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urrone · 2 years ago

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I posted 2,100 times in 2022

34 posts created (2%)

2,066 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@foofyschmoofer

@onionjuggler

@bropunzeling

@painterofhorizons

@liminal-zone

I tagged 2,070 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#loling forever - 246 posts

#oh tumblr - 54 posts

#fan art - 37 posts

#me - 34 posts

#tiktok - 32 posts

#critical role - 32 posts

#cats make everything funnier - 31 posts

#accurate - 31 posts

#relatable - 30 posts

#same - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 69 characters

#moving into the new houses built along the other side of victor’s row

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

Writing question! You write for a lot of different fandoms. Do you find yourself adapting your style to the fandom, or are there aspects of writing style that transcend different fandoms? (I imagine it's a mix of both, but I'm really curious about which elements stand out to you as being fandom-specific or universal when it comes to writing style!)

Hey, thank you for asking!

Thinking about this now, I feel like I adapt my writing style to the tone of the story more than the fandom. I think if you read through my fic you'll see how it adapted over time, but the style over the fandoms will feel very similar. Like I think my writer's voice is pretty strong.

That said, I just took a look at my Dragon Age fic vs my Julie and the Phantoms fic, and the prose in the DA fic is a bit more flowery, to fit the writing and the dialogue, than what I have in JATP.

But I always write in tight 3rd person POV and always in present tense. (Except for a few experiments in the early days of fandom.)

So the short answer to your question is you are correct, it's a mix of both. I like to be descriptive and I like to use a lot of metaphors in writing. Dialogue is my jam but I don't like to have a lot of bare bones back and forth and I hardly ever use "[character name] says" because I have a THING about overusing it, so I tend to get really in the moment of describing reactions to dialogue or how a character moves in reaction to dialogue in order to not have to tag the dialogue.

But like, funny/happy fics are gonna have short, bouncier sentences than anything that deals with angst or death, so that's kinda the style change?

This has been interesting, I've really never thought about this before. I'm curious what @swaps55 thinks since she's read everything I've ever written.

19 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

fic: warm hands, soft heart

“You always do this. You always try to warm me up.”

Varric pulls Fallwyn closer to the fire, chafing her hands between his own. “Can I help it if looking at you makes me feel cold?”

Fallwyn inches toward the flames, stopping just short of actually getting into the fire. She’d singed more than one pair of trousers and had once burned the bottom of her boots almost clean off before she realized she’d shoved them too close to the fire. While wearing them.

The coldest night in the Free Marches had not prepared her for life in the mountains of the south.

Varric had been the one to take her back to Harritt for new boots and patches on her leather armor. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t just have to make do with what she’d ruined. Harritt hadn’t blinked an eye, just tutted over the soles of her boots as he turned to his workbench.

Even among her clan, she’d learned at a young age to see to her own comforts. Having someone act as a mother hen is strange enough, but that it’s Varric of everyone in the Inquisition seems stranger still. But it’s a nice change to feel like someone’s worried about whether she’s cold or not. All anyone else wants to talk about is the breach or Andraste, as if Fallwyn knows anything about the shemlen gods. Like they forget she’s also a person who eats and shits like they do.

It helps that Varric never seems to leave this spot, so he’s always right there and tugging her in closer to warmth. It’s in the middle of all the camp and out of sight of Threnn, so it makes a sort of sense that he’d stick to this general area. Writers must always be observing or something like that.

“It’s so cold in the south,” she says, eyeing the open collar of his shirt and the coat flung over top of a nearby tent. “You never seem to feel it.” There are so many curls on his chest and she doesn’t mean to, but she starts wondering what they’d feel like under her palms. She wonders if all the extra hair he seems to have almost everywhere keeps him warmer.

Read on ao3

27 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

who you were vs. what you are

Somewhere in your childhood, someone you once loved betrayed your whole little heart and told you that you were not enough.

And because thoughts become things, it became ivy inside your mind and body until this was all you believed about yourself and your self-worth became mutiny.

Remember that the stars and planets did not die for you to waste your time wondering if you are pretty enough or worthy enough to exist.

You are still trying, in this body, to be all the things that make a person. But the truth is you are bursting at the seams because you are a plethora of universes becoming a human.

your heart is the sea by nikita gill

27 notes - Posted October 25, 2022

new fic for the late night crowd

“When you laugh like that, it's just—you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“I am not.”

If Varric weren’t the kind of dwarf to pick at the edges of things, he might have taken caution at how quickly the laughter in Cassandra’s eyes sharpened into brittle disdain. But if he’s ever met caution, she’s never bought him a drink.

“You are though. I remember sometime around the . . . what . . . third day of interrogations in Kirkwall, thinking that if you’d just take off even the first layer of armor the whole conversation would have been much more entertaining.”

He can almost hear her teeth crying at the strain as her jaw clenches. “I have only the one layer—”

“Oh I wasn’t talking about the iron, Seeker.”

It’s good they’re in the middle of a very fancy party with drinks and dancing and that the guards have already taken her long and very pointy sword, though Varric is very well aware she doesn’t actually need the sword to kill him. “Are you telling me that you think I am only beautiful when I smile?”

“I mean you do it so rarely, who can say, but no. Did I say only? Words are my living, sort of, and I think I would have remembered making that implication.”

She narrows her eyes as her gaze flicks across the ballroom. Varric has had the very great pleasure of seeing her in all kinds of moods at this point, but it’s her haughty dragon princess he probably loves the most.

Read the rest on ao3.

28 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

in the deep dark

I’m playing DAI again and did the Descent. Then this happened.

Varric/Lavellan | on ao3

In the dim torchlight, she can just see Varric’s outline where he’s sitting up in his bedroll. He’d drawn first watch but Avriel knows that’s not the only reason he isn’t sleeping. They all look pale and sallow after two weeks underground, but the darkness hangs on Varric in ways it doesn’t touch the others.

She’s met more dwarves over the last months with the Inquisition than she’s ever known in her entire life and she knows, better than anyone else here, that he doesn’t have much in common with other dwarves.

“You don’t like being underground, do you?” she whispers into the space between them. There isn’t much, they’ve bedded down into a handy alcove for what Avriel has called the night, even though there’s no difference down here.

He doesn’t startle but then, he never has with her. Somehow, he always seems to be aware of exactly where she is. “I’m not a very good dwarf,” he whispers back, cognizant of the others sleeping around them. “But no, I never have.”

She scootches even closer, propping herself up on her elbow and curling around his back to give him something to lean against, if he chooses. He does. “Have you spent a lot of time down here?”

“In Orzammar?”

“Anywhere.”

“No. To both questions, actually. I was born on the surface, I like sunlight and a cool breeze as much as the rest of you. The long dark makes my skin crawl.”

“‘The long dark’ sounds like a story.”

He’s quiet for a long moment and Avriel wonders if she’s wandered into a tale he doesn’t want to tell.

“Well,” he finally says, so quietly she has to lean in closer still. “There was the time my brother tried to kill me in the deep roads.”

“What?” she says, slightly louder than a normal volume in her shock, then cringes as Sera starts to stir. They both hold their breath until she stills again.

“Geez, Sunshine. These aren’t state secrets. I told you about when we found the red lyrium.”

“You did, but not the rest of it.”

“I hate the stuff.” He shudders but takes a deep breath and starts again. “Bartrand and I were never very close. He was born in Orzammar, still remembered life down there and would have given anything to go back.”

“Wait, your parents weren’t surface dwarves? Why did they ever leave?”

“That,” he says slowly, “is another story for another time. I will tell you, just, let me get this one out first.”

She doesn’t say anything, giving him space, but she does reach out her free hand, unsure of its reception.

Her heart flips over—just a little—when he turns his hand palm up under hers and threads their fingers together. His hand engulfs hers, the calluses from Bianca catching on the calluses from her knives, but it’s real and comforting. For them both, she hopes.

“It was how I met Hawke, actually. She and her brother signed on for an expedition to loot a thaig. He wasn’t always like this, but by the time my mother died, there were few things Bartrand wouldn’t do for gold.”

Varric spins the tale of deception and betrayal for her, quietly as he can. He sometimes punctuates the story with gestures she can just make out in the dim torchlight (none of them had wanted to sleep in the pitch black).

He never drops her hand, though he does sometimes take it with his as he sketches out Hawke casting a spell with her staff, or Carver’s slashes with his long sword.

By the time the tale ends with his triumphant return to Kirkwall, richer than Bartrand could have imagined getting on this expedition, Avriel can almost forget the quiet whisper where it began: with Varric watching helplessly as his brother locks him in a room in the deep roads to die.

She’s quiet for a moment and he laughs softly into the dark. “Have I actually rendered you speechless with my tale?”

She squeezes his hand. “Hardly,” she says. “I’m sorry I brought you down here.”

Varric pulls her hand up to his mouth and his lips press a kiss to her palm before he tugs further, pulling her face up to his. She catches her breath but all he does is lean his forehead against hers. In the quiet space between them, he whispers what she’s known for a while. “Come on, Sunshine. You’ve gotta know by now that I’d follow you anywhere.”

See the full post

35 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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lovelyysiriuss · 4 years ago

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how i met your mother (remus au) {1/10}

*gif not mine

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi everyone! i decided to publish my wattpad book onto tumblr ! fun fact: this was actually written on tumblr around 2018, a year later tho i deleted my tumblr (which i regret oh so much) but it's back and i cannot be any more happy! excuse my old way of writing, like i said this story is very old LMAO

PAIRING: Remus Lupin AU

WORD COUNT: 642

INSPO: the show "how i met your mother"

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | ASKS! REQUESTS! TAGS! | SUBMIT ANYTHING! | WATTPAD VERSION

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

REMUS JOHN LUPIN wanted to tell a story to his kids, an incredible story in which they've heard a million times but never actually took the time to hear every single detail.

"Kids, I'm going to tell you the story of how I met your mother." Remus began in his posh-British accent facing his children.

"Are we being punished for something?" His younger son questioned. The sandy-haired man — with an exception of a few newly welcomed gray hairs — let out a 'no.'

His older daughter sighed, "Yeah, is this going to take a while?"

The elder man nodded, "Yes," his kids rolled his eyes and laid back into their seats, "...so get comfortable in your seats because I'm going to take you back twenty-five years ago before I was 'dad' I had a whole other life."

That's when he began his story. "It was all the way back in 1987, when I was 27. Just starting to make it as a Professor, teaching the dark arts, and living in the Muggle world, aka London with James, my best friend from Hogwarts. My life was good, that was until Uncle James went and screwed the whole thing up."

James was on his knees about to utter the forsaken words in which he couldn't look back now, "Will you marry me?" he asked opening the little box which the diamond ring was held in.

Though he didn't actually say it to the woman he loved and wanted to say the words too, he was practicing to his good old, twenty-seven-year-old pal, Remus.

The messy sandy-haired man practically jumped with excitement, "Yes! Perfect, then you're engaged! You pop the champagne, drink a toast, you have sex on the kitchen floor!" Suddenly contemplating on his response for a moment, he corrected, "Don't have sex on the kitchen floor."

The brunet man nodded, "Got it, and thanks for helping me plan this out, Moony."

"Mate, are you mad? It's you and Lily! You've been chasing after this girl for years, and I've been there for all the big moments between you and her." Prongs went into the kitchen to grab two butterbeer bottles from the kitchen handing one to Remus, "The moment you met, your first date, other first things..."

James chuckled nervously rubbing his hand behind his neck, taking a sip of his beer, "Y-Yeah sorry about that mate, we thought you were asleep."

"It's physics Prongs. If the bottom bunk moves, the top one moves too." He leaned against the refrigerator for leverage for what he's about to say. "But mate do you realize you're getting engaged tonight?"

"I think I do Moons." Prongs chuckled raking a hand through his hair, "What're you doing tonight?" Asked James right when Remus was about to take a sip of his butterbeer.

Narrator Remus chose to interrupt the story, "What was I doing? Uncle Prongs was about to take a big step in his life, and me? I'm calling up your Uncle Sirius."

The moment the telephone in Sirius' apartment rang he picked it up, "Talk to me." He sternly said through the phone.

"Hi Padfoot, it's me Moony."

"Hey, so you know I've always had a thing for half-Asian girls?" Remus rolled his eyes through the other side of the phone. "Well now I've got a new favorite, Lebanese girls," Moony could practically feel him smirking through his side of the phone. Sirius then began to state, "...as a matter of fact, Lebanese girls are the new half-Asians."

Remus decided to change the topic, "Hey, so you wanna do something tonight?"

"Okay, meet me at the bar in 15 minutes. And suit up!" His excitement caused Remus to roll his eyes, hanging up the call.

PERMANENT TAGS: @rottenstyx , @confuscita (dm me if you want to be part of a taglist, and specify which fandom)!

(turn on my notifications to stay updated)! 🤍

if any of my links don't work, for whatever reason, please let me know!

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b00t-s · 3 years ago

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We're all gossip-y bitches sometimes

this is part two

Janus xey/xem

Roman she/he

Patton he/him

Virgil he/him

See the character intros for more info

TW. Swearing, arguments, alcohol, drunk characters, the word v//mit is used once, characters being characters, past trauma mentioned, tiny tiny tiny sprinkle of angst but just a passing of it at end, and nothing to intense

Again, tell me if I'm being insensitive. Shout at me if I am.

Summary: Patton goes to talk to Janus about Roman. The group opens...'some' bottles. Virgil adds on some...interesting opinions.

Events occur few hours after this.

Janus just finished xeir nightly shift when Patton came bounding up to xem. Janus raised an eyebrow at how ecstatic he looked.

"Yes?" Xey managed out, forcing back the hundreds of snarky comments xey could of said right then.

"Can you hang out at My house later?" Patton practically beamed out.

"why would I want to 'hang out'? It's just a social construct created to give people a higher sense of being." Janus remarked, flipping to closed/open side to closed.

"So you'll be there?"

"hmm. Will doom-and-gloom be there?

"doom and---ohhh, Virge. Yeah, probably," Patton realised now that this was a bad mix of people to invite "probably-probably not for long though!"

"Fine" Janus replied, taking off xeir apron. Xey ignored the obvious lie. "I'll be there in an hour." Xey knew one way or another xey would end up there due to Patton's... effective persuading.

"Great!" Patton exclaimed "oh yeah, and...um...it's raining outside so..take my umbrella, kay?"

His tone more serious all of a sudden, Patton nodded to Janus' heavily made up face, so well done an ignorant bystander wouldn't of noticed the thick layers of foundation on xeir face.

Patton handed xem a translucent umbrella, patterned with cute frogs and flowers, to Janus. Ignoring the distasteful cartoons, Janus nodded and took the umbrella.

"See you soon, Jan!" Patton cheerily waved as he bounced off.

Janus folded xeir apron, opened Patton's umbrella and braved the outdoors.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janus arrived at Patton's house exactly on time, bone dry, despite the heavily flowing rain. Patton expected nothing less of his friend. He invited xem inside, amazed as always by his friend's everyday fashion.

Jan was wearing a casual yellow shirt over a long sleeved black shirt. Fishnet gloves adorned xeir hands, and xeir ruffled hair was let lose.

Xeir fashionably messy hair was topped with a neatly placed black fedora, which of xey never took off. Xey even scarred persuaded Thomas to let xem wear it to work.

Patton offered xem a smile, and walked xem upstairs. "Hi Jan!" He grinned.

"Hello" xey replied mundanely.

Xey absent-mindedly glanced at Patton's outfit, which contained a violet cashmere sweater, bell bottomed jeans, circular silver glasses and a sunflower clip in his perfect curls.

It was a good look, xey had to admit.

When they both reached Patton's room, Janus stood still, taking in xeir surroundings.

Patton's room was covered with things from the 2000's; Tamagotchi's, stickers pressed up against the pastel wall, stuffed animals, wristbands, old CD's, care bears posters and butterfly clips littering the floor in a deadly trap.

A trans flag was pinned above the single bed with blue tack, right next to some inspirational and motivational quotes.

The whole place looked like it had been puked on by unicorns.

It hurt Janus' eyes.

Xey was a little overwhelmed by all the spiraling colours and nostalgia-inducing objects, so xey sat cross-legged in the middle of the pink carpet. The world slowed down.

Janus wondered, not for the first time, how a 29 year old could be this cheerful.

Or appear this cheerful.

"Jan?"

Janus gave a small twitch of xeir head, realising that xey had spaced out. "Hmm?" Xey replied.

"Hey, you were up with the clouds! I was just saying, I think Virge is here" Patton chirped.

"oh"

"he...might be staying for a little longer then i said"

"How wonderful." Janus muttered, knowing this would happen but hating it anyway.

"oh, don't be like that! I'm sure you guys could become friends!" Janus snorted. "Or...at least not kill at each other whenever you're in the same general area" Patton corrected.

"Anyway! I'm going to greet him at the door!" He suddenly proclaimed, skipping downstairs.

Janus was disgusted at how naïve this man was.

But that was a lie.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patton slowed his happy skip to a casual walk. His grin slipped into a content smile as he reached the end of the stairs. Being so happy takes its toll on people, he thought. Soft tapping of the door interrupted his thoughts as he opened the door to reveal Virgil.

The first thing you notice about this man was his unfair tall-ness. He nearly had to duck to get inside; being too skinny didn't help. Virgil was wearing a plain black hoodie over a mcr top, completing the look with a short, pleated skirt and docs. His face was slathered in white foundation, accompanied with dark eyeshadow under his eyes.

"Virge!! I'm glad you could make it, even if you are late!!Again!" Patton hugged his friend, genuinely glad for his presence. The taller man patted Patton's curls awkwardly.

"Heyyyy Pat-" Virgil did the awkward pats on the back everyone does when they want to get out of a hug but don't want to say it in fear of hurting ones feelings. "Traffic-"

Patton withdrew from the hug and smiled. "okay! at least you're here safe! Can't control the traffic"

"Janus is waiting for us upstairs" Patton continued. He hurriedly carried on speaking before Virgil could spit out an insult about xem "say, you know what I hate about stairs? They're always up to something!" Patton laughed at his own joke, whilst Virgil pretended to face-palm, hiding a snigger.

"Alright, Alright dAd, didn't you say snake face was waiting for us?" Virgil mocked. Patton chuckled uncomfortably at the nickname, but nodded nonetheless.

"Yeah, we shouldn't leave xem waiting"

They both entered his room, having walked the short journey there in a comfortable silence. Patton noted Janus had not moved from were he left xem; xey had just shifted to read a book xey most likely found lying around. Janus looked up upon their arrival, xeir face immediately twisting into a mocking grimace upon seeing Virgil. "ah, you brought the racoon"

"Janus play nice--"

"you're one to talk, you participated in 2012 Tumblr" Virgil threw back

"must you be so wounding" Janus dramatically threw xeir hand against xeir forehead.

"okAY, that's enough guys." Patton firmly said. Janus pulled a face in reply, and Virgil returned the favour. Patton sighed. He just wanted them to get along, which was probably a high expectation by itself.

Perhaps he had booze leftover somewhere.

--------------------------------

Twelve near fist fights, two crying sessions and many, many, many bottles of alcohol later, it was nearing eleven pm and the group was drunker than a litter of catnip high kittens.

They all crowded into a close-knit circle on the bed, nearly falling off but not caring.

"ssso your telling me that flashy asss hhimbo sssssaid I wasss hot but then rude and that I wore too muchh makeup? What a *hic* bitchh" Janus hissed.

Patton giggled. "yeeeeee, be nice though! She was kindaaaa alllllllll over the place!" Patton continued bluntly, "But how would you feel if I set you guys up????~"

"oh pleassssse do, I would just love that" Janus may be trashed but xey still knew sarcasm. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending who you are, Patton did not.

"yayyy! This is gonna be great!!"

Virgil butted in then, waving around the bottle he was holding "hold on, just holllld on a minute there, you're planning to set up that" he vaugly gestured in Janus' direction "with Princy??? Xey've known her for what, 4 minutes? Life isn't a disney movie"

"Dare I detect a hint of jealousy there emo?" Janus purred "am I that lovable?" Xey hiccuped.

"ooooooooh" Patton leaned into the circle, loving the drunk drama.

"wouldn't you like to know weather boy" Virgil droned back, finishing off the bottle.

"Honey, I would dare ssay that was a yesss"

"nO"

"oooooo, you liiiiike meeeEe"

"you disgust me"

"kinky"

Patton shook his hands excitingly at them, nearly hitting Virgil, causing them to shut up. "I can't believe you're finally open to a relationship after what happened! With my best friend no least! Boy did I try to get you to go on more dat--" Patton suddenly clasped his hands over his mouth as if he just said something nasty.

Everyone went silent. Janus stared at Patron, xeir mouth slightly parted. Virgil laughed nervously to try and break the tension. It sounded strained.

Janus began to speak to stop Patton from starting to spout drunken apologies. "Well thatssss jusst a liee, I've dated pleeenty of people over..well...that...period..of time."

Everyone went silent again, not quite sure on what to say.

Virgil's anxiety was heightening due to the social awkwardness and the influence of the alcohol.

Patton was fidgeting in his lap.

It was Janus yet again who broke the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Sssso, *hic* you ssaid you wanted me to go out with thisss idiot?"

----------------------------------

first-previous-next

updated masterpost

tag list: @arrowthenon-binaryroyalty, @spellingwillbethedeathofme,

ask if you want to be added or removed from tag list

and we meet our boi virgil

context is for losers

i could of probably cut out unnecessary things in that but y'know I'm new and I like it

these posts will be in chronological order, unless flashback, but it's not following a set-in-stone story line, so asks are, yet again, much appreciated.

I procrastinated too much during the making of this

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #janus sanders #genderfluid!janus #patton sanders #trans!patton #virgil sanders #alcohol mention #Janus what have you agreed to #hiss hiss bitch #this story is all over the place plz #roceit #platonic moxiety #This won't and never will be a moxiety fic I'm sorry #their father ans son relashionship #no hate on the ones who do ship it #it just isn't my cup of tea #Ok-ish

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eldritchteaparty · 4 years ago

Link

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares

General summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Jon and Martin head back to the Magnus Institute, where Martin goes on an interview outing with Tim and Jon starts to catch up with Sasha’s “statements.”

Chapter 4 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to earlier chapters

***

Shortly after Martin’s phone flickered to life, he found a lot of messages waiting for him—and they were almost all from the same person.

Are you ok?

Message soon please.

Do you need anything?

Answer when you can.

Still worried…

He glanced at Jon, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking through his own phone.

“Sasha been messaging you too?” Martin asked him.

“Yes. And I’ve got one from Tim.”

Martin had that one also. “Telling you to answer Sasha?”

“Yes—and calling me something I won’t repeat.”

Ok, so he didn’t have exactly that one.

“All right,” Martin said a few minutes later. “Let’s do this, then. I’ll message Sasha back.”

“Wait—what are we doing? What’s the plan?”

He typed out a simple message to Sasha telling her they were ok and he was sorry for not answering sooner. “We lie to them.”

“Hm.” Jon seemed uneasy.

“Did you… want to tell them the truth?”

“Well…” Jon thought. “Obviously, we can’t. I’m just concerned that—”

“Exactly. And even if we did tell it to them, they wouldn’t believe it.”

Jon still looked doubtful. “Martin, I’m not sure if I—”

“Look, sometimes there are good reasons to lie. We just need to keep it simple, make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.” He read the message one more time and hit send. “Anyway, don’t act like you don’t know how. You’re actually quite good at it when you want to be.”

He didn’t mean to add that last part; it just came out, and it came out bitter. He looked at Jon again and regretted it immediately. He had come to realize he much preferred Jon’s anger to his sadness, especially when he was the cause. He opened his mouth to apologize, but as he did his phone began to buzz. They stared at each other.

“Jon, I didn’t mean that. I’m—I’m sorry—forget it, ok? I have to—hang on.”

He answered Sasha’s call on speaker, turning away to concentrate.

“Hey, Sasha.”

“Martin? Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t answer you sooner. It’s been—”

“How is Jon, do you know?”

“Yes, he’s—he’s with me. We’re both ok.”

“Oh, thank god.” Her relief was clear, even over the speaker, and Martin felt a pang of something in his gut. He hadn’t had a moment to consider how much he’d missed Sasha, how unfair it had all been, and how much it felt like she’d somehow come back. It would have been so easy to think that way—except their Sasha was still dead, and he may very well have been responsible for the death of the person she thought she was talking to.

“You do sound better,” she continued. “Look, I really didn’t want to tell you what to do, but—tell me you went to a doctor or something?”

Martin cleared his throat, aware Jon was listening to the conversation. “We did, actually. We did end up going to the hospital. I think we were maybe in a bit of shock after all.”

“No kidding. What happened? What did they say?”

“Physically, we’re—we’re all right.” He thought about all the blood again, and decided he should add a little more. “I mean, we were very dehydrated. They put us on a drip for a bit. And—and antibiotics, just in case. But they said we’re healing well, I guess?”

“That—that’s good. What else? What about—not physically?”

“Well, they did a lot of tests. The kind where they asked a bunch of questions. They didn’t want to call it amnesia, exactly, but we’ve—we’ve got some memory loss.” Experience told him the less specific the lie, the better. “Neither of us really remembers what happened. And it’s possible… we might have forgotten some stuff from before, too. We don’t really know how bad it is yet.”

“Oh. That’s terrible.”

Martin looked over his shoulder at Jon, who had crept closer to hear better. He nodded, and Martin turned back.

“It’s not great, but the good news is they don’t think there are any deeper issues. I mean, they’ve got us signed up for all kinds of therapy, but they don’t think there’s any—how did they say it—no lasting cognitive impairment.” Cognitive impairment was a phrase that maybe came to him too easily after caring for his mother; he felt like he was maybe pushing it a little.

“Well, that part’s good. How are you feeling, though?” Sasha asked.

“A lot better.”

“Did they feed you? Do you need anything? Can I bring you something?”

“No, that’s all right. We’re—actually, Sasha, we were wondering if we could… maybe come back. To work.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Martin cringed and held his breath through it; he didn’t look at Jon. He might have gone for it too soon.

“You want to come back? Already?”

He exhaled quietly, away from the phone so Sasha couldn’t hear it. “They said the more we could normalize things, it might—help? I mean, I know there might be some issues rehiring us—but maybe if Elias hasn’t replaced us yet—"

“No, I mean—you know Elias, he hasn’t even taken you off payroll. It just seems… fast. Are you sure you want to?”

“Well, if you’re worried, we don’t have to come back right away.” Jon grabbed his arm and Martin frowned at him, shrugging him off. Wait, he mouthed. “I know we might not be up to our usual workload, and we’re going to have to take some time off for therapy and all… I’m really only bringing it up because they thought it would help, but it’s completely fair if you don’t want to take—”

“No! No, I don’t mind.” She sounded upset, and he felt bad. “That’s not it at all. And we could use your help, honestly, but I really don’t want to put pressure on you while you’re recovering. Do you promise you’ll let me know if it’s too much?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Yes, of course. Jon too.”

“Well…” said Sasha, “When are you thinking about coming in?”

Um… hang on.” He muted himself and turned to Jon.

“What do you think?” Then, before Jon answered, he added, “And do not say today. It’s already after 2 pm and that would just be weird.”

“Fine. Tomorrow, then.” Of course. He sighed.

“Sasha?” He said, unmuting the phone. “Jon says—Jon says tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, actually. If you’re all right with it.”

There was more silence.

“And I mean Sasha, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t mind being around people. It would be nice.” That wasn’t even a lie.

“Ok. Sure, Martin.” It had done the trick. “Take your time getting in though, ok? And get some sleep tonight.”

“Will do. Thanks, Sasha.” He hung up, and turned his head slightly in Jon’s direction. “Happy?”

“Thank you,” Jon answered, putting an arm around Martin to press his mouth briefly to his cheek. Martin couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, all right. Just don’t exhaust yourself. Remember, you’ve got to eat real food and sleep real sleep now.”

“Mm.” Jon was already headed out to the sitting room where his desk was.

“What did I say, Jon?” he shouted.

“Eat and sleep,” Jon shouted back.

Martin grumbled to himself.

The rest of the day was spent washing the one set of clothes that he had, and going through the phone to learn what he could about his current situation. His passwords and fingerprints opened all the apps, but that didn’t faze him anymore. He was able to figure out from email and voicemails that the apartment building where this world’s Martin had been living had indeed kicked him out, but thankfully his belongings were being held in storage. He could pay two months of back rent and a late fee if he wanted to reclaim them, although it wouldn’t be until the following week.

Fortunately, Sasha had been correct that they hadn’t been taken off payroll—not only had they not been taken off, but Martin had been paid his full salary for the last two months. If he hadn’t already been convinced that Jonah Magnus was not running the institute, that certainly did it.

***

Although he didn’t successfully get Jon off the computer for it, he did manage to get him to eat most of a meal that evening at his desk. And while Jon didn’t get in bed at the same time he did, Martin was still up to hear him come in.

“Hey.”

“Sorry,” Jon said softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, that’s all right. You didn’t. I actually—something’s been bothering me. I wanted to apologize for what I said right before Sasha called today. About… you. Lying. I mean, we need to talk about it—what happened—but not like that.”

“Martin…” Jon shifted under the covers. “I want to talk about it. I do. You deserve that. I’m just…”

“You’re not ready yet.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll—I’ll try not to push,” Martin answered, closing his eyes again. “I want to do this right. Or at least better than we’ve been doing things. Just… you try too, ok?”

There was a moment of quiet before Jon answered. “Ok.”

***

Going back to the Magnus Institute in the morning already felt much easier than it had the first time. It didn’t hold the same sense of discontinuity—it felt less like déjà vu and more like returning to a place he had genuinely spent a lot of time. Rosie was away from her desk when they arrived; Sasha and Tim were in Sasha’s office with the door closed, and they could hear muffled conversation through the door. Jon sat at his desk, but Martin decided he’d wait for Sasha before he even pretended to do something, and sat on the sofa instead.

“So,” he asked Jon, “how are you feeling, now that you’re here?”

“Good, I suppose,” he answered. “Well, not bad, anyway. I’ll feel better once I can start looking through some of Sasha’s statements.”

“They’re not statements, Jon. I expect you’re going to be disappointed if—”

“I just meant that I’ll feel better once I have some understanding of…” He trailed off. “Why do I need a pin?”

“Hm?”

“My laptop. I need a pin.”

“Wait, didn’t you have one before?”

“No. Sasha kept telling me to set one, but…” Jon sighed. “This would be a lot easier if we could remember things about this place when we wanted to.”

A thought occurred to Martin, something they hadn’t talked about yet. “Are you going to be all right, Jon? With Sasha being the archivist here?”

“She’s not the Archivist. There is no Archivist here. Not even me, right now.” Martin could hear him typing, trying different combinations of numbers, and could also hear his frustration growing.

“Hang on, let me try a couple things before you go getting all worked up.” He got up and went to join Jon at his desk. “And no, you’re right, of course—I just meant, are you ok with her being the head archivist here? At the Institute?”

“I don’t care.” Jon leaned back from his desk so Martin could reach the number keys. “Wait—is that the sofa that Tim brought in when—”

“Yes, it is. And it was a good idea.” The pin would have to be something Jon would easily remember, and knowing Jon, probably also too easy for someone else to guess. He tried Jon’s birthday; it didn’t work. He tried the street number of Jon’s flat, and that didn’t work either. “Hmm…”

“Well, I suppose professionalism isn’t as important when your entire area of research is—”

“Jon, hush.” Last four of Jon’s phone number?... Nope. He stared down at the keys and a wild thought entered his head. No reason he couldn’t try it, though. He typed the four-digit combination and was surprised to find that it worked.

“Oh.” Jon leaned forward. “What did you type?”

“I don’t know,” Martin lied. “I was just trying things. I don’t remember what I did.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get back in next time?”

“You’re going to have to change it.”

“I don’t want to change it.”

“Sasha’s going to make you change it.”

“How is Sasha going to know that—”

“Because I just saw Martin type it in for you,” Sasha said from the door of her office, smiling.

“Hey, Sasha.” Martin let himself smile in return—it was easy, if he forgot the last four years of his life. “Thanks again for letting us come in today.”

“Honestly, I’m already wondering if it was a mistake. I told you to take your time and really, it’s first thing in the morning.”

“Well, Jon just couldn’t wait to get back,” he said, reflexively rubbing the back of his neck. “He—hang on.”

He snatched the mouse away from Jon and clicked through to the screen where he could change his pin, while Jon did his best to appear extremely inconvenienced. “Oh, stop. Type the new one, I’m not looking.”

Jon grudgingly did as Martin instructed.

“So why were you so eager to come back, Jon?” Sasha asked.

“Oh.” Jon cleared his throat. “I, um…”

Martin interceded. “He’s actually been very concerned about—about the things you said have been happening here since we were gone.”

“I wondered if that was it. I’ve been thinking about that myself,” Sasha said. “I know you don’t remember anything, but the timing was just so… Jon, I know you’ve always been a skeptic—”

“And I still am. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for everything.” Martin thought maybe Jon would catch on after all. “But it would be quite the coincidence if it were unrelated. I was actually wondering if I might review some of the notes you took during your—interviews.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sasha replied. “To be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with them. They aren’t exactly typical archive material. Maybe you can help me—”

“Morning, everyone.” Tim cheerfully disrupted the conversation as he slipped into the room behind Sasha. “How are we all feeling?”

“All right,” Martin answered, when no one else did.

“Great. Especially coming from you, Martin, because we are going on an adventure today.” Tim made his way to his desk and picked through a few papers.

“Oh?” Martin looked at Sasha.

“What Tim means is that if you are up for it, there were a few people who contacted us but couldn’t come in, and we haven’t had a chance to get back to them. I haven’t felt comfortable sending Tim to interview people alone, and well—it’s not really our job, and I’ve got more than enough actual work to take care of since—well, we’ve gotten a bit backed up.”

“What do you think, Martin?” Tim asked, waving the papers toward him. “Up for it?”

“Oh, well, I—I guess I could, yeah.” He glanced at Jon, who was suddenly sitting up very straight in his chair.

“Martin, I—are you sure?”

“I think so,” Martin replied.

“I’m just thinking that if something were to happen…”

“What—what sort of thing?”

“Yeah Jon, what sort of thing?” Tim echoed. They both turned to look at him and found him with a curious look on his face. “Oh look, if you two need to consult about this, please go ahead. Don’t mind me.”

“Yes, thank you, Tim.” Jon spoke through gritted teeth, indicating the sarcasm hadn’t escaped him. “Martin, just—come talk to me.” He stood up and took Martin by the arm, leading him out into the reception area and closing the door—but not before Martin saw Tim bite back a grin.

“Jon, what—”

“Martin, we have no idea what’s going on, or who or what could be out there, or—”

“Do you want Tim to go by himself?”

“Well—no, but—”

“Look.” He took Jon by the arm now. “I know we haven’t been apart since—well, not for a long time. And I know every time we have been apart, it’s been bad. But things are different now. This is different. You’ll be all right here with Sasha, and I’ll be with Tim and—”

“And with anything else that’s shown up since we got here. And if something happened, I—” Jon stopped and looked toward the floor. “I wouldn’t know about it.”

“Yeah, well, welcome back to being a normal person.” He squeezed Jon’s arm. “Look, if you’re really worried, I’ll come up with some excuse. But Jon, we’ve got to—we’ve got to try and be functional here. Plus, if you really want to figure out where things are—if you’re here going through the interviews, doesn’t it help for me to be out there? Talking to people? You know—like I used to do for you by myself all the time?”

Jon pressed a hand to his own mouth, thinking.

“Jon, I’ve got my phone.”

“Technically you had your phone when you went to look for Jane Prentiss.”

“Ok, I see why that’s not that reassuring, but do you realize how long it took for Jane Prentiss to—become what she was? And I will be with Tim, and—”

“Yes, you’ll be with Tim. Great.”

“Jon.” Martin sighed. “He’s just concerned. Ok, what if I—what if I look through the contact forms before I leave? Make sure I don’t recognize any names on them? Like—no bad names?”

“We don’t even know if it works like that.” Jon thought for another minute, but Martin could see his resistance starting to come down. “Look, I don’t want to… maybe I am being overprotective.”

“You think?” It didn’t really bother him to hear Jon say it; in fact, he got a bit soft knowing Jon felt that way, but it wasn’t going to help the situation to admit it.

Jon finally gave in. “All right. Do look at the names though—and if anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know right away. I won’t do anything dumb.”

“I know. Martin, I—” Jon looked up at him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned down for a quick kiss, which Jon returned. “I’ll be fine, ok?”

Jon nodded, reluctant.

***

Despite another look from Tim, Martin did check the names as promised; there were only three for that day, and he didn’t recognize any of them. By the time they left, the thought of spending time alone with Tim made him more nervous than their actual task. He imagined that as soon as they were out the door, Tim would start peppering him with questions about where he and Jon had been, what had happened between them, or both.

As it turned out, though, their time together was quite enjoyable. Martin had forgotten how easy it was to be around Tim—that he had that thing he could do that just made everyone comfortable when he wanted to. They took the tube out to a suburb, and on the way, they talked about the weather a little bit. They talked about a new café that had moved in down the street a few weeks ago; Tim said it was all right for an occasional something different, but nothing special. They talked about what Tim had been up to in his free time. As it turned out, his brother Danny was getting married soon to a girl Tim absolutely adored. Martin suddenly remembered when Danny had come into town and visited Tim at work one day a few years ago, and he’d been amazed by how similar the two of them had been when they stood side by side.

I’ve met Danny Stoker. The urge to smile hitting alongside that awful catch in his throat was becoming a strangely familiar feeling.

Their first interview was with an older woman in her home. She had gotten in touch with the Institute after receiving their information through a friend of a friend, who’d heard a story from yet another friend. Martin really thought there wasn’t anything to it. Well, he supposed it was possible there was a ghost living in her television set that just happened to have moved in after her daughter had tried to help her set up a new voice assistant—but in all fairness, it seemed unlikely. The second interview was equally unimpressive.

Once they finished up, Tim made a phone call to their third interview subject, and announced they were headed back to central London. The man didn’t want to meet at home, but he was willing to meet them somewhere public; Tim arranged to meet him at a deli not far from the Institute. The ride back was pleasant enough, if a bit quieter.

“It’s getting late,” Tim said, after glancing at his phone. “We have time to eat first, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Martin was pretty hungry again by the time they sat down with their food. He supposed he’d missed being able to enjoy food, but having to eat multiple times a day was sort of annoying when it came down to it. He was just wondering if he should send Jon a reminder to eat, when he realized Tim was staring at him; he hadn’t touched his sandwich yet.

“Everything ok?” he asked.

“What happened?” Tim asked. “To you and Jon.”

“Oh, I—” Martin swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I assumed Sasha told you. We don’t—”

“Don’t remember.” Tim cut him off. “Really, though? Like—nothing?”

Well, here goes. “Really. Nothing.”

Tim regarded him thoughtfully. “We looked for you. Me and Sasha, we looked everywhere, for weeks. Well, everywhere we could think of.”

“Tim, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” That was the truth. In fact, he was sorrier than he was going to be able to explain.

“Sasha took it really hard, you know?” Tim said. “I mean, you were at work when it happened. She felt responsible. Like it was her fault.”

That sounded familiar.

“It wasn’t,” Martin replied. “It wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with her.”

“I told her that. Every day. I don’t think it made any difference, though. And I’m sure it hasn’t really sunk in yet that you’re back.” Tim picked a small piece of crust from his sandwich bread and chewed it carefully before swallowing. “I mean, it almost seems impossible, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were gone for two months, you left no sign of what had happened or where you were—and then you just show up again one day, making out on the landscape, covered in your own blood.”

“We were not making out,” Martin snapped.

“You were too,” Tim answered. “What’s that about, anyway?”

Martin didn’t answer him.

“Look, I have no idea what happened, but… I’ll admit, I’ve always wondered if you maybe had a thing for him. I mean, the man’s always been a bit of a wreck, and I’ve watched you defend him and try to take care of him ever since we all started working together. And it’s not like you got along that well, but I know you and it just seems like the kind of thing you’d go for. But I never thought—”

“You really don’t like Jon, do you?”

“What? No, I like him just fine. You know that. But I like him for who he is, and this just seems like… it seems like a lot after two months.”

“Tim, it’s complicated, and I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t—you don’t know what we’ve been through. What he’s been through, or what he’s—”

“I thought you didn’t either.”

Martin’s heart skipped, and then beat double to make up for it. “I just meant—look, I don’t know what happened, but I—I feel things I can’t explain. And I can say that it feels like it’s been a lot longer than two months since—since we disappeared.”

“Is that so?” Tim asked. “Just tell me. Do you not remember, or do you actually not remember?”

“I—I really don’t remember.”

“Why did it sound like there were quotes around that?”

“There weren’t.”

“Right.” Tim said. “Well in that case, I ‘believe you’”—he paused to make large air quotes— “and I ‘definitely won’t keep asking.’”

“Tim—”

“It’s fine,” Tim said as he finally took a large bite of his sandwich, then continued with his mouth full. “Whatever happened, I am glad you’re back—and whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.”

As hungry as he was when he’d sat down, Martin couldn’t touch the rest of his sandwich. He kind of resented the way Tim was able to keep eating. Tim had always been that way though, hadn’t he? Able to say what he thought without worrying about the consequences. It had taken on a different flavor after he’d found himself trapped at the Institute, of course, but even then, he’d stood up to Elias without any fear of what might happen. Even when he’d died, he’d gone out the way he’d wanted too—no regrets.

Martin wanted so badly to tell him the truth in that moment. Instead, he sat in silence and watched him eat.

A short time later, Tim grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth. “I think that’s him. Our interview. Yellow shirt, black jacket.” He raised a hand toward someone coming through the door behind Martin.

“What was the name again?” Martin asked as he turned around.

“Hang on—” Tim pulled out one of the contact forms. “Here we go. Antonio Blake.”

Wait. Wait, there was something familiar about that name—shit. He’d thought about it too quickly that morning. He’d completely forgotten about the alias.

Jon is going to lose it when I have to tell him this.

“You’re—you’re Oliver Banks,” he said to the man now standing directly in front of him.

Oliver looked suspiciously from him to Tim and back again. “I didn’t—how did you know that?”

“I—don’t know. It just came to me.” Given what Oliver had to be going through, maybe there was half a chance he would find that plausible.

Tim gave him a look. “You know him?”

“Not—not really. Please, sit.”

Oliver continued to hesitate. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Look—I am sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m Martin Blackwood, from the Magnus Institute. This is Tim Stoker.”

Tim stood up and offered his hand in that easy, open manner he had, and Oliver tenuously accepted it.

“Please,” Martin said. “Whatever you have to say—we’d like to hear it. It might be important. Maybe we could… help.”

He didn’t feel great about himself for adding that last part.

Oliver slowly pulled out the third chair at the table and sat down. Martin didn’t know what he’d expected him to be like, but somehow this wasn’t it. He felt sad for this man. He looked so tired, but at the same time so ready to run. He reminded Martin a bit of Jon, actually, during the year after Jane Prentiss had come to the institute and before they’d realized that Sasha had been murdered. He supposed that made a lot of sense, the more he thought about it.

Tim spoke again. “You didn’t leave a lot of detail in your message, so—do you want to just walk us through what happened to you?”

“Well…” Oliver looked from one to the other of them again. “I’m really not sure you’ll believe me. To tell the truth, I’m not sure anymore that I’m not going crazy. I’ve—I’ve not been sleeping much, and it’s…” he trailed off.

“You don’t want to sleep because you’re afraid you’ll dream again.”

Oliver re-focused on Martin. “How do you keep—”

“It’s all right.” Martin said. “I just want you to know that I’ll believe you. If you want to tell us.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Martin didn’t want to say anything that might send Oliver back out the door, and Tim followed his lead. Finally, Oliver spoke, quietly enough that it took some effort to hear him.

“It was a dream. Or it started with a dream. The first time, I dreamed that I was walking near Canary Wharf—I used to have a job there years ago, and—well, I don’t need to get into that, do I… The point is, I know the area. There were people around me, people I don’t actually know, like happens in a dream, but they all had these—I don’t know—tendrils.” He paused and made a motion with his hands, like he was holding something heavy. “I don’t really have another word for it. Like snakes, almost, but not alive like snakes. Just tendrils, everywhere, and they went through these people—like their hearts, or their heads, or around them somewhere. I really didn’t like it, you know, but also I think I knew I was dreaming. Everything was sort of pulsing and—and I was trying to ignore all of it, but when I headed home in the dream… Well, it was my landlady. She had lots of them, like black veins, running into her chest, or her lungs, really, somehow I knew it was her lungs. I woke up not long after that.”

Martin tried to keep his expression neutral. This was so much like the statement Oliver had made years ago in their world, to Gertrude, but it was also so different. Most obviously, it wasn’t a statement at all, it was just Oliver talking. That made sense. There was no Archivist here, either with them or in general, which Jon had so intently pointed out that morning. The words weren’t just pulled out like Martin was used to, thank god. And certainly, the people Oliver had first dreamed of in their world would have passed years earlier. The basic story, though, was the same.

“OK.” Tim nodded, scratching down some notes. “But I assume there’s more?”

“Well, the thing is—not even two weeks later, she—she died. Lung cancer. It was sudden. Undiagnosed. I’d almost forgotten about the dream, to be honest, but that… it shook me.”

“Understandable.” Tim nodded again. “So you think your dream was a—a warning?”

“Well, I mean—of course I was sort of struck by it, that day, but after a little time, it didn’t seem like such a big thing. She smoked her whole life. I know sometimes people know things they aren’t really conscious of, and maybe I just—knew she was sick. But then… it happened again. A man at the bakery near the shop where I work now. I barely knew him. It was his heart. And I—I dreamed it again. The whole thing. A week before it happened. And I just started wondering if—if every person I see in that dream…”

Tim frowned and looked toward Martin, which prompted Oliver to do the same.

“What do I do?” Oliver asked, and Martin swore a shiver ran through him—maybe it was from nerves or too much coffee or not enough sleep, or maybe all three. “I thought maybe you would—know something about this. Maybe you’ve heard of it before. Do you think—do you think I could help them? If I found them, if I talked to them—”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, I have heard of it before, and… no. You can’t help them. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Oliver worried at his lip. “I’m not—I’m not causing it somehow, am I? I was thinking that maybe—if I keep trying to stay awake—”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “No, you’re not causing it. You—you should know it’s not your fault. And if you sleep, or if you don’t sleep—they’ll still… they’ll still die.”

Oliver nodded his head, digesting the information. “So I can’t do anything. I just get to know they’re going to die, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.” Martin wondered what he would have said if he’d had time to think about it. Would it have been any different? Would he have thought of something better to say, something that didn’t fall so flat the moment it left his mouth, something that could have actually helped?

Would Jon have said something better?

“All right,” Oliver replied softly, bringing Martin back from his thoughts as he stood up from his chair. “Thank you for listening. I—I think I’m going to go.”

“If you need anything—if we can help—you know where to find us.”

Martin wasn’t sure if Oliver even heard him.

“What the hell was that?” Tim asked loudly, once Oliver was out of sight.

“Nothing,” Martin answered.

“That wasn’t nothing. You knew that man. You knew what he was going to say.” Tim pointed at the door, waving his finger for emphasis. “And then you…”

“Tim, I can’t explain it right now.”

He turned his finger on Martin. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry. I wish—” His phone, which he had set on the table, buzzed at him. It was a message from Jon, asking if everything was ok. “Let’s go back now, all right?”

Tim shook his head in disbelief. They didn’t speak on the walk back.

***

Jon jerked up from his desk when they walked in, which was now covered in numerous hand-written notes and manilla folders. Martin suspected he’d maybe been taking an unintentional nap. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Martin answered. “Did you eat?”

“Not—not yet.”

“Here,” Martin said, tossing the rest of his sandwich onto Jon’s desk. “I didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” Jon peeked under the wrapper. “You barely ate this at all. Are you sure you don’t—”

“Yes.”

“All right, well—thank you.” Jon took a quick bite and set it aside as he resumed reading.

“Well?” Tim said.

Martin ignored him.

“Are you going to tell him about your friend?”

“What friend?” Jon asked, eyes still on the paper in front of him.

“I didn’t catch his name, actually,” Tim replied. “But I do know it wasn’t”—he pulled out the now-crumpled contact form— “Antonio Blake.”

“What?” Jon immediately stopped what he was doing.

“Jon—”

“You saw Oliver Banks.”

“Oliver Banks.” Tim deliberately overpronounced the name. “That’s right. Thank you, Jon.”

“Tim—”

“How could you miss that?” Jon stood up.

“It was fine! Nothing happened. I would have—”

Jon didn’t even need to speak to cut him off; the look in his eyes was enough. “We need to talk.”

“Please,” Tim cut in. “One of you talk, at least.”

“In private. Come on,” Jon said, once again taking Martin by the arm. Rosie was back at her desk now, but Sasha had temporarily stepped out, and they spoke in her office with hushed voices, without bothering to turn the light on.

“Jon, it really was fine, I—”

“Stop.” Jon reached up to take Martin’s face in his hands. “It’s ok. I just want to know what happened.”

“Nothing, really. He—he’s had a couple dreams, that’s all. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to—to help them. I told him he couldn’t. I felt bad for him.”

Jon closed his eyes and breathed out, then opened them to look at Martin again.

“Jon, I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, what does he even do? He sees people’s deaths, and wakes up other people’s”—he paused— “Archivists.”

“It’s not funny. Or that simple.” Jon let go and turned to face the wall. “Martin what if—what if he had seen your death?”

“Well then—at least I’d know? I guess?”

“Or what if he’d seen Tim’s? Or—or mine?”

Martin could sort of see Jon’s point then—but only sort of. “Ok, but—I still think we weren’t really in any danger. Yes, I messed up, and I should have caught that, but—”

“It’s too dangerous,” Jon interrupted. “You can’t do this again without me. And—and neither can Tim.”

“Oh really,” Martin responded. “And why do you—”

“It’s not just Oliver,” Jon broke in again. “I found some things in the—in the interviews Sasha did. Do you remember the thing we called the Anglerfish?”

“Yes?”

“And do you remember Laura Popham?”

“Um—”

“She went caving with her sister and—”

“Oh, right. Lost John’s Cave.”

“They’ve… they were in there, in the interviews. Already. In just two months.”

Martin was starting to understand Jon’s reaction.

“And I was hoping it was just those sorts of things,” Jon continued, “and no… avatars, but if Oliver Banks is already connected to the End—”

“I see.” Martin stepped closer to Jon to put an arm over his shoulder. “All right, I get it. Things are happening fast.”

“Well… most things.” Jon sounded a little offput.

“Wait.” Martin almost laughed, but not because he found it funny. “Wait, are you upset because you aren’t connected to the Eye yet?”

“Upset isn’t the right—”

“Now who’s jealous of Oliver Banks?”

“Technically that would be envy, not jealousy—”

“Technically yes, but that isn’t the—”

“—and I’m not,” Jon finished. “I just—I feel like I know it’s coming, and I’d like to get it over with.”

“Right.” Martin rolled his eyes, but only because Jon couldn’t see it in the dim office. “So what do we do now?”

“First, if there are more interviews to be done, they could be important, but… we do them together. You and me.”

“There are. And… if Sasha is ok with it.”

“And then I keep going through Sasha’s notes. And then I go back before that, just to—”

“Jon, you’re going to exhaust yourself.”

“Then I do.”

“No. It doesn’t do anyone any good if you—”

They were interrupted by Sasha’s voice.

“Jon? Martin?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “Sorry, I needed to speak with Martin, so we borrowed your office.”

“That’s fine, but you didn’t need to do it in the dark,” she said, switching on the light. “So I was just talking to Tim, and it sounds like today was… eventful?”

“That’s not exactly what I said, but I suppose that’s the polite version.” Tim followed her into the office.

“Well, I have something to report, too.” Sasha sat down behind her desk. “I know I said I was going to get back on regular archive things today, but… well, let’s just say I got curious, and may have found a back door on the web to access certain matters of official police business.”

“Really?” Tim’s grin was back. “That almost sounds like someone’s misbehaving.”

“I’d feel bad about it, but let’s also say I wasn’t too pleased with the way a certain missing persons case was handled.”

“Good for you.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Sasha did seem very pleased with herself. “But that brings me to my next point. Tim, I know you have some… contacts at some of the local police stations who might be able to—supplement the information I’m getting? I could use your help with that.”

“Sure, boss,” Tim said. “And that should work perfectly, actually, because I believe Jon was just getting ready to forbid Martin from going on any more interviews with me.”

“That is not—” Jon started over. “I would like to go with Martin on any further interviews, if that’s agreeable.”

“I mean—that’s fine, and I certainly don’t want anyone going out alone,” Sasha answered, “but what about catching up with everything here? It seemed like you felt that was pretty important.”

“I’d like to keep doing that too. I might need to put in a few extra hours.”

Sasha sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Maybe? Let’s see how you’re doing next week.”

“Sasha, I’m—”

“—already worn out, and a very bad judge of your own health.” Martin nodded in agreement, and shrugged without sympathy when Jon glared at him. “For the rest of this week, if you come in, you’ll both stay here. Jon, you can keep going through my notes, and Martin—would you mind helping me catch up on some of the filing and patron requests? I don’t even want to think about how far behind we are. Those other interviews have waited this long, they’ll wait a few more days. Especially if Tim is able to help follow up with the police angle.”

“Of course,” Martin answered. Even if Jon didn’t think he needed to take it a little bit easy, Martin was more than willing to acknowledge his own limitations—and sometimes Jon’s, even if it wasn’t appreciated. “Oh, and Sasha—we’ve got therapy tomorrow morning, so we’ll probably be a little bit late.”

“Good,” Sasha replied. “And for now, don’t take any of those notes home, Jon.”

Jon stared daggers at Martin, but he didn’t regret it—especially not after Jon fell asleep on him on the couch during dinner a few hours later.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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ommsims · 4 years ago

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story process challenge

i was tagged by @xldkx to do this challenge, created by @herpixels , like a month? a month and a half? ago and it’s been sitting half finished in my drafts for nearly as long. *sigh* (regardless, i love stuff like this so even if it takes me forever to get to it, i appreciate the tags! 💕).

i decided to answer all the qs because it took me damn long enough to get to this, so i might as well put some extra elbow grease into it (plus it was fun!). btw it’s all going under a cut b/c it is long. i apologize in advance.

1. My Writing Process - used to be a hot damn mess. literally word docs strewn throughout my pc. However, I recently switched to using Onenote (it’s what i use to organize my d&d campaign notes) and hoo-boy is it so much nicer. this is how it’s set up and it’s honestly night and day. i can have a page with outlines, a page to organize & order screenshots, and a separate page for drafting text, and i can easily toggle though them without having to switch windows? a big thumbs up from me.

When it comes to actual writing- I used to write my drafts in novel format, which i enjoyed but it made “converting” them into tumblr posts time consuming and frustrating. I ended up scrapping most of the text in the process, retaining pretty much only the dialogue.

Anyway, nowadays I write in more of a screenplay format: dialogue only + key scene information with the occasional note to self.

I do keep a master “arcs” page with key events and each individual character’s arc from beginning to end and secondary “outline” pages with slightly more detailed outline for each leg of the project. No screencaps b/c spoilers galore!

My typical work flow process for a scene goes: (1) brainstorm scene ideas, (2) take screenshots, (3) organize screenshots into a rough storyboard, (4) add 1st draft of text, (5) edit photos, (6) edit text, (7) upload to "drafts” here on tumblr, (8) let sit for a bit (9) take a final look at things/proofread and edit as needed. It may sound counterintuitive, but i find it much easier to write dialogue for a set of images rather than attempt to take images based on prewritten text. I feel more comfortable editing and tweaking tone and content in the text this way. Otherwise, I get frustrated when I “can’t” shoot a scene exactly as it appeared in my head.

2. How I build my scenes - A lot of what i do is rooted in gameplay, therefore my sets are usually (a) play-tested and (b) not super pretty. I’ve certainly improved at decorating & building over the years but more often than not I download lots off tumblr and the gallery because I don’t have the patience, aptitude, or time to build all of my own sets. That being said, I frequently gut builds only to build a number of completely unrelated mini sets inside to reduce the number of times i have to replace lots. I also keep a list of “important locations” and where certain characters live / will move to, to help keep this all straight as there aren’t nearly enough lots per neighborhood or even per world in this damn game...

my least favorite part of scene building is actually decorating. lol. Don’t get me wrong, I love clutter. I honestly do. but fuck me if i expect myself to spend hours meticulously decorating a set, spend another 3 hours toggling back and forth b/w BB & live modes adjusting things to get rid of the damn routing errors. (yeah, yeah, i know i could ignore them, they’re not important, especially in those scenarios where i’m using a set for screenshots and nothing else, but idk. it really grinds my gears.) and then have to replace the lot like a week later because there aren’t enough lots in the game. *sigh*

3. CC/Pose Making - i do not consider myself to be a cc creator nor a pose maker but i do dabble occasionally. And to be completely honest i’d much rather spend my time doing other stuff, so it’s not high on my list of priorities atm. plus there are so many talented cc creators in this community; i can usually get by with what’s already out there.

4. Getting in the zone - Honestly, I do a lot of brainstorming for plot & dialogue in the shower. I don’t have any particular playlists to get me “in the writing mood” but I do enjoy listening to music as I work. Either instrumental stuff or simply artists/songs I like. If something just so happens to “fit” a scene I’m working on, one i’ve got planned, or even just gives me vibes for a certain character or group, I add a quick note to the top of said scene’s draft. Most of the time I stick it in the recesses of my brain and add a quick link when I finally get to the point of posting the draft to tumblr. For whatever reason, when I have one of those “oh this song is perfect for X” moments it’s essentially ingrained in my mind for the rest of eternity.

5. The screenshot folder - this will most likely give some of you out there major anxiety. but i swear it’s an organized chaos. :)

yep. 32.9gb of screenshots & related things...

So with the raws from a single random scene selected, you can see i take roughly 10 screenshots per image posted. not terrible i guess but i’m working on it. Typically I take screenshots and once I’m done editing a scene I’ll move them from the general folder to a more specific project folder.

6. Captions - I’ll answer this in three parts:

for my townie story. not really. I prefer using the text box. I tend to write (& re-write) the dialogue for each one of these scenes several times over as I add more “scenes” into my drafts. It would be incredibly inefficient, time consuming, and would waste a lot more space on my pc to have to save .psds of each image just so i could edit dialogue when I decide: “oh hey maybe so and so needs to bring up X in this scene” and then change my mind an hour later.

for niko, noor, & co. I’m a text on image type gal here. don’t really know why, but it gives the project a different energy. ironically it makes it feel more laid-back to me. which i guess makes sense, it’s a much more light-hearted “story” than my townie project. which is, imo, very soapy haha.

for legacy stuff. all text goes below the images in the text box. reasoning: it’s gameplay, I don’t brainstorm, outline, or pre-write for this. I play the game, take screenshots, plug ‘em into my drafts and write some commentary / dialogue to go along with it.

7. Editing - i am a creature of habit and have not majorly changed my editing process in probably a year and a half (when I began using reshade and had to adjust my color correcting psd). it’s a super basic system:

drag & drop my “color correction” psd.

run actions in ps. (i made my own “all-in-one” actions to really streamline the process; i have different “actions sets” for my premades’ story and for other things that get posted to tumblr. even if no one else notices it, i like the little details that keep my projects separate and “identifiable”.

voila. all set to upload.

sometimes i crop images, add “text effects”, or do more in depth editing (i.e. editing a phone screen or adding rain etc.) but overall i try and keep it simple for myself.

8. Throwback - i posted an image of one of the first (but never posted) scenes I’d written for my townie project up above. but as for how would i redo a scene i’d already posted. well i’m currently re-doing my townie story so i guess i’ll just say you’ll see how it’s redone when i get to part 1! 😉

anyway, no tags because i’m so embarrassingly late to this party but if you hadn’t gotten around to this tag, wanted to do it but didn’t get a tag, or started it and left it to sit and now you’re thinking “oh god that was months ago should i even post this anymore?!?” consider yourself tagged by me and go ahead and post it for all to see!

#tag train #story process challenge #it's long. it's rambly. but that's me.#this one was a challenge! a challenge but fun.

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damienthepious · 4 years ago

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INTERNALLY I AM SCREAMING EXTERNALLY I AM ALSO SCREAMING,,, BUT LET’S HAVE SOME BOUQUET WHILE I SCREAM INTO A PILLOW.

Even With Missteps (chapter 3)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ao3] [ch 4] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, (other characters mentioned)

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades

Summary: There is a masquerade ball in the Citadel tonight. Every knight and citizen has turned out, and all of them bear disguises of monstrosity. What better time could there be, for a monster who needs to find a way inside?

Chapter Summary We are attempting to be fair. There is still at least one dance that is owed.

Chapter Notes: i'm so fucking gay y'all. can i mention again this was supposed to just be a one shot? how LONG is this now? oh my god. anyway now there HAS to be a fourth chapter, because i completely changed how this chapter was supposed to end and things have gone entirely off the rails again. this is a mess. hit me up on tumblr if you wanna know how this was SUPPOSED to end. also please go listen to the new episode i'm DYING.

Arum descends, his mind still roiling and disbelieving, and his claws click lightly on the stone when he reaches the balcony level again, but there is no one close enough by to hear, or to see. No sharp-eyed attendees attend his presence, this time.

As such… Arum indulges one more moment. He glances towards the window above, and through the darkness and the curtains he can see nothing in truth. He imagines shadows in the room, at least. Imagines the shape of his honeysuckle, awkwardly explaining his absence to a colleague, explaining that he had, of course, found nothing of interest in the Queen’s chambers.

... Arum still does not understand.

Many things, if he is being honest with himself, as he so rarely is. He does not understand Sir Damien, does not understand this sharp-fanged little basilisk with his lilting voice and his gentle eyes, his sharp arrows and his bright laugh. He does not understand why a knight would ever, ever suffer a monster to live. Not under any circumstances, let alone such ridiculous ones as these.

Humans. Baffling creatures… though, not quite in the way Arum expected them to be. He turns his attention towards a sharp noise back inside, looking through the sheer curtains into the party, and he watches a pair of human hatchlings - children, he thinks - laughing uncontrollably beneath their chickenfeather-harpy costumes as they swing each other's hands back and forth. Arum shakes his head quickly, turning away, and then he gives the window above one more glance.

Arum does not understand his own reactions, either. The knight failed to perform his duty- but Arum has done much the same. The knight should be dead.

Two dances, and Arum is made a fool. He scoffs at himself, digging the claws of his hidden lower hands into his midsection to try to suppress the way his stomach jumps in discomfort, and… he is still staring at the window above. He does not have time for this. He does not. He should already be on his way home in the understanding that this evening has been a failure, or better yet he should be looking for some way to salvage this, some other alternative focus he can select for his prototype. There is no cause for him to waste time in musing, he can worry over his own stupidity in the Keep, when he is safe-

“Hey there, stranger.”

Arum whirls on the voice, realizing quite a bit too late that there is a human closer than is comfortable. He manages, by a fraction, not to hiss instinctively. His cover may not be completely intact anymore, but that is no reason to toss it out while it may still serve him.

The human is small, though not as small as his basilisk- as Sir Damien, rather. Her mask is brassy, with a sharp pointed beak over her nose, beneath which she is grinning at Arum in a way that would put him instantly on edge, were he not already tense to begin with.

She is also, decidedly, in the way of his current escape route, back through the party.

“Er- greetings,” Arum awkwardly grates out, and the human’s grin, if anything, tilts wider. “If you will pardon-”

“Nah, I don’t think I’ll pardon. Care for a dance?”

Arum stares down at her, wondering if the sheer force of his confusion and irritation are properly conveyed through his mask. “No.”

She raises an eyebrow, shimmering red and gold dusting her dark skin in stylized flaming streaks. “No?”

“I am leaving, I do not have-”

“It’s Arum, right?”

Arum flinches, then freezes, and he is glad, at least, that the human cannot see his panicked face.

“Excuse me?” he barks. “Who- how-”

“You’re the one who stole a dance from my partner earlier tonight,” she says slyly, coming closer while he stands stock-still.

“You-” Arum swallows uncomfortably, glancing again towards the window above for a moment, but he still cannot see anyone looking down towards the balcony. “You are attached to h- Sir Damien, then?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She shrugs. “So what I figure is, you technically stole a dance that should have been mine, right?”

“I- I don’t have time for-”

“So you owe me a dance, then.”

“What?”

She grins, the sharp white curve of her teeth intersected by the triangle of her mask’s beak, and she edges even closer, and despite Arum’s instincts he knows he cannot back away or else it will show too much weakness in front of this little creature. He cannot obey the traitorous instincts urging him to lean into her mammal heat, either. Obviously.

“I said you owe me a dance, Arum, and you look like you’re about to bolt out of here, so I know I gotta take what’s owed to me now or I might not get another chance.” Her smile shifts a little less predatory, a little more warm instead of hot, and she lifts her hand towards him in request. “Just one dance. One dance won’t kill you, will it?”

Arum does not look back up towards the window above, does not look over the human’s shoulder to see if any knights are coming their way, and thinks that perhaps, just maybe, it might kill him. There is something undeniable in her eyes, though. Something in the certainty of her posture and her smile. And-

Dancing with Damien had been… not unpleasant. It stands to reason that if this little creature is his usual partner, it is likely that she will be similarly skilled, will she not? And Arum may have already settled his debts, so to speak, with Damien, but this human cannot possibly know that, and- and Arum still needs to cross the room again, to make his escape. None would expect a thief to return to cavorting and revelry after he was nearly found out, would they?

He has waited too long in the consideration. The human leans just slightly closer, and one of her hands reaches, brushing her gloved fingers (still impossibly hot, a phoenix she is dressed as and she has equal fire, certainly-) against his own, and without thinking he spreads his fingers, allowing her to take his hand properly.

Well. The decision is made, though he is still not convinced that he is the one who made it.

Arum steps closer, breath leaving him in a sigh, and her eyes go bright and delighted above the curve of her beak.

“I suppose… if the fairness matters so much, if settling the score is so very important to you, little phoenix-”

Her other hand moves to the correct place upon him, but then slips a past that, just skirting the edge of propriety as she slots herself a little too close, very much too warm. Must all these creatures run hearth-hot?

“I’m not, really. Concerned with the fairness, I mean,” she says with a wicked little grin as they begin to sway together. “It is a really good excuse, though.”

Arum-

Laughs. A helpless little breath of it escapes between his teeth, and apparently that encourages her because her grin grows wider.

Arum's estimations of her dancing prowess were correct, in a way. She is not unpleasant to dance with, as Damien was not, but her style is markedly different. Damien dances with a certain elegance, a feeling of controlled grace. This little phoenix is skilled, but there is more joy here than elegance by a wide gulf. She knows precisely what she is doing, but she clearly intends to enjoy every step, regardless of propriety or decorum. An admirable attitude, so far as Arum is concerned.

"You are unconcerned with your former partner as well, then?" Arum asks, because it seems like something a human would care about. The little phoenix gives her own laugh, tossing her head back to do so, and the unselfconsciousness of the gesture makes Arum's frill shiver with the desire to flare beneath the constriction of his mask.

"I'm almost always concerned about Damien in one way or the other," she says with a shrug that shifts her skin against Arum's palm. "But considering that he's run off from a party to do work - again - I don't think he'll mind too much if I find someone else to entertain me for a little while."

"I am not entertainment," Arum grumbles, but his footwork does not falter with the complaint, and the way her eyes glint as she smirks up at him makes the claim feel rather flimsy.

"Besides," she continues, entirely ignoring his protest, "it'd be pretty hypocritical for him to complain about it, don't you think?"

"I- I suppose-"

"He knows how to pick a partner, though," she says, and there is no small degree of smugness in her tone as she guides their steps in a gentle sort of circle around the wide balcony. "You're kind of a natural at this."

"O-oh," Arum says. While they dance, he cannot exactly look away from her, cannot distract himself from the warmth of her body or her words. "Oh. Th-thank you." He pauses, attempting for a long moment to focus more on his surroundings, and then he processes the words the human spoke aside from her compliment. "Though- though, I picked him, not the other way around."

"Hm," she says. "Out of curiosity, why did you pick him, anyway? It's a big sort of party, lots of folks to choose from…"

"He-" Arum stutters, but there do not appear to be any further words ready to rise to his tongue.

You are the only monster here who has interested me in the least. Those were the words he whispered into Sir Damien's ear when first he gathered the knight into his arms, and- and Arum, at the time, had assumed himself a liar. He is unsure, now, if he had been, but that memory-

Elegant little basilisk with longing in his eyes, still amidst a sea of movement, drawing Arum's eyes as bright as the rising sun-

"He has… an air about him," Arum settles on, his voice stilted and soft, and the little phoenix give a much more gentle smile, then.

"He really does, doesn't he?" She sighs then, and when she glances back up at him from beneath her mask her expression is wry. "Alright, okay, I should stop teasing. It's not like I can blame you for being charmed- or for being charming."

Arum barks a laugh, too surprised to do anything else. "Charming-"

"You were gonna leave before I interrupted, right? Let me dance you across the ballroom, at least. Then you can just take off, if you'd like."

Arum blinks down at her, utterly baffled. "Are all-" he pauses, "people from this Citadel like the pair of you?" Arum asks incredulously, tilting his head as he looks down at the creature in his arms.

"Like what?"

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again quickly.

Compelling, he had nearly hissed. Enthralling. Fascinating and clever and warm and draped with a deceptive air of comfort, despite the fact that Arum knows that an ounce more of carelessness with either of these creatures would spell certain death.

She stares at him as he flounders. He snaps his teeth together again reflexively, then grasps for other words.

"Humans of the Northern Wilds have a reputation for- for a lack of hospitality. You and your basilisk have quite decidedly failed to live up to that reputation."

She looks delighted by this claim, her hands flexing against him in a way Arum attempts to ignore. "Hm, well, I can't say that reputation isn't absolutely well earned," she says, almost viciously. "Honestly I'm kind of surprised that you managed to get through to Damien, he can be a little intense at first."

Arum laughs again. "Intense," he echoes. "Yes… well, he was certainly that, though I do not think he was inhospitable." He pauses again, and he remembers the calmness of Damien's eyes, even over his raised bow, and the delicacy of the smile he gave when he lowered it at last, and let Arum take his hands again. "Despite the fact that, perhaps, I deserved a degree of inhospitality."

She laughs brightly, and Arum's mouth curls into an unbidden smile beneath his mask, and then she shakes her head and her hands upon him squeeze very slightly. A little warning, he realizes, before she shifts her footing and their trajectory, and then she begins to back away with him, leading him off of the balcony and back towards the rest of the party inside. "C'mon, stranger," she says warmly. "One more dance, and then you'll be free to escape all this ballroom drama. Saints know I wish I could join you- this is all a bit too formal for me to sink my teeth into."

"It has been… less tedious than I anticipated," Arum admits, rather than considering what this creature would prefer to do with her teeth.

"Yeah," she says, playful again, "it seems like you've managed to enjoy yourself, huh?"

Arum huffs, but he bites down on his retort so he may instead focus on maintaining his steps now that he needs to worry about other surrounding humans again. The ballroom is so much warmer than the balcony air, though his phoenix is hotter still in his arms, and the combination of heat seems to blur his vision at the edges.

"If you thought it was gonna be so awful," she says, "why come? If you were worried about our reputation around here, you must come from pretty far off."

"I-" Arum hesitates, considers his possible lies, but the sharpness of her eyes upon him makes him suspect he will have better odds with the truth. Or- part of it, at the very least. "A rather frustrating obligation," he settles on, after a moment. "A job in the city I must complete before I may return home and care for my-" he cuts himself off, digging for a way to explain that a human would understand. "To care for my family, as I am meant to."

"Attending the masquerade is part of your job?" she asks, her eyebrow raising, and Arum sighs because the absurdity of the situation is very much not lost on him.

"Unfortunately, yes. Or-" he pauses, then breathes a light, dizzy laugh as he and the little human spin in a tight circle. "Perhaps… perhaps the obligation has proven itself to be not entirely unfortunate."

She smiles again, and Arum's stomach jumps with a sensation like both pleasure and panic. He swallows uncomfortably, and when she moves with pointed confidence he acquiesces, spinning her out and then pulling her back against his chest.

They are already near to the other side of the ballroom again, the crowd thinning around them as they approach the exit, but Arum still feels as if he is sinking into the warmth of the air, the warmth of his thick cape and those confident hands-

Her hands- not only are they so shockingly warm upon him, but they will not stay still. He is distracted, trying to keep his mind on his steps while her touch and her sly smirk pull his attention elsewhere, and he does not realize quite quickly enough where she is touching until he feels her fingers, curling around the back of his neck. Her touch runs down his spine, brushing the bony ridge at the base of his neck, and he can’t quite suppress the way that makes him shiver and hiss.

Her lips part, her eyebrow raising again as her head tilts in a thoughtful sort of way, and Arum’s feet stumble to a halt.

They both attempt the first syllables of words at the same time, then, hers a baffled question and his a sharp deflection, but they are both interrupted.

"Rilla!"

The little phoenix turns, just slightly, not pulling away from Arum's grasp upon her. She's smiling again, even, as she watches Sir Damien half-leap down the stairs from near the Queen's dais, bolting through the crowd towards the exit, towards them.

"Hm," she says, her eyes sparking with distinct amusement as Arum attempts (and fails) not to feel panic welling again, without the lance of strange pleasure this time. "I didn't think he'd actually get jealous, not after we-"

"Unhand my Amaryllis- unhand my fiancée, villain!"

Arum would do precisely as Sir Damien commands, if his limbs did not feel as immobile as a copse of dead trees. Damien's clarion-call voice draws the attention of nearly the entire ballroom, citizen and soldier alike. It looks, from Arum's horrified vantage, as if every single human face, however disguised, now turns towards Arum and his current partner, who is evidently named Amaryllis. Even the music has slackened, the instruments pattering off into pathetic whining before they cease entirely.

Arum's thoughts wind down in a similar fashion, to a blank nothing that almost screams.

It seems our time has run out before our dance is finished, he thinks again as Damien swims through the stilled dancers, an echo of a lament. Amaryllis pulls slightly towards Damien as he draws close. She pulls against Arum's stiff arms, and he-

There is a moment. He considers the possibility.

He is well within leaping distance to the doors, to the exit, and there is little chance the knight would aim his bow at his own partner, if Arum simply- grabbed her and did not let go when he leapt.

But Amaryllis glances back towards him when she feels how wooden his grip has gone, glancing up at his face with- sympathy of all things as she squeezes one of his hands, and Arum feels like a monster, in the most human of possible senses. He feels like a beast for even considering it.

He forces his grip on the little phoenix to slacken, and he takes a half step back.

Amaryllis gives him one last look of confusion and concern before she slips entirely out of his grasp, moving to place herself between Arum and the knight, her hands raised, placating.

"It was just a dance, Damien, I didn't think that you'd-"

"You," Damien hisses, not pushing past Amaryllis but certainly not hearing her as he glares at Arum. "You-" he snarls, and his hands twitch against his bow, the muscles of his arms tensing, and Arum-

Arum stares at the knight, stands perfectly still, completely stiff, and he is utterly certain that he is about to die.

"I asked him to dance, Damien, not the other way around. Just-"

"With this beast," Damien snarls, and Arum's heart clenches almost painfully, although the citizenry staring at the three of them do not seem to recognize Damien's words as only honest, rather than hyperbolic.

Arum could still attempt to leap, to escape, but without a hostage he is far less certain that he will not be shot in the spine. If he is going to die, he would rather face it directly. He would rather see the arrow as it comes.

Damien clenches his teeth, his tawny eyes gone ferocious and sharp, and it is only Amaryllis' hands upon his wrists that prevent him from lifting the bow in that precise moment.

"How dare you?" Damien's hands shake under Amaryllis' palms. "After- after I- monster-"

"Honeysuckle-"

Damien blanches at the word, at Arum's voice, so very quiet beneath the din of concerned murmurs at the knight's back. Damien hesitates, only for a moment, the fury in his eyes softened with confusion, and Arum forces himself to continue.

"I-" Arum pauses, inhales sharply, tries again. "I was enjoying… playing the monster too much, I think." He pauses again, inhales more slowly, ignores the tightness in his throat. "F-forgive me."

Arum drops his eyes, then, but no arrow comes and the pause draws long enough to be worrying in and of itself. Arum hazards a glance up at Sir Damien again, and he-

The conflict is so clear upon him as to be nearly palpable. Arum thinks that perhaps he would be able to taste it, if the copper of his mask were not stifling his tongue.

Damien still grips his bow in one hand, but the other he lifts, his fingers brushing almost absently over his own lips before he seems to realize what he is doing, and then he presses his palm over his mouth entirely. Amaryllis frowns hard when Damien glances towards her, and then when the poet shoots another look towards Arum, the monster only stands, and waits, and does not allow himself to hope.

"You-" Damien cuts himself off, clenching his jaw hard, his brow furrowing in obvious distress, and then Arum can see the precise moment the poet decides his course of action. The wild determination that bleeds across his features is precisely as blatant as his former conflict. "You have slighted me this night, my fellow beast," Damien says, and his voice is loud and clear again, though Arum can clearly make out the falsity overlaying it now. Amaryllis can quite obviously sense his performance, too, and the bafflement in her expression makes for a good companion to Arum's own stunned shock. "My Rilla's honor must be defended!"

Arum blinks, and the murmurs behind the knight take on a tittering, conspiratorial quality. "A-ah-"

"I demand you duel me!"

"Damien," Amaryllis attempts to interrupt, her tone entirely incredulous, but Damien grips her wrist and shakes his head sharply.

"For my Rilla's honor!"

Damien's tone is insistent, his expression pointed and firm, his eyes framed between the fangs of his mask and still so… compelling. He is prompting, and Arum must push past his shock if he wants to- to take the hand that Sir Damien is offering.

"If- if that is what must be done to put this conflict to rights… so be it."

"It is," Damien snarls. "Obviously, we must- discuss the terms of this duel privately. Let us take the matter outside," he says, his voice managing to be both pointed and toneless, and then nearly as an afterthought he adds, "you cur," and it is all that Arum can do to bury his urge to snort a laugh.

The fact that he feels near-hysterical with the sheer absurdity of this entire evening certainly does not help with that urge, either.

Arum pauses as if considering, flicks his tongue without meaning to beneath his mask (the scent of copper stuffs his snout), and then he nods. "If you… insist."

"I do," Damien says with clear relish, and then he gestures towards the door. "Outside. Now."

Arum stares at Sir Damien for another wondering moment as his frown deepens, as his eyes widen and his gesturing hand flutters in the air again, and then Arum nods, and turns, and retreats, with his basilisk and his phoenix following in his wake.

#OFF! THE! RAILS!!!#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #even with missteps

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Across Seven Seas

Chapter 3

Description: This fanfiction series is set in the year 2022, after the horrid COVID-19 has finally come to an end. In this fanfiction, Chris Evans holidays with his family in India and meets Meera Shankar. The story explores their rollercoaster journey and raises a question, whether two people, from two contrasting backgrounds and cultures, can build their future together?

This series is Chris Evans x OFC with Chris Evans' family and friends having recurring appearances. Please find below a lot of Original Characters-

Meera Shankar - The female lead

Meera's Mother

Poppy - Meera's maternal grandmother

Rohan - Meera's elder brother who is 6 years older than her.

Ankur - Concierge of the Hotel Maple-Fawn in Mussoorie

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2

Chapter 4

FIND MORE CHAPTERS BY CLICKING ON MY BIO

P.S- India follows only one timezone.

P.P.S- All the photographs used in the chapters are of the real locations mentioned. I clicked these photographs on my vacation.

This is a work of fiction. The names of the hotels and companies have been changed to avoid copyright issues. Meera Shankar and her family is based on the author and her kin. No offense is intended.

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

...

Chapter 3

6th September, 7:30am - Dehradun Hotel, India

Meera barely noticed the morning chatter at the breakfast table, the voices becoming dull thuds in her mind. As she dozed off for the tenth time, her mother snapped. "You just woke up Meera! How can you still be sleepy? People in the mornings are usually active, bright-eyed and alert! Yet here you are going back to sleep." "Who said I slept last night?" spoke Meera, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her yawn, "With you and Poppy snoring into my ears, I could hardly sleep." "We don't snore that bad," said her mother, defensively. "Have you ever hear... (yawn) Have you ever even heard yourself snore?" replied a sleepy Meera. "I slept peacefully in my room. Just like a baby," Rohan chimed in with a smug smile. Her sleep deprived brain could not think of a clever repertoire. At least she would fall asleep on the ride to Mussoorie, hopefully avoiding the nasty motion sickness.

6th September, 9:15am - Delhi, India

🎶tring, tring, tring, tring🎶

Chris heard the faint chime of the landline in his room. Struggling to find it in the darkness, Chris finally answered the call. The receptionist on the other end of the line was kind. She patiently reminded him about the wake-up call that had been scheduled by him and informed him about the buffet breakfast. The Evans family had reached the fancy hotel in the wee hours of the morning. It had been a relief to exit the Delhi airport sans the company of the media. Jet-lagged and exhausted, they had all collapsed into their beds. Even Chris had fallen asleep as soon as his head had touched the pillow. He now stretched on the bed, missing the warmth of his adorable canine. He knew the best way to deal with jet-lag was to condition your body to the local timezone. After freshening up, he headed towards the buffet, seeking to eat his breakfast in peace.

As there were no direct flights from Boston to Dehradun, they had decided to stay for a day in Delhi, just to rest their bones. Tomorrow, they would catch the flight to Dehradun. As Chris understood, their hotel in Mussoorie was around 6 hours away from Dehradun airport. He did not look forward to the excessive travel. He knew they would all be tired out for a week before they started feeling normal again.

He was soon joined by his family for breakfast. A large family of 7 Americans was not an unusual sight for the patrons of this hotel. Being one of the most luxurious and expensive hotels in the city, tourists from across the world flocked to the 5-star property. The best part? Nobody recognized them, especially Chris. While Chris did have a huge fan following in India, he was not immediately recognisable with his large beard and overgrown hair.

"Do we have anything planned for today?" Chris confirmed with Carly as she demolished her pancakes, "Not really. The hotel did offer a tour of the local tourist hotspots, but I didn't think anyone would be up for a day out." "Especially in this heat," chimed in Shanna. "From what I Google searched, Delhi has beautiful forts and structures. There are even expansive gardens in the city! Maybe we can visit just one site before leaving tomorrow?" suggested their mother Lisa. "I will check with the concierge and see what they recommend," offered Scott.

Chris settled back in his room after the breakfast, checking-in with Tara about Dodger. He dozed off while waiting for a reply.

Same day, 11:40pm - Dehradun-Mussoorie road

Meera woke up with a jerk as the car pulled around a corner, her heart beating fast. They were on the last portion of the winding roads, almost at the top of the hill. Dazed, she looked around the SUV, her mother and brother were wide awake and Poppy had nodded off. From the window, Meera saw the mountains and trees in all their glory, but the motion of the car lulled her exhausted mind back to sleep.

Almost 20 minutes later, she woke up again as her mother gently taped her on the shoulder. "We have reached," she quietly said, "Are you feeling okay?" Blinking her eyes, Meera managed to say yes. Chilly breeze greeted her as she opened the door of the car. Audibly shuddering, she shut the door, reluctant to leave the warm vehicle. Her brother pulled it open again, "Wake up sleepy head! Look how beautiful it is!" "It is COLD," replied Meera hoarsely, still struggling to find her bearings. "Okay look, it is just 10 steps from the car to the hotel's entrance. Just 10 steps! Then you will be in nice toasty-warm lobby. Let's go! The hills are calling us! Let's go let's go!!" Meera smiled at her brother's exuberance. Mountains had the same effect on him that beaches had on her. Bracing herself for the cold, Meera dashed from the car and into the hotel.

Maple-Fawn was one of the few 5-star hotels in Mussoorie. The international company had a chain of hotels in the country, but their property at this hill-station had been voted as one of the bests. The lobby section was intimidating to say the least. White marble flooring, polished wood-panelled walls, and elegant paintings and statues gave a sophisticated, warm vibe. As the family was checking-in, the male concierge asked for Meera, "Welcome to Maple-Fawn everyone. Do we have a Mrs Meera Shankar amongst us?" "It is Ms Meera Shankar, and that would be me," she replied. "Hello ma'am. I am Ankur, the resident concierge of this property. As I am led to believe, you are the one with the food allergies, correct?" "Yes absolutely." "We received your email ma'am, the one with the list of foods you are allergic to, and a couple of recipes which would suit you. Can we discuss it once you are settled-in?" "Oh right yes. How about we meet again after one hour?" "Sure ma'am. I will meet you with the chef in your room," confirmed Ankur.

The receptionist handed them the key cards to their rooms. "As I can see in the system, you have booked two rooms, with the 3 women living in one room and Mr Rohan living in another. Would you like to have a single bed mattress in your room ma'am? It would be more comfortable," suggested the receptionist. As her mother refused after hearing the cost for the extra mattress, Meera had to chuckle. Even the receptionist must have wondered how will 3 fat women fit on a queen-sized bed, she thought.

"Why should we spend so much money on a mattress when we call all sleep together on the same bed?" argued Meera's mother as they reached their rooms, "We have already spent so much on this expensive hotel, I am certainly not paying for anything extra." Meera's face fell as she heard those words. It had been difficult to find a hotel which would cater to her food allergies. While various brands offered food for people who were strictly vegetarian or vegan, the hotel staff, usually the chefs, could never wrap their minds around how could a person be allergic to so many things. Luckily, Maple-Fawn had been accommodating, but being on the upper-end luxurious side of things, the stay at the hotel itself had costed them around 4 months of Rohan's salary. "I will get to snuggle-up to my daughter on the same bed and sleep. I can't wait!" continued Meera's mother. "Creep," muttered Meera.

But despite herself, Meera had to admit, the view from their room was to die for...

Same day, 3pm - Delhi

Chris awoke to someone ringing the doorbell of his room. Stumbling across the room in the darkness, he opened the door to see Carly. "Hey Chris, we are going to Rori gardens, do you want to tag along?" "What? Which gardens?" "Rori, or something like that. I don't understand most of the names here," sheepishly admitted Carly. "Should I show you the brochure?" Nodding his reply, Chris stepped aside to let Carly in. "Oh God, it is dark in here, let there be light!" "No wait sto..." But before Chris could finish his sentence, Carly had opened the curtains, flooding the room with bright sunlight. "Aargh" Chris groaned at the sudden light, hidding under the covers on his bed. Laughing, Carly tried to pull the covers off of him, but Chris held on tight. "C'mon you big baby! You are worse than your niece and nephews! Even they are playing in the swimming pool and here you are, hiding underneath the covers!" "It's too bright! Turn down the sun!" Chris whined. "No way! Get up now! See this garden looks like fun. Don't stay held up in your room." Chris muttered something. "Christopher Evans, come out now or else I WILL tickle you!" Carly threatened. Uncovering his head, Chris opened one eye, "What do you want, you Kraken monster?!" Carly smiled, it had been too long since Chris had called her by the nickname. A change of location was maybe just what he needed afterall.

Chris met Carly, Scott and Lisa in the lobby, Shanna choosing to stay behind with the kids. Their hotel, Maple-Fawn, had provided them with a guide and comfortable cars. If Chris wasn't mistaken, they were going to stay at the brand's property in Mussoorie as well. "What is the name of the garden again?" Chris asked their Guide. "They are called Lodhi Gardens," came the prompt reply. "It is spread over 90 acres and contains some of the best landscaping seen here in Delhi. The garden is also home to tombs of various kings who had once ruled Delhi." "Oh so it's a graveyard," inquired Scott excitedly. Chris chucked at his brother's excitement. "Not at all sir," replied their Guide, "The garden is used as a park, where people jog, do yoga, exercise and kids play around. You will get an idea once we reach."

While the road to Lodhi Gardens had been full of traffic and commotion, the place itself was peaceful and serene. Tall trees surrounded the walkways, manicured green lawns with flower beds covered the uneven terrain, while the graves of the bygone kings were nothing like the Evans family had seen before. These were ancient structures, with delicate ornate carvings on the walls. "Woah," whispered Scott, "If these are their graves, then I can't even imagine how royal their palaces must have been!"

Chris caught himself smiling. As much as he willed himself not to feel happiness, he couldn't help but feel a little bit relaxed. Lodhi Gardens were beautiful.

#chris evans x india #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevans #chris evans #chris evans family #bearded chris evans #India #Delhi #Mussoorie #Dehradun #chris evans x oc #chris evans x plus size reader #oc appreciation day 2020 #OCs Are People Too

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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Catch Me If You Can (20/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: shout out to @resident-of-storybrooke for beta-ing this bad boy even if I did find a hell of a lot of typos doing my final read for this chapter. It’s okay. We all make mistakes 😉

(It’s me. I made the mistakes because I’m the one making those typos.)

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Tag list: @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @youraverageshipper

-/-

The game plays on the television in the weight room as Killian works with free weights to work out his arm and his shoulder. He’s already been massaged by Archie today even though he’s not playing, but when he woke up there was a slight ache there that wasn’t pleasant to live with. It’s still there, but it’s manageable, just a small little niggling feeling that he feels if he lifts something that’s too heavy or twists in just the right, or wrong, way. But it’s fine, as it always is, because the pain doesn’t last for too long and is always manageable.

How many athletes walk around every day living with manageable pain when the world thinks that their bodies are in the most pristine conditions?

That’s always been kind of funny to him, and it hasn’t been until the past two years that he’s understood why. Fans of baseball, of any sport really, sit in the stands, on their couches, and on barstools at the restaurant yelling at athletes to do the impossible with their body, and then when they can’t or get hurt doing it, yell at them for not having some kind of superhuman strength. He’s had so many people bemoan to him about the public part of his accident, one that was traumatizing on a personal and professional level with effects still lingering to today, and they don’t seem to understand that the men and women on fields and courts or in swimming pools are human beings who have pushed their bodies to the limits for most of their lives.

And he doesn’t even play one of the most physically demanding sports, though it can be much more demanding than most people think, especially for his arm.

Hell, definitely for his arm.

But he loves it. That’s the thing. Killian loves this game, loves his team, loves getting to stand out on that field even on the days where only a quarter of the seats are filled up. It’s been his passion for so long, the thing that he is truly good at, and he can’t imagine doing anything else even if he’s had back-up plan after back-up plan and will have to do something with his life when this is all over.

Today isn’t that day.

“Hey,” Robin says as he enters the weight room, his hair slicked back from a shower so that Killian knows that he’s not actually in here to talk, “you wanted to talk to me?”

Oh, and the fact that Killian told him that he wanted to talk. That will definitely do it.

“Yeah, one minute,” he sighs, running through one more rep before putting the weights down on their rack and adjusting the hat on his head so that he can wipe away the sweat on his brow before turning to look at Robin who is sitting on a weight bench. “Roseman sucks today.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, no,” Killian corrects, taking the seat across from Robin on another bench and leaning forward so that his clasped hands rest between the open space between his knees. Taking a quick glance toward the door, he sees that no one is around, and with the music blaring so loudly throughout the hallways, he knows no one will be able to hear anyways. “So, I feel like I’m making the rounds delivering news when I really should have gotten you all together at one time to get it over with, but Ariel has been impossible to get to sit still for more than a second and Will talks too loudly for me to tell him in person and – ”

“Are you dying or something?” Robin laughs, his brows raised in confusion.

“I’m not dying,” he reassures Robin even as his hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I’m, well, I’m dating Emma Swan, and while we’re keeping it quiet from the media and most everyone else, we decided to tell the people who are close with us, hence you and A and Eric and Will. Plus, obviously, my family, who are the only ones I’ve managed to tell so far.”

Robin doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes widened as he takes the information in, and while Killian knew the reaction he was expecting when he told Liam and Elsa – Liam was surprised and far too overbearing and Elsa literally told him that she figured it out at Addy’s birthday party – he hasn’t quite been able to come up with a clear idea of how his friends would react.

Silence and confusion have been his best guesses.

“For how long?” Robin finally stutters out.

“A couple of months.”

“And you’re serious about her?”

“That I am.”

“And this is a secret?”

Why does he feel like this is an exact repeat of the conversation he had with Liam and pretty much the same as the conversation Emma relayed that she had with David?

“Yeah, for Emma. After everything with me and then all of the backlash that she gets with her job, we wanted to keep it quiet. At first, it was so that we could figure things out, but now that we’re more comfortable, we’re telling the people closest to us so that such big parts of our lives aren’t hidden away.”

Robin nods, the smallest smile forming on his lips, and Killian didn’t quite realize how much he wanted Robin’s approval until he got it. Not getting it wouldn’t change things, but Robin has been one of his best mates for a decade, has been through so many of his highs and lows, and he wants Robin to be happy for him. He wants to be able to talk through everything with Robin the way that Robin has with him.

“That makes sense. I mean, yeah,” Robin chuckles, leaving back and messing with his shirt. “I knew you always fancied her, especially lately, but it makes sense with how often I’ve seen the two of you chatting on the plane or at breakfast. I didn’t think anything of it, just figured that she was looking for a friend since the woman who used to be go on road trips with her isn’t around that often. Huh, you’re dating again.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Only a little. You were so messed up after Milah and all of the women that came after her that I didn’t really think you’d ever seriously date someone again. I kind of thought that you and I would end up as eternal bachelors and live life vicariously through Roland.”

Killian barks out a laugh, one that he really shouldn’t at how depressing that thought honestly is, but leave it to Robin to make him laugh like that. It’s something that comes with knowing someone for so damn long, and Killian is thankful for it.

“Do you think Roland will take care of us in our old age? I’m not sure that he will.”

“He’ll take care of you,” Robin laughs, “because you never have to tell him no. He’s going to harbor the fact that I didn’t let him have dessert last night forever.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not getting chocolate pudding when you’re old and it’s all you can eat.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but the smile is still there. The smile is still on Killian’s face too. “I’m happy for you, mate. I kind of think you’re both batshit crazy for getting involved with each other when there’s so much that could go wrong, but happiness looks good on you.”

“Thanks. I don’t – she’s great, Rob. Bloody fantastic. I mean, I know that you know her and get to see her kick ass at her job every day, but outside of work too…she’s amazing.”

“I know.”

-/-

After the game, Killian manages to pull Will, Eric, and Ariel aside into one of the offices outside the locker room to tell them, finally hitting three birds with one stone, which is a pretty morbid saying now that he thinks about. Their hitting coach looks through the glass of the window when Ariel lets out a scream at his words, and Killian can do nothing but shake his head. It’s like he’s announcing the most exciting thing to ever happen to him every time he tells someone, and as much as he knew that his friends were invested in his dating life – or lack thereof – he didn’t know it was like this.

They all very obviously need to get a life.

-/-

“Oh my gosh,” Emma groans, slamming the passenger side door to his car closed as she slides onto the leather seat and adjusts her bag in her lap before dropping it to the ground, “I’d never make it as a spy. There were approximately a million people who were walking this way that knew me or you or were a member of the press. I swear, babe, it was impossible to get over here. I could have gotten to your brother’s house faster had I taken the trains, even with how packed they are right now.” She takes a breath and leans over to press her lips to his cheeks. “Hi. Thank you for waiting on me.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly going to leave without you, Swan. How was work?”

“You know,” she teases, rolling her eyes a bit at his question, “it was good. Did you know that the Yankees won today and that they’re leading their league? And things like that tend to make players very happy to talk to me. Do you know who else was very happy to talk to me?”

“Who, love?” he asks as he presses his foot down on the gas and hits the ignition button to start the car.

“Ariel Fisher. That’s another reason why I’m late. I was attacked by a tiny, very loud, red-headed woman giving me a hug that I swear squeezed the life out of me. I’m not entirely sure what she said to me since there was a certain lack of air circulation going on in my brain, but I’m pretty sure she said she was super happy for me and then tried to adopt me or something like that.”

Killian chuckles, unable to help himself, before he leans back into his seat and rests his cheek against the headrest so that he can look at Emma. She looks so happy today, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail to keep it off her neck since he knows that when she sweatssweatsshe hates the way it tangles at the back of her neck. He also knows that she spent an hour picking out a dress to wear today because she’s coming with him to his brother’s townhome for Sunday night dinner and is a little nervous. She claims that she is simply indecisive about what to wear all the time, but he knows that isn’t true. Ruby, who he still hasn’t officially met but who he’s going to meet when he’s subjected to his own family dinner (interrogation), finally helped her out by tossing an orange dress that falls beneath her knees and curves around Emma’s breasts at her and telling her they were leaving the apartment in an hour.

Ruby is a force of nature.

And he is very much distracted by the swell of Emma’s breasts right now and the way he can see the freckle that resides on the inside of her right one. Always so distracting.

“Yeah,” Killian sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “I have now officially told everyone I deemed worth of knowing that you are my girlfriend, and despite Ariel’s several squeals over the whole thing, everyone is going to keep it quiet. At least to the outside world. I fully expect them to be a little too invasive with us from time to time.”

“Really?” Emma drones sarcastically, shifting her legs underneath the dash to cross one over the other so that the material shows the skin just above her knee. “I didn’t expect that at all with Will asking me if I was going to be your plus one for his wedding. Belle apparently needs to know for the seating arrangements. Or Ariel asking if we’d be willing to go on a couple’s vacation for the New Year.”

“I can believe both of those things happened.”

“As you should because they are true statements, twenty-nine.” Emma sighs back into the seat, turning away from facing him and looking out at the gray block that is the parking garage. “How’d Robin take it?”

“I’ll tell you on the way to Liam’s, yeah? If there’s one thing you need to know about the Jones family, it’s that we like to be on time, and we, my darling, are running late.”

“Liam will just have to get used to it like you have.”

Killian laughs as he puts his car in drive and makes his way out of the parking garage, filling in all of the details about his conversation with Robin as well as his with Will, Eric, and Ariel. Honestly, it feels like this is all they’ve talked about in the past week since Emma finally took the leap and told her family. She was pretty quiet about it all, not surprisingly, and slowly but surely he managed to drag some information out of her besides the fact that Ruby had figured it out because Emma was wearing his sweatshirt – which he still hasn’t gotten back – and that David had kind of caused her to freak out about things. He doesn’t love the thought of Emma getting into a panic about their relationship, but there are definitely things for them to always think about and consider. That’s not going to change.

Liam had said the same thing to him when he told him. He’d been full of questions, that obnoxious protective older brother gene coming to life. It doesn’t matter that Killian is twenty-eight years old and very much has control of his own life. Liam is always going to be that way, no matter how much Killian asks him not to be. It stems from Liam being both his brother and his father for a lot of his life. Liam was the one who was there to help him apply to colleges, to help him get recruiters to watch his games. His father had been the one who was obsessed with baseball, but his brother was the one who helped him achieve his dreams. And Liam had been the one who was by his side when he got drafted, when he worked his way up from the minors, when he pitched his first ball in Yankee stadium.

On top of all of that, Liam had been the one who was there when Killian and Milah broke up. That had been a disaster among disasters, and it’s probably exactly the reason why Liam pretty much had some kind of heart attack when Killian told him that he’d been dating someone in secret again. It had never occurred to Killian, not until he was sitting down across the kitchen table from Liam, that there were similarities even if the situations and circumstances and reasonings are different. Milah had asked him to be private about their relationship because of her marriage, not that he knew that at first, and he, the cocky guy that he was, thought that it was because she didn’t want the attention that would have come from being with him. In reality, no one but die-hard baseball fans cared about him, and he was fooling himself into thinking the things that he thought.

He was an idiot.

Still is sometimes.

How did he not realize that Liam might be truly upset about it all, that keeping such a big part of his life away from his best friend in the entire world would cause some sting? How did he not think through the fact that Liam, even though he’s often teased Killian about Emma and genuinely likes her, would worry about something similar happening here even though it is entirely different?

And now, after the accident, after all of the guilt and fear and worry that came with that, Liam focuses so much on Killian and how his life is going so that this would impact things.

It had been a long, stilted conversation, one that made Killian’s head pound, and thank goodness for Elsa to break things up and to understand and to help Liam calm down and see things the way that he should have seen things. And while it was Elsa who insisted that Killian bring Emma to Sunday dinner, he knows that Liam is more or so accepting of it all and will not be an ass to Emma.

That was agreed upon beforehand. Killian felt that was necessary, and while Emma told him that it was fine, that this is how David is going to be despite her best efforts, it’s very much not fine for anyone to be an ass to Emma simply because she is dating him.

Or at all.

So, maybe he’s a little nervous for this dinner, but that’s nothing compares to the way that Emma’s leg is shaking underneath the touch of his palm resting there.

“This is a nice neighborhood,” Emma says as he turns onto Liam’s street. “I don’t think I’ve ever been over here.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve ever had reason to unless you were randomly walking down the streets in front of these families’ homes.”

“I am pretty weird. I might have been.”

He glances over at her and smiles, but Emma’s gaze is very much focused on the street in front of her. Squeezing her thigh to silently reassure her, Killian moves his hand off of Emma back to the wheel so that he can turn into Liam’s garage, rolling down the window to type in the code so that the door will open for the two of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go get dinner somewhere else?” Emma worries, her voice visibly shaky. “I’m sure we can go find, like, one of those really good Mexican places that looks like it should be shut down for health codes but actually has the best queso dip you’ve ever eaten. No one will recognize us. I’m sure of it.”

“Swan,” Killian chuckles, driving into the garage and putting his car in park before turning to look at Emma, reaching up to cup her cheeks with his palms and run his thumbs underneath her eyes, “it is fine. They, unlike me, do not bite.”

“You are ridiculous. Why would you even say that?”

“To make you laugh.” He leans forward and playfully nips at her lips before tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You are going to be fine. They’re just people, most of who you have met before, and if all else fails, you’ll have Addy and Lucy to be a buffer.”

“If you freak out when you have to meet all of my people, I’m going to say the exact same things about you, so just think about that with every word you use to calm me down.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“So is this.”

Killian hums before gently kissing Emma and taking his time to move his lips of her, breathing in the smell of her perfume and her hairspray and maybe the tiniest bit of sweat. He needs to calm down too, to take a breath, and tell himself the same things that he’s been telling Emma.

“I love you,” he says when he pulls back, still reveling in the fact that he can say those words to her after feeling them for so long.

“I love you too. Last chance on the Mexican thing.”

His eyes roll, but he laughs all the same, briefly kissing her once more before leaning over her to open her car door. “Funnily enough, that’s what we’re having for dinner tonight. It’s a family favorite.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying to me, and if you are, I am stealing your car and driving it to my apartment, where it will inevitably get towed.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

Killian opens his own door and gets out of the car before walking to Emma’s side and waiting for her as she adjusts her dress and messes with her hair in the reflection window. She’s still hesitant, which he imagines will stop when she gets inside and actually gets into conversation, so he places his hand on the small of her back and guides her up the stairs until they’re entering the kitchen and coming face-to-face with Anna.

Probably not the easiest way to ease Emma into things.

“Oh my gosh,” Anna squeals before putting her glass down, “you’re Emma.”

Emma stills beside him, and he rubs his hand up and down her back before squeezing her ass simply because he knows that it’ll make her focus on something other than her nerves. Sure enough, she jumps, looking up at him with a wry smile on her face and a playful roll of her eyes before looking back to Anna.

“That’s me,” Emma laughs, stepping away from him to move forward to shake Anna’s hand only for Anna to wrap Emma in a hug that is so tight that Killian swears he can feel it in his own legs. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Well, not really, but a good amount. Mostly from Elsa. I followed you on Instagram. You might not have noticed that. You are just so pretty and I’m sure sweet, and I have no idea what you’re doing with Killian.”

“Hey,” he scoffs, pressing his lips together. He was going to laugh at how Anna rambles until she got to that end part, “why is everyone always saying things like that? I happen to think I’m a catch.”

“Well, you are, but only if people don’t know you that well,” Anna teases, releasing Emma and walking toward him so that she can hug him and whisper in his ear, “I’m kidding. She’s so pretty, Killian.”

“I know,” he sighs into Anna’s cheek. “She can probably hear us.”

“Oh, I’m totally not listening or anything,” Emma teases.

Anna laughs and pulls back before stepping over to Emma and grabbing onto her arm. “Come on, everyone is in the living room, and they need to know that you’re here. And I want to hear all about you. Your job is awesome, obviously, but a girl has seriously got to know why Killian loves you so much. I don’t even know if you guys have said those words to each other yet, but I can tell. He’s got that sparkle in his eyes.”

“You know,” Emma chuckles, looking back at him with a smile on her face, “you and my sister-in-law would get along really well.”

“Then I have to meet her too.”

Killian follows Anna and Emma around the corner and into the living room where Liam, Elsa, and Kris are all sitting on the couches while Addy and Lucy are watching television. The moment they walk in the room, though, Addy turns her head and runs toward Emma, grabbing onto her waist and talking about just how excited she is to see Emma. Lucy is right behind her, and even though she’s more reserved, she hugs Emma too, letting Emma pick her up and rest her on her hip while everyone else greets Emma. She’s very quickly learning that his family are all huggers, and man does he hope that they’re not overwhelming her. He’d very much like for her to want to continue to date him after this.

Damn. Why is he thinking thoughts like that? That is not the kind of headspace that he needs to be in while Emma is talking to Liam, Lucy still sitting on her hip.

He kind of just threw her into the lion’s den, didn’t he?

But it’s good, he thinks. The conversation flows, there aren’t any awkward silences, and most importantly, there aren’t any interrogations.

“Do you need help with dinner?” Emma asks Elsa later when they’ve moved from the living room to the kitchen so that Elsa and Liam can start dinner, which, much to Emma’s delight, truly is good Mexican food.

“No,” Elsa sighs, waving Emma away as she chops up a bell pepper, “you’re a guest. You don’t cook. Killian, can you grate some cheese?”

He finishes taking a sip of his beer before putting it down. “What happened to guests not cooking?”

“You are family. That’s different.”

“That’s bullocks.”

“You love to cook,” Emma says as she knocks her knee into his. “I’m pretty sure you can handle grating some cheese.”

“He’s pretty incompetent. You’d be surprised at how little my little brother can actually do.”

“Younger. My gosh it’s younger,” Killian groans to Liam. He did that just to annoy Killian, the bastard. “Is that ever going to stop?”

“Maybe when you’re thirty.” Liam hands him a bowl, the cheese grater, and two blocks of cheese, before going back to getting ground beef out of the fridge. “So, Emma, how’d you get into baseball?”

Liam is definitely subtle in his ways of interrogation, but Killian picks up on it. Emma too.

“Watching it or working in it?”

“Working.”

“My brother is a lot older than me and has been working at ESPN pretty much since I’ve known him, and he helped get me an internship in college. It just kind of built from there, you know? I mostly was a stat checker and then got to write some articles, but then when they started covering the games on TV more and developed their streaming service, the job as an on-air reporter opened up. And yeah, here I am.”

“What do you mean your brother has been working there since you’ve known him?”

“Liam,” Killian warns, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

“It’s fine,” Emma promises him before placing her hand on his back and rubbing up and down. “I didn’t have parents, so I was in the foster system for my entire life. My last house, well, I grew close to them, and they’re pretty much my family. David is my foster mom’s biological son, and he’s pretty much fallen into that older brother role. You two are very alike.”

“Stubborn and far too invasive?” Elsa teases, looking behind her at Liam and winking.

“I am neither of those things.”

“You definitely are,” Killian and Elsa say at the same time, and Liam simply grumbles in response before placing the beef in the pan.

“Are Anna and Kris okay with the kids?” Emma wonders aloud, twisting her head around to look into the living room where Anna and Kris volunteered to watch a movie with them while dinner is being cooked. “I can watch them. I don’t want to interrupt your tradition of family dinners or whatever since I am kind of an intruder.”

“You are a breath of fresh air is what you are,” Elsa says, smiling at Emma before she takes the cheese out of his hands like he wasn’t just doing a bang-up job himself. “I thought you were the sweetest thing at Addy’s party, and when I realized that you two were dating, or at least had feelings for each other, I felt like all of those six-year-olds hyped up on sugar. I’m glad Killian has someone kind like you.” “You think she’s bloody kind, but she’s actually pretty mean to me.” Emma slaps the back of his head, and he starts laughing at the affronted look on her face. “See. She just slapped me.”

“Shut up.”

“Really mature, love.”

“You know that I’m not.”

“No, but you do some pretty mature things, if you know what I mean.”

“Killian,” she gasps, slapping him again, “that was a horrible innuendo.”

He arches a brow. “That’s what you’re insulted by? Not the fact that I alluded to our sex life but that I did it in a non-creative way?”

Emma shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“Els,” Liam groans, “I don’t think I can handle Killian dating again. It’s too nauseating.”

“Asshole,” Killian mumbles at Liam, flicking a piece of cheese at him.

“You’re really not very creative with your innuendos or insults today, Professor Jones. You should work on that.”

“And you,” Killian points out as his eyes roll at the nickname, “have got to stop talking to Scarlet if you’re going to call me things like that.”

Once dinner is ready, they all settle down in the dining room, the kitchen table not big enough to fit everyone, but just like the rest of the afternoon, everything goes smoothly. Liam is definitely peppering in questions and little comments, but it’s all in the good nature of getting to know Emma. Honestly, though, no one gets a word in for how much Emma, Anna, and Elsa are getting along. Emma is very obviously a big hit with the two of them as well as Addy and Lucy (and Kris and Liam even if they’re a little less vocal about it), and it makes his heart swell. Admittedly, he was kind of nervous about all of this, if only because his family and their approval is so important to him, but there’s no way they could ever not like Emma.

Maybe be a little dubious at first, but dislike? No.

He can only hope that it’s the same with her family since he knows that mixing lives doesn’t usually run so smoothly, even if this is only her second meeting with everyone.

Emma’s nerves seem to have faded away the longer they stay, and when he pulls her to the side after dinner and offers to take her back to his place, she shakes her head and says that she’s good to stay and watch a movie with his family. So they all settle down into the living room, and while everyone takes their normal spots, their routines obviously very engrained in their minds, Killian moves to the large lounge chair that’s in the corner, pulling Emma down on top of him and wrapping his arms around her waist so that Emma doesn’t have to sit across the room from him.

Maybe that’s a little bit for himself too.

Okay, it definitely is, and he dips his head down to kiss the back of Emma’s neck as she pulls a blanket up to cover their laps while Liam turns the lights off.

“I really like your family,” Emma whispers as she presses her cheek against his and squeezes his hands. “I’m glad you have them.”

“Yeah, love, me too. You seem to be a very big hit today.”

“It’s because I’m so charming.”

Killian chuckles into her cheek, pressing a kiss there. “Exactly.”

“Uncle Killian,” Addison groans, “Daddy says to stop kissing your girlfriend and pay attention to the movie.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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ciarawritesmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

Close to Home [1/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Some language here and there, guns and gunshots but only mild descriptions, a teensy bit of angst :)

A/N: Here we are! Gosh, you don’t know how excited I am for this one. The first of four parts to released over this weekend. Please, please, please let me know what you think of this one and any theories you might have, haha! And of course, this is my entry for the lovely @wxntersoldiers‘ 5k challenge. Layla, you are one of my favourite people on tumblr and I know I speak for at least 5000 people when I say that I am so glad to have you around. Here’s to the next 5k! Love and hugs to you all <3

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the next parts over the weekend, drop me an ask!

---

“Lieutenant Rogers?”

You look up from your desk and heave a sigh, fixing your interrupter with a withering glare.

“Steve, we’ve been married for two years.”

“And you told me not to let that affect our working relationship.”

“Okay, well, I revise that statement; it means you can at least refer to me by my actual name,” you explained carefully and Steve rolled his eyes at you before letting them soften as he smiled just a little.

“Fine. Y/N,” he began, tone altogether different and you pressed your lips together in a dire attempt not to melt, “Could we have a chat before this morning’s briefing? It’s pretty important.”

As a detective, you’d become pretty good at reading people. It was practically part of the job description, being able to suss out a lie before somebody had even told it, being able to see the truth shining behind someone’s eyes as they poured their heart out. So the way that Steve’s eyes shifted slightly to the left as he spoke, and that he was twirling his wedding ring around his finger and the slight bite of his lip when he’d finished speaking told you that this really was serious.

“Of course, what do you w-”

“No, no,” he hushed you, leaning over your desk slightly more in order to shield your conversation further and your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Meet me in the closet on the fourth floor in twenty minutes.”

You nodded seriously at him, placing a comforting hand on his own that was on your desk for just a fleeting moment, recognising the flash of something in his eyes as just a tiny spark of fear. It was definitely readable on you now too as he squeezed your shoulder as he left, walking away and into the depths of the precinct before you could say another word.

If he’d wanted to talk in private, surely he could have done it before work?

The next twenty minutes felt long and arduous, hardly getting past the current page of the paperwork you had been sailing through previously. As it was, now all you were doing was chewing on the inside of your cheek and glancing at the clock every thirty seconds.

It got to eighteen minutes and you lost composure, reliving the worried look on Steve’s face and you stood from your desk as nonchalantly as you could, brushing down your uniform and making your way to the closet.

“You’re early,” Steve commented as you shut the door behind you and hurried in.

“And you worried me,” you said softly, reaching out a hand to grip his forearm gently, feeling the tense muscle beneath your fingertips. Your brow furrowed, “What is going on Steve?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand and sighed, deep and resonating, a sigh that clearly let out a lot of breath that he’d been holding.

“You know The Suit?”

You let go of him to fold your arms.

“The serial killer we’ve been attempting to track for four months? Yeah, I think I’ve heard of them.”

“They’re-They’re someone from the precinct,” he said lowly, ignoring your sarcasm in favour of just getting to his point. You paused. Blinked.

“How do you know?”

“Found a bug in my uniform yesterday.”

“You found what?” you said incredulously, eyes blown wide and Steve nodded but then you gasped and clapped your hand over your mouth, looking down at your own uniform. He shook his head.

“I checked your uniform this morning and I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching this room. We’re safe,” he assured you and you sighed in relief.

“That’s why you were out of bed so early this morning,” you whispered, slowly letting your hand fall back down to your side, “How do you know there’s someone on the inside? It could have been someone you passed on the street?”

“No, it’s someone on the inside, I used the bug to trace the signal back to its source and it’s coming right from this precinct.”

“...Could be somebody in the holding cells?”

“Y/N…” he said, tone soft and understanding and you closed your eyes with a deep inhale. You just couldn’t believe it. One of your own helping out such a horrific murderer? You prided yourself on knowing every single face in this building, top to bottom, telling yourself it was part of your job as a lieutenant but really, it was above and beyond the call of duty: you just wanted to be the best lieutenant in the building.

Correction: part of a team of two best lieutenants in the building. Both of which just happened to have the last name Rogers. Such a coincidence.

“You do believe me, right?” he said suddenly, breaking you from your thoughts and you snapped your attention back to him, noting his expression of slight doubt. You realised that this secret must have been weighing heavily on him for the past few days whilst he worked out the safest way to tell you and, without much hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into you. One hand splayed across his back, the other playing with the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, you gave him your reply.

“Of course I believe you, honey,” you said kindly as his arms encircled your waist and he rested his chin on your shoulder, temple just bumping gently into yours. Both of you closed your eyes, savouring the comfort that you had always derived from each other. Since the very beginning, “I will always believe you.”

“I know,” he said truthfully, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go, pulling back just enough to look at you, “I know.”

“I just can’t believe it. I believe you, I just can’t believe it,” you tried to explain and he nodded, hands still delicately placed on your waist, rubbing slowly up and down, your fingers still wandering at his neck.

“I’ve been battling with this for days, sweetheart,” he admitted then, “Wondering how to possibly tell you, whether to even tell you, what to fucking do about it?”

“It’s the first lead we’ve had in a month,” you said, trying to steer around the emotional side of it that Steve had introduced. There was plenty of time for emotion later, when you got home and inevitably collapsed into a tangled mess on the sofa, but for now, at work, you needed to treat this like any other lead you might get on a prolific murderer, “We have to start investigating, however hard that is. You know that, Steve.”

“I do. But we can cry later, right?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you agreed, with a small humourless chuckle that he joined you in, “We can cry later.”

“We need to get back to alleviate any suspicion,” Steve decided, beginning to turn away to leave the closet when you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into you.

“Hey,” you said lightly, a smile creeping up on your lips as you dropped your voice to what you hoped was an enticing whisper, “Any suspicion will only be about whether or not we’re making out in here. So why don’t we confirm that suspicion and alleviate any others.”

You took the opportunity to slide your hand up his arm and onto his chest, bringing your other hand up to the side of his neck.

“Well, you have a point,” he murmured, looking down at your hips as he placed his hands carefully on either side, massaging with his thumbs that just drifted up and underneath your shirt.

“I do have a point.”

“But the case…”

“Can wait for five minutes,” you finished for him quietly, bringing the hand that was on his chest up, up, up and around his neck, both clasping there and tugging his forehead against yours, “So would you please - please - let me kiss my husband for five minutes and forget about this nightmare.”

A lengthy pause. Breath mingling together, slightly accelerated, thumbs now rubbing numb little circles against your waist. Steve closed his eyes.

“I guess I would quite like to kiss my wife right now,” he muttered before gently guiding you to his lips and eliciting a sigh of relief from you.

The case had to wait for fifteen minutes.

---

7pm. Poodle Doodle Diner. Two burgers. One extra large sides of fries. Two shakes. And a whole lot of whispering.

You and Steve had gone out for dinner after work, knowing that if your uniform was bugged then there was a high chance that your home was bugged too. Unfortunately, the ‘two best lieutenants in the building’ had held a housewarming party a week or so ago when they’d moved and almost everybody had come. If they’d gotten to your uniform then they’d be stupid not to bug the house.

The clothes you were currently wearing had been thoroughly checked and you felt 75% safe.

“It is not Carl, Steve.”

“What do you mean it’s not Carl? It could be!”

“No, it couldn’t be, and you’re only saying it could be because he flirts with me,” you said, exasperated, because you’d already had the ‘Carl’ talk fourteen times. In the past few months, pretty much any and every crime was a possibility for Steve to try to pin on Carl somehow.

“Carl was looking quite shifty yesterday, you know.”

“Well, this neighbourhood is only five blocks from Carl’s, Y/N.”

“Look, babe! A sandwich wrapper dropped at the scene of the crime...Carl had a sandwich for lunch three days ago!”

He had flirted with you at the Christmas party two months ago and seen the rise he had gotten out of Steve, and ever since had been determined to continue to get the same rise again and again and again. He’d flirt with you every chance he got, and you would act just as cold as usual towards him until he buggered off. Steve’s scowl seemed to etch deeper lines into his forehead each time.

“Wha…? That is...preposterous...and also...not correct-” he stuttered and you shook your head as you laughed at him, and he rolled his eyes, “Look, you can’t rule him out.”

“But he’s not any more likely than anyone else in the precinct,” you said pointedly. Steve paused for a moment before folding his arms across his chest like the petulant child he was and falling back further into his chair.

“No.”

“Good. Glad we cleared that up,” you smirked as you stole a couple of fries from the plate in the middle of the table and shovelled them into your mouth, “Now, seriously, any suspects?”

“Other than Carl?”

“Steve-” you warned and he waved you away.

“Okay, okay, seriously? I would be inclined to say Grant, Kelsey or Josh.”

“Oh wow, okay, you actually have suspects,” you said surprised and Steve shrugged.

“I’ve had a day or two’s headstart on this, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and a lot of watching. They’re the ones that stick out to me.”

You pondered the information.

Grant was, quite frankly, an asshole. He walked around the place like he owned it, at least when he was in the precinct, he had so many days off. This was all because his daddy was Police Crime Commissioner and he could get away with murder around the precinct. But you weren’t sure if he could actually get away with murder; he’d never been the sharpest tool in the box, you couldn’t think of a good motive for him and he didn’t have his gun license so means would be trickier too. He had opportunity.

Kelsey was sugary sweet. Annoyingly so if anyone asked you, but thankfully nobody did. She was always asking people personal questions and batting her eyes at anyone above her rank in an attempt to climb the ladder. Steve had been on the receiving end more than once, much to your disappointment. She had her gun license, which surprised you all, but again motive escaped you and since she was in the precinct constantly trying to get to the top, opportunity was slim. She had means.

Josh was nice. Kind of ‘nothingy’ in personality if anything, but you’d always assumed that was simply because he kept himself to himself. He was at the bottom of the precinct ladder and you’d had a significant talk with Captain Fury recently about checking up on him due to his difficult financial situation. Everyone who had died had been stinking rich, so there was a possible connection there, but with no gun license and every waking hour spent working overtime to pay his bills, it wasn’t enough. He had motive.

“I assume you’re coming to the same conclusion I did that one had opportunity, one had means and one had motive, right?” Steve’s voice cut effortlessly through your thoughts and you snapped out of your reverie, turning your head back to him with furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“Bingo. Unless we’re missing something, we have no real clear suspects and a pool of about 1000 true possibilities,” you murmured and yours and Steve’s simultaneous sighs echoed throughout the cafe.

“There’s no way we can-”

He was interrupted by your radios going off in tandem. You looked at each other in alarm, before Steve took his out of his pocket.

“We’ve got a hostage situation at the 99th precinct, suspect is on the roof with an officer. Suspect is believed to have a gun. Says he’ll only speak to the Lieutenants Rogers.”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t even hear what Steve was saying in return, until Steve was shaking your arm and you looked up at him. Saw the fear in your eyes reflected back at you in his.

“We’ve got to go,” he said firmly and finally you snapped back into police officer mode, grabbing your bag and joining him as you ran out of the door. Steve handed you your helmet and you put it on with shaking hands, just about managing to buckle it up as you sat behind Steve and wrapped your arms around his waist. He wasted no time in speeding off into the increasingly dark streets of New York.

You indulged and rested your cheek against his back, closing your eyes for only a moment and pretending that you were simply headed home, to a glass of wine and a sitcom that you wouldn’t find that funny, to kisses on the sofa and tracing patterns onto Steve’s arms with steady fingertips.

All too soon, you opened your eyes and were met with blaring lights of ambulances and patrol cars and the silhouette of a man holding a gun out in front of him on the roof.

You gulped.

You and Steve took the stairs two at a time, listening for any further updates on the radio with strained ears.

“If he’s holding an officer hostage-” you paused for breath as you continued running up the stairs, “-and he won’t talk to anyone but us-” another breath, “-then it’s The Suit. Right?”

“That is the most likely outcome,” Steve muttered back from ahead of you. You knew that voice. That tone. It meant that he had fully transitioned into work mode, left any emotion that wasn’t useful at the bottom of these stairs. He was focused. Sharply focused.

On the last few flights of stairs, you tried to get yourself into the same headspace.

“Lieutenant, Lieutenant,” one of the cops at the top of the stairs nodded to each of you in turn as you reached them, “Suspect is still out on the roof and has an officer at gunpoint. He has shouted multiple times that if anyone except you two go out there, he’ll start shooting.”

“Brilliant…” you murmured, nodding gratefully at the officer who was handing you your tactical gear during the briefing. You pulled on the bulletproof vest, holster and helmet, cursing yourself for choosing to wear a dress to dinner this evening. There was certainly no time to change.

“Lieutenants, we don’t know who this guy is. Just- be careful,” the officer looked at you with worried eyes, as did the rest of the officers surrounding the door to the roof. You smiled as Steve clapped the briefing officer on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Officer Simmons, all of you. Hold your posts.”

Steve looked back at you and you nodded once, pulling your gun from the holster and joining Steve at the door. You kicked it open and Steve went out first, gun raised, you following soon after.

“Finally. It’s cold up here.”

The voice was male and familiar, not that you could put your finger on who it belonged to. But, more importantly, a quick scan of the scene found only one person on the roof, no hostage, gun pointed directly at you, ski mask firmly in place on his head.

“Where’s the hostage?” you called to him over the wind that jostled the skirt of your dress and you had to fight the instinct to smooth it out again.

“Hostage? Oh, no, there’s no hostage. I just said that so they would definitely send you two out here.”

“What do you want with us?” It was Steve that spoke this time, and although the suspect’s head turned toward him, his gun was still trained on you and the beating of your heart elevated slightly. You were clearly the target here.

“You worked it out. At least, some of it,” the voice paused and the man took a step towards Steve, “You know I work here. I suppose bugging your home and your clothes wasn’t the most sensible idea I’ve had but I had to know how your investigation into The Suit was going, since you wouldn’t let me on the case.”

“Answer his question,” you demanded, taking a step forward, gun still in the air, “What do you want with us? Why are we here?”

“I’m getting to it, Mrs Rogers,” his tone was silvery and spiky all at once and you wanted to slap the ski mask right off his face - that was Lieutenant Rogers to him, “You’re here because I want you to give me your word that you’ll stop investigating this case.”

“And why the hell would we do that?”

“Because, if you don’t,” the masked man took another step towards Steve, and lowered his voice to whisper only he would hear, “I will definitely, most certainly, undoubtedly...kill your wife.”

And on those words, a gunshot went off and your eyes widened at the clear sound ringing through the air and in your ears. You blinked. And then you felt it. The pain. The warmth. You looked down and saw the dark stain on your sleeve that hadn’t been there before.

You dropped harshly to one knee as your hand slowly came up to touch the stain. And then your fingers were red. Dark, deep, deafening red.

Though vision blurred with the beginnings of tears, you saw a figure vault over the railings and down onto the fire escape and a different figure running towards you.

“Y/N!”

Hands on either side of your face. Frantic eyes moving up then down then up again. He was talking into the radio, something about urgent attention that you didn’t have the attention span to work out right now. You reached a hand out and bunched it in Steve’s vest, grounding yourself, grounding him.

“Steve,” you murmured loosely, eyes flickering closed before you forced them open again, “Fire escape. Go.”

“Not a chance,” he shook his head, and you saw his eyes were watery like yours as he ripped a sleeve from his shirt and began wrapping it far too tightly around your upper arm to stop the bleeding, since there was a lot of stairs for the paramedics to climb. You cursed under your breath.

“Lieutenant Rogers,” you spoke more firmly this time, or at least you tried to, not knowing that your voice was slightly slurred and didn’t sound remotely authoritative, “That is an order from a fellow Lieutenant and the lead officer on this case. Fire escape, now.”

“I said no, Y/N.”

His voice was harsh and almost came out as a snap and made your eyes open wide again as you stared at him, dumbfounded. Before you knew it, the paramedics had burst onto the roof and Steve stood back from you to let you be treated. With nothing left to say and nothing left to do, you let your eyes flutter closed as they wanted to and let the worried voices surrounding you fade into nothingness.

#wxntersoldiers5kchallenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers series #captain america imagine #captain america angst #captain america fluff #captain america series #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel series #marvel fanfiction #close to home

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sassycassie-s-series · 5 years ago

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All My Fault 34

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Batman

Rating: PG-11/T- (for violence)

Notes: (Masterlist) At some point I don’t think I’ll be able to link all the chapters because Tumblr hates me. Anyway, I’m rising from the void because quarantine. Enjoy!

Tag List (Open): @batboys-and-other-messes @welovegroot @probsjosh @spooder-moon @lostredrobin @haylo4ever @na-n-na @rachelmorganroth @reclusive-chicken-nugget

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33

^^^^^

I sat on the stairs in the foyer, idly browsing my social media feeds like it was the morning paper—my Cloudburst account was always hopping—and waiting for Bruce to come home. Jon’s Superboy account was logged into finally and he was responding to every Tweet I’d made as Cloudburst, apologizing for not getting on and seeing earlier. Remarking it was nice to see me again after so long. I was smiling at his definite overuse of excited emojis but he was a sweet kid.

The front door opened.

Bruce and Alfred both came in.

I jumped up immediately. “Hi!” I greeted.

“Morning Nora,” Bruce said, sounding like he hadn’t had any coffee yet.

“Good morning, Miss McCloud,” Alfred agreed as I rushed across the foyer to hug them both.

“Morning,” I replied. I dropped onto my heels after tilting up onto my tiptoes to hug Bruce since he was so tall. “How was Metropolis?”

Bruce shrugged. “Hm. Boring,” he said.

I nodded. “I see. Y’know, I'm surprised Clark didn’t come keep an eye on us while you were gone,” I joked.

“Who says he didn’t?” Bruce mumbled, heading straight for the kitchen.

Well, crap. Hopefully Clark didn’t see anything between me and Damian if he did keep an eye on us and report it to Bruce before I could say anything.

“Huh. Fair point,” I relented. “Hey, listen, Bruce? Can we talk?”

“Those words are never followed by good news,” Bruce said, looking grumpy, as he found the half-emptied coffee pot and a mug.

I rolled my eyes. “No. ‘We need to talk’ is never followed by good news. I asked if we can talk and I was careful to phrase it that way,” I retorted. Bruce eyed me irritably over the top of his mug as he took a long drink.

“Okay. Talk,” he said after he swallowed.

I shook my hair out of my face and pushed some of it behind my ear. “Welp, long story short I don’t want to go back to the past, anymore,” I said.

Bruce coughed on his next gulp. “What?” he asked.

I was half-tempted to pull a cranky teenager and say, “You heard me!” but I didn’t. Instead I just shrugged. “I don’t want to go back to the past anymore. I know we still need to close the Time Bombs case and reopen the timeways but once they’re opened I still wanna stay here,” I said. Bruce lowered his eyebrows.

“Why?”

“There are a couple reasons,” I said, trying my best to maintain my cool as my ears grew warm. I covered them with my hair as subtly as I could. Messing with my hair was a quirk of mine so I doubted Bruce would even notice. “One of them is… I think my disappearance is, like, a fixed point in the timeline. Kinda like how in every timeline where Jason meets you as Batman, he ends up dying. Like if I went back to that Time Bomb attack eight years ago, I’d go missing some other way. Maybe then I’d never return.”

“And the other reasons?”

“I don’t want to go back and screw up this future now because messing with time scares me and I don’t know what would happen to you guys,” I continued. Bruce started taking another drink. I waited till he swallowed to continue. “And, lastly, there’s no two ways about it: I’ve fallen in love with Damian and I don’t want to leave him.” I rushed out the last part so it ended up sounding more like, “I’vefallenlovewiDamiananIdonwannaleaveim.”

Bruce had to just stare at me for several long moments while he figured out and processed what I said. During the silent moments I felt my heart rate rising and my hands start sweating nervously.

Once he understood what I said, the staring continued. But this time with raised eyebrows as he figured out what to say.

Finally, he seemed to gather his thoughts. “You’ve… fallen in love… with Damian,” he said.

“Yes,” I said plainly. I kept my sass out of my tone because I didn’t want to provoke him into a parental freak-out and/or a Batdad lecture.

“What?!” he demanded. “When did this happen?”

“Relatively recently,” I answered. “While you were gone.”

“Nora, don’t you think you’re jumping into that lake a little too fast?” he asked.

“B, there’s been attraction between he and I since I got here,” I said. “We just kept staring and sharing these moments of profound closeness and then fighting the feeling that we wanted to be together and I just… I can’t do it anymore.”

“Does he know?”

“I should hope so. The kiss was mutual,” I said, purposely leaving out everything else that happened between his son and me. Ease him into it.

“Oh so you kissed,” he stated.

“Mmhmm,” I said.

There was a pause.

“Are you mad?” I asked finally.

Bruce regarded me for another moment while I twisted a piece of my hair nervously around my fingers. He took a deep breath, set his coffee down, and sighed. “No,” he decided on. “I'm not angry.”

I wondered if I was supposed to ask what he was feeling about the idea of me and Damian dating. Or if he was feeling anything. I wondered if I even wanted to know.

Ultimately, I decided not to say anything. If Bruce wanted to say more, he would.

He took another long drink of his coffee—finishing his mug before pouring himself another one. I picked at the scabs on my knuckles while leaning against the kitchen counter and waiting for him to say something else—to express his approval or disapproval. I licked my lower lip and chewed on it with a crease between my eyebrows.

“Nora, relax,” Bruce said after a moment.

“I…” I said before just trailing off and trying to smooth out my face.

When that didn’t work, Bruce just sighed. “I'm going to go have a word with my son,” he said, taking his coffee with him.

I caught his elbow. “Don’t yell at him, please. We both… we both want this.”

Bruce just set his free hand on the top of my head. “I'm not going to yell, princess,” he said affectionately.

“Promise?” I pressed.

Bruce ruffled my hair. “I promise,” he said before leaving.

I peeled a scab off my knuckles completely—making it bleed again—and headed for the Batcave.

^^^^^

“Madam, we know it worked,” a man at the table said. “Access to the time-stream has been completely locked down. No one can travel through time except at the normal rate. What more is there to fear?”

The shadowy figure at the head of the table sighed. “Two of the missing from the initial attacks eight years ago returned after the secondary attacks now. Nora McCloud and that vigilante. Stormy or whatever her name is. The short one with the blue accents that isn’t Nightwing. There is no guarantee that the others who went missing aren’t also going to return. The Flash. Impulse. Kid Flash. If the speedsters were to come back, time travel would open up again, meaning the changes we made could be undone.”

“So what do we do?” a councilor asked.

“We capture the vigilante. See what she knows. If she’s found out why we went back to the past, we wipe her memory or take her out.”

“And the McCloud girl? She was the daughter of—”

“We can’t touch her,” the woman at the head of the table snapped. “She is practically the Princess of Gotham. We get close to her and Brucie Wayne will find a way to tear us apart. Besides, she doesn’t know anything about the purpose behind the attacks. If she did, the press would have blown that story waaay up before we could stop her. As it is, they’re too busy debating whether or not she’s dating her foster brother—meaning Little Miss McCloud has no idea.”

“Are you sure about that, ma’am? I just want—”

“Silence! I have spoken to her myself. She knows nothing. We don’t need the fire of that pathetic playboy Bruce Wayne burning under us. Everyone in the city knows how overprotective he is of those kids he takes in.”

“Yes ma’am. Apologies.”

“And if Princess McCloud did know something, she would have told me.” The woman leaned forward, revealing her face in the light. “She doesn’t keep secrets from the people she trusts.”

^^^^^

Damian leaned against the table I was sitting at in the Batcave. “Did he yell at you?” I asked, not looking up.

He chuckled quietly. “No. However he did inform me that he promised you he wouldn’t yell at me. Father is not often in the business of making promises—especially ones he cannot keep. Unless those promises are to his girls. Grayson was right the night you arrived here with me. Father likes his girls more than his boys. He may love us all the same but he likes his girls better.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “So what did he say to you?”

Damian pushed off the table to find another chair. He sat down near me and took my hand. “He told me you told him how we feel about each other that we wanted to be together. He said he didn’t know what to think or feel about it. We both know it is not his decision on whether or not we choose to pursue a relationship, but I believe his approval and acceptance would be beneficial to both of us. I, for one, would feel guilty attempting to pursue you without his acceptance and I believe you would feel similarly. Though, please correct me if I'm wrong.”

“You’re not,” I said. He rarely was wrong. “I would feel terrible trying to be with you if I knew Bruce really disapproved. He’s like a second father to me and I’ve been trying for years to make sure I make him proud and do right by everything he’s ever done for me.”

Damian sucked the backs of his front teeth. “Tt. I understand and agree.”

Someone cleared their throat nearby. I jumped with a yelp. Damian wasn’t so easily startled and turned in the direction of the noise.

Bruce stood there, barely out of the shadows, arms folded over his chest and watching us.

Dang it, I thought. OG Bats definitely hasn’t lost his stealthy touch.

“Hooowww… how long have you been standing there?” I asked awkwardly, picking at another scab on my knuckles as anxiety took over again.

“Long enough,” Bruce grunted. He pulled a chair over and sat so the three of us formed a loose scalene triangle—none of the distances between us equal. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, hands hanging in empty space between them. “Kids, you two have grown up into mature, responsible young adults. I don’t say it enough, but I am proud of you. Both of you. And… if I seem…” He scrunched his eyebrows, searching for the right words. “Hrn. Hesitant. It’s because you’re my kids. And… and I want you to be happy but…”

“Not with each other?” Damian challenged, eyes narrowing slightly.

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, reaching one hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose—something Damian had picked up from him, by the looks of it. “That’s not what I meant, son,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t approve. It’s just—”

OOOOOWOP! OOOOOWOP! OOOOOWOP! OOOOOWOP!

A siren started blaring through the cave. “What the heck is that?” I demanded.

—

Next (coming soonish)

#All My Fault #All My Fault 34 #Chapter 34 #Damian Wayne #Robin #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne fanfiction #robin imagine #robin fanfiction #Batman #batman imagine #batman fanfiction #DC #dc imagine #dc fanfiction #BatFam #batfam imagine #batfam fanfiction

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lycorogue · 5 years ago

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Tag Game: Authors

Tagged by: @livrever

Author name: I make life easy for everyone. I’m LycoRogue just about everywhere.

Fandoms I write for: I mostly write for Miraculous Ladybug, starting in the fandom late 2017. In the past (about 2010-2013), I was almost exclusively writing for the “Hey, Arnold!” fandom. While not as many, I’ve also started up some Fruits Basket stories once the reboot began airing last year. Beyond those normal fandoms, I’ve also thrown in random fics for any old thing that has caught my attention: a couple of stories for the Enderverse series, a random story based on a song about zombies, a one-shot teaser about a Cirque du Soleil show, and oddly only one Legend of Zelda story even though that’s probably my favorite fandom outside of ML. I’ve also had some “fanfics” that were MOSTLY original works based vaguely in the worlds of pre-established properties, such as backstories and side stories for my D&D characters, a short-lived attempt to recap the World of Darkness - Vampire: The Masquerade LARP I was in, and stories for the original characters I created for an X-Men play-by-post. The PbP, called X-Future, was a game where all of the playable characters were OCs that only occasionally interact with canon Marvel characters.

Where I post: You can find my works here on Tumblr (tag #LycoRogue Fanfic), over on AO3, on FFN, and - if you’re desperate - I still post to DA.

Most popular one-shot: Based only on AO3′s stats, it would be my Lukanette birthday gift for @thetauruspixie: I Was Thinking of You (As of 3/6/20: it has 1773 hits and 208 kudos)

OK, this became long because that’s just who I am... 9_9 So... if you want to know more about me, check below the break. ^_^

Favorite story I wrote: I have a multi-chapter story and a one-shot. Both are for ML. The multi-chapter story is Peeping Tomcat, and it is my magnum opus! It started off as one of the first-ever fanfics I wrote for the fandom, and then I realized it had LOADS more story to tell. It is the first multi-chapter story I’ve completed, despite starting and abandoning about a half-dozen before it. This is my baby! The story is about Chat Noir checking in on Marinette once when he thought she was in danger, and then got addicted to innocently spying on her in her bedroom in order to learn more about her while she’s relaxed and most “herself”. I have a sequel that has been in the works for nearly 2yrs now. Yes, I AM still working on the sequel One and the Same, in case any of my readers were nervous about that....

The one-shot is Build Your Own Luck which is a headcanon story about where I believe that lucky charm bracelet Marinette gave Adrien originally came from. It’s a sweet family-bonding story that I loved so much that I’m tying it into my Peeping Tomcat canon. The story behind The BraceletTM will appear in One and the Same.

I also really love one of those “mostly original” stories for X-Future. It was a story originally written by @cyhyr‘s spouse, but when I corrected him on how my character Willow would have truly acted in that situation we decided to make it a collab story. Then it became monstrous, and I think I overwhelmed him. So it’s kind of been in limbo for a few years, but I periodically go back to that project every couple of months, really wanting to get it back down to a manuscript he can manage so we can complete it. For anyone interested, the as-of-now-unofficially-abandoned story is Please, Let Me Explain. In the roleplay, his character Devon left the Xavier Institute to find out more about the parents that abandoned him as an infant. About 1/2hr later, the school gets destroyed in an attack, and the surviving students and faculty believe Devon had something to do with it. Two years later, Devon returns to the school, surprised to find out there were any survivors after spending the last 20 months or so “avenging” all of the students’ deaths. My character Willow is pissed at Devon. He wants to prove his innocence to her. Things are complicated....

Story I was nervous to post: I mean, I’m always nervous to put my heart and soul out there; screaming into the void. Especially when I write things that are more original-leaning. Or when I’m writing gifts for people, especially for those fandom exchanges. Those are terrifying because you know virtually nothing about the person you’re writing for, so you don’t truly know if they’ll like it. I still have a couple of stories that resulted in complete radio-silence from the receiver.

The one I was MOST nervous about though? Probably one I’m still nervous about sharing here. It’s my first-ever published smut for a fandom I didn’t even know existed until last summer and has seemingly died off since the book series completed back in like 2012. My story is called Sparks for the Moment and is for the story Bitterblue within the Seven Kingdoms Trilogy (also known as the Graceling Series). It’s a bittersweet sex scene that takes place between canonical scenes at the end of the story, so beware spoilers.

How do I choose titles: Oh lord, how DO I choose titles!? It’s usually a truly grueling process because I try to stick to 4 rules of thumb: 1. Something that is significant to the story, be it an item or a phrase or a theme, etc. 2. Something that gives you an idea of the feel of the story based on the title (I have no clue if I ever succeeded on this) 3. Something easy to remember; generally less than 5 words long. 4. A title that isn’t already being used by another author (this makes things REAL tricky)

Do you outline? Ummmmm.... Once upon a time? No. I was a full-on pantser. Then, more-or-less when I was working on Peeping Tomcat I became more of a plantser. I now have a skeleton of what I want to write, and try to get as much figured out as I can, only for the characters to go “HAHAHA. Nope.” and then I just kinda follow them.

Complete: 35

Cirque du Soleil (1) Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game) (2) Enderverse (2) Fruits Basket (4) Hey Arnold! (7) Re: Your Brains - Jonathan Coulton (Song) (1) The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (1) Miraculous Ladybug (16) Seven Kingdoms Trilogy - Kristin Cashore (1)

Incomplete (I added this one for ReasonsTM):

Pseudo LoZ and Fable crossover original hybrid thing (1) Hey Arnold! (1) World of Darkness - Vampire: The Masquerade (1)

In progress: After unofficially abandoning so many stories, I’ve stopped publishing any until the whole story is written and just needs one last polish. That was how I managed to get Peeping Tomcat done. That said, I have a couple of irons in the fire.

Main WIP: One and the Same Current WIP: Love Square Fluff Week 2020 (an exception to the “wait til it’s all written rule) Random On-going WIP: I Don’t Care (I never intended this to be an on-going story, but there you have it) “Backburner” WIPs: > What Is Truly Meant To Be (A HA! story I unintentionally abandoned in 2013) > X-Future: The Second Generation Begins (My recapping of the X-Future game) > X-Future Snippets (Random one-shot stories in the X-Future universe) > Please, Let Me Explain (The aforementioned X-Future collab)

Plunnies: > When Love Matters (a retelling of the ML series if Gabriel actually was a loving father) > A collab with @thetauruspixie to write a Fu-centric story telling of his travels through Europe with the Miracle Box and his love affair with Marianne

Do you take prompts? I’ll be honest, I struggle a touch with prompts, but I like challenging myself. One of the reasons I’m doing the gift exchanges. So, if you have a prompt idea, I’d love to hear it. See if it inspires me. :D

Upcoming project I’m most excited about: When Love Matters. I wanted to work on that between breaks, while I had time to backtrack before more episodes aired. Considering how long OatS is taking though, I might not get to start his project until about the time S4 starts. 9_9

Tagging but you are under no obligations to participate: @thetauruspixie, @cyhyr, @chibisunnie, @rikareena, @coffeecomicsgalore, @chanceuseladynoire, @zenmisery, @i-am-the-niece-of-satan (I know some of you are socially anxious, so again, you are under NO OBLIGATION to participate. I just figured people might be interested in knowing more about you)

Also, if you write and want to answer, assume I’m tagging you as well. I’d love to know more about your writing.

#Tumblr games #tag games #writing #LycoRogue writing #get to know me #long post

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