#I've even used the premise in some of my ao3 fics

[obikin-obsessor]

Not Obikin but I will be ranting about these force forsaken books

I just finished book three of Jedi Apprentice and um...I think I genuinely dislike Qui-Gon right now? First of all in the past two books he has denied Obi-Wan becoming his padawan despite the fact that he even STATES that normally a force bond only happens between two close friends or a MASTER AND PADAWAN PAIR. Despite the fact that Obi-Wan wasn't his padawan at this point and Mr. "Follows the will of the Force" Doesn't think to question this??? To ask himself about if the Force itself wants them together? No, he's busy sulking in his own years old sadness of his past padawan turning to the darkside. My boy Obi does everything he can to TRY and be useful to Qui-Gon, to show that he would make a good padawan yet every single time, Qui-Gon brushes his efforts aside until we're made to believe Obi-Wan has moved past this, he doesn't btw. He gets brought to the agri corp, finds something he thinks Qui-Gon should know about, gets brushed off again, even though we find out later that the boxes and crates in the agri corp don't belong to them THEY BELONG TO QUI-GON'S EVIL EX PADAWAN. He then gets kidnapped and has a SLAVE COLLAR put on him, where if he gets outside of a certain radius HE WILL EXPLODE. He tries to be useful and find a way out despite this and gets captured and THROWN OFF OF A BUILDING TO DROWN TO DEATH. And it's stated that he has accepted the fact he will die, even though he is only like twelve, bordering thirteen at this point. He gets saved though, not by Qui-Gon, by some other person who ratted him out in the first place. Sure Qui-Gon then arrives and deactivates the collar but poor Obi has suicide on the brain clearly because after the big confrontation they're left in a place that will explode and kill them and everyone else so what does Obi do? He's like "Hey I can reactivate my collar and it'll go off and bring the door down! Then you'll be able to save everyone!" Like damn, he is thirteen and is already completely willing to just die if it means saving everyone else, no sense of self preservation there. It's only after all of that when Qui-Gon asks him to be his padawan and Obi agrees, should be happy sailing from here right? NOPE! (Book 5 has a whole ao3 tag for God's sake and it's hard NOT to know what's gonna happen there) When someone turns thirteen or their species equivalent and is officially someone's padawan. Their Master gives them a gift, one that usually Master's put a lot of thought and care into picking out the perfect thing to give them, and mind you Jedi aren't usually allowed personal possessions yet this is an exception. Some padawans get cloaks to keep them warm, or something to heal them should they be injured. Obi? He gets a rock. A FREAKING ROCK. And he's SO disappointed and I can't even blame him, for all he or maybe even Qui-Gon knows, it's just a normal ass rock.

Said rock ends up being force sensitive and saving him from having his memories taken away but he didn't know that and Qui-Gon sure as hell didn't tell him, even remarks at the end that he thought it was just a normal rock and Obi can't tell if he's being serious or not. Would it kill Qui-Gon to be a bit more open and honest with Obi? Because we know from his POV he does actually care about him to a degree, worrying over him and even mourning his loss when he thinks Obi's memories are gone) But does he tell Obi? NO! And I loathe it so much because I didn't really mention it here but Obi also has REALLY bad anxiety, he's never calm it seems like and again, he has suicidal ideation in the beginning and I don't know if that's fully gone yet. Thank you for hearing me rant, I will probably continue doing so the more of these books I read, thank you Jude Watson.

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Starter Pack: 10 Recs for Getting Started in Tomarrymort

I've compiled a list of 10 medium to longfic recs that I think represent a great on-ramp to the Tomarrymort ship, as inspired by @sitp-recs’ Drarry for Beginners rec list. These are the fics that I would use to on-board people to the ship — gorgeous writing, superb characterization, and just as enjoyable on the first read as the 20th reread. 

As always, I am stunned by the talent in this ship! I tried to pick a good mix of different themes/tropes/settings, with a focus on elements that make for a good introductory work: the characters are recognizable; the setting skews more recognizable; both characters in the ship are a meaningful part of the story; the ship is central to the story; and the fics are for the most part complete (or updated within the last year). 

(Standard rec list disclaimers apply: please mind all tags and warnings on AO3 before reading; this blog abides by the age-old fandom axiom of don’t like; don’t read; recs are in alphabetical order by title.)

This is Part 1 of a 3-part series — I also have an Intermediate reading list and Advanced reading list coming up for readers who have been with the ship for a longer time.

For now, please enjoy these 1.3 million words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort reads that I hope will keep you hooked until the very last word:

*

Tomarrymort Starter Pack Recs

A Dangerous Game by @cybrid (E, 284k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 5 Premise: If Tom’s diary horcrux gains a body at the end of Harry’s 5th year (instead of his 2nd), and then promptly kidnaps Harry and holds him captive over the summer. Lots of smut ensues. Why I rec it: The characterization is truly stunning — Tom Riddle is undoubtedly a psychopath — manipulative, thrill-seeking, kind of an irredeemable shithead — but he’s also dazzlingly charming when he chooses to be, someone whose presence Harry quickly grows addicted to. Their relationship can get incredibly toxic and fucked-up at times, but Harry has top-notch instincts and can hold his own against Tom. The plot is absolutely gripping, with the threat of (the main) Voldemort, who has set his sights on reclaiming his wayward horcrux, looming in the background. 

A Future Without a Face by @dividawrites (E, 115k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry travels back in time to Tom’s 5th year at Hogwarts, and Tom becomes obsessed with the new transfer student and wants nothing more than to possess him every way. Why I rec it: A 1940s time travel fic told entirely from Tom Riddle POV! Divida absolutely nails psychopath Tom — how he quickly gets singlemindedly focused on Harry, how the idea of possessing Harry consumes him, how he has no compunctions about doing completely fucked-up and destructive things to achieve his goals. There is so much tension between them from the start, so there’s not much of a wait to see some hot Harry & Tom action — and the conflict and tension only continues to build and build in dramatic fashion throughout the rest of the fic.

Either must die at the hand of the other by @metalomagnetic (E, 260k, complete)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts and is initially kept prisoner in Azkaban, until Harry takes him into Grimmauld Place under house arrest. Why I rec it: This fic is an incredible exploration of Voldemort at his most terrifying. Even if he starts off the fic with his magic temporarily blocked, he is no less powerful without his magic. The force of his personality is powerful enough for him to chip away at Harry’s initial resistance — @metalomagnetic manages to write one of the most charismatic, brilliantly manipulative, and psychologically devastating versions of Voldemort I’ve ever read. Harry ends up in a good place by the end of the fic, but the journey to get there is a roller-coaster of emotions that have permanently imprinted onto my soul.

In Somno Veritas by ladyoflilacs and @lordansketil (M, 158k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Harry starts appearing in Voldemort’s nightly dreams during Book 6, and Voldemort becomes obsessed with Harry after realizing he’s his horcrux. Why I rec it: This is one of the most unique fics I’ve ever read in this ship! Every scene is told in alternating POV between Harry’s POV and Voldemort’s POV, so you get to see how every scene unfolds from both of their perspectives. Voldemort is so intense and just as terrible as he is in canon, so his character is not at all sugarcoated, and Harry has so much compassion and heart and manages to fall in love with Voldemort anyway. The writing style is gorgeous, with richly detailed and emotionally-laden prose. Also, one thing that pleasantly surprised me is how funny their banter is! There were definitely a number of times where I laughed out loud in the middle of an otherwise really intense scene. Bonus content: also comes with a lovely sequel that made me melt.

Inevitabilities by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (T, 103k, complete)

Setting: Same-Age AU Premise: If Harry and Tom attend Hogwarts together and go traveling around the world after they graduate. A betrayal leads to their break-up, but after many years, Harry returns to find Tom in Britain, and the two of them are drawn back together again. Why I rec it: An excellent same-age AU with unhinged dark Harry and just-as-unhinged Tom. Their relationship starts out quite dark and twisted and unhealthy — and only devolves from there. The fic ends with the two of them as equals — utterly devoted to each other — but in an incredibly fucked-up way: “He loves Tom like a forest fire; wild and all-consuming, he wants to devour Tom, to claim him, to mark him, break him.” Isn’t that absolutely breathtaking?

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (M, 34k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry gets thrown back into the mid-1940s and meets Tom Riddle as a young man just graduated from Hogwarts working at Borgin and Burkes. Why I rec it: When Harry accidentally travels back in time and chances upon Tom Riddle as a fresh graduate, he realizes this is his chance to make a difference. While Harry is only in the past for a brief interlude, he leaves enough of an impression to change the trajectory of Tom’s life. The dynamic between Harry and Tom is rife with tension and witty dialogue, and the story is set during Christmastime, which lends a very festive and heartwarming atmosphere for falling in love with each other.

No Glory by @obsidianpen (E, 254k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU  Premise: If Voldemort figures out Harry is his horcrux when Harry surrenders in the Forbidden Forest, and decides to keep Harry instead of killing him.  Why I rec it: This fic showcases the absolute, terrifying genius side of Voldemort, in a universe where he wins the war and captures Harry at the end of book 7. I am stunned at how skillfully @obsidianpen portrays Voldemort as a brilliant political strategist — the courtroom scene where he manipulates the story and the audience so well stands out as a top 10 fanfic moment in my mind. Harry and Voldemort’s relationship is chilling from the very start, and grows even more unhealthy as Voldemort gets addicted to Harry’s touch due to the presence of the horcrux, but Harry later learns to turn that to his advantage.

The Fire, Burning by @parsimmony (E, 35k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort discovers Harry is his horcrux after Book 6, and kidnaps him to keep him captive by his side in his bed, inside of a lovely greenhouse setting full of friendly snakes on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Why I rec it: The prose!! I am swooning over the prose! Harry is Voldemort’s captive in this fic, but he is so much more than that — and the emotions that gradually blossom between them have so much richness and depth and are utterly moving that I’m still drowning in the depths of intimacy that were portrayed. Their relationship unfolds in such a gorgeous and unrushed way, and the setting is so unique too — a lush and overgrown greenhouse that’s exploding with exotic plants and friendly snakes around every corner that imbues the fic with a very romantic, dreamy quality.

the pleasure, the privilege by @being-luminous (M, 20k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort is doused with Amortentia keyed to Harry, and starts sending Harry bizarre and gruesome courting gifts, like the bodies of the Dursleys.  Why I rec it: Breathtaking prose! Voldemort somehow ends up more terrifying when he’s trying to woo Harry than when he’s trying to kill him. Every single sentence had me on the edge of my seat, as Voldemort’s ‘gifts’ become more elaborate and devastatingly dramatic, until Harry basically has no choice but to respond to his overtures. The ending is incredibly clever in how it parallels certain plot elements of book 6, with an added Harrymort twist. 

The Untouchable by @treacleteacups (M, 75k, complete)

Setting: Canon Rewrite (Books 1-7) Premise: If Harry starts out his first year a little bit more suspicious and a little less wide-eyed and guileless, and subsequently gets sorted into Slytherin. He has many of the same encounters with Voldemort along the way as he does in canon, but his interactions with Voldemort will end up leading him down quite a different path. Why I rec it: A snappy, fast-paced full canon rewrite that still manages to fit in all the essential Tomarrymort plot points, between Horcruxes and Hallows and the major events of books 1-7, in a compact 75k words that doesn’t at all feel rushed. It’s a delightful journey following Harry’s character evolution from an overlooked, peculiar child who relies on wishy-washy wish magic to a confident (and still endearingly peculiar) young man who can challenge and hold his own against the great Lord Voldemort. Voldemort’s obsession with Harry deepens with every encounter that they have, as he finds ways to continually insinuate himself in Harry’s life and his mind and his dreams.

*

[secretidentie]

My Superbat prompts

I've been reading superbat since forever and I finally got a tumblr account so I thought I could ask some writers to use these.

Clark kent is at the manor to interview Bruce Wayne when Dr Freeze attacks and they're basically snowed in. Bruce trying to hide secrets and Clark getting the chance to write the story of the year in the form of an I depth exposé from inside the home of billionaire blah, blah, blah... Chaos and fluff.

Bruce is in a love triangle with superman and Clark Kent. Clark assumes Bruce knows he's one person. Bruce decides to solve this by brooding and going on a series of dates with them both until he decides who's his perfect match. (you decide if Clark knows Bruce is batman but think both versions are hilarious)

Bruce Wayne has to go undercover as a carnival worker in a small town on batman business. After the Daily Planet is bought out by corrupt government officials, Clark quits and goes back home to Smallville. He feels like he's changed and isn't as fulfilled by the simple life, not to mention how much harder it is to keep being superman. He doesn't even feel useful on the farm and can't find a job he enjoys to make some money of his own and leave the house. He starts visiting the fair to take his mind of things and meeting this handsome carnival worker who he definitely would have recognized in a small town like this.

LexCorp frames Wayne enterprises for some shady dealings putting the company under investigation which might even lead to it filing for bankruptcy. While Fox and others fix this, Bruce, as the face of the company, is advised to lay low and leave Gotham for a bit. He decides to get an apartment in the cheap side of Metropolis, since all his assets are frozen and he only has one working bank account. On top of that he has to deal with his hot new roommate (or neighbor depending on how you write it) who keeps leaving and coming back at the weirdest hours while also trying to keep tabs on Gotham and maybe getting himself a job in the mean time. (to be clear Clark is the roommate)

During an argument batman says he could easily do superman's job and superman says the same. So they swap cities for two weeks. First to call for backup looses. (feel free to add romance if you want but it's not compulsory)

Clark final gathers the courage to ask out batman but right before he does, green lantern starts flirting with batman too. Harvey dent is recently released from arkham and claims to be reformed and wanting to rekindle his well known public relationship with his collage sweetheart Bruce Wayne. This causes Oliver queen to also try to win his childhood best friend's heart. It's a very long week for Bruce. (all povs if possible. Also Bruce knows everyone's identities but no one knows his. This also doesn't have to end up superbat, choose your favorite ship. Make this love-pentagon as messy as you can)

These are just a few of my personal favorites. I have a lot more. Let me know if you want me to post them. If fics with these premise already exist let me know coz I would love to read them. You can make it as explicit as you want or make it for general audiences but for my sake please add fluff. If you use these prompts also make sure to tag me here or on AO3.

[laura1633]

i need to say this somewhere and i hope you won’t mind if i send this “rant” here. bc this is just a stupid smut pet peeve that i let annoy me so much.

but anyway every time i go to the lestappen tag i get really disheartened bc there is such a imbalance. there is so much bottom charles and omega charles and charles being loved and worshiped and i honestly wouldn’t mind that at all but the number of fics where max gets the same are pretty much nonexistent compared to charles-centric fics like there are bottom max fics but they get drowned out. pretty much all the popular fics that have thousands of kudos and that ppl recommend to everyone are bottom charles. seriously i saw a rec list once where the few bottom max fics had the fact that they are bottom max mentioned in the same manner as content warnings for some other fics. it was super weird but maybe the person who made that didn’t think it would come across like that.

i know there are lots of bottom max fics (i’ve probably read them all lol) and ppl who like both, like you. i’m happy about the ppl who comment on bottom max fics those fics still get a lot of love even when it seems so little in the grand scheme of things. but i’m just annoyed and a bit confused that it’s so disproportionate. probably bc charles is more popular than max and bottom charles has gotten so popular ppl are inclined to it and it's "safe" and gets more love.

then again there’s so much talk about omega max on tumblr and then none of that shows on ao3 weirdly. (except maybe on the maxiel side i literally became a maxiel shipper bc i wanted more omega max lol) some ppl on here who say they’re bottom/omega max “truthers” have like several top max fics on their account and no bottom max fics which literally not that deep everyone should write what they want and what they are inspired to write but not practicing what you preach confuses me a bit not gonna lie haha. i’ve written my own fics which are pretty much premises i want to desperately read but no one has written them (like fine i'll do it myself) and i've gotten a good response but i’m a slow writer so i haven't written everything i want to write. thank you for everything you’ve written laura!

I don't mind at all anon, I have added your second ask too <3 Sorry this ended up being a lengthy reply. I love that we can yap about the bottom or omega Max agenda though 😂

I started writing maybe about two years ago and at the time a lot of the Lestappen stories were definitely bottom Charles and omega Charles. I started writing because a little bit like yourself there was some stuff I wanted to read that didn't exist so I just wrote it myself. At the time I had no clue how to write but I have hopefully improved over the past couple years! I was just desperate for there to be some more soft Max or Max being looked after and cared for. I just think Max doesn't get enough love and there can never be enough fics where it's pointed out just how hot he is!

I also like the idea of sexy, hot alpha Charles and think it's fun to not always see him in that 'babygirl' role if that makes sense. Although I can see why he ends up in that role a lot, he is also very pretty

I used to read a lot of Maxiel for the same reason as yourself, in fact I do still read Maxiel because of that reason and also because there are some very talented writers writing it. (although I also think of Daniel as being quite omega like!)

I definitely agree that there is a lot more bottom and omega Max within the lestappen tag now compared to a couple of year ago.

For me, I like to swap it around. I like to write soft alpha Max and even bottom alpha Max. The main thing for me is that the dynamic works for the story I want to tell. I have started leaning more towards omega Max though because I know that there is plenty of omega Charles out there and there are plenty of people who can write omega Charles much better than I can!!

You are absolutely correct about the comments and kudos thing. Firstly I should say that there are some amazing writers writing some amazing bottom and omega Charles fics that deserve all the love in the world and I am not for one second suggesting that they only have so many responses because of the dynamic but (at least to start with) I found that my omega Charles fics got more kudos than the omega Max ones. That might have just been a coincidence but when I start writing a story I know it will get more attention if I write it with the omega Charles dynamic. I'm not for one second suggesting that that is what people are thinking about btw, it's just a fact I have noticed with my own work. These days I just write what I like and hope some other people like it. If I ranked my fics by kudos they definitely wouldn't be in quality order so I don't worry about that now 😂

Like you have said, everyone should write what they like as it's all for fun. I am just glad there are other people out there reading and writing bottom/omega Max or even just Max getting the love and attention he deserves.

I will read top Max and I enjoy top Max. The only Max fics I don't like are where the writer clearly doesn't like Max and is making him unnecessarily aggressive or just making him the butt of the joke in a mean way. I prefer to read Lestappen when I can tell that the writer likes both of them if that makes sense (obviously people have a favourite but that's different. )

The content warning for the bottom Max fics made me giggle. I don't know what context that was in as I didn't see the post but it definitely made me laugh. Maybe it needs a content warning because its likely to alter your brain chemistry and you'll not be able to see him topping again 😂

I will always write some bottom Charles and some omega Charles because it just works in certain contexts for me but I have felt myself leaning more towards the other dynamic. Hopefully most people don't mind because there are so many Lestappen writers these days so there is definitely plenty of omega Charles to chose from.

I am shocked there is not more Omega Max x Omega Charles though as that seems to fit quite well.

Sorry, I totally rambled there but I am a huge lover of omega and bottom Max and always will be. I am also a huge lover of Max being treated nicely and softly and getting all the attention and affection in the world.

[apocalyp-tech-a]

Season's greetings! This is my Clone XReader Life Day Exchange gift for @orbitalmirror for the @cloneficgiftexchange run by @ghostofskywalker!!! ❤️💚❤️

Prompts: “So for this Life Day thing, what do people do?” || “I’m not exactly inclined to trust clones.”

Words: 4625

Warnings: None except flirtation and some innocent kisses

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61331332

A/N: I've only written Echo as a supporting character so I hope I did him justice and hope you, @orbitalmirror, enjoy the fic! (Sorry it's a little angsty at first!) ❤️💚❤️ Shout out to @eclec-tech for the impromptu brainstorming session in which she allowed me to use her refugee/Pabu twist on my Wookiee Life Day celebration premise. And thank you to @cloneficgiftexchange for running it!

A Wonderful Life Day 🎄 (Echo X Reader)

Ever since the clone troopers' hideout on Teth was compromised by a CX assassin, Echo and his renegade clone brothers had been on the run from the Empire and trying to find a new base of operations.  

The research facility on Tantiss and its head scientist were no longer a threat, but that didn't mean the Empire wouldn't be. Echo, Rex, Gregor, Howzer, and the other surviving clones that joined their band of brothers still had a lot of work to do. There were more clone troopers out there who needed their help and no time to stop and smell the roses.

Not only were clones in need of help, but many regular folks.  While Rex searched for a new base location, Echo continued to run missions on his ship, Remora. When picking up two clones who were deserting the Empire, he got more than he bargained for when the they insisted on bringing along a Wookiee family of seven members, a Twi'lek female, and two humans, one male, and one female: you.

You had been very iffy about taking refuge with the two clone troopers whom you had only met several weeks ago.   A Wookiee family had already taken refuge with you in your home after the crime of blowing up an Imperial credit exchange was pinned on them. You figured it to be an inside job so the true culprits could line their pockets and so the Empire could get some of the non-humans 'off world.'  

You were friends and worked with the matriarch of the family, Verbecca. Since you had grown a bond with the Wookiees and saw first hand what the Empire was up to, you felt the need to leave, too. You didn't mind leaving. The farther away you could get from the Empire, the better.  You didn't just want, but needed to see Verbecca and her family to safety.

You were not so sure the clones, Kent and Leviathan, or Levi for short, or their contact were trustworthy, however. They were as guarded as you when you talked to them to make sure everything would go according to plan, but overall they did seem willing to help. 

You boarded the ship with a satchel containing a few changes of clothes, a memory stick with photos and documents, your life savings, and some other odds and ends mementos. You didn't mind having your life packed into one bag that you could carry with you. There were many others who were not so lucky to have even that.

The other refugees all took seats in the main hold while you sat in a corner by yourself near the cockpit to see if you could get a peak at where you were heading. You were trying to have faith that the clones would hold to their promise and be ready for anything if they didn't. After all, you had seven Wookiees on your side and you were familiar with the old saying about how they were strong enough to pull an arm out of its socket.

The pilot of the ship, who introduced himself as Echo, was a clone trooper unlike any you had ever seen before. He had an implant that wrapped around his bald head and covered his ears and an interesting set of armor in rich autumn colors that juxtaposed against his pale skin yet somehow matched his serious demeanor. He stood in the doorway between the cockpit and the hold after the ship jumped to hyperspace. 

"Excuse me, Echo. Where are we going?" you ventured to ask.

Leaning against the door jam, he folded his arms, one which you only now noticed had a prosthetic scomp attachment on the end. You wondered if he had a run-in with a Wookiee...

"Somewhere safe," he said in a very deep and confident voice.

You could not help but be suspicious though as it was a somewhat purposely vague answer. "That hardly sounds comforting."

"I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust me."

"I'm not exactly inclined to trust clones." You didn't mean it to come out so bluntly, but your recent experience with the Empire wasn't in their favor.

"And I'm not exactly inclined to trust anyone but my brothers," he countered with a little bit of a stern and defensive stance.

On one hand you had seen the clone troopers basically transform overnight, from regular stationed soldiers under the Republic to the strict occupational forces of the Empire. The citizens they were once supposed to protect, were now subjected to a loss of freedoms, forced to have chain codes and curfews.

On the other hand, you remembered them once being honorable and chivalrous, and you knew how much the clone troopers suffered throughout the Clone Wars. Certainly Echo seemed to have suffered some sort of injury to have so many bionic implants and a prosthetic. You also heard hearsay about how they had been treated after. There was no helping the leaden feeling in your belly for being insensitive, especially to someone who so far did seem to be trying to help you and a cabin full of beings he never met before.

The thing that bothered you the most though was the change in his expression from just casual and conversational to really feeling offended. His grayish, hazel-brown eyes pierced through your sarcastic slip. Eyes that you knew had seen quite a bit more than yours, even though yours opened for the first time long before his.

Or maybe your eyes were just opening now as you suddenly truly saw the clone, no, man, for who he was. His chiseled features were paled by the rigors and misfortunes of war, but somehow that struck you even more. There was a story or two there and you wanted to know more about this mysterious trooper.

You could not apologize enough for your indiscretion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate that you were untrustworthy. I- I-we,��� you stammered and then sighed. “We've been through so much.  But I do appreciate everything you've done. Truly."

Echo relaxed some. Maybe he was a little harsh, maybe it was the duress of what happened on Teth, Tantiss, and the galaxy in general.  Always on the run since he was born and even when he was stuck in one place, in stasis, it was hardly restful. "It's all right. To be honest, clones aren't any different from anyone else. I've had my fair share of run-ins with certain untrustworthy clones, and a mess hall fight or two."

You appreciated his forgiving candor. "Mess hall fights? We called them food fights back in school. Hard to imagine you getting mixed up in one, let alone two,” you said with a little more levity trying to make him forget your earlier snarky attitude.

"Well, sometimes loyalty means more than not getting in trouble." Now it was Echo's turn to fondly remember all of his brothers and the shenanigans they had that Echo tried to stop but always somehow got stuck right in the thick of. A nostalgic smile spread across his lips.  

"So, you do smile," you remarked to him. It was nice to see. Up to now, he seemed all business.

"Once in a while.” He huffed a laugh. “I try not to make a habit of it. People might get the wrong idea.”

That was a puzzling statement and you wondered what he meant by it. There actually was a little disappointment in your demeanor as it seemed maybe the wrong idea was you entertaining the thought that he could like you, even as just a friend. But more and more as you gazed up at him, you couldn't help wondering if you could be more than that which was absurd considering you had just met him and never took any interest in any other clone that had been stationed on your homeworld.

The Wookiees vocalizing in conversation and whimpering caught your attention away from those spiraling thoughts.

Echo sighed as he observed the seven Wookiees he had not expected to be picking up. "Kind of wish Tech or Hunter were here."

"Well, looks like there's plenty of tech on the ship.” Your eyes wandered around to all of the blinking lights and machinery. “And I think the Wookiees had their fair share of run-ins with hunters."

“That sounds like something Tech would say,” Echo chuckled again. Or even Wrecker, but Echo kept that to himself so as not to confuse you more. "Tech and Hunter are my brothers,” Echo clarified. “Clones."

"Oooohhhh.... Of course. Oops." You laughed nervously.

Echo found himself enjoying talking to you, and to be honest, looking at you, so he gave a more detailed answer to prolong the conversation. "Tech has a translator on his helmet. And Hunter, well, he understands Shyriiwook. Just don't ask him to speak it."  He face contorted into a comical grimace which you found endearing.

You laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. Non-Wookiees attempting their language is certainly very entertaining. Don't ask me how I know.” You winked playfully. “I don't speak it, but I do understand them,” you said with a gesture of your head towards your Wookiee friends. "They hope they can celebrate Life Day wherever they're going." When Echo stared at you with a quizzical silence, you added, "It's a holiday.”

Echo nodded. "So, for this Life Day thing, what do they do?”

“They celebrate family, joy, and harmony. On Kashyyyk, they traveled to the World Tree which was decorated with glowing blue orbs and there is also a big feast and other festivities and traditions based on tribal affiliation."

"Oh, that one. Yeah, I've heard about it. Well, we can't take them to Kashyyyk. The Empire is active there, as well as Trandoshan hunters, speaking of those. It's not safe.”

"Maybe we can help them celebrate wherever it is you're taking us," you said as more of a personal, out loud brainstorming rather than a suggestion to Echo, but he seemed to have taken it to heart.

"Hmm,” Echo hummed thoughtfully. He didn't know why he had taken such an interest in you or the Wookiees' plight, but he had an idea. “Maybe. I'll comm ahead to our destination. They might be able to help."

You smiled and Echo couldn't help but feel a little relief that maybe you trusted him more than when the conversation began, and furthermore, he didn't know why it mattered so much to him, but he headed back to the cockpit a little lighter in his step.

*

When you arrived at your destination, you were surprised to see that you were on an island paradise surrounded by beautiful waters sparkling with sunshine. A swirly tower sat atop a huge labyrinth of smaller structures that consisted of homes and shops.  There was rugged, yet beautiful architecture and pretty flowers everywhere.  It looked like the vacation posters you would see in the city tram stations to destinations that you could never afford to go to, or have anyone to go with. No wonder Echo wanted to keep it on the down low.

A stray thought entered your mind, maybe Echo could walk on the beach with you...

You and the other passengers walked down the ramp and were greeted officially by the Mayor of the island, Shep Hazard.  He welcomed you all with a handshake as well as his daughter, Lyana, and a woman with purple hair, Phee Genoa. Phee walked off with one of Echo's brothers who stood out for the goggles he wore.  They escorted Kent and Levi to perform some surgical procedure from what you overheard.

“Will they be okay? I heard the word surgery,” you asked Echo with concern.  It didn't play very well into your trouble with trust.

“Yeah,” he sighed with a hint of relief. “Yeah. They'll be fine.”

You were still concerned, but couldn't ask any more questions because a little, blonde girl ran and gave Echo a big hug then whispered something near his ear. Echo nodded at you with the subtlest hint of smile and you knew that the secret she was telling him had something to do with a Life Day celebration. Since there were smiles and cheerful expressions among the island's other greeters, you figured it was good news and your distrust was once again unwarranted. You nodded and smiled with understanding and appreciation before being whisked off to your new lodgings along with the Wookiees who you were happy to find out would be your neighbors!

*

As the early afternoon passed, you found yourself thinking a lot of Echo, wondering if you would see him again, or if he would be off on another refugee pick-up.  But even so, he would come back eventually.  But you would also probably be spending all that time thinking about him as you did today.  There was just something about him.

When the sun was about to set, the little girl who had hugged Echo earlier came knocking on your door with Lyana.

“Hello. I'm Omega!” she said excitedly. “We're here to collect you for the celebration!”

“Come on!” they exclaimed in unison, skipping backward and encouraging you with a beckoning arm gesture.

Lyana clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “It's time to celebrate! Follow us!”

As they went about gathering the rest of the refugees, both old and new, you ran in to Kent and Levi, now with bandages on their heads. “Are you guys okay?” you asked them.

“Never been better,” Kent replied with a broad smile. “How's the Wook family doing?”

“They're great. They have a hovel right next to mine and they're relieved to be safe. I couldn't be happier for them.” You stopped and faced them. “I also couldn't be happier for you. I just wanted to apologize about any doubt I had.”

“We understand,” Levi said. “We had our own doubts about Echo to be honest. But sometimes you have to trust your gut.”

Your heart fluttered a little, almost as it was a sign telling you to do the same. “Yeah. That is very good advice,” hoping your smile didn't give away your friendly aspirations toward Echo.

“Come on!” Omega and Lyana continued to wrangle everyone up long and windy steps to the courtyard atop the island after they had gotten all of the new refugees. The Wookiee children roared with just as much excitement.

Many of Pabu's citizens were already gathered around the great Weeping Maya tree in the center of the courtyard decorated with lights and seashells painted blue to emulate the traditional glowing orbs.  Wearing what red clothing they could find, a shirt here, a scarf there, they did their best to emulate the red robes of the holiday on Kashyyyk,

Gryrrrwarcca, the patriarch of the Wookiee family, stood before the tree with Verbecca, their three children, his brother in law, and an old family friend. He and Verbecca began a ceremonial speech that few understood, but listened intently nonetheless.

One of those not understanding was Echo who when you turned your head to the right, was magically standing next to you. You gasped in surprise even though you were happy to see him, especially after wondering if you would. “You're here!?” you said with a bit of a questioning inflection mixed with excitement.

“Yeah. I figured you would be the best person to stand next to since you can translate,” he said a little sheepishly with his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

You translate what Gryrrrwarcca just vocalized: "He said: 'Oh great tree, we thank thee for your joyous blessings.'”

Verbecca spoke next. You translated again. “She said: 'For the life of every plant and creature, big and small, living in harmony.'"

Now all of the Wookiees and some in the crowd chanted as one.

"'We all are family.'"

Gryrrrwarcca held his arms up in a welcoming gesture  and roared a pleading prayer. Verbecca growled and roared a hopeful wish.

“He said: 'May the balance of life return' and she said: 'Happy Life Day to all, thank you for your generosity and hospitality.'”

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Shep followed with a closing speech. "We are all family, and we are grateful to welcome you to our island and hope you, and all refugees, flourish in this sanctuary.  Happy Life Day!"  Shep now mimicked Gryrrrwarcca's outstretched arm pose to be rewarded with a big hug that lifted him off the ground from the Wookiee patriarch.  Cheers from the gathered crowd followed.  Your eyes teared up because it was a lovely feeling to be part of an inclusive and compassionate society.  You only wished more galactic citizens could live like this and that there was more you could do to help them.  

When you looked up at Echo to smile at him because he helped make this possible, you couldn't tell if your eyes, blurry from your own tears, were tricking you or not.  But it looked like his eyes which looked at you so sternly on the ship, were now looking at you with equal emotion for the beautiful ceremony you both had just witnessed.

*

The feast was grand.  You got to meet Echo's family.  Tech was the name of the one with goggles and apparently he and Phee had something going on.  (Maybe there was hope for you yet.)  The other one whose name you heard before, Hunter, would not oblige you with a sample of his Shyriiwook, sadly.  Wrecker was the largest clone you had ever seen and had a heart to match; he hit it off very well with the Wookiees.  And there was one more, Crosshair, who didn't say too much unless sarcasm was involved, which you low key appreciated.

After that you got pulled away to the festivities.  Some young clone cadets handed out blue snowcones meant to represent the blue Life Day orbs. Gryrrrwarcca's children enjoyed those most and you translated that they politely requested seconds which they slurped up gratefully and insisted on being a new Life Day tradition.  There was a band that sang some old Life Day carols.  There were some games and competitions which involved sports balls painted blue and even some dancing.

You saw Echo talking to another woman. She was very attractive and you couldn't help feeling a little pang of jealousy.

After she walked away, you meandered casually over to him. "Who's that?" You asked trying to be as uninterested as possible.

"Emerie?" Echo asked completely aloof that it was out of a curiosity spurned by the ever slightest amount of jealousy. "She's a doctor. A science doctor. Doctor Emerie Carr."

"How do you know her? Is she a refugee like me?"  Once again you tried to sound as disinterested as possible, but you had a feeling that you were failing at that.

Echo wasn't as bad as Tech, but he knew his brothers would waste no time teasing him for not always being exactly aware of when he was being flirted with. Who could blame him? He knew he was very by the books to use an old turn of phrase. His cadet mates didn't tease him about reading the GAR regulation manual for nothing. But your interest in Dr. Carr coupled with questions about any relationship he might have with her finally tipped him off.

"She's a clone, like me. That makes her my sister, I guess." Echo paid attention to your facial features as you reacted and just as he suspected, there was a sense of relief in your eyes and the relaxation of the muscles around your mouth even betraying your own emotional caution when a subtle smile got past your defenses.  

"I didn't know there were female clones," you remarked with genuine curiosity.

Echo huffed a laugh. "Neither did we. Omega is our sister, too." He couldn't help but smile at you, he wanted to put you at ease, to let you know you could trust him, especially after what you said when you first met. Considering that you seemed to single him out for conversation, he had a feeling you did.

He continued. "Emerie helps us find more of our brothers and rescue them from the Empire."

Your mind did a brief calculation of all the times you tried to help others, like Verbecca and her family, checking in on your elder neighbors on your homeworld, even volunteering for various causes. You were no doctor like Emerie, but you knew you were capable and skilled in other areas that might be useful.  And you wanted to repay the kindness you had been shown, especially by Echo.  "Is there any way I can help?"

Echo had not expected you to offer, especially after just arriving to a safe haven that was also picturesque and peaceful. It was pleasant surprise though, because to be honest, they needed all the help they could get. Plus, he'd get to have more conversations with you.  And see you as well.  There was no denying he was attracted to you, and it wasn't like any attraction he ever felt before.  Without sounding too eager, he finally replied, "I'm sure we can find a way. You've already done so much for Grrocca."  

You could not stifle a giggle.

Echo furrowed his forehead. "What? What's so funny?"

"Gryrrrwarcca."

"That's what i said. Grrrreerocca."

With your hand covering your mouth, even though there was no way to hide it, you laughed again. "Close enough.” You smiled cheerfully, but soon became serious. “But that was you and the great people of Pabu here. Not me. I only translated."

"Not only translated. You took them in, protected them, escorted them offworld to make sure the Empire didn't get 'em, leaving behind your life on your homeworld. That's more than you think." Echo could not help but admire your selflessness.  He knew all too well what it was like to lose one's home.

Compliments were not something you took very well, and much to your chagrin, it was probably showing in your sheepish expression and body language.  You nervously glanced down at the water in the distance.  "I just like to help people."  You shrugged your shoulders then looked back at Echo.  "And I'd like to help you.  Any way I can."

"Just like I always say, we can use all the help we can get."  Echo watched as your gaze went back out to the ocean.  "You keep looking out to the ocean.  You're not thinking of going for a swim are you?  Apparently there's some pretty big fish out there.  With even bigger teeth."  

"I think I had enough fish at the feast."  You smirked sarcastically.  "I did think about taking a walk on the beach though," you said hoping Echo would get the hint that you wanted him to go, too.

Echo knew what you were asking and he replied in the same subtle manner.  "There's a lot of winding walkways and alleys, like a maze.  I wouldn't want you to get lost."  He started walking.  "Come on."

Echo was right, there were a lot of walkways and steps that had no particular pattern that you wouldn't be able to decipher without giving it much thought.  Finally, you reached the sand at the base of the huge island.  The sound of the waves lapping at the shore was music to your ears.  "This is the first time I've ever seen an ocean," you softly announce as you stare in wonder at the surf and sky of orange, pinks, and blues.

"Really?"  Echo was taken aback by that confession.  He had been too so many different worlds.  Sometimes he forgot some people never left their planet let alone their home town.

"Landlocked. Not even a lake nearby."  You don't know if it was the Life Day brew you drank, the emotions of the day turning out so perfect after worrying so much, of leaving your homeworld behind and seeing an ocean for the first time, or simply being in close proximity to someone you felt a real connection with, but you were overwhelmed with gratitude.  “Thank you for rescuing us and setting up Life Day for my friends.” Before you knew it you were on your tip toes to give Echo a kiss on the cheek. You gasped after doing it, knowing that you had made yet another indiscretion. “Oh, I'm sorry, that was a little forward, I just am so grateful for your help, and it's just so lovely here, and you're so lovely, and I just wanted to thank you.” You winced smacked your forehead at your gushing and rambling.

Echo meanwhile was quite amused by your explaining away of the little peck on his cheek. If he was being honest, he wouldn't mind if it were more than that. After a little chuckle at your expense which was only fair after you laughed at his rather poor Wookie name pronunciation, he placed a hand on your shoulder.  “It was my pleasure to help them, and you.” He then took your hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a little peck as you did to his cheek, but he had a hard time letting go of your hand and instead held on to it.  “You sure you want to leave behind the safety of this place. This view?” 

You couldn't deny, the transition from sunset to twilight sky over the water, the sound of the ocean waves, the balmy breeze, and smell of flowers, and salty sea air were enticing. But you needed to trust your gut, and your heart.  “I can think of a much nicer view than this.” You gestured with a flick of your hand towards the sea and then gazed up into those steely eyes, which seemed to soften the more you peered into them.

Echo brushed your hair from your face, admiring the features that made you, you. None so spectacular as your eyes that seemed to see what made him, him. The more he stared into your eyes, the more he understood the simple wish behind them. He tipped his head down, continuing to read your expression, relieved to understand that you welcomed his own forwardness, but he dare not forego being a gentleman. "May I?"

You were sure your eyes were twinkling as much as the stars appearing one by one in the sky as you let Echo know that you welcomed his affection and trusted him implicitly.  "Yes."  You smiled.

Echo leaned down and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek as you did to him, but let his lips linger a little longer than yours had.  It was the first time in a long time that he felt like he didn't have to rush or worry about anything.  "It's just that it's so lovely here, and you're so lovely."

It was a lovely moment, but you couldn't help a small laugh.  "It sounds like you're echo-ing what I said earlier."  You smirked with a raised eyebrow, even though you knew it was sincere and not teasing.  You just trusted he actually  meant it, because you knew he was one of the most trustworthy and honest men you'd ever met.

"Why do you think my name is Echo?" he quipped with a playful shrug of his shoulders.

Your smile was probably big and goofy, but you didn't care.  You squeezed his hand which was still holding yours affectionately.  "You know, I think it's fitting to celebrate Life Day here.  It's like we all get a second chance at life.  And other things," you said coyly.  

"And other things," Echo smiled, something he found himself doing more since meeting you.  "Couldn't have said it better myself.  Happy Life Day."

"Happy Life Day, Echo."

[discokicks]

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow. 

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village. 

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. 

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl). 

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff.  “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again. 

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you. 

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him. 

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true. 

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather. 

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow. 

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about. 

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side. 

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.” 

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly. 

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who? 

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day. 

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before. 

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?” 

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest. 

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold. 

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out. 

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance. 

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it. 

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game. 

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived). 

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy. 

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are. 

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues. 

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’re asking about his sister, or that you remembered the name of his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue. 

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right. 

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you. 

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you. 

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field. 

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.” 

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.” 

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day. 

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours. 

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

[moonshynecybin]

what are your favorite aus you’ve ever come up with?

GOOD question i've churned out quite a few and i dont think i've ever lumped em together... uh full disclosure a lot of my fav aus were collabs or asks sent by my lovely mutuals :) they rule and are probably my faves so i'll lead with those

FCO: forced coming out au... she's maina @kingofthering and i's baby. marc and vale caught fucking in an alleyway a few months after the sepang fallout and vale comes forward to fake date marc in order to keep him from losing his ride... very much about the violence of fame and vale sort of using his influence with the media to PROTECT marc rather than harm him. a fun time with lots of fraught fake dating your ex situations. visuals here

same age au: elle @lestelledreams dropped this in my lap because shes a genius ! and two fics on ao3 were written about it which is CRAZY. basic premise is how it sounds: marc marquez is born in 1979 and they spend their early years doing a very codependent little rivalry/first love dance that gets cracked the fuck open right around the time of marc's arm injury. sweet and very y2k and very about them being stupid overly-competitve teens with REALLY different vibes and sort of. only being able to identify with each other i love it a lot

kayaking/whitewater au: niche sport forever i think about her all the time. kind of my own way to excise some personal feelings as a girl who quit doing a death sport as a teen and then kind of continued working in the same industry as said deathsport and who's brother's lack of little danger voice in his head wrt to the sport reads very marc to me. also im tortured because i simply think they would be very good at it. marc let me get you in a half-slice hard boat pspspsps... and tbh they just fit the vibe. need vale to meet an old man kayaker its the fookin same

reporter au: yayyyyy i love mess. this one is more about saw trapping these fools im like hmm what would hurt marc a LOT. oh never being able to ride only being able to interact with the sport from the other side of the proverbial glass. what would hurt vale a LOT. oh being in love with a REPORTER. lots of half chances and repressed anger and being kind of damaged so you blow your relationships the fuck up. also a sepang-esque scenario that dials in on marc's vindictive streak through it all which i enjoy. my wife is a bitch.

teen mom au: marc with a liddle baby. vale being kind of psycho. what more could you want

bridgerton au: their weird older sibling slay and repressed freak ass horny selves. thank you.

proximity au and emotional bond transference: theres a post missing from this tag and i cant find it :( anywayssss if they arent gonna feel empathy towards each other im going to MAKE them as a sort of benevolent god

amnesia au: i think about this one literally all the time. time travel too its like. the fantasy of erasing their past. for BOTH of them. reset button. but the thing is you CANT... and maybe you dont even WANT to.... also a marc saw trap bc SO much has changed for him…

fantasy au: i think marc would look hot in a doublet and the academy guys as a sort of. fail knights of the roundtable is good 2 me. fun exploration of marc and injury in many ways just add some swords and class dynamics

anastasia au: one of the OGs. don bluth animation.....

threesome au: :3333 lets get nasty.. actually theres two :3

[thegildedbee]

Appreciative: May 32nd Prompt for @calaisreno

I have arrived, at last, to the end of my May prompts, this being the one for the 32nd of May, a day I decreed to exist so that I could add one last prompt of my own for myself, in honor of @calaisreno,😘 and the magnificent, awesome festival they brought into being with the May writerly shenanigans! So much creativity unleashed, all at the invitation of one very special person. 🤗 As you may have guessed from the title, the word for my own personal May 32nd 🙃 is: appreciative.

.................................................. This last chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. Program Note: In the penultimate chapter posted at ao3, I added a note saying that I've decided to take these thematic seat-of-the-pants daily prompt responses and (fingers crossed) turn them into a real story. It will take a while, as it needs to then have, like -- AN ACTUAL PLOT -- but now I'm curious about all the ins and outs of how this premise I've been winging might work 🙃 -- of John figuring out that Sherlock is alive and strong-arming Mycroft into allowing John to secretly shadow him as protection -- so I'll try to figure it out! tldr; one of these days, look out for take 2 of my May 2024 prompts as a proper fic of its own: Threading a Shadow through the Eye of the Storm :-) ................................................. Warning: This ended up being 3x as long as any daily prompt chapter has a right to be . . . ................................................. Sherlock slips through the jetliner’s door at the last possible moment, very nearly missing his flight from Zagreb to Split. Feeling skittish after suspecting that he was being followed, he’d chosen to advance his departure by one day, erring on the side of caution that it was time to move on. His concern had been sparked after a bank visit to obtain funds to support his travels in Croatia; after moving down the steep set of stairs into the crowd of bodies milling about Jelacic Square, he had registered some sort of movement in his peripheral vision, giving rise to a judgment that he was being tailed. An impression of an instant was of dubious value for making decisions, but turning around for a closer look would have negated any slight advantage he might have gained.

He had disappeared behind a horse-drawn carriage, slipped into an alley and swiftly turned the corner, placing himself at the back of a cafe next to the rubbish bins. He’d made quick work of switching out of his navy blazer and forest green button-down shirt for the precautionary items in his briefcase: a white and red striped athletic shirt, a camo patterned bucket hat, and a worn gray rucksack. He binned the briefcase and his original clothes, and melted back into the crowd, reasonably certain that his wardrobe change undercut any efforts to resume tracking him at a distance.

Later that evening, he’d called the hotel and made a false arrangement to extend his stay for a week, attempting to wrong-foot any unwelcome players he may have attracted. He had purchased a new ticket on a different carrier using his Norwegian alias, and was reassured that, at least for now, he had neutralized any threat. He’d been on the road for so long, however, that he'd lost any sense of whether such actions were evidence that he was executing sterling tradecraft, or if he was seeing shadows refracted through a prism of paranoia.

An hour later, he arrives in Split without incident, and makes his way briskly toward the arrivals hall, stopping momentarily to rotate in a circle until he spies signage for the shuttle to Trogir, a city of 10,000 or so, a short distance away. He’ll be housed there for a few days – or at least until he determines whether or not there is more intelligence to be had in Croatia – before he boards the train that will carry him to Sarajevo for a similar stop, and then on to Belgrade and the risks it poses.

His fellow riders on the shuttle appear to be innocuous – locals returning from holidays or shopping trips, visitors touring the Dalmatian coast, house cleaners and sales clerks and restaurant staff on their way home after a day’s work in the city. As he leaves the transport, his anxiety is goading him to move quickly, but he forces himself to approximate a meandering gait, so as to appear innocuous himself.

He completes a circuitous route to end up nearly where he began, making his way to the DHL baggage station to retrieve a package holding the address and keys for the safe house, along with a miscellany of other items: colored brochures, bulky printouts, grainy photos. It’s been some time since he’s had a report from home; he doubts that there will be anything about London, and a quick glance tells him that his supposition is correct. He is never sure whether or not the lack of content is a good thing or a bad thing. Hearing nothing, were he to admit it to himself, is probably the better option, since it keeps him from having to battle the misery that arises when confronted with how long the tally of days marking the presence of his absence extends.

By the time he's located his lodging, dusk is beginning to close off the day; he opens the door to a one-bedroom apartment in a small building that is currently unoccupied. It's a relief to have a door to lock behind him, to be enclosed within four walls where he can begin to dial down his hyper-awareness of his surroundings.

The place contains nondescript chairs, a dining table with a stained surface that has seen better days, and lamps with dusty shades, but it seems comfortable enough. His needs are few, pared back to essentials – security and quiet being the most important among them. He leaves the lights switched off, and walks out onto the small balcony, brushing away the pollen that covers the wooden chair, which he uses as a front-row seat as the sun sets over the sea, a silent and solitary figure who becomes less and less visible as darkness first enshadows him, and then fully cloaks his presence.

He's worn-out, through and through, his emotional being as much as his physical state; he feels as if his nervous system is made of cast iron filings, heavy and tending toward rust, a corrosive scraping of his soul. He tries to shake off his turn into a viscerally maudlin state and to keep any further negative waves at bay by putting himself into motion, rising up from his seat and returning to the apartment in search of something to eat, if only for a distraction. He supposes it may be too much to hope that there is food waiting there for him; he regrets having made such haste to get to this new phase of his mission. Perhaps he’ll find some overlooked cartons of one sort or another; after all, his contacts aren’t hoteliers, but busy agents in the field, tasked with many more matters than dancing attendance on him. He moves toward the kitchen, turning on a few table lamps along the way, and is pleasantly surprised to find that there are food parcels to unwrap.

He tears off a portion of lepinja, the local flatbread, which he has come to like very much. There is a carton of eggs, a bottle of olive oil, tins of sardines packed in coarse salt, and fresh lemons. Packages wrapped in wax paper turn out to be several kinds of cheese, and inside a carrier bag there is a container of jam made from plums and another from figs, and a trio of multi-hued jars of honey.

His flagging spirits lift slightly, and he mocks himself that a loaf of bread and the taste of plums he licks off his fingers has made the difference, as he can’t provide an objective rationale for how such a mundane circumstance has dispersed some of the inky clots lodged in his mind. He savors the reveal staged by the opening of the door of the refrigerator to see if there’s anything inside, and is pleased at what he finds: a crockery bowl of cooked pasta which looks to be sauced with truffles, prosciutto, grilled sausages, bottled milk, and orange soda. He closes the door and turns to the other end of the counter, where he is particularly appreciative to find a plate of phyllo pastry containing a surfeit of cherries, and a version of shortbread biscuits stamped with outlines of bees. He dips his already sticky fingers into the cherry pudding and licks them clean, and then bites into one of the biscuits, which explodes on his tongue with the simultaneous taste of pepper, cloves, and cinnamon, and then quickly gathers up the rest, biting into a second one. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t have done better, he thinks, with a wistful nod of approval, as a whisper of melancholy reaches out and wraps around him.

He brings the plate of biscuits and the milk to the table to inspect various items that have been placed there. The most obvious is a map of Southeastern Europe spread out across most of the surface, and next to it, a tidy pile of travel guides for Croatia and Serbia – he finds the idea of a travel guide to Serbia to be grimly humorous, given the peril that he is bound to encounter when he arrives there and tries to disrupt the organization he hopes to set on a path to destruction. He rolls his eyes, finding it doubtful that its pages of advice on local highlights will contain anything relevant to his tasks . . . but then quickly reverses himself and thinks again: information of another kind may be exactly what he finds has been added. He’ll look at it more closely later, and sets it out of sight for now on the empty chair he’s standing next to.

He opens the cover of a book entitled Omis: The City of Pirates, produced by the city's board of tourism, and pulls out a chair to page through it, losing himself in another world for a few moments, adrift in the gulf of Venice in the twelfth century, having set sail from the former pirate town, aboard a medieval corsair preying on Adriatic shipping, which slips surreptitiously into one of the multitude of small coves and inlets that form a jagged saw-toothed edge along the Dalmatian coast.

His pleasure turns to delight when he puts the book aside to find a reprinted volume of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates from 1724, and he luxuriates in the indulgence of re-visiting tales about Blackbeard and Calico Jack. When he finds to his chagrin that he has eaten all of the biscuits, he decides it is time for something approximating a proper meal, or at least as proper as it can be, with himself leaning against the counter, as he’s not inclined to set up a place setting for one, for reasons that are unnecessary for him to devote attention to excavating.

His tabletop search later turns up one more item: a dvd set of an American historical adventure series, Black Sails. He remembers watching most of the first season at 221B with John – in the time before he’d abruptly had to make his exit from London. The totality of his haul of riches here reminds him of the safe house in Vienna, where he’d found a similar cluster of goods seemingly tailored to his tastes. Sherlock thinks acerbically that big brother must be experiencing prickings of guilt about his little brother's odyssey, and therefore has been supplying agents with a tip list. He finds it hard to credit, to be honest. It's certainly uncharacteristic for Mycroft to indulge him so, but perhaps he is becoming sentimental as he ages, or perhaps believes he needs to balance the books given the hazards that Sherlock is currently facing. He remembers that the safe house in Vienna had been stocked with a dvd set entitled Good Omens, which he’d sheepishly welcomed as an auspicious portent, despite knowing that such flights of fancy are nonsensical. That the current option on offer is Black Sails, is, he acknowledges, a reasonable augury of what lies ahead once he boards the train that will take him across the border from Croatia into Serbia.

For now, he feels fleetingly cared for and content, a rare state of existence in the two years and more since he has been away from London. A short while later, he puts the first disc into the player, and lies down on the sofa with a cushion wedged under his head; within minutes he falls into a deep sleep that lasts for seventeen hours.

When he awakens, it’s to a workshop in his mind palace, where he finds himself sharpening a steel bar capable of taking the brunt of a flinty determination to spark an endgame to his Moriartian exile. As he leaves the workroom to wander through the corridors, he opens the door to the tower that represents the last fortress to be breached. He doesn’t know if his chances of survival would benefit from an effort to be optimistic, rather than remaining resolutely realistic, but he’s dubious that he will be able to conjure up a positive vision of the future if he tries, without devolving into a spectre at the feast, and decides against making the effort.

He studies the Serbian guidebook with fierce attention – it is indeed rife with coded information – until he thinks it’s been shorn of all the surplus value that it contains. As dusk approaches, he realizes that he’s been sitting in one position from his awakening in the early hours of the morning until now; his muscles ache, and so does his head. A restlessness sweeps over him, and he decides there’s no more to be done at present; he’ll be waiting at least another day or two to rendezvous with sources who can update his earlier forays through Stockholm, Copenhagen, Malmo, and Gothenburg, the power base of one of the most dangerous of the arms of the Serbian mafia, built on a foundation from the mass immigration of Yugoslavian guest-workers to Sweden in the 1970s. Buttressed by the Yugoslavian secret services -- who made use of the expat criminal outfits as informants and assassins, providing them with weapons and legal protection -- the gangsters had grown to be formidably wealthy. The horizontal sturcture of the organizations have given Sherlock a great deal of trouble in bringing the personnel into the light, one of the reasons that he has been gone so much longer from London than he had ever imagined. Moriarty the man could well have been the god of chaos, but Moriarty, the institution, was a model of stealth order.

He decides to take a breather and to play tourist for the evening and thumbs a ride into the city, using the opportunity in conversing with the driver to re-acquaint himself with Lukas Sigerson’s accent and demeanor. By the time his friendly volunteer transport service has dropped him off near the city center, he’s realigned his presentation of self -- despite lacking enough of the bearded scruff to be completely in character, and the fact of his hair currently being a russet-tinged shade of Venetian blonde -- but he can make it work for his persona . . . he thinks. The lighter locks may lend themselves to being expected to be inhabiting a more gregarious disposition, which may be an insurmountable hurdle.

He's intrigued by what he sees before him as he makes his way further into the city center, the extensive Roman garrisoned fortress and monumental-scale palace built in the late third century for the emperor Diocletian to inhabit in a splendorous retirement, and even ever after, as his imperial remains were contained within the custom-built mausoleum. As he strolls around the perimeter, examining the walls, he drifts in and out of different tour groups being conducted in Croatian, English, Japanese, German, and Italian, hearing how several hundred years after Diocletian’s death and the fall of Rome, townspeople elsewhere in the region fled from invaders who had razed their city, seeking out the safety of the empty palace, where they had re-constituted their lives, incorporating their houses and workplaces within the impregnable palace walls and the cavernous barrel-vaulted cellar. In doing so, they had seeded the emergence of the city that now exists, and set the conditions for the continual presence of local people living and working within its precincts on up until the present-day, several hundred buildings, with several thousand people. Sherlock hears snatches of tales and questions and answers, including a 20th century description of the palace as “the most serviceable ruin in the world.”

He chooses to enter the palace compound itself from the east side, through the walls of the so-called Silver gate. He walks lightly down the pathway that takes him to the round vestibule that served as the first section for the corridor leading to the emperor’s apartments, and stands quietly, hands clasped behind his back, imagining the reverberations that music played within its circular wall would generate. He gazes up through the oculus at a waning crescent moon, acutely aware of the intangible stretching of earth connected with sky. As he wanders the compound, walking across stone streets gleaming from the passage of uncountable numbers of feet from ancient times until the present, he makes a game of deducing the palace's transformations, feeling rather smug when he reads on a plaque that his estimate that the emperor’s body had been jettisoned by later inhabitants to a place or places unknown, and his mausoleum repurposed as a Christian church is correct. He nods approvingly at another informational plaque that sardonically conveys the historical fact that the church became a cathedral named in honor of St. Domnius, one of the Christian spiritual leaders that Diocletian had persecuted and executed.

He wanders without purpose through the labyrinth of narrow passages and hidden courtyards, occasionally noticing someone looking out from higher up, or reeling in the washing hung out in lines above the streets. He wonders idly at the gamut of emotions that have restlessly circulated through the formal halls and the private corners, allowing himself to lower his threat level, determinedly eschewing his usual practice of straining his ears to identify hints of adversaries who seek to thwart him. He is rounding a corner when he hears strains of jazz music reverberating against the walls, a silky contralto whose words sing of wanting something cool, off to the right somewhere a bit further beyond. He decides to allow the music to pull him toward its source, and the vibrato leads him to a door with a sign that announces that what lies within is Marvlvs Library Jazz Bar.

“And what might a library jazz bar be?” he muses, peering closer in the shadowy space at the explanatory plaque on the wall, which says:

"You are standing outside where once the home of Marko Marulic (1450-1524) was located, a man whom contemporaries styled as the Christian Virgil, and who later came to be known as the 'Dante of Croatian literature.' Among his many works was the epic poem Judita (1501), based on the Book of Judith.”

He steps across the threshold, after first giving way to a cat who darts around his ankles ahead of him, to see what he'll discover. The space is of a piece with the rest of the palace: the contemporary layout is built atop the ancient stone floor, and incorporates the original graceful arches, as well as a wooden beamed ceiling and other touches that are likely five centuries old, from the time Marulic was held to have lived here. Starting near the entrance, books are shelved everywhere one looks. As Sherlock walks alongside the rows of neatly lined-up titles, he discerns an organizational logic, although not one based on alphabetization or time period. What stands out for him at first is how the subject matter moves from the physical world, to the biological world, and to the social world, moving then into representations and culture, from lies to truths, and from hearts to minds.

The bar is relatively empty at this late hour of a week-day evening, with only a few pairs of scattered patrons, and a lone bartender towards the back, so he commandeers a generously sized table intended for a group, that is placed beneath a massive painting of "Saint Jerome in His Study" – he is surely seated in the only bar on the planet which features a depiction of the patron saint of translators, encyclopedists, and librarians. He is charmed to find that the menu is itself a multi-paged book, filled with small stories, quotations, and poems woven in between the items listed on offer. Sherlock returns to the menu’s prologue, which he had skipped initially; the owner, it appears, is himself a poet: in fact in his introductory comments he remarks that he considers himself “to be married to his poetry,” and Sherlock feels a flicker of satisfaction at the second-hand encounter with a kindred spirit.

In keeping with the literary rationale of the bar, Sherlock has retrieved some volumes to skim, chosen from the nineteenth century: Bees: Their Habits, Management, and Treatment by the Reverend J.G. Wood; a second edition of Samuel Bagster’s The Management of Bees, with a description of the ‘Ladies Safety Hive��; and Thomas Nutt, Humanity to Honey Bees: or Practical Directions for the Management of honey-bees upon an improved and humane plan by which the lives of bees may be preserved, and abundance of honey of a superior quality may be obtained. He also has brought with him a mid-twentieth century volume with an enticing cover: H.J. Wadey, THE BEHAVIOUR OF BEES – and of bee-keepers. He considers it to be unlikely that he’ll eventually realize his dream of settling somewhere close to the sea and becoming a keeper of bees himself. But surely there is no harm in imagining that it might be so for a few hours.

He loses track of time as he immerses himself in his haul, until he senses reverberations from a tapping sound coming from the table, and then, startled, looks up, noticing the bartender he’d glimpsed after his entrance, standing beside him. He tamps down his threat response: it's merely a neutral personage, a pleasingly graceful young man whom he assesses to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, sporting a medieval phoenix tattoo, beautifully colored, that can be glimpsed from under the rolled-up sleeves of a soft, sky blue linen shirt tucked neatly into the snugly-fitted jeans that are at eye-level. When Sherlock raises his face, he sees a sun-kissed complexion and a deep set of dimples, dark brown eyes that match the color of the man's hair, which is cut longer at the crown and angled rakishly over his right eye, the tapered sides fading until they touch the open skin at the collar of his shirt. Although not a threat, Sherlock's pulse has yet to completely return to its baseline.

“You look like you’ll be thirsty soon,” the blue-and-brown speaker says teasingly, “if you’re not already, with how hard you’ve been going at your research. May I bring you something to eat or drink? We'll not be open very much longer, so it's now or never."

For some reason that escapes him at the moment, Sherlock can’t seem to summon up a vocal response, although this doesn’t seem to put off his visitor.

“Perhaps you’d like something regional, to soak in the aura of the place more deeply?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “If that’s a roundabout way of suggesting slivovitz, please, no thank you, please. I know for certain that I am not going to be in Croatia long enough to develop a taste for it.”

“Well, yes, it did cross my mind,” the bartender says with a cheeky smile that activates his captivating dimples. “But I’d like to stay on your good side. No, I was thinking of something that would pair well with your bee-keeping books.”

“And that would be?” Sherlock asks, his voice softening slightly, awarding the young man points for fine observational skills.

“Medenica,” the bartender says confidently. “A honey-based brandy. It is well-known in these parts as an excellent aperitif – to stimulate the appetite and open the digestive system – and, as it happens, as an excellent post-meal digestif as well. Which is not to say that it is not an excellent drink to have first thing in the morning, as an aid in ‘cleaning the body,’ although it is also true that it really is suitable for any time of the day, or night, for that matter, such as when alone, and perhaps needing some assistance in ensuring a restful sleep. So, you see, no matter what your state of being presently, it is a superb option.”

“Well,” Sherlock says dryly, “It seems as if the only possible answer is . . . yes. So, yes," he offers, with the slightest of smiles.

“Wonderful! Feel free to wave me off, but perhaps you’d like to join me at the bar, keep me company, while I prepare it for you? It will take a few more moments than how we typically serve it, as I’ll warm it before pouring. Oh, and I should introduce myself ," he says with a slight bow. "My name is Petar.”

Sherlock nods his head in response, and says primly, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Petar. I’m Lukas.”

Once he’s seated at the counter, Sherlock finds that he is mesmerized by the thick, golden liquid sliding down the side of the glass, and then realizes that he’s lost track of whatever Petar has been saying, and tries to catch up. “I’m sorry, what was it that you asked?”

Peter laughs. “If you work with plants? Or if you are perhaps an entomologist?”

“Not presently,” Sherlock says. “Perhaps one day. My work is in the field of computer science.”

“And what is your area of expertise, Lukas?”

Sherlock looks at Petar skeptically. “You really want to know?”

“Really," he replies, his hand brushing against Sherlock's as he places the heavy, warmed glass in front of him.

Sherlock pulls up the relevant details from his background cover. “Computational intelligence. Fuzzy logic.” He takes a sip from his glass, and shakes his head in wonder at how good the honeyed brandy tastes. “My research entails trying to program computers to answer questions that can’t be solved in exact terms, with either a yes or a no, because the questions arise from processes entangled with highly complex, changing variables, that are open to chance.”

“Something like the weather,” Petar suggests, beginning his evening clean-up, drying glasses, and hanging them in the hanging overhead holder.

“That’s not a bad example,” Sherlock concedes. “My focus, however, is in using biological instances as a characteristic approach. Think about the survival of a species – that’s a problem that requires a solution. Natural selection doesn’t offer a yes or no answer; it inherently diversifies the possible range of solutions through mutations, which themselves are impacted by open-ended sets of variables.”

“And how is it that these interests have brought you to Split? Although I can make an argument that we live amongst fuzzy logic here," he chuckles, "So perhaps that answers itself."

“I was in Zagreb for a meeting of the Computational Intelligence Society, at a conference hosted by I triple E – the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers.”

“And how is it that a computer man finds himself having traveled from technical proceedings to wandering about an ancient palace?” Petar asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “I’d never seen the Adriatic coast, and the thought of all that sun was appealing. Living in the northern latitudes inspires one to seek out occasions to escape the darkness." He sips thoughtfully, closing his eyes as the liquid moves from his mouth down his throat. “I have a question for you,” he offers. “The informational sign out front explains the reason for the library theme, as it is presumed to be the site of a lauded author. But how did the choice of jazz music come along with it?”

“That’s an easy one,” Petar replies. “The owner didn’t feel compelled to carry through the theme completely, as he thought late medieval, early modern music would be unlikely to draw crowds.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock responds, and then tries some teasing of his own. “Working from the information in the menu, mightn’t a writer of moral and theological treatises feel compelled to haunt the premises, unamused by the rhythms of modern jazz permeating his home?"

“Well, the owner claims that Marulic wrote on a wide range of topics. For example," Petar says, with a wink, "I’ve heard it bandied about that he wrote glosses on the erotic poetry of Catullus.”

“Did he now?” Sherlock responds, an inviting lilt accompanying his words. "Do tell.”

Petar grins. “I’m sure we have a volume of Catullus’ poems at the ready if you give me a minute or two. In the meantime, would you like another drink?" and his smile broadens when Sherlock agrees. “My shift is almost over, as it’s nearing time for us to close. Would you mind waiting for me for a short time, with your bee books to keep you company, while I finish tidying and then lock up? After that, I can join you with a glass of Medenica as well, and we can chat at our leisure.”

Sherlock offers a small, lop-sided smile. “That sounds acceptable.”

“Well, then, Živjeli, to us!” Petar says, warmly. "The night has only just begun, and there are so many possibilities before us.”

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[prof-ramses]

While I fully support the Golden Goose ship and am happy about how many people support it's functionality as well, one thing did catch my attention: no one really talks about why these two would like each other and why they are so perfect together. This aspect is simply taken for granted. It feels so right yet it's so hard to articulate WHY it works. So, maybe you'd use your writing talent to elaborate on that? :)

I've been pondering this for a while and I have indeed found it extremely hard to properly articulate.

If I had to narrow it down, though, I would say it's that they both have bombastic personalities, by nature and as a result of their lives up until this point.

Stella was only born to eventually become a wife and mother, and the man she was forced to marry fucked it all up for her. No one's ever valued Stella as just Stella, it's always been about some role.

Mammon, on the other hand, sees everything through the lens of value, meaning he already has a rather small dating pool. Not to mention the prospect of gold-diggers and centuries of being married to the job.

Their chemistry comes from the fact that Stella feels like someone whose presence Mam would enjoy and who he could trust to not just be after his wallet and actually be interested in him. While Mammon having fun with Stella and genuinely wanting to spend time with her would do wonders for her self-worth.

As I've said in an earlier post, they deserve better and they deserve it with each other. The very premises of their characters essentially entitle them to nuance that the writing denies them, and even then, they're both still awesome and rightfully popular in the fandom.

I would love to do a Golden Goose fic, but I've yet to make an ao3 account despite deciding to do so over 3 months ago. The earliest I could see myself finishing a hypothetical chapter 1 would be mid-to-late January, time is a bit tight for me at the moment.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the freak and the hair and lex

it's time for the weekly fic rec, where i give the top 3 (to me) fics by some of my favorite authors. please always check out their masterlists/works because these authors may have stuff you love even more than what i put here! as always, check tags before reading and leave kudos and comments and reblog whenever possible to support writers!

this week is @thefreakandthehair and let me tell ya, this was one of the hardest weeks to narrow it down to my top 3. i have gone back and forth on lex's works for three days trying to narrow it down (and also realized at some point i missed a few posts so i'm about to do a binge read oops). lex is so talented and does so many things for the fandom, so everyone go celebrate her gifts to us!

lex's tumblr | lex's ao3

rounding third, sliding home Rated E | wip/big bang fic The much anticipated big bang fic is in progress and it's SO GOOD. I don't even like baseball, but Lex is proof that I can and will like any situation these boys are in. Massage therapist Eddie!!! Hello!!! I don't have to go into detail to let you know how that's going. Favorite part: Honestly, since it's a wip, I don't wanna give one yet. But I will say that the overall premise of a massage therapist being able to do what trainers and doctors couldn't makes something really happy in my brain.

ice is made to melt (so is my heart) Rated M | 1,507 words It's hockey. I sniff out hockey fics like a hunting dog. I mean it's literally just hockey fan Eddie and I'm eating it up like I've been starving for years. Favorite part because these are possibly word for word things I have screamed at my television at the Bruins whomst I love with my entire heart but would beat with a hockey stick if given the chance: "Are your blades dipped in fucking butter?” “The puck goes in the net!” "You can't shoot for shit, just like you can't grow a decent mustache, huh?" “Your job is to use your big ass body to stop the teensy tiny puck from getting around you and that’s a Hell of a lot easier if you stay in the fucking crease!” 

Livin' On A Prayer  Rated E | 17,915 words It's the classic idiots in love but don't realize it even though they basically have been boyfriends the entire time trope and I cannot get enough. It's like a slow-fast burn in the sense that they're dumb, but this is still short enough to binge in one relatively quick go. Favorite part which is kinda a spoiler so: “And I know myself well enough to know that I would die before letting anything happen to you, especially after nearly losing you once already, so I felt like being here was safest. And I— I don’t mean the same way that I love the kids or Robin or really anyone else. I’d die for them too but that’s— that’s not my point. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I know this is one sided or whatever but I just, I’ve been wanting to tell you just to get it out of me because carrying this around alone for months and months has been wrecking me… I think I’m in love with you.”

[cinderella-ish]

Fruits Basket Ao3 Media Tags Poll Results, and Some Thoughts on Ao3 Fandom Tag Wrangling

Over the past few weeks, I've put out a few polls to find out how other Ao3 users are using the different Fruits Basket media tags. Here are the results!

(Obligatory disclaimer that a tumblr poll by one user with fewer than 50 followers is hardly scientific data)

For writers, it looks like most of us (52.6%, or 10 out of 19 respondents) are tagging more than one media type every time, and an additional 10.5% are sometimes tagging multiple media types (total of 63.1%, or 12 out of 19). 31.6%, or 6 out of 19, are only tagging one media type. I believe the person who selected "other" hasn't posted Fruits Basket work yet, but indicated they'd be likely to tag all three.

Of note: even though far more works are tagged with the manga tag than either anime, including when I excluded crossovers, the 2019 anime had the most works updated since January 1 of this year excluding crossovers at 25 (vs 4 for the 2001 anime, and 12 for the manga).

For readers, it looks like most of us (46.4%, or 13 out of 28) are filtering by relationship or character. (Sometimes I think I must be the only person who will read fics for any relationship or character if the premise is interesting!) For those who search using media tags, the manga tag is by far the most used at 17.9%, or 5 out of 28.

Then, 50%, or 14 out of 28 readers don't expect anything different between the three media tags. And that number raises to 78.6%, or 22 out of 28, if you include people who only expect minor differences between content found at each of the three tags.

So, why did I do these polls (and what are my thoughts on how these tags should be wrangled)? More info below the cut!

At some point between when I joined Ao3 and now, the tag "Fruits Basket" went from being a metatag that contained all 3 Fruits Basket media to being made a synonym of the manga.

In practical terms, what this meant for me was that I could no longer sort or filter all Fruits Basket works at once. I would instead have to go to all three media tags separately, and would have to repeat searches for all three media tags if I was looking for a specific trope. Additionally, I didn't actually realize this change until a couple of months after it occurred. I almost missed one of my now-favorite fics because of this change!

Worse still, it means that when I filter out crossovers, any works that are tagged with more than one Fruits Basket media are considered as "crossovers." If I want to filter out actual crossovers, it needs to be done by manually clicking all other fandoms under the "exclude" option.

So, I sent a support ticket to Ao3 asking them to either reverse this change, or add a similar "All Media Types" sort of tag.

They responded after about 12 days, letting me know that the Archive is no longer creating "All Media Types" tags, and is actually dismantling them where possible. The goal is for users to be able to find what they're looking for, and to avoid confusion, which apparently "All Media Types" tags can cause, both for creators and browsing users. They pointed out that searching by relationship or character would allow me to see all works across media tags with those characters (although this doesn't solve my problem).

(Note: no shade to this Ao3 volunteer - I'm not upset at this answer, and they were only communicating Archive policy and were very professional and gave me good and important info!)

Anyway, this confused me, so I sat with it for a bit. I did some searches of the Ao3 blog, the Reddit and Tumblr, and some tag wrangler's Tumblrs where they talk about tag wrangling, but couldn't find anything about dismantling "All Media Types" metatags. So, I decided to get some data. Hence, the polls.

Other than my continued surprise at how many people search by relationship (multishipper problems...), the polls basically aligned with what I expected. So, if I'm using the tags in a similar way to most other users, this can't be the best way for these tags to exist.

I sent a followup request outlining some of what I shared here, then decided to browse Ao3 fandoms outside of Fruits Basket to see how other fandom tags, especially anime/manga fandom tags, were generally canonized.

On the Fandoms page, several "All Media Types" tags are present (Star Wars, Les Mis, Newsies, Batman, and Captain America, to name a few). Additionally, several "& Related Fandoms" tags are also present.

But this might not be a fair comparison. Star Wars has had movies, TV shows, comics, novels, video games, audio novels, radio adaptations, theme park rides, and more. A broad metatag makes sense for that fandom.

Or maybe the Archive just hasn't dismantled those "All Media Types" tags yet?

So, what about other anime and manga? Well, several (including the extremely popular BNHA and Naruto, as well as the shoujo that's always being compared to Furuba, OHSHC) are canonized as (Anime & Manga). Some (like Haikyuu!! and AoT) are canonized so both the manga and the anime are synonyms to the overarching fandom name.

And what about a manga that had two adaptations? Well, Fullmetal Alchemist has an "All Media Types" tag, which acts as a catchall for the 2003 anime, the live action, Bluebird's Illusion (which is apparently a fan-made game?), and a single tag combining the manga and Brotherhood.

So then, I did another search for information on how the Archive is handling "All Media Types" tags.

That search led me to a Tumblr post on tag wrangling guidelines from way back in 2013. Obviously, that post was out of date, but it led me to a handful of other posts, and eventually to the tag wrangling guidelines on the Ao3 website.

I actually didn't know the wrangling guidelines were publicly available before this, so this was exciting! After some brief searching, I was able to find some relevant policies:

Wrangling Guidelines - Metatags still mentioned "All Media Types" metatags in their guidelines, so perhaps those guidelines are out of date? Or instead, they're for those exceptions where "All Media Types" tags make sense?

That page led me to Wrangling Guidelines - Fandoms, which was MUCH more informative.

Under "Base Rules" > "Shared & Similar Names/Multiple Media" > "General Disambiguation Suffixes" it says:

General Disambiguation Suffixes are a legacy disambiguation format and last-resort disambiguation options for fandom tags that could not be easily separated into specific media. Fandoms disambiguated in these ways are no longer being created and are being removed where possible.

General Disambiguation Suffixes includes "All Media Types," "& Related Fandoms," and "Ambiguous Fandom."

Under "Fandoms With Multiple Media" it says:

Existing "All Media Types" tags may have new subtags added beneath them, but should no longer be created. The different existing media tags can be made into subtags under this metatag, as they are added to the Archive. There is no need to make an "All Media Types" metatag just to connect fandoms. Such fandoms can simply sit separately.

Bleh. I guess my hopes have been dashed.

...

But wait!

Under "Anime and Manga" > "Disambiguation Between Manga, Manhwa, Manhua, & Anime" it says:

Anime and manga fandoms should be canonised separately as much as possible. For fandoms where the completed manga and anime canons overlap enough to be considered one unified canon, or the user-made works do not specify whether they are for the anime or the manga, the disambig may be (Anime & Manga), with the terms in alphabetical order.

If canons do not overlap and users make tags for the separate canons, disambiguate with (Anime), (Manga), (Manhwa), or (Manhua).

For this second quote, IT USES FRUITS BASKET AS THE EXAMPLE.

So, I guess the tag wrangler(s) for Fruits Basket consider the manga and the (unspecified which) anime to... not overlap? Or not overlap enough? Again, this confuses me. The 2019 anime covered all of canon and only had extremely minor changes, and those were mostly done just to make it work better in animation instead of print. The 2001 anime only covered the first third or so of the story and had some bigger changes, but nothing outside the realm of what a fan might change in a fanwork for the manga.

So, what do I think would be the best outcome for the Fruits Basket media tags on Ao3?

When I think about it, I could see people who had only seen the 2001 anime benefiting from being able to search only for works relating to the 2001 anime. And I could see people who have read the manga/seen the 2019 anime being annoyed if the major changes of the 2001 anime were referenced on works tagged to the manga/2019 anime. But I can't really see that happening between the manga and the 2019 anime. Those changes were so minute, I doubt they'd be relevant most of the time.

So, with the caveat that I'm only one user, and I don't know for sure if my opinion is the one held by most users in the Fruits Basket fandom, here are some potential solutions that would work for me & (I believe) for most users in the Fruits Basket fandom:

bring back "Fruits Basket" as a metatag for all 3 media types, or

make the manga tag synonymous with the 2019 anime, with the new canonical reading [Fruits Basket (Anime 2019 & Manga)], and make the 2001 anime a subtag of that new combined tag, or

make both anime tags subtags of the manga tag

Anyway, if you wanted to know what I've been doing instead of writing over the past few weeks, this is it. 😅 I'd really love to hear what you think of my proposed solutions, and if the change caused problems for you as it did for me, or if it actually made things easier.

Info about another tag wrangling issue for Fruits Basket coming soon in a separate (much shorter!) post!

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

hi :) binge read your de fic that you have posted on ao3 last night and really enjoyed all of it! excited to see any updates. was wondering if you have any rec for other fic youve read and enjoyed-- i am not god's bravest soldier and do not enjoy trudging through tags and was wondering if you had read anything yourself that you really enjoyed lolol

Hey, thanks so much!!! Sorry it's taken a couple days to answer this, I'm poor as shit and have two jobs now wah... capitilism...

I'm working on the next 46' chapter, It's about 70% complete and I generally let it sit for an evening once it's done then re-read it the next day to catch the vast majority of mistakes (I edit everything myself) so I'd say expect that in the coming days.

I have some thoughts! I... Have never been asked for fic recs before so I'm gonna list a bunch in no particular order that I enjoyed, and reasons why. I will note that I tend to enjoy meaty plot-based works over fluff, so that's what I'll be recommending. Anyway!

Paddling Out (THE REPEATER CORPSE CONUNDRUM) - @transhitman - So this is the first DE fic I read and it set the bar pretty fucking high. YOU'VE GOT: a very cool and insular setting (don't get me wrong I like fics where they travel around Revachol too, but there's something to be said for building a set and living in it for a while) YOU'VE GOT: extremely harrowing tension and pale-fuckery YOU'VE GOT: some genuinely beautiful, heartfelt moments (I don't want to spoil anything but "people don't need your permission to care about you" kinda undid me) YOU'VE ALSO GOT: Amazing art?! Always a bonus, I wish I could draw people lol

Have You Heard The News That You're Dead? - Wizardlover - Time Loop shenanigans hell yeah! Basic premise: Kim is *unable* to save Harry's life after he's shot at the tribunal, each time he dies he Reawakens in Martinaise on the first day and desperately has to try and find a way to either prevent the Tribunal entirely, or survive it. I think the major draw to this one is how well it's characterised and how well that lends to the major source of tension: trying to convince THE WORLD'S BIGGEST SKEPTIC that you *a man he 'has only just met'* is actually stuck in a time loop. Juicy shit.

The Case Of The Man Who Two-Thirds Wasn't There - @glisteningceruleaneyes - We got another case fic here, gang. This is one of those "they travel around Revachol" numbers I previously mentioned. A lot to love about this fic; the minor OCs are all loveable (or at least well-written, looking at you Mr. Bigot-All-Rounder), the elements of writing in the game's style (particularly use of Harry's 'to do' list that you find in the ledger, you don't see that as often!) are all fantastic. Also without spoiling too much I'm a sucker for hurt/ comfort :) I like when bad things happen to our specialist guy :) ALSO! alternating chapters, Kim vs Harry's perspectives contrast REALLY well! Just a super enjoyable read. - On that note I also wanna include a special mention: there's a podfic for this one and since I mentioned my two jobs, I've been listening to audiobooks at work (I'm a cleaner. It's very boring) and that was a fun change of pace!

The Emergent Causeway - hal_incandenza - Now you KNOW this one is good because it's the only *unfinished* fic I'm recommending. Again, We've got art! We've got a brand new (non-Revachol!) setting that still feels excellently Elysium! We got that excellent balance of humour and misery from the get go! EXCELLENT murder mystery so far, I am intrigued AND also there's a fucking puppy. Hell yeah. This one's from Kim's perspective and does a really good job of it, nothing like a man being begrudgingly sent on holiday and being somewhat relieved to have a corpse to deal with.

A Spilled Kaleidoscope - @spilledkaleidoscope - I'm actually recommending a series here. Real definition of "came for the art, stayed for the writing" I mostly have a soft spot because I got to watch a few "haha, what if-?" musing text posts become a series of written chapters and INCREDIBLE DRAWINGS HOLY SHIT. Like, you really just draw hands for fun, huh? This person made a pact with some sort of devil beasts to draw hands very good, at the bare minimum we can read their fiction.

Nothing To Lose But Our Chains - Lepak - I almost forgot this one and I honestly can't believe it because this is one of these ones that you need a cigarette afterwards. Good fucking god. This is probably the best fic I've ever read in terms of not shying away from the heavy themes that make Disco Elysium such a beautiful, moving game. It tackles a racism in many forms, particularly how people like Kim (in working for the RCM) and immigration laws do their part in upholding racist systems, despite the way it hurts him too. Of course, it's also excellently written with tense scenes and some real funny moments. A real good'un here.

The Catacomb Killer - SupposedToBeWriting - Give Harry more memory loss. Make him convinced he killed a kid. Make *Kim* convinced he killed a kid... Then the plot thickens. I won't lie I can't remember fuck all about this one because I was mostly drunk when I read it, but if it was good enough that I kept reading instead of smoking a spliff or something then it must have been excellent... I will re-read it when I have the time, lmao.

MURDER ON THE AIRWAVES - @randomisedmongoose - I'm just a really big fan of murder mysteries and gore. You show me somebody with brain matter pouring from their earholes and I'm like "yum yum, more of that please." I am a sucker for curious methods of murder and this one's good for that. Lots of trekking back and forth like in the game again. More ACAB - always good.

I did not mean to include this many...........................

Oh well. Here's my list, there are plenty of others I've enjoyed but these are just the ones that came to mind! Thanks again for reading my fic! Always makes me happy when people let me know they enjoy my writing :3

[iamsosmaug]

Miraculous Fic Recs

Recently I've been complaining a lot on the internet how sucky the recent seasons of ML have been, and how much better the old fanfics are; I'm going to prove my point by sharing my tried-and-true rec list. Here we go.

Back To Us - Written in 2017, so some things are inaccurate. Basically Marinette, as Ladybug, kills Gabriel Agreste on accident by pushing him off the Eiffel Tower and Adrien moves to Milan. Seven years later Marinette is a rising fashion designer, her long-lost partner comes back seven years later but hot, and a new Hawkmoth shows up on the very day Adrien comes back. Suspicious. INCLUDES: Antihero!Chat. Alternate superhero names for Alya, Nino + there are only seven miraculouses which honestly I like a lot better than Ladybug just busting another one out whenever she feels like it. At one point, it was the longest fic in the fandom but now it's not even close. 446k. Requires an Ao3 account to read.

Second Chances- Again, written fairly early in the fandom. Adrien is a single dad and Alya volunteers Marinette to be his daughter's nanny - the premise sounds like it could turn out really weird but I promise it's not. Adorable adorable. INCLUDES: Past ChloexAdrien and MarinettexNathanael, and Adrien never went to school. Reverse best friends (Alya + Adrien, Mari + Nino). 105k.

Whose Woods These Are (I Think I Know) - Ladrien Cinderella AU. Super well-written in a kind of fairytale style. I honestly love this fic. 105k.

Spotty Connections - Adrienette texting fic (no miraculous AU, but does incorporate LadyNoir). Tikki & Plagg are M&A's cats. One of my favorites ever. 66k.

Film It - Adrien is a youtuber! Soon all of Twitter ships #adrienette. INCLUDES: Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting. Endgame Adrienette. Superheroes exist, but LB & CN aren't a huge part of this. Also worthy of note: #thatfoursome and a decent amount of Twitter formatting. This has pretty much everything I want in an Adrienette fic. 56k.

Chasing The C/h/atwalk - Project Runway AU. Marinette is a designer and Adrien... is her model. Shenanigans ensue. INCLUDES: Some LadyNoir, mostly after the identity reveal. #MarinetteInDenial. 100k. I love this fic.

Lucky Us - No Miraculous email AU. See Spotty Connections: LadyNoir incorporated without the actual superheroes. Fluff with a tiny bit of angst but still happy ending. 136k.

Secret Santa - fluff. Pure fluff; classic in the fandom. A bit cheesy and very outdated but very nice. Time for a reread. It has a sequel called New Year's Ball. 52k.

Être Majeur - horror, AU, fairly short, creepy and strange but really well-written. 24k. M for horror elements.

La Pucelle Et La Coccinelle - Absolute favorite. Explores Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc in this story) with the Ladybug Miraculous. INCLUDES: Actual historical references, lore for the miraculouses, and a flashforward to the future at the end with Marinette. 38k. I have it printed out, I love it so much.

Pray For the Children You Lost Along the Way - Silent Hill AU (Emilie Anderson from the arcade game is Adrien's mom). It has been on hiatus since 2019, but is still worth a read because so many things tie together in a satisfying way. 86k. Rated M b/c of Silent Hill-type things.

Under Lock and Key - Huge classic also published on Wattpad. Author/artist collab with Maerynn & EdenDaphne - Maerynn passed away while the fic was being written and ED finished it. Very nice art by ED. I view this fic as the quintessential 2017 era Adrienette fic. Very sweet and fluffy. 34k.

Tripped at Fencing - Gabriel hits Adrien. INCLUDES: Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting. Accidental identity reveal (Marinette finds out first). Only 5k but a classic.

The Butterfly and Her Brother series (Generations Past and Future) - written c. 2016. Gabriel is NOT Hawkmoth; Gabriel is not a villian in the least so technically OOC. First couple are set in the 1990s, then a couple in ~2016 and the latest in like 2044. I haven't read the last one in the series but WHATHGAWAATG (Europe gets taken over), featuring the next gen of Agrestes, is really good as well. Many things are outdated/false as this was written based off of s1, but I honestly like this interpretation of the Miraculous much better than how the show does it. Mama Agreste's name is Adele (again, s1) and I quite like her character. I freaking LOVE this series. I have it downloaded to my phone and I reread it when I'm feeling sad. 340k in total, but the longest work in the series is about 166k. SO many kudos.

a fight that you were born to lose - "Adrien finds out that Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action." TW abuse, emotional manipulation, forced dieting. Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting. Fairly short for how well-rounded it is - 17k.

An Impromptu Proposal - what it says on the tin. Reverse love square kinda: Ladynoir requited love bc Adrien never went to school. Includes identity reveal and Hawkmoth!Lila takedown. 33k.

On The Prowl - Criminal CN. Also on ffn.net. Good story and TOTALLY a classic, but also uses 'ravenette' and 'sapphire orbs' unironically. The writing is okay if a little melodramatic. 53k.

Chat Noir's White French Man Hit List For Feminist Purposes - pretty much what it says on the tin. Sentimonster!Adrien. 7.8k.

i think it's time i told you (i'm a fan of your universe) - ladynoir proposal. v v nice. Just 5k. Smidge of angst.

The Ladyblog Comment Section - what it says on the tin. 27k. Hilarity and crack.

spark - Tinder AU. Lots of Marichat. Angst with a happy ending. 49k. Slow burn w/ eventual identity reveal.

all dressed up and nowhere to go - No Miraculouses modern royalty AU - human Tikki and Plagg. Mostly DJWifi but a mild amount of adrienette and a smidge of chlogami. Includes arranged marriage Adrien x Alya but they don't end up together. "Twenty-five-year-old Marinette is a wedding dress designer, business blooming in her trusty shop, Ladybug Bridal. When the engagement of Prince Adrien Agreste and Ancient Princess Alya Césaire is announced, all she expects is an influx of work. What she gets instead is... a bit different." 35k.

tangled ribbons - Ao3. ballet/dance AU (no miraculous). Adrienette with some DJWifi and human Tikki & Plagg. "Marinette is a small studio dancer who wins a scholarship to a summer long ballet intensive. Adrien is a famous ballet dancer who would rather be at home than at said intensive. The end of the summer will bring about a showcase that could make Marinette's career, if she can ignore Chloé and focus on something other than Adrien." 82k. The slowest of burns.

Where timing is kind to us - Ao3. marichat discusses quantum physics. 4.3k. This is a beautiful one-shot with a one-sided reveal.

[barb-l]

Do you have any wenclair fic recommendations?

Yes, I do, and it's called My Bookmarks on ao3 lol

Lemme show em here anyway tho, in no particular order, for people who aren't in the mood to be taken to a "second location". I'm not listing all of them here tho. To know more, just click the link.

So aside from literally everything made by @//eggplant-crusader there's also these:

This was really fun. I know nothing about Eurovision, but I really like the moral about dreams and priorities and having the maturity to pick your battles.

This one got me feeling all kinds of yearning. I'm not really a big fan of angst when it comes to literary media(because it feels a lot more... consuming that way, yanno) but this one also had a lot of hope and tenderness in it that i couldn't help but keep reading. Binged it in like two days? Worth the sleep i lost.

Aside from what I said above, it's also super funny and cute btw. And i love the fic's format, the way every chapter starts with stuff like soc med posts or emails or scribbles written on walls that add to the setting of the story rather than the plot. Reminds me of how I Kissed Shara Wheeler would do that(reading that book rn btw. Would rec that too if you want a fun wlw book)

Has a really cozy feel to it. It reminds me of the older fics i used to read when i was younger for some reason idk

This author has other works that are really good too(notably a fake dating one that i enjoyed) but this one is my favorite of their works. The whiplash i felt when the jokes hit while im still crying was oddly fun

It's an unfinished fic but it doesn't really follow a continuous plot, so it's fine. It's just a bunch of snippets of Enid casually showing off her strength and is quite a joy to read. Also funny. When it comes to me, it's a requirement for something to be funny ehehe

One of my top fics for any fandom i think. It's a short one but a really well executed premise. The thought of Wednesday wooing Enid with anonymously sent two sentence pieces is so cute to me.

I really like the characterization in this. Probably one of the most show-accurate Wednesday's I've read, mostly because they don't forget that Wednesday would still be a little shit to Enid even if she's in love with her without overdoing. It's a shame lots of writers forget that lil bit about her.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

just hopping off "first fic i read from you" here, mine was "I Will Come Around When the Time for Sleep Is Through". it made such an impact on me, physically changed my brain chemistry, like wow. idk how many times i've reread it but MAN i love the premise and the writing and the everything so so so much. it's bby techno but also angst and the scene where tommy and phil go to the graves and the lines "theyre not dead but theyre still gone" and "phil would have told him how tired he was of losing everything that mattered" !!! living RENT FREE IN MY HEAD i tell you. RENT FREE.

i just. i love explorations of grief and like, how do you mourn someone who's technically still there but not really? how much of someone consists of memories & experiences, if those are wiped away are they really who they were before? and the characterization of how self-sacrificial techno is bc he seems to feel like he's the same in every lifetime (but he also doesn't deal with the emotional aftermath) but for phil, not so much bc he's the one who has to grieve by himself every time while also raising a toddler who's kind-of-maybe-used-to-be his best friend. ALSO the way phil's lived centuries and techno's never made it past 25 which speaks to so much loss, and how phil wishes techno would choose himself for once but idk if he would ever tell him that, you know? and even if so, if techno would actually ever choose himself because hes so undyingly loyal to the people he loves.

anyways. yeah.

i didn't have an ao3 account back then, i saved fics in my browser bookmarks like a maniac and i checked them every day. i remember VIVIDLY being so excited whenever i found an update for this one. now i stay updated via email notifs, which i gotta say, takes a lot less time. long story short <3333

Ah, this brings back some memories. How weird it feels to know I wrote that fic a good 3 years ago now. That's how long I've been obsessed with Techno... I have mixed feelings towards my old fics (I have mixed feelings towards all of my own writing lol, every artist is their own worst critic I guess) but there are some parts of that fic I really do still like a lot, the handling of grief is one of them. I'm glad it resonated with you so much, Anon. I think writing something that sticks with a person even years after they read it is every author's big dream, so I'm very honoured <3

[becauseanders]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

ahhh hi thank you! (finally answering this!) 🖤

It Took the Night to Believe: chapterfic, complete, 100k. dragon age ii, anders/male hawke. pacific rim au. i am honestly really fucking proud of this fic, like i thought it was great even though it didn't do super well kudos-wise and i did notice that i definitely did lose readers as it went on. i truly have no idea why, this fic is fucking great. it's got angst, it's got comfort, it's got near death experiences, it's got fluff, it's got kaiju—what's not to love??

No Wound as Sharp as the Will of God: chapterfic, complete, 99k. dragon age ii, anders/female hawke. canonverse, post-da2. it took me seven years to post a second chapter of this and a total of eight years to finish it, and the whole time i was writing it after i picked it up again i was so unsure of it, but turns out i really like it. very heavy content, please do mind the tags. takes place while hawke is with the inquisition. anders positive, justice positive. a very intense, very deep, very affectionate friendship between anders and fenris is an extremely important part of the story. like, seriously, the platonic fenders is just as important as the romantic handers. a lot of angst, like so much angst, but the hurt/comfort is real. the b-plot pertains to my theory that justice cures anders of the taint. cole is there. the emotions are high and you can feel them strongly in the writing. again, be careful, but this is a good fic.

A Thing With Feathers Now, Elevate: one shot, 11k. dragon age: origins, alistair/female amell. canonverse, takes place over the course of da:o. this fic is a fucking masterpiece. another that didn't do well numbers-wise but this is easily one of the absolute best things i've ever written and is quite possibly one of the best fics on ao3. i am so fucking proud of this one. the prose, the metaphors, the handling of trauma, the found family—this one deserved way more love than it got. like, i'm serious, this fic is amazing.

It Means Tumult: chapterfic, wip, 349k (yes, you read that right). dragon age ii, anders/female hawke. modern au. okay, obviously i've got to mention this one. i have been working on this fic for eight years and i am very sorry to everyone who saw this go from updating multiple times a week and asking me how the fuck i write so fast to three years without a single update and then i think only one more in the past two years. i'm working on the penultimate chapter, i swear i am, i'm just super stuck right now. this fic is…this fic. i'm not going to lie, i don't really know if this is any longer some of my better writing, but the premise is fucking solid and i have been told more than once that it's clear this is a labor of love and that this is endearing. au where the obvious metaphors are made reality: the circles are psychiatric institutions and being mentally ill is a crime. a lot of angst, but a lot of love. pay no mind to how much better of a character and person aveline is when i write her. i also do admittedly use this fic to deal with my own demons frequently. an andrea gibson poem helped me write one chapter and i later got to tell them about it and they hugged me. this is also very heavily centered on music and has a lengthy soundtrack. please ignore the fact that when i first started writing this i used british english when i typed because i thought it looked better, as i had started doing as a teenager, which tbh i still kind of do but i also realized that's just fucking pretentious to do when you're american, and it was already so long by the time i stopped doing it that there was no way in hell i was going back to editing all of that (as i actually did do with nwasatwog). so that's just the way it is. but yeah, there's a lot of feelings happening here. also the only fic on this list that has an original title instead of song lyrics despite being the one with the most music involved, lol.

Through the Fall and the Feel: chapterfic, wip, 52k. dragon age ii, anders/male hawke. modern au. this is the one i'm working on most right because that's just where the brainworms are. hawke is a teddy bear doctor and anders goes to see him because instead of a pillow from his mother he has a stuffed cat, and she has seen much better days. this fic has a very wholesome premise but has gone into some pretty heavy angst already and i did not mean for eating disorders to be as important to the story as they have become, so be mindful of that. but this fic has a lot of heart and it's absolutely tanking, so if this piques your interest maybe go give it a look? this is also my second foray into m!handers and i am again having fun writing them. but yeah, i actually like this fic a lot and i do recommend it.