#technically not a shipping fic but I'm always shipping them so...

[ffcrazy15]

Summary: Two children wake up on an unfamiliar starship with no idea how they got there, and become friends over the course of a strange afternoon.

FF.net link here

[evidenceof]

Winnix Country, I'll take you there.

Winnix fic recs finally! I clawed through pages 1-61 on AO3 and then scoured through Dreamwidth because I just need this ship injected into my brain.

Just so we're all aligned, I'm very much into "Classic" Winnix. And while generally I do still read AUs, much of what I keep close are the ones that are entrenched in, before, and after the war. Still enjoy a bit of the supernatural though. So please forgive the lack of non-WWII AUs. :') Ok onward.

Note: All links in blue are restricted to logged-in AO3 users! So hopefully you have an account so you can read some gold.

5+1 tag

The Way I Wear Your Hat by Muccamukk - I will consume anything Mucca writes and live in it for at least two weeks.

Let Me Be Close by armyofbees - So tooth achingly sweet, tender in post-war. Nix combing Dick's hair? I'm so.

I'm Alright Now You're Here by @stopstopstopit - A.k.a. Dick and Nix going, "Was I truly that blind???" about each other and everyone in Easy Company saying, "Yeah." So good, so, so fun. Giggled like a maniac all throughout.

Pre-War

Before the World Begins by rilla (@flomps)- The first time I read this, I cried. Then again the second, third, fourth, etc. Lew and Dick meet in NY before Benning, before everything, and it's under very different circumstances. I love the characterization of Nix and Dick in this so much and the gentleness in the midst of all the smut. A TALENT!

Lancaster County by rachelelpillo - Technically not pre-war because this is an AU where it happens without them. It's bittersweet, but emphasis on the sweet. Teenage Dick and Nix and a whole summertime of falling in love.

Bicostal by dancinguniverse - I am a sucker for anything that starts at OCS. I love this and the telegrams and letters tucked within it.

Wartime

Bird Wedding by rachelelpillo - The way she writes anything really sounds like a summer day to me. This one is very understated and just wonderful if you want something that leaves you smiling. (Highly recommend you go through her work, last she posted was in 2010. :') )

And at Your Touch, I Burn by Muccamukk- CHRIST. A SICK!FIC. God I love this for so many reasons, one of them being just the incredible way Mucca describes the field exercise, the crawl and length of it. And Dick getting sick. Nix doing what he does. It's wonderful. It's perfect.

Vampire Overhead! by joissant - There's a little Vampire!Nix AU for you. In the midst of Bastogne and hunger, there is this and it's fucking fantastic.

love divine, all loves excelling by @flanneryoconnorfanfiction - The way my heart soared all throughout this fic. Religion, for many reasons is often the point of friction for Dick, and this one turns it over its head. It's reverent and (so) joyful and honestly, probably what God should feel like. There are not enough kudos-es in the world.

Post-War

Head Trip by @ezlebe - Two lines from this fic ring in my head daily, that's how much I loved every bit of it. And I mean who isn't a sucker for Operation Varsity-adjacent fics? Harry's in this so it's automatically just extra wonderful for me. I LOVE!! I absolutely love.

Like a Bird on the Wire by semperama - Them coming home without an established relationship is always a trope enjoy. Blanche Nixon is here being cheeky, and Dick is all smiley, Lewis is stressed the fuck out. It all makes for a wonderful get-together.

More than a Team by @mercurygray - I love reading about Ann Winters and I love seeing Nix and Dick navigate those familial relationships after the war. This is short and so, so sweet. Every bit as wonderful as the ice cream.

thyme and rosemary by @oatflatwhite - Yet another one where Ann Winters makes a wonderful cameo. Dick is trying not to be miserable and he keeps writing all these unsent letters to Lew. Featuring the cutest kitten ever.

Series

What Things We Have Heard Together by joissant (4 works) - Quite possibly required reading for Winnix enthusiasts. Feels like such a gift to be able to thread through so many points in their relationship and everyone else tangled in their orbit.

Winnix from the POV of other people Oh my god I love outsiders-looking in fics of the two of them.

Transcript by Corvid Cordelia - LISTEN. If you love Easy Company, you love Winnix, Webgott, Spierton, etc, they're all here. It's such a treat for people who fell in love with everyone's personalities in BoB.

Women in Conversation by shiveringpinkala - Ann Winters tries to surprise her brother and it doesn't go quite as planned. Blanche is in this too so it makes it extra delightful. Love this fic.

Entendre by @thrillingdetectivetales - Harry Welsh has no fucking clue what Buck Compton is implying about Winters and Nixon but he's gonna find out. Again, I love Harry Welsh with all of me.

A special mention to String Quartet No. 14 by @oatflatwhite for a HS AU that had me kicking my feet and smiling all the way to the very last word.

If you have similar favorites, PLEASE LET'S TALK ABOUT THEM. There's still a lot I'd like to re-read and revisit so this will highly likely be updated in the future. I'd love to hear your favorites too. <3

[ghost-proofbaby]

never love an anchor (e.m. x reader)

"On some level, I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor."

warnings: severe hurt/brief comfort, suicidal ideations, severely depressed reader. again: detailed recount of suicidal ideations. dead dove: do not eat.

wc: 5.8k+

an: i cannot emphasize this enough - this fic deals with a severely depressed, and blatantly suicidal reader. it is extremely heavy. it is extremely triggering. it is extremely self-indulgent. the romance aspect is ambiguous and the comfort aspect at the end is brief. this is a genuine, and sincerely personal piece of writing. it is an outline of how suicidal ideations may present themselves to some people. of these 5k words, 4k is deeply littered with reader's ideations without sugar coating. please, please, please do not read this unless you're in the state of mind to read it. you've surely heard it before but i'll say it just to be sure: it is a permanent solution for temporary feelings. and, just in case no one has told you, i'm glad you're alive. if you're reading this, i'm glad that you're alive. you're enough.

if you find yourself feeling like reader, i urge that you find resources such as those linked. hotlines, therapists, friends, your doctor, your family - please. i do not wish these emotions upon anyone, and they should never be taken lightly.

that being said, here are my guts from a very vulnerable moment, spilled out across the page. please handle them with care if you choose to read.

Technically speaking, the pressure that the human body is capable of handling almost seems infinite. When introduced slowly, and time is given to adjust, there is no pinpointed amount of pressure that dooms the human body. Like a crab in slow boiling water, your body should be theoretically able to handle a steady increase, bit by bit, and never truly notice. 

So why does it currently feel like you’re dying?

The pressure was never an overnight thing. It was a conglomeration you’d gathered, piece by piece, collecting little souvenirs of all the responsibilities you can’t currently remember if you’d ever agreed to along the way. It hadn’t been sudden, it hadn’t been with lack of adjusting, it hadn’t been a pressure suddenly unloaded upon you all at once – you’d done this, brick by brick, all with your own two hands. 

Keeping up with friends, keeping up with work, keeping up with expectations. Always trying to run ahead of the curve, always trying to be better. You should be fine. You shouldn’t even notice. You shouldn’t be sobbing on your bathroom floor, clutching the edge of your porcelain tub, every single breath a labor of survival. 

It feels like every bone in your body is splintering. It feels like the world has cracked open your ribs, one by one, just for show. You don’t feel poetic like the movies, you don’t feel like a valuable lesson learned in the books. You feel as though you’ve become nothing more than some crude display in a contemporary art gallery, and you were the one to hang yourself on the wall. 

Needles prickle across your skin with another heaving sob, as if you can feel the push pins you’ve used to spread yourself out for consumption. 

We still on for tonight? 

The text from Eddie glares at you from your phone discarded on the floor mere inches away. You’re lucky the screen hadn’t broken when you’d thrown it down on the ground on your way to the toilet, dry heaving through all your tears. 

He wasn’t a part of the issue. If anything, he was part of the solution. 

A shining clean slate, pristine whites and a scratch-free surface for you to press your cheek to when it all got a bit much. An abyss of freedom and openness for when the world was all a bit smothering. An anchor to cling to, a rope to tie around your wrists to keep from floating too far. The willow tree in a graveyard to rest your back against, the caress of a warm sun even if only momentarily as you stared out across headstones of all the pieces of you that you can never get back. Every version of you that has long since buried, a few even with newly churned dirt resting upon them. Something soft, something sacred, to rest your hands upon. 

Why does he still let you rest your bloodied and dirtied palms on his shoulders? Did he ever agree to that to begin with? 

You can’t remember. Or maybe your brain is simply refusing to recall. 

I hate to cancel, but I’m sick. I don’t think I can come out tonight :-( 

What? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do I need to bring you anything? 

Please don’t.

The please is what gives you away. You should have forgone it, should have offered him a lighthearted response instead. 

But there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and seeing all the question marks across his text only made it more terminal. Only gave it more reason to swallow you whole. Only gave it more reason to grow and to tangle up and to restrict each stuttering breath of yours that you can’t seem to steady. 

Another buzz comes from your phone, but you don’t look to read it. You resort to resting your forehead against the lip of your toilet, all attempts at a deep breath futile as you finally taste the salt across your lips. 

Were you too much? Were you not enough? Was it possible to be an odd juxtaposition of both? 

A harrowing thought crosses your mind, and you know if Eddie could read minds across the intricate webbing that connects cell phones, he’d grab you by your shoulders. Maybe shake you until you see sense, or maybe cling to you until the thought has faded into nothingness. As if he could squeeze you hard enough to press together all the splinters that are left of your bones, forming a new body – a better body. One that can handle the pressure. One that isn’t imploding upon itself. A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy. 

Does it even matter anymore? Would it even matter if I simply vanished? 

Would it be so bad to let the pit finally consume you? To just give in, to let it erase you from existence. To finally wave your white flag and let the awfulness inside of you finally win the battle, erasing you from existence and leaving behind an empty space in the world that could be filled with someone better.

Someone who could be a better friend. Someone who could be a harder worker. Someone who wasn’t choked up on their bathroom floor, beginning to contemplate if the painful gasps were even worth it. 

Were you worth it? Were you worth the air in your lungs? Or could it better serve someone who could handle all the pressure? 

And it wasn’t even that much pressure to begin with, if you pick it apart thread by thread. It was the natural weight of the human experience, and you were still crumbling. 

There was a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. There was a busy street not far from your home. There was a bathtub that could easily be filled with water – you’d never been good at holding your breath, unless someone counted the last few months, in which that seemed to be all you were good at. 

There was even a bridge, 5.27 miles away from your house exactly. You could already envision the patch of grass you could park your car at, feel the drop in temperature as you stood and overlooked the tame waves of a man-made lake.

Maybe your feet didn’t even have to leave the pavement. Maybe it would be enough to just stand in the silence and see the jump with your own two eyes. 

You felt like nothing more than a ghost of yourself, yes, but maybe. Maybe, just maybe, there would still be a broken shard within you that could stir awake at it all. Maybe if you got up off the bathroom floor and set yourself into motion, it would open its eyes just in time to scream no. 

Ghosts don’t just appear. They were a vibrant soul once – they were somebody once. 

But it’s hard to imagine that you ever were. When it gets like this, it’s hard to push through all the tumultuous thoughts and loathly emotions to remember that. A version of you vibrant, a version of you that might have been worthy, if only for a moment. 

A version of you that wasn’t insulting to compare to others. That was capable of progress, of earning your blip of existence. 

You don’t want the bottle of ibuprofen. You don’t want the busy street. You don’t want the overflowing tub. You don’t even want the calm of the bridge. You just want it to stop. 

There’s a knock on your front door that echoes through the entire apartment. You dread that you already know who it is, but you can’t get up to answer. 

You can’t move from this very spot. You’re terrified of what will happen when you do. 

Will your bones collapse into ash upon the floor? Will you make one wrong move, and in a fit of pressure, make a terribly permanent decision for what feels like a terribly permanent feeling? 

Maybe you were born with the pit in your stomach. Maybe you were born with that black hole inside of you. Cursed to always be yearning, always be a juxtaposition, always be a ghost of what could have become. 

You think you hear the click of your front door opening. You think you hear heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors. You think, you think, you think. That’s the issue. 

The tears are still coming and going in erratic tides. The salt is drying out your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes. You’d thought you’d been incapable of any more emotions like this, but your tear ducts have managed to prove you wrong. 

Does it even matter anymore?

You’d left the bathroom door wide open. 

Were you worth it?

You’d been home alone – past tense.

A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

A soft gasp of your name has you microscopically lifting your head from the toilet seat. You know what the scene looks like; it looks like nothing more than the excuse you’d used. You look as though you’re ill, like you’ve been spilling your guts across the bathroom floor all night. 

If you had been, would it all feel a little less heavy? 

“Hey, Eds.” 

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. Your voice is nothing more than a drag of a whisper as you look up at your anchor standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern. 

Maybe you were an anchor – maybe being an anchor wasn’t a good thing. After all, what use does an anchor have beyond weighing down the ship? 

“Jesus,” he mutters as he rushes to your side, falling to his knees carelessly as his hand flies out to brush back tendrils of your hair, “You look like shit.”

You felt like shit. 

Selfishly, you lean into his touch, desperate for comfort. Desperate for those caring palms to soothe the ache you’d carried since birth. Desperate to hear him tell you that you’re wrong – hands to promise you that you’re worthy, fingers to wrap around your bones rather than these burning ropes. You’re bloodied and raw, fully on display, and you just want to be okay. 

You don’t want the bridge. You want Eddie. You want him to magically make it okay, and that’s unfair. 

You’re not his weight to carry, not his burden to shoulder. 

After far too long of a silence, one in which he sits patiently in with you, all you can really reply is a broken, “Yeah.” 

Immediately, he knows something is wrong. Because of course he does. 

Because he’s a good friend. He’s a good person. He has the right words more often than not, and his hands were always formed to heal rather than injure. Create rather than destroy. Those warm palms are made to hold the space he’s earned in the grand scheme of the Universe, and it almost makes you nauseous as the jealousy spreads. 

He’s good. 

And you’re simply rotten.

You used to lie to yourself and say it was simply one rotted bit amongst plenty of good, but tonight, it all seemingly comes to clarity. You can’t dig out the bad, cleanse yourself of the rot, because it’s all decay. 

You don’t have to let the pit consume you – it already has. You were born with it, and it had swallowed you whole from the first cry that had ever left your lips. 

He makes himself a bit more comfortable, and you almost feel bad for reducing him to nothing more than the bathroom floor, “You wanna talk about what’s really wrong?” 

“I’m sick.” 

“This isn’t just some stomach bug.”

Your throat begins to tighten again, and suddenly, his gentle touch across the crown of your head burns. Your eyes water ferociously, and your chest caves into itself.

You can’t make a better body or a more sound mind out of the mess you’ve become. You can’t pull gold from tarnished rubble. 

Confessing to him will only be handing over something heavy, something terrible, that he shouldn’t have to struggle with as well. But not offering him a sliver of the truth almost feels more dishonoring. 

“Do you ever feel like a waste of space?” you croak, leaning back, finally accepting that the small space of the toilet that had been cooling your face has gone warm. Another thing you’ve ruined, in hindsight, “Like, this world is filled with great people, and I just… I just, I’m taking up the space- I’m wasting the space-” 

You can’t get out the proper words. You don’t know how.

How do you say you want to cease to exist when you’re not really sure if that’s the truth? You’re miserable, and you’re selfish, and you’re not entirely sure your feet would have ever left the pavement if you had driven yourself to the bridge. You’d be too scared to do it.  

Too scared to miss the day that science announces it’s found a cure to all your rot, a miracle drug to erase the pit, a way to reverse all the damage you’ve been comprised of your whole life. 

His brows furrow and his hand stops all the calming movements, “What? Are you- are you saying you feel like a waste of space?”

It feels silly to admit it to other people. To try and describe how it all feels. Like a child trying to convince their parents the Boogeyman is real, you have to make him see that you’re right. You have evidence, you have proof, and it’s not just a feeling. 

“I don’t feel like I’m a waste of space,” you finally correct, both yourself and him, “I know I’m a waste of space.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie, don’t-”

“No,” he cuts you off. And somehow, in only a way that he’s capable of, it’s not offensive, “You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to my favorite person claim they’re wasting space-”

“I am!” It’s your turn in the cycle of interruption. You pull away from him entirely, chest heaving with the weight presenting itself once more, tears starting to fall all over again. You can’t even distinguish where the old tears stop and the new ones begin, “I really am. All I seem to do lately is just exist. And that’s such a- such a- that’s such a waste. I can’t read any of the things I should enjoy these days, I can’t even write. All of the words feel like they just come out wrong. I’m letting everyone down left and right, I’m never living up to whatever pedestal you’ve put me on. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year from now – I can’t even see that far in the future.”

Heaves become sobs, and the crumbling has begun once more. A cycle of breaking, a cycle of demolition. Even leaving behind the rubble feels like a crime. A waste of space. 

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” you manage to spit out between all your visceral reactions, “Every year, I tell myself the same thing – I’ll be better, I’ll be kinder, I’ll be worth it. And every year, I fail.” 

Can he see it? All the fractures and splinters and pits and metaphors? 

Can he smell it? All the rot and the destruction and hopelessness?

Can he feel it? All the pressure? 

Through your sniffles, you press your back to the tub, knees to your chin as you wrap your arms around your legs, desperately trying to shrivel up. To take up less space. To waste less space.

“I used to think I could make up for it,” you whisper, “I could offer people things that made them forget I’m… so useless. But I don’t think I’m even capable of that anymore.”

If he’s about to respond, it’s drowned out by your cries. You press your eyes hard into your kneecaps, until you see stars, and you try to swallow down all the embarrassment. Try to stop all the hurt from spilling out, to stop all your guts from painting the bathroom walls. 

He could simply sit there, let you wallow in your misery alone. Sit and stare as the artwork finally serves its purpose to the visitors of the gallery. Maybe jot down some commentary on how with your bones all spread out like this, the point the artist was attempting to make becomes oh so clear. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

You know it’s his arms that are wrapping around you, pulling you from the chill of the tub and into the warmth of his chest.  And you let yourself smother within the fabric of his shirt the same exact way in which you’ve convinced yourself you smother everyone around you, let yourself breathe in drugstore cologne and his last cigarette rather than think about all the thoughts that had been spiraling you into dismay over the last twenty four hours – over the last twenty four years. 

He’d probably been smoking while waiting on your call tonight. Probably riddled with anxiety, if the shake of his hands pressing into your back are anything to go off of. An anxiety and waiting game that wouldn’t have to exist if you didn’t exist.

The thought makes you cry harder. 

If a ghost dies, can it even still return back as itself? Can it still find it within itself to haunt empty hallways, and watch the ones it once loved find peace?

“You’re not useless,” it sounds as though Eddie might be crying as well, if not just a little choked up, “You’re not- I swear- You’re not useless, okay? Never have been, never will be.”

His murmured words are nice, but they fuel an unimaginable guilt. It was supposed to be a nice night. A night of movie marathons and midnight coffee, of trying to remind yourself why you still stick around. A moment of incomparable joy and sweet reprieve as your stomach ached from laughter, your cheeks swelling with an infallible grin that Eddie always seems to pull out of you.

There’s no smiling, no giggling, right now. Just his favorite band shirt from the show you two had attended a few years before, soaking with a fast-growing stain from all your tears. 

When you don’t answer him, only manage to wrap your selfish arms around his waist, he continues, “How long have you felt this way, sweetheart?”

And if you hadn’t already been shattered previously, that would have finally broken you. 

You can’t pinpoint when it started. You can’t clear the smoke of memories and find an exact moment that you can point to and say, there. That’s where the hurt starts — that’s where the rot starts. 

“I don’t know.”

In your mind, it’s a wail. Loud and ferocious, efforts of all it has taken to withstand the pressure of your undoing screamed out loud. 

But on this quiet bathroom floor, it can’t even be considered a whisper. Nothing more than the spoken words lingering from a ghost who can’t give up the haunt. An echo of a memory, an echo of the piece in you that can’t let go, not yet.

Not of existing, and not of him. Your fists hold him so firmly against you, you’re scared that you’re going to bruise him. Hurt him just from the sheer effort of trying to show that you love him. 

The only way you know how to love – a violent dog who will always bite the kindest hands. Leaving behind bloodied knuckles even if you hadn’t so much as snipped this time. 

You take a sharp breath, aware of the levity of the words you’re about to say, “I don’t want to exist anymore, but I wouldn’t even make it off the bridge if I tried.”

It’s not about the bridge anymore. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the bridge you turn to. There’s a grand metaphor somewhere in the admittance, but your mind is just too tired to try and paint a prettier picture of it for him. 

Because exist is just a placeholder. And there’s a bigger, scarier word that should stand in its place. 

He starts to break the hold, and you nearly sob out again just at that. Losing the warmth of his chest and arms strike pain somewhere deep within you, just north of the pit that’s devoured all that’s left of you. 

“Bridge?” Phrased as a clarifying question, but when you see his face, it’s clear he knows. There are no good words left to say about it, “Sweetheart, no.”

There are worse reactions to be had. More scenarios that end in slamming doors or deafening silent treatments. Realizations that you’re right and it’s not worth it – defense mechanisms that involve them leaving first. 

“I couldn’t do it, even if I want-” 

Even if I wanted to. The words you can’t speak, dying on your tongue. 

Do you want to? Where does the pain begin? And where could it end?

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he laughs humorlessly, his hands still gripping your biceps in a death hold, “You… you just…” 

He doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t blame him. You knew this was heavy; you knew this isn’t the type of bomb to drop on someone you love. 

But if you didn’t, where would the bomb have gone? You’re not equipped to detonate it. You’re not equipped to survive the explosion. You wouldn’t want to survive that explosion. 

“I’m sorry,” your words pour out, beginning to shake beneath his palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Dry, cracked lips feel as though they nearly split from the apologies. More violence, more devastation, more of what you always knew you were. You can see it in his eyes – you’re dragging him down with you, right down to the bottom of the ocean. You’re being an anchor. 

He’s all stutters and harsh breaths, panic filling the space with your own as his eyes search yours, “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize. Just-”

He cuts off and is pulling you close again. Slamming your bones into his, wrapping up around you as if he might be able to keep you safe from the world. From your own mind. 

“I don’t need apologies,” another squeeze of your closer to him, another attempt to pull you away from the dangers that lie within, “I don’t- I just… Can I help? How do I make it better? Just say the word. I’ll do it.” 

It’s not your job. That’s not your job. 

You don’t realize you’ve said the words out loud until he’s squeezing you so tightly that you now can’t breathe. Until all you are is him. All his old t-shirts he’s lent to you that hang in your closet, all the nights spent with tangled legs as you sit across from each other on your couch, all the phone calls in which he refused to be the first one to hang up. Cologne that is too cheap to be able to cling so ferociously as it does to all your surroundings, chain-smoked cigarettes you always chastise him for because they’re gonna kill you one day, the smoke of his latest blunt resting in an ashtray as his head finds home in your lap. 

All the inside jokes. All the hugs. All the simple texts, if for nothing more than to just check in on each other. The broken reminders of having someone out there that cares. That loves you. 

How can such rotten hands pull such love from others? How have you yet to infect him? 

“I know it’s not my job,” he finally says, and you know for a fact he’s crying along with you before the first of his tears have wet the crown of your head, “It’s never been a job. You’re not a job. Okay? Get that through your head. There’s- Fuck, there’s plenty of things I wanna drill in that pretty little head of yours right now, but I know I can’t, so just get that.”

He’s trying. A little trill of his tongue that falls a bit flat when he refers to your pretty little head, a brief squeeze of your shoulders as he tries to relax a little. He wants to make you feel better. He wants to make it better. 

But he’s still holding you like he’s terrified. You did that – you instilled that fear. 

“I’m a mess,” you whisper in bitter realization, ash on your tongue as you process what you’ve done. You’ve already apologized, but you’re seconds away from doing so again, “I’m- I’m a mess, and I’m dragging you into it, and I’m sor-”

“Stop being sorry.” Definitive words, no room for argument. The smallest of shifts as things click into place. He isn’t budging – he isn’t letting go, “Do you remember when I first met you?” 

You can’t tell if the question is meant to have a point, or if it’s meant to be a distraction. You let it grow into the latter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out against him, melting into his chest, trying to focus on his voice rather than the ones in your head, “But tell me about it anyway?” 

“Two years ago. Technically, two years and seven months,” he starts in the same voice he used to take on during Hellfire sessions, before the members had scattered from coast to coast and his D&D club only became a rarity when the stars aligned. There’s still a crack to his voice from his tears, but that doesn’t stop him, “We were in some cursed fucking diner we don’t even go to anymore, in the dead of the night, and all the servers knew your name and order,” he paints the picture with a humor that should feel out of place, but it settles some of your breathing. Omitting all the vivid details, opting for triggering the memory with words you’d just get. You can feel the stick of the plastic beneath your thighs, you can smell the grease of the kitchen. You can see the cloudy night out of the oversized windows. He’s a natural born storyteller in the most subtle of ways, always knowing his audience, “You were sitting all alone in that booth, and all of Hellfire had just left. Gareth had just told us how he was going to college in California – did you know that?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Well, he did,” his chin presses against the top of your head, a huff of a laugh escaping him, “Dropped the bomb it was our last summer as a club probably. We were happy for him, though. Real fucking happy. Got milkshakes to celebrate and made plans to get drunk off our asses the next night to keep the party going. It was dumb, and I’m getting off track, but…” 

Baited breath, you’re waiting for him to continue. No thoughts of the bridge. No thoughts of your failures. Living in a small memory with him on the floor of your bathroom. 

“Anyways, you were sitting there all alone, with a plate of fries and ranch.” 

“Oh, God,” your nose scrunches and you try to pull away, suddenly remembering how embarrassing this memory ends for you. It suddenly didn’t seem like the best way for him to make you feel better by any means, “No, I remember how this story ends, and-”

“I’m not done,” he locks his arms around you, and you can feel the whisper of a smile as it brushes against your temple, “Obviously you know where I’m going with this, but I’m not done, sweetheart. Because all the other guys had just left, and I’m sitting there, realizing the only other customer was some random person over across the diner, scribbling away in some notebook. Thought you looked cute when you were all focused like that, y’know? But then you were so focused that it became distracted, and you spilled that ranch all over yours-” 

“Please, stop.”

You’re laughing through the words, weakly, the air of desperation in the word please being far different from earlier in the night. No bridges, no failures. 

“I was probably being a weirdo, trying to run over and help you or whatever the fuck I was trying to do. I probably made it worse, right?” 

You’re there, remembering a version of Eddie that was a stranger, taking napkins to the knees of your jeans and smearing the ranch rather than really helping you clean it up. “Yeah, just a little bit.” 

“Sorry for that, by the way,” he airily apologizes before continuing, “But I just remember thinking about how focused you were on that notebook. And how you laughed with the waiter. And how you were just… lost in your own little world. And how you were so cute. You were so nice. The type of person I wanted in my life. Took one look at you with that ranch all over your lap and thought, huh. I want to get to know that person.” 

“Nice? I was not nice, I was-” you cut off, heart all but stopping as you recognize the point of it all. It wasn’t meant to just be a distraction. He was making a point. “I was a… a mess that day.” 

“Exactly.”

He pulls away again, and this time, it’s a little easier. The world has put a pause on its ending and you can handle the weight of his arms lightening for a few seconds, just so he can get a good look at your face. 

“You were a mess the day that I met you, and I still wanted you in my life,” he says each word deliberately, not breaking eye contact. Fear has broken through to determination. “And even if you’re still a mess today, I still want you. Nothing changes. You get that?” 

No bridges.

No failures.

The weight of it all had been heavy. The type of sorrow you thought was never meant to be carried by more than your own two hands. But he had taken it in his palms, lifted it from you entirely, even if it would only be temporary. One day you’d have to endure the pain again, get to the root of the problem. Figure out if all your ailments had been something wired into you since birth, or things you’d picked up along your way. But for now, you could breathe again. You could hear the drumming of your heart in your ears, and you could hear every single one of both yours and Eddie’s breaths in the silence, and that was enough. 

“I don’t want to die,” you finally quietly admit. Saying one of the bigger, scarier words. The thing you’d been too afraid to let slip off your tongue originally. “I just- sometimes it all gets a bit loud, you know? And I know you said don’t apologize, but I am sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that you have to take the bad to also get that little bit of the good with me.” 

His hand leaves one of your arms for the first time since he’d first wrapped you up, and it finds its way to cradle the side of your head. Holding you as if you’re porcelain still. You know that won’t go away, not tonight. “I’d rather have your bad days than have nothing at all,” he chokes up once more, and you can see tears threatening to welt in his eyes, “You get that, too. Alright? You’re worth it. Bad, good, funny, sad – give it to me. I’m asking for it. Just don’t… don’t leave me with the nothing.”

You’re worth it. 

He’s found a worth in you attached to nothing at all. He’s sitting here with you, on the bathroom floor, and his perception of you has nothing to do with what you can only offer. 

It just has to do with you. He sees you, and he’s decided you’re worth it. Even now.

He smiles softly, as if he can see the realization dawning upon you, “You wanna get up off the floor now? We can go sit on your couch or bed or something.” 

You’re quick to shake your head. Your knees are partially digging into his thighs, your breaths are matching his. 

“Okay,” his face falls slightly, but not entirely. Not entirely, “That’s okay. Do you want me…. Do you want me to go?” 

Another shake of your head. But this time, you need to offer more than just the motion of your head, especially when you can feel tears returning as your throat tightens up, “No. No, just- Stay with me? Please?” 

Your hands reach out without you even processing it, gripping his wrists, desperate and clinging and still verging on the edge of violent. The thought of being alone is terrifying, but the thought of having to watch him walk out of this room is even more petrifying. 

He doesn’t even flinch as you sink your claws in. His smile only returns, and he shuffles to pull you both to hold your backs up against the wall across from the toilet, “Of course. I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere – wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

His words shake just a little less than they had when he’d first entered the room. 

He can’t fix it all magically. That isn’t his job, isn’t his role, isn’t his choice. But he can sit here with you, on the floor of the bathroom, endlessly patient and tragically caring as he urges you to lay down. He stretches his legs out and pats his lap once before hovering his hands over your shoulder, guiding you until your temple is flush with his thigh. 

He can choose to not hesitate as his fingers immediately push through the baby hairs by your temple, a soft hum in the back of his throat that sounds exactly as you feel.

Hesitantly content. Just for now. It’s enough. 

The storm is receding. As hours pass by, and noises of uncertainty become more confident hums of a song you faintly recognize, it all settles. He stays. You stay. The storm passes for the time being, and the hole tempers itself for just the night. 

It’s enough for now. You’ll worry more tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. You’ll talk more about why you feel this way, and he’ll offer better solutions. The weight won’t simply be passed into his waiting hands and forgotten – one day, you’ll find a way to lighten it through dissipation rather than through catastrophe. 

One day, the seas will calm, and you’ll find yourself the ship rather than the anchor. 

And the captain can be the boy who sits on the floor with you through the sadness, content to wait out the storms with you until you find the worth he sees in you.

[moodymisty]

Ugh. I promised myself I wasn't going to spam you, but I just read your post about closing requests soon, and I wanted to get one more in. I swear I won't get impatient, though! Absolutely take all the time you need!

Every so often I go back and re-read your old fics (because they're awesome) and I just finished the one about the serf willingly giving their blood to a Lamenter. What about a fic where a fem-serf is able to bring her Lamenter lover out of the Black Rage?

Put in as much angst (and/or spiciness) as you like, as long as the two end up alive, together, and hopeful at the end. I just need something to go RIGHT for those poor, sweet boys.

Thank you so much!

Author's Note: Technically you can't pull an astartes out of the Black Rage, but I'm sure we could temper it before he completely loses himself ;3 This came out like, happy sad and fluffy. I hope you like.

Relationships: Theo (Lamenter oc)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

A booming voice rips through the massive room, where the baseline humans aboard the Lamenters ship are eating. A few marines are eating too, forgoing the traditional time to enjoy a meal with baseline humans they perhaps consider friends.

"Where is Theo's girl?!"

The voice rips through the room, everyone turning to look his way.

He is with one other astartes, who looks just as concerned as he is. They both scan the room, the air itself having dropped into silence at the yells of an Angel.

"The girl! The serf who is always with Lieutenent Theo! Where is she!?"

You're that girl.

You wonder why they want you, why they are screaming; Astartes voices are so ungodly loud, you look at them as your throat tightens. You couldn’t be in trouble?

“…I'm her!"

You eventually say, the people beside you watching as you raise from your seat. They look worried, like your days are numbered, but you doubt the Lamenters would kill you so easily. It's not as if you've done anything wrong; Unless your relationship with Theo was worthy of such a corporal punishment. You pray that won’t be the case.

"Come with us!"

You follow, attempting to keep up with them as they barrel down the hall. Your heart burns from your tired breathing, as you hurry after them.

"Tell me, do you know of the Black Rage?"

One quickly says, grabbing your arm to nearly drag you along when you begin to slow. It hurts, but he's being gentle enough that it doesn't hurt badly enough to complain.

"Yes, Theo has told me."

The astartes nods as you all turn a corner.

"He is loosing himself to it. He is not fully gone yet but he is yelling our primarch's name; Yours as well," He continues. "We are guessing that if you're there, we might pull him out of it before it's too late."

You all eventually reach where ever Theo is, as the astartes here are piled up at the ready near the entrance.

"What happens if this doesn't work?"

You say- though you know the answer. If they put down men fallen to the Red Thirst, you don't imagine it is very much different with the Black Rage.

"He would get the Emperor's Mercy. It is all we can give him if he is lost.”

The thought of Theo being gone backs your chest tighten, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You can’t lose him. Not to something like this.

"Come in, we have him restrained but, we aren't going to keep him like this for long. He deserves mercy if we cannot pull him back.”

You follow them in, and you instantly you hear it; The screaming.

"Horus! I will tear you to shreds! Don't touch them! Don't touch any of them!"

Theo is chained on his knees to the floor, ripping and pulling at the chains with every bit of his strength. He is an older, stronger Lamenter, the chains are creaking and groaning with each tug as the threaten to give under his raw strength. A few Lamenters are posted around the small room with bolters ready, fingers on the trigger.

"Theo?"

You quietly say to him, and the one astartes who had dragged you hear lets your aching arm go. Theo's attention instantly snaps to you, but it's almost as if he's looking through you.

"You're here? How are you? You have to leave! It is not safe here I must-"

You shake your head and come closer, despite the mutters of the other Lamenters not to. They want to keep your safety in mind next to an enraged, massive Lamenter, but even in your dizzying fear of him you just want to help him. You quell your shaking and move to him.

"Theo, don't look at them, look at me."

He's seeing ghosts in his brothers, his eyes are trained on them like enemies. Each movement they make pulls him away from you, and any calmness you give him is ruined at the sound of another Lamenter even just shifting in his armor.

"Can you all, can you all leave for a moment? He thinks you're the enemy." The look among each other, and debate it.

"Very well."

They move to leave, and you hear the door close behind them once they all file out. The door locks, and you're trapped in here with him. If anything goes wrong, you’re the first in his path.

"Theo, see? They're all gone."

His eyes are frantic, dark- they scan the room looking for enemies you can't see. You hear him muttering names under his breath you don’t recognize, besides the Angel Sanguinus.

Horus, he’s going to kill Horus,

"It's just me and you, like the last time you returned from duty and we had that time alone in your quarters?"

You hear his hearts racing you swear, and you can tell he's still half in that illusion the Rage is trapping him in. He shakes his head, wrinkled brow furrowing.

"I remember, I remember."

His eyes dart behind you and you quickly move to try and block whatever he thinks he sees. It works; You see him squeeze his eyes shut.

"He's not there. Nothing is there." You put a hand to his face.

"There's nothing here but me, Theo."

He takes a few more deep breaths, and you see the glaze on his face- that distant look - slowly fade away.

"You are here. When did you get here?" You laugh.

"Your brothers ran to get me when they saw you were succumbing to the Rage. They hoped I would be able to help."

He can't touch you with his hands chained towards the ground, but he can lean forward and let you put his forehead to your neck.

"You did help. I don't remember any of this day; I was about to be completely lost, wasn't I."

You pull back and nod at him. You push a hand over your eyes to wipe away any tears before they fall down your face.

"You were acting like your brothers were enemies." He hangs his head- not moments after being pulled from the brink of true insanity and he is already admonishing himself.

"You put yourself in danger to pull me from my own weakness. Why?"

Why wouldn't you? He is the light of your life, Theo is your entire world. You couldn't imagine a life without him.

"Because I wanted to." You give him a kiss to the scar on his nose.

"Can your brothers come and unchain you?" He nods, before yelling.

"Brothers. I am here. I can... I can be unchained."

They return, looking at Theo with no small bit of surprise. Even the one who dragged you here in a last ditch effort seemed shocked.

"You managed to pull him back from the Rage? I didn't think it would work." It didn't seem like many of them did. Though you suppose you can't be surprised. You don’t know if anyone has ever managed to delay the Black Rage.

They move to unchain him, and quickly he picks you up and holds you close to his chest. It’s a bit too tight pressed against cold ceramite, but you have zero desire to tell him that.

"Go get unarmored, Lieutenant Theo. Then perhaps today you have earned some rest." The captain looks to you, bundled in his arms.

"Your serf too. She helped us save a good brother."

Theo takes you with him to remove his armor, a deed you have never seen done before. You watch as each piece is pulled away one at a time, until the is only left in his black armoring suit. He removes that too, before covering his bare skin with a robe.

Once he is finished he picks you back up, and silently carries you to his quarters.

When you get there, he places you on the cot he calls his bed and climbs into it with you, dragging you around until you are firmly against his chest and unable to escape.

"I have no ways to say how much I am in debt to you. You have saved me from the Thirst an uncountable number of times, and now the Rage," You shake your head against his chest.

"Don't worry. I do it all because I love you. I’ll do it again, if you need me to.”

The metal of his interface ports digs into your skin, but you couldn't care less.

"I love you as well."

[swordsmans]

do you have any zolu fic recs? 🤔

oh boy do i.

my deepest apologies to others who have asked and only gotten "i promise i'll make a post!!" in response. now... here is my list! 36+ fics, including a few series i'm counting as "single" recs, (+3 not counted).

Spin a Yarn by SrirachaBunny

technically a series, this is a time travel fix-it that has expanded outward from its original premise over the years but is still very much THE zolu fix-it of all time.

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?”

Devotion by BasicallyACat

two part canon compliant series that lives rent-free in my mind. this is my go-to "must read for new zolu fans" fic

without guilt by Augment

Luffy hungers, Zoro thirsts. (+ bonus honorable mention to "But Patience Boasts", which is the sanji-pov portion of this fic and is one of my faves of all time)

got all my attention fixed on you (and you're just where you said you'd be) by nevermordor

Luffy looks again at the bitemarks that he left on Zoro’s wrist. Zoro’s usually hurt, one way or another. Sometimes it’s definitely been Luffy’s fault too, but the bitemarks feel different. (honestly, just read all of nevermordor's fics; they are a fave of all time)

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

tidings of war, tidings of joy by queerweather

Zoro is drenched in sweat already, but at least with his haki holding Luffy’s at bay he isn’t suffocating. And Luffy, damn him, looks completely unruffled.

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha

Because before the Pirate King and the World's Greatest Swordsman there were two lost boys in East Blue. How people grow and promises change. (Zoro finds the color of his devotion.)

Fate and death are made in pairs by demonsLOver

"It's not because of his power or skill. He makes enemies and allies fight for his side. Among all the men of the sea, he has the most frightening ability." Mihawk stated to his pupil. (+ honorable mention to "Forged By Fire" as well)

our shores of starlight (come sailing in) by kurgaya

At Shells Town, Luffy does not meet Roronoa Zoro. Instead, he acquires a sword.

let me carry your scars by arkhamsjason

What Zoro didn't expect, as he made himself comfortable, as so many night before, to keep watch along with Luffy, was that he'd finally have the chance to know what his captain's ruined chest would feel like beneath his calloused hand and guilt filled heart.

and i will learn for you by blueacorn

Zoro will begin to realise that there are other ways to protect.

ship to wreck. by thychesters

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising. (+ honorable mention to "the salt & the sea.", a reincarnation AU!)

unspeakable love by gadgetronic

A character study with a focus on Zoro that explores promises, sacrifices, beginnings, and devotion.

Precipice of a Change by xpiester333x

Zoro stood there. He was on the precipice of something. One wrong move would send him over the edge into an unknown. He needed to step back, but his feet were locked and frozen on spot. (one of the few AUs to make this list! the characterization here is SPOT ON!)

First Mate, Soulmate by kkuroshii

Fighting with Luffy comes as easy as breathing to Zoro, and he can’t help but wonder what accomplishing his dream with this boy would be like

Robin Knows by leopardgeckoz

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

with this heart of mine that's guilty; (not remorseful) by phosphenical

It had been two weeks, four days, and twenty-something odd hours since Zoro died. (WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD/HEAVY ANGST)

thank you. / goodbye. by Kenshi

WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD; short and... not "sweet", exactly; the style of this one does nice things to my brain

Blood Song by blue_wonderer

There's nothing to scream about because nothing happened.

blood-spitting loyalty by guiltylights

One day, you’re going to find something worth more to you than your own pride.

axiomatic by grainjew

Reflections on Zoro's devotion.

Providence by taizi

"You know, Zoro," he says, "I broke my end of that deal." 'If you ever come between me and my dream—' Ah, but then, "So did I."

Mutiny by VIKAN

Zoro disobeys a Captain's Order and it's all Sanji's fault. (not strictly ZoLu in the romantic sense, but this fic is a masterclass in both tension-building and how to write an in-character ZoLu argument)

something happened by torkz

Things are changing fast, and Zoro doesn't want to walk into the future with any secrets from his Captain.

Recognition by VickyVicarious

Zoro on titles, dreams, and Luffy. (old-school)

In the Blink of an Eye by InsaneMelon/Acewithapaintbrush

honorable mention to another old-school oneshot from FFnet UPDATE!! this has been re-written and the link has been updated.

Coming Home by thricepiercedpirate

What begins as a happy reunion, because everyone is accounted for and more-or-less in one piece, unexpectedly turns awkward as hell… (the only explicit entry on this list, but i'd be remiss if i did not include the fic that introduced/converted me to ZoLu for life back at the dawn of time... thanks from past-gyro, we wouldn't be here without you, dude.)

Stakes by CaptainJojo

Zoro has a good grasp of what fights are- and are not- worth his time. Or: Zoro gets lost and gets in one (1) fight about it.

Like a Dawning by WhirlyBird70

I am the man who will be King of the Pirates, Luffy said, says, and it’s not a promise but a will, and Zoro knows – knows that of anyone Zoro has ever seen, Luffy is the one to have the Haki of the Conquering King.

invisible threads that bind us by Pure_Night_Fury

Yin and Yang some people would say. Soulmates, others would mention. Or: Nami meets two idiots.

greed by species_baby

Something about his self-assuredness, his conviction makes Zoro dizzy. Although, that could also be the starvation.

Smile, Darn Ya, Smile by sciencemyfiction

Wouldn’t it be fucked up if Zoro was made to eat a smile fruit? And what would Luffy and the other Straw Hats do to help him?

Also, I'm including a shameless and horribly self-indulgent plug for my own stuff, because this is a ZoLu rec list and hey! I write that! lol

poly philtatos (the most loved by far) by swordsmans

25k; Zoro protects the crew and his Captain, and does not realize they will go to the ends of the earth to protect him, too.

ocean theology by swordsmans

40k; canon-compliant enma-asura/nika reincarnation. kinda.

the sea makes bones of bodies by swordsmans

88k; Only one is a monster, but both are a little monstrous. mafia hitman/underground fight club champion/reincarnated moon god x merman/legendary sea monster/reincarnated sun god AU. my magnum opus, probably.

[stygiovictoria]

Hi! Can you tell us more about what’s going on in your roleswap au? I love the composition!

hello! so sorry if this is really late, i'm assuming you mean the most recent version!

put simply our au only swaps out the roles of zuko and azula, so technically it's not a full roleswap, but... who cares! not me! anywho.

i'll explain what we have so far in chronological order — so everything before the series stays pretty much the same up until zuko and ozai's agni kai. somehow ozaiheard through the grapevine that the dai li were capable of controlling minds, so he contacts them, and says pretty much, “the fire nation won't make a second invasion attempt on you guys if you give us your mind control tech.”

the dai li readily agree, and ozai uses their tech to convince zuko of the following while he's in bedrest instead of banishing him:

1. ursa was the bad parent, ozai has always been caring and loving toward him, and ursa had to leave because she was so cruel

2. zuko got his scar from a training accident

3. the fire nation was working for the good of the world the whole time, none of what they do is unjust in anyway, they're just trying to save everyone

Ozai keeps zuko stuck at home so that nobody is able to show the truth to him (though he tells zuko he can't go outside because he's very sick and weak), and puts up a front of being a loving and caring father to better manipulate him. because zuko no longer holds doubts about himself in his mind and has been so heavily brainwashed by ozai, he becomes a much better firebender, and slowly falls into the same manipulative, crazy habits that azula has.

azula is then pushed off to the sidelines because of this, and feels very unseen. This makes her start to resent ozai and zuko and want to overthrow them, so she remains selfish and working for the fire nation at first.

Zhao is who ends up getting sent to find the avatar, but after he escapes Pohuai stronghold, ozai sends azula and iroh to go find him in his stead to “make use of them”. this is how she ends up taking the role of zuko.

azula ends up failing and turning at the siege of the north just as zuko did, so ozai lets zuko go with a ship full of people to “take care of” (monitor and continue brainwashing + worship) him. zuko so genuinely believes that he's working for the good of the world here and wants to make everyone friends with him, but as time goes on, his frustration and small memories of his past grow, and his behavior becomes more unhinged.

we have been working on this au together for a while, but it's not fully fleshed out yet, so that's all i can say for certain (+ no spoilers unless we create a fic or anything in the future!)

pls remember my best friend has been helping me a lot with this! her account is @dimlylitsmalltown, she mainly only reblogs, but if you get the chance go show her some love guys!

[olderthannetfic]

I'll be honest i have a lot of……..activism burnout? ok, that's not a good word to use in this context, but I have 'whatever the less serious version of that is', in regards to AI.

Like, I'm not saying AI is good or that I enjoy seeing it or that I'd use it for fandom stuff. But this whole paranoia about it is just….i dont care. And I know that I should. And I DO I care, I guess, in some ways, but this whole "OMG AI IS EVERYWHERE" "AI IS KILLING FANART" "THIS FIC SOUNDS LIKE AI" (which can be used as both an accusation and also as criticism).

like, sorry, i genuinely do not care that there's AI art on pinterest or that there's an AI fic in a ship tag or that Kids These Days use character.ai as opposed to talking to real people. (with a caveat of "if AI is banned on pinterest/ao3, yeah, you have the right to bring up that specific factor." i ALSO don't like it when AI users give themselves more credit than they deserve, by saying like "omg look at this art i made with AI" no bestie you did not in fact make that art.) but this whole thing where people are weirdly obsessed with loving to hate AI is just exhausting and it really makes me not care.

it really isn’t that deep and it's not a topic i give a fuck about it (i say after having just written several sentences on the matter). like i dont like ai art and i really really dont like fucking AI chatbots on technical support websites or whatever, but also i dont think the world is gonna end because someone had chatgpt write them a story or a recipe or a cover letter or something like that.

i get that AI is annoying and that 99.99% of the time anything made by AI is gonna be dogshit compared to something a human made and that it can be very disappointing to see AI after AI in a tag or something but also the asshole part of me is like. 'oh, you hate ai? you think it's killing fandom culture? awesome, great, should we throw a party? should we invite nikola tesla?'

i think part of why ai wank pisses me off so much is cuz its everywhere, as its the hot new topic, and i'm aware that there is a lot of hilarity in me contributing to this argument especially considering my opinion is very much the unpopular one that people will not like, but even with blocking words like "ai" or "gpt" or whatever it's impossible to fully avoid cuz opinions will still slip through the cracks somewhere, or show up on a website where you can't filter, or some rando is always gonna be talking about it in offline settings or whatever, and it's all in the news, and i'm just tired of hearing about it constantly.

--

[bolithesenate]

I have. So many questions about your version of Tarre but I will try to keep it short

How did the Mando's react when they found out that he was a Jedi?

How did his first Jedi Master die?

Did Tarre manage to finish the tapestry (the one he was trying to finish before the meeting) before the due date or?

Did Tarre one day look up and ask his close circle of Mandos if he was the Mando'alor and said circle had to awkwardly tell him he had been the Mando'alor for a while and they were technically his advisors?

HOW was your Tarre adopted by the Jedi - assuming he has always been a Mando even if he did practice much of the culture? Did he accidentally run away as a toddler and end up in a cargo ship across the galaxy in enemy zone? Did he accidentally set fire at 3 separate houses in the Vizsla Clan and they decided to set him against the Jedi (and did it work even if only for a temple)? Tell me pleaseeee

Also sorry if this is stupid I assume that Tarre has always been a Mando or is he a convert (and if so was it via the god haunting him or was it after he went on the self-imposed exile while everyone thought he was dead)? I'm asking this to make sure I understood everything correctly

okay okay okay. well, let me preface this with saying that I am 1) INCREDIBLY stoked to see someone as invested in cringefail jedi Tarre as I am and 2) I have an incredibly detailed account of Tarre's life in my mind (that I might one day write down in fic form) so you don't know the beast you just unleashed

how did the Mandos react when they found out he was a Jedi?

well, it depends a bit on which Mando. the guy that for a while was his Alor and then became his second in command figured it out on his own after Tarre was a bit too weird about certain things for a bit too long. He mainly was put out that Tarre never trusted him enough to tell him (even tho Tarre himself probably assumed he'd just left the jedi order at that point). Also, it explained just a lot of the general weirdness of the guy, so if anything it cleared things up.

The rest of their inner circle figured it out some time afterward when Fay just appeared in the middle of their dining room, calling him out on his bullshit. I think they were too mortified to see her immediately do a 180° and start a custody war with a literal force-deity to react, really. And again, Tarre being a Jedi explained more questions than it raised (at that point he'd had probably a literal decade of raking up a history of being That Weird Guy TM)

And the rest of Mandalore's populace... I genuinely think many of them might never have known? At least not during their or Tarre's lifetime?

There might have been rumors, sure, but again, Tarre had already collected a lot of weird ass rumors about him by that time, so it kinda was just another one of those? At least this version of Tarre never went out and proclaimed he was a Jedi in some grand sort way. He was way too busy for that. Which I think would explain quite nicely how all subsequent generations of Mandalorians seem to put all emphasis on Tarre being Mand'alor and never really seem to mention his ties to the Order.

2. How did his first Master die?

His first Master, a rodian crèchemaster named Yuumba Doksa, died on a mission where they were supposed to investigate a sudden epidemic amongst settlers on a newly colonized planet. It turned out to be a bioengineered virus commissioned by the Sith, and despite the Force, Tarre had to watch his Master die before an effective treatment could be found. He himself also got infected with it, but because his genetic material was such a wild blend of things, his immune system was a lot more resistent to the virus.

3. Did Tarre finish the tapestry before the meeting?

No.

In retaliation, he just took his loom to all subsequent ones. That was the first in a long list of Weird Things He Just Does I Guess.

4. Did they have to tell him that?

Of course they did.

Actually, and this is getting down into the nitty gritty of my personal headcanons and worldbuilding around Tarre Vizsla, "Tarre Vizsla" started off as two people: Tarre on one side and Marek Vizsla (his alor-turned-second-in-command) on the other. Through a bit of a miscommunication at some point, the spokesperson persona the both were operating under got the name Tarre Vizsla, even though Tarre at that point wasn't a member of aliit Vizsla. House Vizsla yes, but not the Clan. That came later.

So for way too long Tarre just assumed that all these things they were doing, he was doing under a shared name, sure, but they still were two people and Marek was the higher ranking one of them, so naturally he was the one the Mand'alor title actually belonged to.

Until they all had to tell him that 'no, you idiot, you are the one doing all the work here, it's your position. Marek is just here to yell at people and, if necessary, shoot them.'

5. & 6. I'll have to answer together because they share a lot of commonalities

I'm firmly in camp 'Tarre was a convert' (in the end) (kinda).

It's quite possible that one of his parents was a Mando, simply because of the smoothie blend that his genetic are, but they were not around to make decisions when he first exhibited Force powers. So he went through a normal(ish) jedi childhood (minus the truly being bad at jedi-ing) until he went to ilum and came back with an old god as his saber.

But since this was the old republic and things generally were a lot stranger back then, no one - Tarre included (plus, he still was a child back then u know) - really questioned it. Tarre just was one of those Jedi with a weird colored lightsaber. Happens from time to time, right?

(as for why Kad Ha'rangir chose Tarre... who knows what the gods think, right? especially a god that literally is change. The Force works in mysterious ways)

Him properly becoming a Mandalorian was.... well, who can say when exactly it happened. Maybe he was one from birth, just 'temporarily misplaced' due to external circumstances, maybe he became one when a mandalorian god called dibs on him, maybe it happened when an old weaver lady whose backyard he crashed his shuttle in also called dibs of her own, or it's possible it happened when he got his first set of beskar'gam, or when he officially became mand'alor, or when he properly got adopted into Clan Vizsla or perhaps even at some other, small junction of his truly strange life.

Or maybe it never really happened at all? Who knows. I don't think anyone ever made him swear to the resol'nare (if that even existed in that form back then), they just looked at him and said 'yes, this is what peak mandalorian-ness looks like' o(￣▽￣)👍

(half of them were looking at Marek when they said that. that's why the statues look nothing like Tarre)

And I think if you had asked Tarre at the end of his life what he was, he genuinely might have answered with "a Jedi"? Because that's still the thing he grew up with and he only (temporarily) fled from it due to of his own anxieties. Like. All the work he did on Mandalore was because of the things he learned as a Jedi - to help where he can and strive to make a better galaxy for the people around him.

It just so happened that the people around him technically were the Order's mortal enemies.

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

New Hozier music got me in my TFA Megop feels. Here's part of a fic I'm working on. I did not spellcheck this at all so if you see any grammar errors, no you didn't. Full version coming soon!

💜💜💜

There are few things Optimus is sure of in such odd times. 

One of them is that he can be too much for some bots. 

Not as a leader, no, he had long since seen his ability and potential as a leader flourish and be solidified before his optics. He means more in the interpersonal sense. 

Sure, friends were easy to have. It was easy to sit back and chat with various bots and have a drink with them. Humans were shockingly easy to connect to, even more so now that he spent so much time on Earth and became more acquainted with their culture. 

Even cons were easy to befriend, usually connecting through shared complaints over the Autobots High Council or, more often than not, complaining about Sentinel being a pain in the aft. 

No, it was the deeper, romantic relationships that he struggled with. 

He had dated some during the Academy, but it always fell apart. The most common critiques were that he was “too much” in all sorts of ways. Too attached yet too distant. Prioritized his training over others too often. Too strong a sense of justice and too passionate. 

After expulsion, he shoved all that behind him. After all, if those flaws ended a relationship when he was a Prime candidate, they would surely kill even the prospect of such a thing being a Prime only in name and never in true meaning. 

Then he had called a temporary ceasefire with the Decepticons to help Earth with their Quintesson problem and things got complicated. 

When he wasn’t zipping around a battlefield or stuck in endless meetings, he was passed out in his berth. Even the few small snippets of free time he got he was technically busy. So finding a relationship wasn’t on his radar. 

And there was the larger issue of the odd way his spark jumped around the last mech he should be having any romantic thoughts about. 

He’s not a stranger to attraction, not at all. Which is why, the first time his chest tightens around Megatron, he nearly runs out of the room. 

They’d been in a meeting, Optimus fully zoned out, nursing his cube of warm energon. They’d been up all night chasing Quintesson ships out of Earth’s atmosphere and just his luck Sentinel wanted a video call right as they arrived back on their temporary Earth base. A smattering of other bots and cons sat in the meeting room but he largely ignored them. 

The cube in his servos was so blessedly warm. The energon contained within it was more bitter than what he was used to, having been farmed and processed from the energon crystals popping up across Detroit. But its taste was richer and more complex, like the essence of the ground it sprung out of lingered in its molecular structure. It was quite nice in his opinion. 

He was thinking of his berth and the recharge he would be getting when he snapped back to attention at the mention of his name. 

“Sorry Sentinel Prime, could you repeat that?” he asks. He didn’t catch the words but he caught the tone and knew it wouldn’t be good. 

Sentinel huffs and crosses his arms. The video feed lags behind the audio by a few meager clicks. “I said, we wouldn’t have to be worrying about this whole mess if you could actually do your job and eradicate the Quintessons already! But you charged ahead without Council permission and made a deal with that backwater planet and now we’re stuck putting time, credits, and energon into a mess that wasn’t even ours to begin with!” 

Optimus sits up straight. “First and foremost, we are not wasting energon nor credits on protecting this planet. Need I remind you the only reason Earth is being attacked by the Quintessons at all is due to the energon crystals bursting out of the ground. The deal is that if we defend Earth and eliminate the threat, all energon would be split equally between the Autobot and Decepticon armies. Even taking into account only getting half of the energon crystals, we have seen an increase in credits and do not need energon imports as we process everything here.” 

Sentinel opened his mouth to argue and Optimus continued. “Secondly, I went ahead without Council permission because it was an emergency and as the temporary appointed Magnus I had every right to send forces to Earth. Alongside that, I did not send all of our forces, which I could have done, but didn’t because I knew if I did, it was likely Quintessons would take advantage of an unprotected Cybertron and attack. I sent myself and a small portion of forces to defend a planet we have ties to. And finally, if you would use your processor and think for even a milliclick, you’d understand that sudden Quintesson interest in energon is a sign of something bad happening in the future. They have largely used other forms of fuel and energy sources, but considering energon is highly concentrated and the primary agent in most intergalactic combat weapons, whatever they want it for cannot be good.” 

Sentinel is clearly angry but desperately trying to hold it in. His arms are crossed and his optics wide but his mouth is shut tightly. Everyone around Optimus has gone silent but he doesn’t even bother looking at them. He misses how Bulkhead and Bumblebee share an excited smile at seeing Sentinel getting chewed out, the proud smug grin on Ratchet’s face, and how Lugnut mouths wow at Strika who just nods enthusiastically in agreement. 

And he most certainly misses the look Megatron sends his way. If he had seen it, he would likely call the expression a mix between fondness, infatuation, and wonder. 

[master-jarrus]

Okay so headcanons I had that I kind of assumed they were at least known across the fandom but just learned they were not

A good chunk of these are from fanfics I read back in like 2016-2017 when I first got fanfic and I haven't been able to find those fics to reference them

Misako married Garmadon for career reasons.

Like yes she does genuinely like him but this woman had two GODS fighting over her, she probably had her choice of suitors and went with Garmadon because he would let her have a career and his family being so old and her being an archeologist. She would have to be stupid to pass that up

Lloyd was an oops baby

Also he was a miracle baby

I don't think Misako and Garmadon thought children were a good idea, like they wanted them but with the GD venom and Misako's career they didn't want to bring a child into that

Misako had been pregnant a few times but always miscarried

(This leads into my hc that Garmadon went after the golden weapons because Lloyd was sick as a baby but I didn't assume that was across the fandom so it's not technically included)

While Ray and Wu were closer Garmadon and Ray were actually friends and if Misako hadn't existed Garmadon would've been a weird uncle/3rd parent to Nya and Kai

I remember people shipping Garmadon and Ray and then in the same breath they'd ship Garmadon and Clouse (nothing wrong with multishipping I'm just trying to empathize that I remember it being popular)

Garmadon was actually really popular with the elemental alliance but the friendships started when he was at least tipsy or drunk

He just didn't know how to people and used alcohol to cope but it affected him once in battle and quit drinking that day

Garmadon and Morro either didn't meet

OR

Garmadon met Morro right after he got back from Chen and adored him

It scared him a little to see Morro want the greatness the Garmadon also craved but since Morro wanted to be the Green Ninja Garmadon encouraged him on that path thinking it would've saved him

He regrets that greatly

That's all I can think of for now

Yes they are all about Garmadon because he has always been my favorite character

[rochenn]

ohh hello there 🍈+ 🫐

Eyyy thank you! :D

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

Am I supposed to choose just one blorber? Cruel, but also LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

Dooku. Man. To get some technical stuff out of the way, I think he has a castle in the Serennian hills that isn't an egg-shaped chrome dome. A *really* nice one made of painted stones and wood. Old. Full of portraits of his ancestors and with a stupid whimsical garden that has only become more whimsical ever since he stopped hiring people to trim it. I also think he has a room full of traditional swords in there. Steel blades, all types of lengths and edges, and he knows how to wield each and every one of them to perfection. That room has been collecting dust for a while, though. It comes up in Gone with the Light and I'm VERY excited to write that segment! Hehe

And I just love his inner world - or lack thereof. Old fuck in a castle who can't seem to keep anyone around for one reason or another, but he never makes himself acknowledge the pattern that's so obviously there. His internal monologue is so tasty to write, partially because he's his only hypeman, and also because he has no idea who he is unless he forces himself into the Sith grindset. That way, he doesn't have to think about all the painful stuff so much. Between the genuine revolutionary intent of his younger days, his Jedi upbringing of even younger ones and his present holding on to Sith teachings for dear life, he is lost. There is so much MEAT to him and whatever the hell is going on inside that thick skull man <3 The loneliness and denial always comes up in some way

Also, a more basic headcanon: he's a BIG eater. That body needs a lot of energy even in his old age, considering its dimensions and what he does with it. Back when Qui-Gon hit his growth spurt they could hit a pantry the way the locusts hit the fields of Egypt - in contrast, Dooku deliberately under-eats in official company. Diplomatic dinners, long-winded negotiation meetings, the days he inevitably has to spend with Sidious, you name it. The Republic has an abundance of overly indulgent Senators and Count Dooku, leader of the Confederacy, very much does not want a reputation like Orn Free Taa's. Whenever we see him in canon there's a 50/50 chance of him being hungry as fuck (I am convinced of this because it amuses me greatly)

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

DEFINITELY the Dooku & Asajj dynamic! It's the sort of juicy but under-developed part of canon that you'd expect to have a couple hundred fics, and among them some of those lifechanging longfics. You know the type. But tragedy strikes... we're not getting that for these two. There's barely anything. I am planning to rectify that because they make me insane and I need to drag more people into the insanity pit with me until the numbers add up. I swear I'm already following every single person who has ever been unwell about them in the character tags augh

Thank you for the ask! <3

[chaifootsteps]

You know I want to love Fizzmodeus/Fizzarozzie They're the ship that lead to me creating two OCs of mine that I really love dearly However... idk what it is about the state of the shipping now but outside of certain scenes it... irks me I feel like it went from "two snide mean assholes with the more aggressive/meaner "smaller" partner finally being seen as an equal by someone larger and technically more powerful individual that he can be more honest around"

To basically a glorified sugar daddy/sugary baby relationship that adheres to the stereotypical gay effeminate man is a small nice uwu baby bean that is sometimes sassy needs to be to be protected by his big stronk pan/bi manly man that calls him babydoll and buys expensive shit for him And idk It just sucks out what little magic this ship had for me Its the only ship that actually made me feel giddy and happy like a stereotypical tumblr shipper But now... it feels void, empty, meaningless, and really artificial now Is it normal that I feel this way or am I misunderstanding this ship?

It's extremely normal. You're not the first one to express disappointment in this...lord knows I'm bitter about it, because I absolutely fucking loved Fizz and Ozzie back in the day. One of my favorite HB fics featured them. My most popular fic on AO3 stars them. There were the cunty kings of my heart, one of the few things about HB I still wholly enjoyed at the time. They obviously adored one another, and by every indication, absolutely no one else.

Their support for one another was so mutual, both physical and emotional, and so equal! They were sappy, cuddly, assholes and they had one another's backs no matter what.

Now? They love each other lots and lots and always give each other the last candy in the box, and Fizz is vulnerable and small and needs Ozzie's protection instead of just having it, they're both nice to everyone because Viv likes them and is physically incapable of writing a character she likes that's also rude to Stolas.

It's just such a waste, and such a loss.

[ghostofskywalker]

hellooo! i'm really excited about your winter ficlets and wanted to request something!

what about “I don’t think either of us are qualified for this, but sure, go for it” with tech? i'm really wondering what he wouldn't be qualified for. 🤭 and i don't mind about the reader's pronouns, you can write what you're up to!

hello! this was such an interesting and fun prompt for him, i hope you enjoy my interpretation!

words: 840

summary: omega's in a bad mood, and neither you nor your boyfriend know what to do about it.

note: the mechanics of this fic rely on the idea that when they're on Ord Mantell, the batch rent an apartment so that they're not on the ship all the time.

Not Qualified

clone troopers masterlist || request a winter ficlet

The sound of Omega’s door slamming shut echoed throughout the tiny apartment, and you could have sworn you heard some of the plates in the cabinet rattle. Not sure what to do, you looked at Tech. “Any idea what that’s about?”

Looking as confused as you felt, he shook his head. “I understand that Omega may be worried that Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo haven’t returned by now, but this behavior is far from normal for her.”

“Do you want to check on her and make sure everything is okay?”

He looked at you like you had just suggested that he wrestle a gundark with his bare hands. “What?”

“Someone should check on Omega,” you said, a confused look on your face. “She clearly needs to talk to someone right now.”

“What about you?”

Your eyes widened. “I don’t know how qualified I am for something like this. Usually bounty hunters can just kill their problems, and that’s definitely not what needs to happen here. Besides, you’re her brother.”

“Look, I don’t think either of us are qualified for this,” Tech said. “But we should still go for it.”

As you looked at his face, you could see a glimpse of something in his eyes that you didn’t quite recognize at first, until it came to you. Tech was nervous. It made sense of course, because Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo had embraced their newfound role of “big brother” a little easier than he did, because he had always been a little bit less social than the rest of the crew. Hells, it had taken you what felt like forever to finally get him to realize that you liked him, and the relationship you had with him was still just barely out of the friend zone. You knew it had to be nerve-wracking right now, to be the only one of his brothers here and having a issue that can’t necessarily be solved with cold hard facts, and you reached out to take his hand. “Come on, let’s go together.”

A gruff “come in” sounded through the door moments after you knocked, and the door opened to reveal Omega laying face down on her bed, with the plush Aiwha you had gotten for her at a market laying haphazardly on the floor (which was likely launched into the air from the momentum of her throwing herself on the bed).

You were definitely not prepared for this, but it would be much worse to just turn around and leave, so you took a few steps into the room. “I can tell that something is bothering you honey,” you said gently. “Do you want to talk about it? It may make you feel better.”

She pulled her body upwards off the bed, and you could see the way her eyes shined with tears. “When is everyone else going to come back?” she asked, and your heart broke.

Growing up where she did and being watched over exclusively by Kaminoans clearly affected her, and now that she had found something of a family it had to be hard to watch some of them leave. Even if it was simply for a mission, part of the team leaving meant that she still had to spend more time without the people she cared so deeply about. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “But they won’t be gone forever, I know that.”

Tech looked like he was going to open his mouth to say something, but you shot him a quick glare. Yes, you knew that every mission meant the chance of serious injury or death, and Omega probably knew that too, but technicalities were not what she needed to hear right now.

Thankfully, he seemed to get the message. “Yes, Hunter, Echo, and Wrecker will be back as soon as they can,” Tech said, and you watched as Omega ran over to him. He definitely looked a little shocked as his sister threw her arms around him, and you could see the way he looked to you for help. You mimed wrapping your arms around something to give him a little hint of what to do in this moment, and he nodded quickly.

You watched as Tech followed your hint, and you could see Omega’s tears start to stop. You knew that her heartbreak wasn’t something that could be fixed right away (or maybe at all), but with some time (and maybe a little bit of ice cream), you might be able to help make this a little less difficult for her.

It was impossible to ignore the smile that crept over your face at the sight of Omega clutching onto Tech like he was going to disappear, simply because he looked really surprised when it first happened. You had a feeling though, that he would be settling into his newfound role as big brother a little easier from now on.

And maybe, later you would get to gleefully inform him that he was wrong about neither of you being qualified to help in this particular situation.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[tennessoui]

june ko-fi: pirate captains au

ok ok so tbh in my head i was sort of counting the third and final part of the mermay au as the june ko-fi upload because it was technically posted june 1st in celebration of mer...june, but i got a few asks about if i was gonna post a proper june ko-fi fic and i decided like. sure! i can do that! and then i did <3 and now it's posted on ko-fi!

unfortunately im still on my water loving bullshit though, so this ko-fi fic is set in an au where obi-wan and anakin are pirate captains of different ships (obviously the Negotiator and the Resolute respectively) and they have a bit of a history. mostly they're just attracted to each other like magnets. mostly i just wanted to use the words breeches and tankards cause i think those words rock tbh

here's a snippet!

“Hatred is a powerful motivator, Captain,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan would usually pay attention, but he decides it’s not worth it. Anakin’s lips are soft and his thumb catches on the bottom one as Anakin speaks, slips slightly into his mouth. “I’ve found that many things are powerful motivators, Captain,” he replies as he takes a step forward, closing the distance between their bodies. “And some are much more pleasant than hatred." Anakin huffs out a laugh, lets him approach. Pushes closer. His eyes are dark in the moonlight. His eyes are fixed upon Obi-Wan. “I joined Dooku’s crew,” Anakin murmurs as if he thinks that they are still talking about his past. As if Obi-Wan is not interested in their future. “To find you again, Captain. To kill you.” “How very innovative of you,” he says and he removes his hand from Anakin’s face, drops it instead to his neck and curls it around his throat. It is not a threat.  Mostly. Anakin grins back at him. “You are an easy man to hate, Captain Kenobi,” he says. “I believe that your saving grace is that you’re also an easy man to want.” “And you want me,” Obi-Wan says, like it’s a fact. Like it’s a foregone conclusion. It feels as if it is.

as a quick reminder, these ko-fi fics posted in my gallery are only visible to monthly supporters (ps. thank you sm to my monthly supporters!!!!) - at this point, there are 13 fics there (all 4k-7k in length), with plots varying from 'what if obi-wan was a werewolf' to 'what if they were both mermaids and i wrote 20k about that specifically'. i'm always open to discussing these fics here on tumblr and i currently do not plan to post them onto ao3; if you sign up to support monthly and then cancel that subscription, you should retain access for a whole month anyway so you can read all of the fics there!

[olderthannetfic]

it's funny when people say "even in female-centric fandoms there's no F/F and people would rather pair up dudes!" both because I've been in several of those and that's never been the case - there's always a lot of it in any show where there are multiple relationships b/w women who matter, let alone a mostly-female cast - but i feel like the people who complain about this, you look at their fandoms and it's bunch a shows where there is technically more than one woman, and they interact somewhat, but the cast is still majority dudes. and their ships are all these rarepairs of women who barely interact. which is a totally legit way to do fandom, don't get me wrong, but it does make me wonder if some of these people are aware of what a female centric show really *is*. like you just want to lead them gently to the sailor moon or yellowjackets or madoka or killing eve or xena tags and be like, look, this is what we're talking about. and look how much of it is femslash, and how little of it is slash (even in sailor moon, with its canonical M/M couple, it's still femslash and het predominantly IME). like, i'm glad you're trying to make it happen for shows where the women are interesting but underexplored, or where they have brief glances of fascinating dynamics with women that we don't learn much of but could wonder what could have been. but when you have like 7 men in a main cast and only 2 women, you cannot be shocked when most of the fic is slash and/or het. like, avatar the last airbender is not a "female centric" show people just because it has women in it or doctor who (except mayyyyybe the seasons with a female doctor). that's not what we're talking about.

i mean, even in ensemble shows where there are women whose relationships with other women matter, even if it's not the focus and there are more men overall in the cast or an equal amount, you will get a substantial femslash fandom. it might not be the main event, but it will be there. glee was a badly-written mess of a show, but it had plot-relevant relationships between female characters. and so people were shipping rachel/quinn and santana/brittany even long before the latter couple was anywhere close to becoming canon. it was one of the biggest (and most drama-filled) femslash fandoms of the early 10s, even if the slash and het corners of glee fandom were bigger. but there was enough femslash that you absolutely could corral yourself in that corner of the fandom and ignore the rest of it. if you build it, they really will come (in more ways than one, heh)

--

Yup.

Glee literally had an offline con for one f/f ship. When canon provides, by and large, fans will respond.

People are terrible about going "But I love my blorbo! Surely, everyone else should!" in contexts where basic logic will tell you that ship or character is probably not going to launch a juggernaut fandom.

[wonderneverlandsystem]

So over the past two days I've decided to rewatch the life series' (via Grian's movie things) and I've got all the way through limited life. And I've also been wanting to get back into writing fics so- Now. Listen.

[Also at no time am I talking about the content creators- only the characters-]

.

.

.

I love Scarian/DesertDuo. Always will. And they are my main ship for both of them (Grumbo is technically tied since it was the og not counting Taurian but Tomato Tomahto-). BUT-

Grian and BigB cheated on Scar and Ren in Double Life and Grian especially was treating Scar like a child he didn't want anything to do with- So like-

I've been thinking a lot about revenge dating is what I'm saying-