense in leaving them out now, after all: their message had been clear and simple. This was a mistake. You're all fucked. "Apparently, they're on par with royalty. Which as you can probably guess, isn't very well known for their kind tempers. So I was doing readings to try and see what might happen from keeping them here, and..."

Angel grimaces. "So... you're saying that we're fucked, basically?"

"You can do your own reading if you want," Vox says cryptically as he stands up, stretching his limbs. "Anyway, I'm going to go and strengthen the protection shield on the village wards. Not much else to do while I'm stuck here, anyway."

"Right... well, guess I'll see ya round then."

"Mm, see you."

When Angel leaves, Vox breathes a sigh of relief. He unclenches his hand to regard the skeleton key he'd stolen from the chief hours earlier on complete autopilot, hardly even realizing he'd taken the damn thing til he'd gotten back home and started performing frantic readings.

It was the key to the village cellar, a place located on the edge of town. Vox, Val and Vel lived closest to it- which worked out well, considering of the three of them, two were part of the village's elite fae hunting brigade and the last was one of the villages only two witches, and the more experienced one at that. He supposed, given the circumstances, that the fae who'd beaten his friends to a pulp was probably down there. And, well... Vox was nothing if deathly curious.

So that night, on a half moon, Vox quietly exits the house, being sure not to accidentally trip an alarm on the way. He makes his way to the outdoors cellar and unlocks the door, making his way downstairs into a damp and cramped room. His eyes are immediately drawn to the large iron cage hanging in the dead centre of the room, sucking in a breath as he takes a small step back. The cage is impressive, but what's inside of it...

A mass of shadows writhe and twist around a restrained figure, dispersing slightly around where the fae's eyes must be. Vox flinches back when a ghostly grey-black hand reaches out for him, its dark tipped claws so sharp he's sure the fae could have sliced him to ribbons had they not been restrained by their shackles and prison.

It serves its purpose: Vox is immediately and incredibly intimidated. Having said that, he came here for a reason, and he's not so much of a fucking coward that he'd simply flee with his tail between his legs at the first sight of an adverse reaction from the captured faerie.

"Hey, uh... I know you probably don't believe me- and you probably shouldn't, honestly, but- er, I'm here to help you. As much as I can, anyway." Vox raises his hands up in the air as he moves slowly toward the cage, keenly aware of the fae's fixed gaze on him all the while.

He reaches out and slowly, cautiously, places a small, dead rabbit on the precipice of the cage's platform. It was one he'd caught with a trap that afternoon, under the excuse of storing away fresh meat for Velvette and Valentino when they returned- but, well, there were other animals he'd caught, too. They wouldn't miss one tiny rabbit.

The shadow cloaked faerie regards the mound of fresh meat for only a second before jerking forwards and swallowing it whole.

Vox watches with rapt attention, mesmerized by the faeries brutality. He almost doesn't notice when the fae turns to address him, voice raw and scratchy and deeper than the ocean. "What did you do that for?"

"Cause..." Vox worries at his lip.

He doesn't really want to lie to the fae- he's not dumb, alright, that'd be a practical death wish, even if he was lying with good intent- but he's also not so sure how it will react to being told he only did it out of curiosity. Because he wanted to see just what it was that his reading deemed so dangerous to their little town. "I guess... I wanted to see what was so strong that they took down half the village guard."

The fae startles at this. The shadows surrounding their cage shrinks back a little, finally unveiling enough of their appearance for Vox to put a face to a... well, for Vox to get a good look at them.

Dark reddish brown hair with black streaks at the edges sharpen into pointed deer ears, with two short buck antlers growing from the fae's head. They have deep crimson eyes, tinged with flecks of bright green- it pairs well with their skin, a deep, rich brown that reminds Vox of rich autumn soil at the harvest. He's... pretty sure this fae is a man, but appearances can be deceiving, and he's not quite keen on being cursed for assuming blindly.

"Hm. Well, you weren't among the host that came to attack me, were you now?" The faerie's eyes narrow as Vox stutters out a faint no, babbling out excuses to lead them away from the conclusion of him being a witch (and thus always placed under pseudo-house arrest when time comes for a fae hunt). "Then, you don't realize what a mistake your village has made, do you, dear?"

Vox pauses. "What do you mean, mistake?"

The room's temperature drops almost the moment the question falls from his lips, and Vox pulls his cloak closer to himself as he distances himself from the cage, willing his arms to stop trembling as he watches. The shadows around the fae pull close again and coalesce into a cape of sorts, rising above the faerie as they entwine themselves around the fae's head, almost like- almost like-

A crown.

"Oh, shit."

The Unseelie Fae King gives Vox a tight lipped smile. "So, do you see now?"

Well. At least that answered what the tarot cards were trying to tell him.

[initforthelolzz]

back from the dead

[bokettochild]

What is your favorite obscure piece of legend lore?

There is so much freaking lore about Legend in the mangas! and the old games! I know the mangas aren't cannon and stuff, but I think non-cannon is the peak of obscure, so I'll just go off!

The violet eyes thing is very precious to me, but that's a headcannon, so let's just... yeah

I think it would be his connection to Fi. There are very few heroes who actually hear the voice of the Master Sword, and many never do. In most of the stories we actually see the hero striving to be worthy of the blade! Sky fights so hard to be enough, to prove himself, if not to Fi than most certainly to Impa and himself. Warriors' journey features his own struggles with the blade, his hubris and folly. While I haven't played the game, the Twilight Princess manga does show Twilight undergoing a similar struggle of achieving the worthiness of holding the Master Sword, even finding it too heavy to lift at times when his heart is not in the right place or his pride is getting in the way.

But Legend never faces that. Granted, his stories are all so much simpler than that of the others, at least, as far as game play is concerned, and the manga creators didn't really go too nuts with his personal journey like they did with Twilight, but still! Legend finds the Master Sword in decay and ruin, and she speaks to him. She's not strong, she's not harsh, she's nothing like she is in any other game ever (except TOTK sort of) and she looks at this little kid who wanders across her and says "yes, that one".

The kid who has nothing to gain from saving the world. The kid who's already lost everything there is to lose. The kid who is repeatedly giving of himself and what little he has to help others in his journey, even though in the long run it means nothing. She looks at him and when he draws her blade she welcomes him

Legend is one of the only heroes to not only have Fi's full approval before he ever wields her, but is also the hero who just....has so much connection with Fi. Their fates have been intertwined for nearly as long as he's lived. She's the only comfort he's consistently had at his side.

I love that he never had to fight to be enough. Legend has so many struggles; being a good enough hero, especially when he never set out to be one, isn't something he needed to face. Legend is a pure-hearted person (which is even pointed out by others and displayed many times in the manga) and was already worthy. His rabbit soul tells us he's probably fighting his own fears and worries, anxieties and terrors, all through his adventure. To have Fi's security and strength to lean on, to compliment his own, rather than cold indifference, disapproval or expectation, was something he needed.

I also love the fact that Legend went out of his way to ask Farore to go and get Fi for him when he went out on his other adventures. he didn't know he needed her, but when he did, he asked for her so he could be at his best. Legend is most complete with the Master Sword beside him. He's not fully himself without a sword (hence why every adventure after ALTTP almost always features him searching out a blade first thing) especially without HIS sword.

Fi is Sky's sword. The Sword that he completed. First forged her, but left her unfinished. Sky perfected her. But Legend took her at her weakest and strengthened her again. Sky may be her Master, but I like to think Legend is her boy. They've been together for so long. He's been without people for so much of his adventures, and knowing she can speak, that she has a soul, I image he speaks to her when he's lonely. We see him speak to her in LU, fondly calling her "old girl" with a sort of familiarity that's singular to him. He probably shared everything with her; his fears, his hopes, his insecurities. She's Sky's sword, but she's Legend's friend.

I've joked about it before, once even put it in a fic, but Fi is the only being Legend has consistently had in his life. The only one whose never left him, no matter what happens or where he goes. She's his guide, his help, his strength and assurance and the one thing he knows will never fail him.

Honestly, if you haven't noticed that Legend smiles more at the sword than at any one of the heroes, you're missing out. And it's such a beautiful smile too!

There's warmth, familiarity, recognition- so much in that smile.

Fi is important to Legend, and I like to think he's important to her too.

Anyways, this is all to say that I love how Legend is one of the only ones to hear the blade speak, and how it implies that he and she are connected in a way that Wild, that Flora, that so many heroes and princesses before and after have striven to be, and I think it's beautiful that it comes naturally to him. Legend deserves to have had at least one thing easy!

[zukkaoru]

where i am going (is right where i am)

“You want to pretend we’re dating.” “Exactly!” Ranpo claps their hands together. “We’ll go all out—I’m talking making out during office hours, disappearing to the bathroom together, calling each other stupid pet names, refusing to be separated when we don’t want to do work. Just imagine how everyone will react!” Dazai considers this. He does rather enjoy annoying his coworkers—Kunikida especially. And no one in the office will be more perturbed by Dazai and Ranpo suddenly being an obnoxious couple. It’ll make Atsushi squirm. Sigma and Tanizaki will try to hide their discomfort until it eventually turns to annoyance, which will be hilarious. Naomi will just laugh at everyone. Plus it’ll catch Chuuya so far off guard they won’t even know what hit them. It’s the perfect plan. “Okay,” Dazai agrees. “Let’s do it.”

or: dazai kills a man, gets a boyfriend, has a gender crisis, confronts his own humanity, and starts to heal. not necessarily in that order.

🌱 25.8k words || souheki / daran / ranzai 🌱 post-doa arc + fake dating

[desceros]

ajkfljskj I saw you were taking requests now and I lowkey just- 👀 I'm having sexy Bayverse Turtles intrusive thoughts. Imma share a Leo one. Ever imagined Bay!Leo sharing his hobbies with reader after she earned his trust and teaching her Japanese calligraphy? Him watching her skin glow in the candlelight, dreaming to use her naked body as a canvas for a Japanese love poem written in kanji? Sexual tension, mixed with slow, agonizing brushstrokes? Cuz I have 😏 -💙

so i got this and immediately i was like 'omg. this would work So Well as a deleted scene of sorts for tea-verse' so that's what it ended up as. kind of sexual tension but it edges more on pining. also, i'm burning now, thank you everyone for playing, we had a great run here on desceros dot com leonardo x reader; T, GN!reader, 1.8k; leo pining like a TREE. officially takes place after the leaf scene in this fic if you want context for some of the subtler touches but tl;dr reader always makes leo his tea. (the fic itself has a female reader but this snippet is GN)

He wonders if you know. 

You’ve caught him staring, before. It makes his shell feel tight, his skin too-hot. Even with mating season coming up, it’s too soon for him to be reacting like this; the burning ache that comes just from the bell of your voice, the alluring sway of your footsteps as you come to his side. And yet he does. Because it’s you. Just because it’s you.

“Okay, I’m excited for this,” you tell him, teeth biting into a smile as you tuck as close as you can without touching. He knows you do it for him, that you stay away because of his wishes, but it’s an agony all the same. The sweet smell of your soap haunts him, even under the burn of the incense that ghosts the room with smoke.

“Yeah?” he asks, pleased when he sees the happy, easy glow of your face. 

“Are you kidding? It’s so pretty,” you say. “Plus I like how the ink smells. It smells really nice with the tea when I bring it in.” 

Pretty, he echoes, trailing his eyes down to your throat, your shoulders, your hands. The way all your angles and curves catch the candlelight and dance in a softness that makes his palms ache with emptiness.

…He wonders if you know how soft you make him.

“Okay. Tell me the names for everything,” you tell him, studying the tools laid out before him, a gentle eagerness brightening your eyes. He smiles, turning his head and gesturing at everything to share its proper name in Japanese, then English. Grinding the ink, he explains the process, looking to you and your fascinated expression and trying to remember to breathe.

“What do you want me to write?” he asks once he’s ready, causing you to look at him and smile.

“What do you want to write?” you ask. 

Reaching out, he picks up the brush between his fingers. He studies the paper before him, blank and infinite, but his mind is somewhere else. 

…It had rained, a few days ago. You’d come into the lair drenched, laughing as Splinter had sent him off to bring you a towel. He’d returned in time to see you lift your shirt, squeezing it out over the storm drain, miles and miles and miles of skin stretching before his eyes. The curve of your spine as you turned to speak to his father, the arch of your hips as you leaned to twist the fabric, the pull of skin over your flesh. Breathless, motionless, frozen, he’d faltered in the doorway, ensorcelled by the image forever, marked, seared into his mind.

It’s that sight that comes to his mind, now, as he closes his eyes. 

He could do it, he thinks. He could ask you to turn, to pull your shirt over your head. It’s so easy to imagine the way your shoulder blades would curve, the dip of your spine, the way you’d shiver when he pressed the brush to your skin. It would tickle, at first, until you got used to it; then you’d sigh, still, and let him spread his soul onto your canvas.

Oh, all the things he wants to write there, where it would sink into your flesh like a brand. All the little ghosts of you that haunt him, memorialized with love in charcoal: the way your teeth catch your lip, the flash of skin at your hemline when you stretch your arms above your head, the wet press of your tongue to your lips when they're dry, the way your eyes flutter shut when you have your first sip of tea, the hum of pleasure you give when it tastes good. 

…He’d make you feel so good.

“…Leo?”

Leo opens his eyes, feeling the hunger in them, letting them get as far as your mouth before he turns them back to the paper before him. A pointless daydream, a torment of his own making. 

“…Sorry. I was just thinking,” he says, and it’s not a lie, not entirely, but also nothing but. There is nothing just about the way that you consume him.

It’s easy, then, to think of what to write. In long, elegant nine strokes that pull from his shoulder, he glides the brush over the paper. Each inch of ink carries a memory of you, your hands as you pass him a teacup, your care in checking the flavor, your endless drive to perfect the art just for him. 

“…Tea,” you recognize, proving your familiarity with the subject. He smiles; of course you’d recognize it, what with how often the two of you share.

“Tea,” he echoes, waiting until the ink is dry enough to handle before he takes the paper and hands it to you. “Here. For you.” 

“Wh—Really?” you ask, eyes wide. 

“Of course. It’s about time I gave some tea to you, after all,” he says with a smile that makes you laugh. He tucks the sound into his heart, next to all of the others. 

“It’s beautiful, Leo,” you compliment, holding it before you. Your eyes take in every stroke, awe open and genuine, before they meet his own and your smile goes warm like the sun. “Thank you. I’m going to hang it somewhere nice in my apartment.” 

And oh, but you are the sun, he thinks, heart pounding as he watches your fingers trail down the edge of the paper. Reaching out with warmth, lighting everything you touch, smiling as everyone around you basks in your radiant glow. What is life without you, he wonders, chest aching and so full and so empty all at once it hurts. Madness. 

…He wonders if you know.