#a few rough topics get mentioned in these excerpts

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

actually, you know what.

this is from a deleted chapter of shttdd. i had to cut it for a number of reasons, but this scene was one of the first i pictured in my mind and it works perfectly with the idea i still have about the relationship between peanut and his mother.

so. here it is, a deleted and rough draft of an excerpt from the story as well as a headcanon. enjoy <3

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word count: 1.5k ca.

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He finds her sitting on the bench at the stop, a bit of the excitement already faded, if anything in the calm of the wait in the rigid December cold, as Larry sits next to her.

Ever since he was a child, he has barely ever set foot in a church, except maybe a few times that he had to fetch Johnny for some Greasers meeting, so he certainly is no reliable source. Still, when he looks at his mother like this, when she isn’t running from one place to the other, he can’t help but think she looks sort of like a Madonna — in the good Sunday dress her mother had left her, smile sweet but with some undefinable glint of sadness in the corner of her eye. 

His knowledge of the story is vague, but he struggles to believe them, when he hears people claim Mary had happily and unconditionally accepted sacrificing her youth for a child, no matter how much good he would’ve done for the world or how much she would’ve been adored or even how much she would’ve loved the child. Larry is no Jesus, but he knows for sure that, despite treasuring him and loving him to death, his mom has never stopped grieving the teenage years she had to give up for a kid that only ever stopped her from flying away.

«The Espositos are so nice, inviting us all there.» When she speaks, her gaze is lost in the streets in front of her, and she might as well be talking more to herself than to her son. «It’s nice to stay over there, with people who care about you. It’s nice.»

There has always been something ironic about the way she loves and celebrates Christmas, especially since she’s never had a good relationship with a Father that has never cared about her and the only holy water in their house has only ever been the spit on good old Christian ladies condemning her to the stake. Everything she loves about the twenty-fifth of December, Larry has only guessed, is that, for a day, she can pretend not to be in charge, to have someone to rely on.

«Who else of your friends is there?»

She purposefully puts it casually, but the question stabs Larry’s heart sideways nonetheless. However, just like she did, he nonchalantly tries to list of all his Greaser friends that Hal might have invited for Christmas. «Well, usual, I guess. Lefty’s back in Rome for the week, Vance is with his sisters and his mom… most of them will stay at their own house I think. I’m not sure about the Pucinos, since Ricky’s dad just came back an’ all that. But I don’t think anyone else is coming. I wonder if Johnny and Lola will come, after all I think it’s jus’ the two of ‘em. I might go see them in the afternoon.»

At the last two names he finds himself biting the tip of his tongue, some bad feeling in his throat, the doubt that he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the topic if he said it nor if he didn’t.

True to his expectation, at the sole mention of Johnny’s name, his mom’s features harden, her eyes still into the distance; not even looking at him.

What a great way to start the day.

A huff escapes his mouth, but the knot in his trachea doesn’t go away with it. «Mom, I get that you don’t like him, you don’t gotta do this every single time.»

«It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s not personal!» She shakes her head energetically, as she always does, but Larry knows exactly where this is going anyway, and he’s awfully tired of this shitshow that opens its curtains any time he just happens to mention Johnny.

He rolls his eyes, sparks of irritation jumping in his chest, head falling in his hands as all the blood flowing to it makes it heavier and heavier. «I can’t believe we’re having this conversation at a fuckin’ bus stop.»

«I just,» Shrugging frantically, she keeps following her train of thoughts, deaf and blind to her son’s reaction, only her own heart beating in her head. «don’t think you should trust him as much as you do, y’know.»

His arms open, and he’s not looking at her either, too busy trying to hear his own voice over the roar in his ears. «He’s always taken care of me! Always!»

Her argument is always the same, repetitive, stubborn; he must have taken it from somewhere, after all. «For now! You can’t rely on that kind of guy!»

«“That kind of guy”.» Her and Johnny might have interacted two, three, four times at best, and certainly she’s never seen him rush at his side, or waiting for him to wake up in the infirmary, or introducing him to the higher ranking members of the clique, or pulling him away from bullies’ grip, or fighting back by back with him against older kids jumping them. She doesn’t know him, doesn’t know them, and, after leaving him wondering in his earliest childhood if she had ever wanted him around at all, she is definitely not in the position to judge whether Johnny actually cares about him or not. «What “kind of guy” would he be, huh?»

Still, she goes on, undeterred, if anything more determined to make her point come across. «He’ll just chase the first thing that excites him! He can only enjoy things as long as they’re good, but he’ll leave as soon as he doesn’t have fun anymore!»

This time, Larry snaps. «Oh, c’mon! Just ‘cause dad—»

Their eyes finally cross. Suddenly, they are but two sixteen years old staring at each other, both lost, confused, horridly lonely. He’s said the one word that he’s never supposed to voice, that is meant to stay stuck between the teeth she’s kept gritted since the day she found herself alone sixteen years ago. As soon as Larry has let it out, it has pierced into her gaze, breaking the glass of her eyes that she had tried to keep together with superhuman effort.

What an asshole that he is, isn’t he.

Taking back his words is impossible, now, or, at least, there’s nothing he can do to glue those pieces back together, fragile like crystal in his rough and indelicate hands. «Mom…»

«You know what? You’re right.» She turns her head away again; her voice is coarse, older than the thirty-two years old she’s supposed to be, as shaky as the little girl she never grew out of. «I can’t believe we’re having this conversation at a fuckin’ bus stop.»

Apologies are stuck up his throat, blocking his breath, but he knows better than to insist; for once, he should just be an adult and shut his mouth.

He just wishes this wasn’t such a minefield, one where they are only ever condemned to hurt each other.

When they get on the bus, it’s wordlessly, silence heavy on Larry’s stomach and his mom’s eyes passively laying on the window as the buildings slide behind it, gray snow that clashes with the colored lights, five broken for each one shining. She is often silent when something’s wrong; when he was younger, naive and unable to grasp why she should have been upset at him coming back home just a few minutes too late, he would stare at her from the couch, dread in his throat as her face wouldn’t soften for hours, waiting for her to give him a smile, to tell him that it was okay and she still loved him.

Growing older, though, he’s learned to be patient, to test the waters slowly and let her know that she’s safe peeking out of her own head. Lightly, making sure that his own uneasiness doesn’t leak through — she doesn’t need a child to comfort, right now. «Mom?»

Not an answer, a gesture, a gaze.

He takes a breath; just another try. «Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.»

Finally, she turns to him. At first, there’s still something cold, distant in time and space, like her soul is only now realizing what body she’s finding herself into, like she’s seeing him for the first time, at birth. However, it warms soon after, thin lips curling in a soft smile, that Holy Mary tender and bittersweet gaze, as she caresses his cheek. «It’s okay. I just wish you didn’t turn out so much like me.»

This is another thing that she tells him often; in all these years, though, Larry still hasn’t found quite the right explanation. All he can do is laying his head on her shoulder and let her stroke his hair, pretending for just a second that they can be just as happy together as any mother and son would be.

What would they be like, if they were okay?

[heartfelttry]

this is the excerpt i mentioned in My Thepandaredd's OC Notes about my hc of Bill The Professional Henchman's surname being "Bail" and my OC (Kaycie Harjo, they/them, who eventually works as an apprentice to Alfred Pennyworth since he is already p fucking elderly and you cannot convince me he is the only staff-person in the manor) ragging on him about how fake of surname that sounds like

this is not the finished form of the scene. it is just me having written down this scene a few weeks ago (out of fear my chronic memory loss would eat it) and am now just gonna copy-paste it. this is a first rough-draft. excuse any/all mispellings, im dyslexic and, to the best of my memory-loss-riddled recollection, i do not think this isn't edited in the slightest

optional context for scene:

Bill betrayed Kaycie's trust, hurt their feelings, that kind of thing (no spoilers). he finally got them to come see him at a Big Belly Burger, his suggestion of "neutral territory". he came early, bought them food. Kaycie stormed in, sat down with crossed arms, refused his food, and went all "Talk." / "...That's ruder than a Pinkie Pie like you usually gets." / "You said you wanted to talk, Bill, so fucking talk." and this is Bill's big apology gesture of good faith bc he misses his friend to get back on their good side: letting Kaycie know his fucking surname (so stupid lmao)

also, they became best friends over quite a bit of time, it's not a speedy affair. i'm torn on one of two possible ways they became friends (and then best friends). doesn't matter for the following out-of-context scene; i just wanted it known i do have plans. also, i feel compelled to mention that i do see Bill as older than Kaycie by quite some years. picture "Ted Lasso"'s Keely and Rebecca kind of age-gap friendship ("intergenerational" is the better term than "age-gap", probably, but it isn't as funny to me lol). but maybe i'll change that (i definitely will if Bill is supposed to be closer to the older Bat-kids age, like Kaycie is. i currently see Bill as at least 12+ years older than Dick Grayson but some-odd years younger than Bruce Wayne's age)

also, if thepandaredd ever reads this: i do apologize if i have characterized Bill incorrectly. again, first draft version of writing the character, still learning about him, i digress

Kaycie made a face at Bill's phone-screen, where the big secret he was holding up was a simple singular sentence, newly written and about to be newly deleted in his phone's notes. "Wait... your last-name is Bail?" They crossed their arms. "So, like your name is 'Bill Bail'? Are you fucking kidding me? That, like, almost rhymes. And is it really like, bail money, where you pronounce that like 'bailed on the job once the Bats arrived'-kind-of-'bail'?" Kaycie's face scrunched up at Bill's cagy nod. "No." They stopped being quiet. "No, you had to have picked this, this has to be a fake name, absolutely not."

Bill waved upset shushing sounds at them. ("Oh, you did not just shush me, Billie.") "Not so fucking loud." He hissed, equally as failing to be subtle now. "Are you done? Or do you have more bullshit to get out of your fucking system?"

"I just think if you were going to lie to me, you know, Hench and Henchman are real last-names, your fake-name could at least be kind of funny. Or convincing. No parent would ever pick Bill Bail for their kid's name."

"Actually, my parents named me William Bail, fuck you very much."

Kaycie paused. "You're serious."

"I opened up to you."

"Wow." They said, deadpanned. "I can see why this is such a vulnerable topic for you."

"I'm a henchman," He leaned in, pointing at them, whispering as he looked suspicously around at the Big Belly Burger's other customers. "I'm not supposed to tell anybody my fucking name."

"Can't be hard with a name like that," Kaycie rolled their lips together. "Everyone will think you're lying as soon as you say it."

"I can't risk giving the villains or other goons my goddamn family tree of fucking weaknesses."

"Right, right, right." They were beginning to fucking giggle at him as they reached all the way over the table to steal his fries— fries he got them that they had claimed they didn't even want back when they were mad at him. "Because the Joker and Punchline totally look through a person's Facebook when wanting to manipulate them."

"Ugh." Bill fell back into the red and yellow, sparkly booth. These fucking seats smelled like mustard. Gross. "Shut up."

"Sorry," They smiled, "I meant Two-Face and Instagram."

"Will you fucking stop?"

"The Riddler and Twitter."

"Don't make me regret telling you."

"How does that work by the way?" Kaycie talked while eating and Bill just watched them. "Not telling anybody you work with your name, but then there's the Goonion and all its paperwork? Also, like, your phone contacts would do you in too, right? Just yoink, bam, weaknesses."

Bill waited for some dad-joke punchline to somehow enter the dialogue. But none came. His muscles untensed. "The villains and shit get our ID numbers and bar-codes if they want to re-hire us, along with a list of what we approve to be called by them. And most henchmen in the Goonion keep their personal phones at home, locked up while they're on the job, and keep a burner at work."

"But you don't." Kaycie pointed a fry at him like one would a finger. I know you.

Bill squirmed a bit. "I don't," He relented. "I memorize my people's phone-numbers so I'm not leaving a list of my vulnerabilities in a handheld box like a fucking moron, and I have a bot auto-delete my texts after 2 hours if I'm not deleting them myself. Plus, there's some black market apps to scramble who I'm calling, so I don't have to worry about them finding my call-log, like a VPN kind of. Because of course the black market has its own fucking app-store by now." Remembering the legalities of court-rooms and eavesdroppers and people the G.C.P.D. wire, he added, "Allegedly. I wouldn't know. I would check if there was such an app-store if I hypothetically needed to do hench-work. Which I don't." He leaned in close to them again, his voice hushed as he pushed Kaycie all "his" fries. "They don't even fucking know my name is William, y'know, I'm waiting for you to be fucking grateful."

"Mmhmm." Kaycie pushed the fries back to be mid-way between them to share before taking another small handful. "Yes, I do feel incredibly special knowing your parents didn't think through your nickname-plus-surname combo before finalizing your birth-certificate. This must have been hard for you to admit."

"I'll have you know that I happen to like my name."

Disbelief made Kaycie freeze mid-bite. "Do you really?"

"Yes." A pause. "Mostly."

Kaycie resumed eating. "I'm just skeptical because you sure do say 'It's Bill, just Bill' a lot."

"I just explained why I do that!" 

"Have I hit your limit on fondly mocking you?"

Bill sighed, pinching his nose-bridge. "Almost."

"Good, because I now need to know if your parents' names are also dumb." [*]

"And, just like that, my limit has been suddenly fucking hit." He sagged back as he turned his head away with crossed arms, much like a preteen sibling stubbornly would. "I'm not answering that today, try again never."

"Fine." Kaycie pouted before hesitating shyly. "...I am touched though. Just so you know." They pushed the fries closer to him. Eat.

"Yeah?" He ate a couple of fries, mostly so Kaycie themself would feel free to eat more.

"Mmhm." Kaycie did take more. Predictable. "Which is weird. I never thought there was intimacy in knowing a person's last-name before. I am glad I know it." They pointed at him sternly. "I better not read it in any obituary sections of upcoming newspapers. No becoming collateral damage, not allowed."

"Yeah." He looked down, rubbing his knuckles. "I... hope you don't die anytime soon, too."

"D'aww, Billie! You're such a softie."

"Wha-?" Bill jolted up. "Am not! Besides, you said it first!"

"But not as sweet and mushy as you did! You don't want me to die! That's so cute."

"Ugh." Bill sank back into the plastic-y booth and tipped the bill of his hat down, the way some old men do before a nap or some idiots do to hide their face from someone searching for them. "You're hitting on my stupid sap limit too, y'know."

"You love me, and I love you," They leaned their face close to the table to meet his eyes to spite him, "And we now both know each other's names, and we're besties!"

"Hey!" He whispered harshly, though Kaycie just quietly scoffed at him and how Bill's shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he moved his hat back up so his eyes could better look side to side. The pair was at a Big Belly Burger in broad daylight, not some villain-only speakeasy. "Not so loud." And just because he knew he couldn't deny the "love" bit without making Kaycie just as mad at Bill as they were before they got here, he said: "And we are not fucking 'besties'."

"Right, right, right. We are," Kaycie puffed out their chest and spoke in a deep 'man' voice, "'Best friends'." And then relaxed, smug about purposefully missing his point. They don't notice how Bill's face changes for a moment. "Afterall, your street cred is in dire need of protection and that is the manly way to say the thing."

Bill snorted, softening his shoulders yet tightening his fist, as he nodded his chin up. "Fuck yeah, it is."

Kaycie broke at that, cackling happily, which made Bill start keel over with some soft chuckles too. His concern for anyone staring dissolved a bit, at least for a while.

Because there was an underlying sadness to Bill's from the moment his face changed, the type of dejection people usually only have when they're so happy with their dog or cat that they make themselves sad over the intrusive reminder that their lifetimes don't match up enough for things to be like this forever. Bill's firmness that they were definitely not "besties", the point behind it being for Kaycie to not accidentally make themself a target, fell away to the realization that he might not have many chances to affirm that. The fact that he does value them so highly. That they are close. He might die. He might have to hide, disappear, never come back or get back in contact. 

Or, worse, someone might realize Bill has some new, local, walking, talking blackmail material and go after Kaycie. It was more likely people would realize Kaycie has some level of importance to the Wayne Manor due to their job, and use Kaycie to those ends, sure. But Bill wasn't a stranger to refusing to cross certain lines, picking and choosing his battles, and nonetheless making higher-ups very mad about it; or, hell, even going head to head with another henchman who maybe just was particularly petty and dangerous enough. Any of them might look around for a person as a way to control Bill. And if they get to Kaycie, it will work. Kaycie could get hurt or die because of Bill himself, directly. 

Because there was no way both of them would live to be wrinkly old fucks, no way Bill would ever be anything but the "torn away from us too soon" type, despite Kaycie's past insistences of them someday arguing over bingo and what time the movie downtown was showing. Bill would be so fucking lucky if he had another five, ten years of being this close to someone. He'd be so downright grateful if he could even have a guarantee on another three-odd months.

He was usually better at avoiding this kind of thing, at keeping friendly but never bonding. Something was going to give. An anvil-sized shoe will drop fucking soon.

And, with that kind of sobering thought: a little indulgement against the inevitable tragedy Kaycie Harjo would wreck onto his heart was simple. Kaycie always let him know they loved their best friend; he just wanted to let them know it was mutual, as much as he could let himself tell them anyway.

In that moment, it felt really good to not be scared or scary. Addictive, even.

---

[*] : i dont have hc names for Bill's parents, but a lady married into the Bail family-name being called "Monet Bail" (that's one of my bff's middle names! she was given it bc her dad wanted her to "get that money 'moneehh'", i kid you not, it was almost her first name because her dad liked that joke so much) with her husband nicknamed "Skipper" would be funny puns. but i truly think Bill's parents probably have unfunny, benign names. nonetheless, this is what Kaycie will assume his parents are called until told proven otherwise

● i also feel a bit inclined to mention Kaycie Harjo is based off of my labels (bc i never see a fictional character fully match all of me, and i am hungry for representation) but their personality is different than mine (for instance: im shy, jumpy, and overthinking to the point of arguable paranoia) (which i do love self-inserts btw, Kaycie is just not one of those). but yeah, i just have never seen another Indigenous American character who looks like me (i'm pale, short, and have short-hair, bc apparently hair on my neck is a sensory-overload for my peanut brain) that is a two-spirited feminine they/them in media; and in addition to all that, is one that is not powerful. at least, Kaycie's eventual peak "power level" is p equal to Alfred "He is just a British veteran guy with a gun and some damn fine aim for his age, innit?" Pennyworth's peak (his peak as a butler, not when he was an active soldier)— where, despite their lack of power/prowess yet is still valuable to everyone; again, despite the vast amounts of ways Kaycie cannot contribute to the team and is actually a burden to them, Kaycie is still considered valuable (wow, it's almost like my disabled ambulatory-wheelchair-user ass who cannot do a lot of "productive" physical shit is projecting, that's wild). so like. there's Kaycie basic info for you. surprise, it is v similar to mine, i wonder why lol

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you know of any fics that have John at the Surgery in them? It wasn't really explored in the show so... it can be just like one scene within a larger fic, but I haven't been able to find any fics with this. TIA

Hey Lovely!

Ahhhh you know, I have a lot of fics where he’s at the surgery, but I’ll be damned if I can remember them all!!! Here’re the ones I do remember! <3 Please add your own fics, my friends, if your fic is in the Surgery!

JOHN AT THE SURGERY

See Also: 

Hospital Fics

Hospitals Pt 2

Doctor / Caretaker John 

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2 

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 3 

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 4

Excerpts from Purgatory by reapersun, what_alchemy (E, 5,829 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Doctor John, Reunion Fic, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Bottomlock, Fic with Pics)  – John serves community service in homeless shelters for chinning the superintendent. Unbeknownst to him, the Homeless Network has his back.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong... Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

The Acronym by DancingGrimm (T, 15,057 w., 12 Ch. || Humour) – "'Bee Ay Em Eff'. Hm, that's a new one on me. Do you know what it means, Sherlock?" John might not know what it means, but there are many little ways in which he proves the acronym suits him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (E, 157,369 w., 58 Ch. || Post-TRF, John First POV, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Present Tense, Imaginary Sherlock) – "Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

MARKED FOR LATER (tagged with “Surgery”)

Milk, the Flu, and Harry by Inactive Account (sassybleu) (M, 1,609 w., 1 Ch. || Insecure Sherlock, Understanding John, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock’s Called ‘Freak’) – John leaves Sherlock for a few days (angsty) John says things he doesn’t mean (“you’re a freak”) Sherlock thinks he deserves it (he’s insecure) and packs John’s bags for him while he’s gone. John is to blame (bad day at surgery-Sherlock being Sherlock; he’s frustrated and snaps)

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (E, 25,989 w., 8 Ch. || S4 Divergence, Covid-19/Quarantine, Jealous John, Love Letters, Victor Trevor, Divorce, Angst with Happy Ending) – In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

Turned - Part I : Queen and Country by saintscully (E, 76,008 w., 20 Ch. || HLV Divergence / No TAB, Graphic Sherlock/OC, Spy Sherlock, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Army Homophobia, Emotional Infidelity, Physical Infidelity, Slow Burn, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Johnlock) – Moriarty’s message never gets broadcasted. The airplane taking Sherlock away never returns.As rumours begin to swirl about a British POW found alive in Gaza ten months later, Mycroft shows up at John’s surgery with some good news: Sherlock is alive, and he’s coming back. In this story, inspired by ‘Homeland’ and ‘Prisoners of War’, John and Sherlock are left with no choice but to re-examine everything about their relationship since Sherlock’s fall. Part 1 of the Turned series

You Go To My Head Series by 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier (E, 937,347+ w. across 22 Stories || Series WiP || Surgeon AU || Medical Realism, Autism Spectrum, Anaesthetist John / Neurosurgeon Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Addiction, Angst, Slow Burn, PTSD, Pining, Insecurity, Additional Tags Under Link) – This series is an alternate universe one, featuring the exciting medical and romantic adventures of doctors Watson and Holmes. (I haven’t read this one, but JUDGING by the topic of these stories, I imagine there’s a lot of surgery scenes lol)

[dahlia-coccinea]

Are the second generation really meant to mirror the first? I'm helping my sister revise for her end of unit test on it and it's mentioned quiet a bit in her notes but from what I've read (though tbf though- I'm reading certain parts for revision) I'm not really getting the vibe of that tbh. Can you help me understand why people may think this. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I'm certainly not an expert on the book and the criticisms about it - I read about it purely for my own enjoyment and there are many interpretations I’m probably not aware of. 

First, I would say they aren’t exact replicas or mirrors but are more like echos or perhaps extensions of the first generation. Certainly all the baggage of the previous generation is placed on them. Catherine Linton and Hareton Earnshaw are much easier to connect to the first generation then Linton is, in my opinion, but some critics have tried to do so - mostly in asserting that there is a love triangle between them similar to Heathcliff/Catherine/Edgar. There are a number of connections that critics make between Hareton/Cathy and Heathcliff/Catherine and some have been told a million times but I’ll try to cover the ones I remember. Let me see if I can keep this organized and not get too off topic. 

The similarity of their characters: At first glance you have the repetition of names - “C” and “H” appear repeatedly. Most apparent is that Catherine Linton is named for her mother. Hareton, although obviously an old family name since its been carved above the threshold of the Heights, it does feel intentional in furthering the connection between “C” and “H.” I’ve always found it interesting we have this scene from Cathy II and Linton in Chapter 14, that seems to directly call out the C & H connection:

“We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and hoops, and battledores and shuttlecocks. One was marked C., and the other H.; I wished to have the C., because that stood for Catherine, and the H. might be for Heathcliff, his name; but the bran came out of H., and Linton didn’t like it.”

Funnily I don’t think the H is for Heathcliff, I think its more likely meant for Hindley, but of course Heathcliff has been semi-assimilated into the Earnshaw family by being given the name Heathcliff, which was the name of a deceased child. To me at least, none of these feel unintentional, it feels fated since we have these repetitions noted by the characters themselves.

Cathy doesn’t only share a name with her mother, she lives in her shadow. We know from Nelly that, “On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistress’s death.” Edgar seems to cherish her in part because she is a remnant of her mother, even displaying many similar characteristics, although Nelly is quick to note Cathy is softer and more genteel - which makes sense considering she grows up with a loving father in a calm environment that lets her do as she pleases. She doesn't grow up with the harshness of the Earnshaw family, and Joseph's ranting, and it also seems that Nelly may have softened and become more maternal as years have gone by. I’d say she does become more and more like her mother after living at Wuthering Heights though. 

Some really great parallels between the two Catherine’s dialog have been made by Ann Dobyns - I’ve posted a few excerpts from her essay here if anyone is interested, it’s a bit more in-depth than this needs to be though.

Hareton has many parallels to Heathcliff as well - this is intentionally done by Heathcliff who, upon Hindley’s death, speaking of his plotting says, “And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!” Heathcliff and Hareton have such an odd fated destiny, from the moment Heathcliff saves his life by catching him as his father dropped him over the bannister of second floor. Hareton from the start fears his natural father, “squalling and kicking in his father’s arms,” Nelly even fears Hindley will “frighten the child into fits.” Worlds different the description of a scene of very typical father/son affection described by Nelly during Hindley’s funeral when she says little Hareton, “played with Heathcliff’s whiskers, and stroked his cheek.” Or earlier when she had asked Hareton if he liked Heathcliff and he says:

“Ay!” he answered again. Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentences—“I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me—he curses daddy for cursing me.

In Hareton’s mind Heathcliff is more a protector than his father, and I suppose in many ways he is better than Hindley’s random obscene violence. As wrong as it is that Heathcliff denies Hareton his inheritance and an education, I think it does say something (not entirely sure what) that he is never physically abusive to Hareton in the way Hindley was with him. Hareton doesn’t ever show any real fear of Heathcliff. 

Heathcliff has his own complex feelings towards Hareton, definitely preferring him to his own son - he tells Nelly, “Do you know that, twenty times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? I’d have loved the lad had he been some one else.” So it seems we have the daughter of Catherine and the wished for son of Heathcliff. Lockwood even mistakes Hareton to be Heathcliff’s son momentarily in Chapter 2.

Some other parallels - Heathcliff notes the similarities between them later on in a discussion with Nelly:

“He’ll not venture a single syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his age—nay, some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid: so ‘gaumless,’ as Joseph calls it?”

“Worse,” I replied, “because more sullen with it.”

On other occasions Nelly talks about how Heathcliff liked to induce horror from those around him and “he contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward repulsiveness.” Hareton behaves similarly - in one scene after being taunted by Linton and Cathy, he throws Linton from the room to the disgust and fear of Cathy in Chapter 23:

...Earnshaw burst the door open: having gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us, seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat.

“‘Get to thy own room!’ he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. ‘Take her there if she comes to see thee: thou shalln’t keep me out of this. Begone wi’ ye both!’

“He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out.”

Similarly, when sitting next to him, Lockwood says, “My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive.” Even Nelly, who I’d say is typically biased towards Hareton, upon seeing him says he “seemed as awkward and rough as ever.”  Lockwood also describes him as being “almost haughty,” similar to Nelly’s repeated references to Heathcliff’s ego and “proud heart.” 

Heathcliff further casts light on their parallels when he says he sees Hareton as the “personification of my youth,” adding that, “Hareton's aspect was the ghost of my immortal love, of my wild endeavours to hold my right, my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish.” 

The love triangle:  I know some critics have said the dynamic between the Linton/Catherine/Hareton is similar to Edgar/Catherine/Heathcliff - I don't particularly see this. Cathy II is forced into marriage with Linton and at that point doesn't have notable feelings towards Hareton, compared to her mother who knows she loves Heathcliff more and still does have a choice to make even if it isn’t an easy one. 

Still, there are similarities in their relationship in that both men (Heathcliff and Hareton) end up feeling the need to better themselves because for their respective Catherine. Nelly says of Hareton, “He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval were his first prompters to higher pursuits.” I think this is similar to Heathcliff deciding to run away after years of abuse and to risk everything, including his life, after hearing Catherine says it would “degrade” her to marry him. Hareton does seem to show some jealously over Cathy’s attention and regard of Linton, and again with the presence of Lockwood so I suppose it is sort of love triangle-y? 

I also think Hareton shows signs of a growing devotion, similar to what Heathcliff felt towards Catherine. He certainly seems to be enamored by Cathy from the very first time they meet - Nelly says he, “stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment” and was, “too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.”

Something I’ve mentioned before is that Lockwood says about Hareton and Cathy, “Together, they would brave Satan and all his legions,” which feels like a direct parallel to Heathcliff’s assertion to Catherine that, “misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us.” 

Also Heathcliff seemingly attempts to play the role Hindley played in his youth when he tells Cathy, “Your love will make him an outcast and a beggar.” It seems both Catherine and Heathcliff knew their love would result in the same situation as Catherine relays this to Nelly when she says, “did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars?” 

There is also, of course, the similarity of social stature - when Cathy first meets Hareton, he has nothing to his name and lives almost as a servant at Wuthering Heights, similar to Heathcliff’s position while Hindley was master. Cathy, similar to her mother, is better educated and has more opportunities - there is no socially accepted reason that she would choose Hareton, seeing as he can’t give her money, status, or respectability. 

The circle of events and “The Butterfly:” It does feel, in my opinion at least, that it is no accident that our happy ending is the union of Hareton and Cathy. It couldn’t happen with just any couple or in any other way. It does feel that they are made into the semi-proteges of Heathcliff and Catherine, and the elements of the Linton’s allows for there to be peace between the two families. There is a kind of resolution and unification of their energies. 

This is probably the most common narrative of the connection between Hareton/Cathy and Heathcliff/Catherine, and that is rather than just a parallel, critics have noted that the story of Catherine comes full circle with their marriage. The first Catherine wrote out her possible futures on her window sill in the names: Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Heathcliff and Catherine Linton. Her daughter ends up reversing these different identities being born a Linton, marrying a Heathcliff, and finally an Earnshaw. That can’t be merely a coincidence.

Critic Dorothy Van Ghent deemed Catherine and Heathcliff the “original two” and she said that with the civilizing of Cathy and Hareton, "the great magic, the wild power, of the original two has been lost.” Others say that while poetically it makes sense within the repetition, Catherine and Hareton’s relationship is “improbable” but I disagree. I really liked Carol Ramsden’s take on this that incorporates Emily’s essay “The Butterfly,” and makes the parallel between the 1st and 2nd generation - I have posted this before but to save myself the time of rephrasing it I’ll just post the quote:

In Wuthering Heights, we encounter a destructive principle at work in the love between Catherine and Heathcliff. The principle is manifested fully in Catherine’s mental collapse and Heathcliff’s vindictiveness. However, the love between Cathy and Hareton is allowed to flower and they are both, in their own ways, products of the first lovers. The principle of destruction, as in “The Butterfly”, is transformed into a creative energy. Ultimately, Catherine and Heathcliff are also not deprived of this creative energy. Instead of representing a pessimistic view of life, their love, too, comes to suggest that all things work together towards good.

I think that’s an interesting take, besides just a happy ending for Hareton and Cathy it almost feels like a happy ending for Catherine and Heathcliff? In some ways they burned up only to transform into something better. Not saying that is how it is meant to be read, but I do like it (probably because I like a happy ending). 

I feel like there are other points that I’ve forgotten? But these are what I remember at least. 

[fenristheorem]

My OC, Fenris

... and the Eldarya AU that she’s in, because I just can’t see her in the original Origins storyline with her differences from Guardienne/Erika. And I think my AU has some pretty interesting ideas. I’ll explain it after I introduce her.

Yea, I know, Fenris Theorem, Fenris, it all connects, huh? Hehe. I like the name, that’s all.

(This page is informational, so it’s written in a bit more of a note-taking fashion rather than a story fashion. It’s written in a very choppy manner but it’s comprehensible despite not having any stress on having it beautifully written.) 

This page just introduces you to my OC. I decided to create a page on her for the poll (now ended) because I think some people will really like small excerpts on her story with Lance, but obviously you need to know about her before deciding that for sure. You’ll notice that some theories I may have posted on Lance in the past are a part of this AU - these theories have been in my mind and I posted them only because I thought they could exist in the actual plotline (it’s where a lot of my theories come from, and then some ideas fit into the AU, and then some ideas could exist in the actual plotline as well based on what I observe), so this is where some of those theories come from.

For the poll - if anything, I would recommend reading the paragraph titled “*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this):” above all else because that describes what I will be writing if the poll results shows that that’s wanted. Everything else is just extra information for you to know my OC and the AU better. The paragraph is at the bottom of the post.

Above all else, this is an AU, and a fantasy world. I like to try to give rationality and logic to a lot of things, so you’ll read a lot of me explaining things, but at the end of the day it’s all fantasy and can be perceived - and therefore approved or unapproved of - in a multitude of ways. If you like my AU but find it illogical in some ways, that’s no problem! Just enjoy reading about it if you enjoy the ideas within it. 😊

~ This is long so continue below the cut ~

A lot of this information can be a bit vague at first but it comes together when I explain the basic plot.

Her basics: She goes by Fenris but her actual name is Dakota. However, people usually call her Kota, or occasionally Ko (Fen is used later for Fenris, first by Ashkore / Lance, but later when she was discovered by the guard as well). She was 18 when she came to Eldarya via mushroom circle (like Guardienne/Erika). The guard test placed her in the Obsidian guard - she’s very happy with that outcome. Was in a relationship with Valkyon before leaving him for Lance (*explained later).

Physical Appearance: Unfortunately I don’t have a picture of her and nothing in Eldarya describes her and her clothing very well, so you’ll just need to imagine the physical features that I describe on Eldarya’s Guardienne sprite. Also, she’s pretty flexible with how she styles her hair and dresses, so I don’t think a single picture of her would describe her well.

Fair and light in skin tone, perhaps a slight tan-ish tone. Thin, but broad shouldered. She’s well-muscled (later on, less so when she first arrived), which gives her a bit of thickness, but not too much. Nicely curved. About 5 ft. 5 in. (167.64 cm). Dark hair, but not exactly black, with brown-hazel eyes. Her hair is medium-length and is usually braided in a multitude of styles. Her eyes occasionally glow a brilliant gold (explained under ‘abilities and genetics’ and ‘her story in Origins’).

Usually wears dark, ancient / tribal-like clothes (think Norse Vikings) with thin, form-fitting but strong armor around her forearms, lower legs (below the thigh starting from knees) and chest/midriff. She wears a good amount of red, blue, gold, silver or dark green clothing and accents with the black base for color. Usually nothing over-the-top, she likes to have her own unique style and express herself but doesn't like to draw unnecessary attention. Doesn't like most faux fur as it doesn't look nice in her opinion, but may wear some that she likes occasionally. Is more likely to wear real fur from hunted animals, but doesn't wear it too often. She wears a sword on her hip, and has a few semi-concealed daggers placed on her body (thigh, boot, torso) for quick use if needed.

Personality: She has a wide spectrum of how she acts depending on people, situations, what she knows, and her current mood. She's typically quite calm, and doesn't seek for trouble or drama, however, she does like to hear the recent news/gossip from around the guard; to stay updated on things, know what may effect her, try to think ahead and just for the sake of knowing. She's very curious and typically observes the situation around her, but in a very subtle way. Is a planner and likes to think ahead, and usually knows how to react to anything because of her observations and forward thinking. Around friends, she's very kind and welcoming. They can talk about anything to her and she'll keep her mouth shut - she has a good loyalty streak (but it does have a limit). However, she doesn't have any friends that are like family to her, but on the day she does find friends like that her loyalty will truly be endless. It's ride or die, and she'll always stand by their side. She has a major independent streak and can’t be around people for too long, otherwise she’ll crack and get a bit irritated more easily. She likes her alone time. In general, she's very cordial with people. Again, she doesn't like to cause unnecessary trouble or drama - she's had a rough past (discussed under ‘history’) and quickly shuts down anyone doing so in a professional but aggressive, don’t-argue-with-me sort of way. She can be harsh, cold and withholding - especially with people she genuinely dislikes - but doesn't like to act this way. On the note of people she dislikes- it's hard to get her to truly dislike someone, but it can be a bit easy as well. In general rule, as long as someone is conscious of the reality of the world around them and doesn't seek to cause issues, she's fine with them, but the instant someone starts continually spreading rumors that are clearly false, or acts (especially in a way that hurts others) solely in their selfish interests, or takes part in willful ignorance (purposely ignoring an issue that you know shouldn’t be ignored), she keeps note of that person and reminds herself to be wary of them in the future. They could be a source of trouble or misinformation that may need to be stopped, and she won’t be very forgiving. However, this is just a general rule, it doesn't always apply - remember she can change based on the situation and what she knows. She recognizes that sometimes people dislike things that are good for them, or like harmful things, and sometimes the villain is actually the hero, history and set rules are created by the winners and anyone against it is considered the villain, and sometimes you need to be cruel to be merciful. She's fully aware that sometimes the bad of life is good, and may defend that, but she's always sure to think long and hard about it before giving a decision like that. A lot of terrible things have happened to her, so she tries to avoid being a source of those terrible things for the world. She feels emotions very deeply and can be a bit impulsive, but fortunately she’s not typically hurt or gets others hurt due to her impulsivity. Again, she is very curious and observes things a lot, so she can usually get a good read on anything new she comes across and work from there, or she can use other information she knows and apply it to the situation. That being said, she won’t drag her friends or anyone else into her occasionally dangerous impulsive decisions. She’ll offer it if they’d like to join her, but she won’t pressure them. Their safety is their decision, and she’ll do her best to protect them although she can’t truly guarantee it. Being in the Obsidian guard, she can’t really condone anyone to risk their safety for fun, especially if it’s her idea. She has a good sense of responsibility when she works for what she believes in, and will sacrifice some of her comfort and fun making sure that she follows her responsibilities if needed. On the topic of her guard - when she first came to Eldarya and joined the Obsidian guard, she wasn’t too bad of a fighter upon basic training, but it was when she started training with Ashkore / Lance where her skills greatly improved until she was perhaps the best fighter in the guard, rivaled only by a few other warriors - including Valkyon. She’s not against helping others improve, but she’s very careful with what she tells the guard - if anyone knew her skills were due to Ashkore, she’d be in massive trouble and may be treated as a complete accomplice. She doesn’t like to lie unless truly necessary, so she’ll usually withhold lots of damning information, and she thoroughly thinks over everything she says, any possible answers to theoretical questions, how her words can connect with other things, and how it might be taken from someone else’s perspective, before revealing any information. Did I mention she’s very cunning and smart, especially after knowing Lance? She has prior knowledge in how to utilize sarcasm and wit, but that’s also improved after meeting Lance. 

She changes in time to be quite a bit more harsh and unforgiving when she starts working with Lance.

(For media reference, think of Lagertha from Vikings and Octavia from Netflix’s The 100. She’s a bit of a combination between the two, both in personality and appearance, although Octavia represents her a bit better in appearance.)

Abilities and Genetics: When she first came to Eldarya, she had no idea of her faery genetics. She never felt as though she belonged with humans and always felt that something was off, but she truly thought she was human genetically - until the guard had her take a test and realized she apparently had some faery blood in her (like what actually happened in the original plotline). She went a good while not knowing about what her genetics were, until Lance told her she was a dragon. She learned her abilities under his mentorship, and found that - to be more specific - she’s a shadow dragon. Her shadows appear usually like a pitch black fog, but can be manipulated into almost any form; hard or soft, thin or thick, curved or straight. It has a bit of a cold feel, but she can’t actually control the temperature of her shadows. She can adjust the color of her shadows along a grey-scale until it looks like any grey or silver, even looking like normal fog, but she can’t make it lighter than silver. She can also make pre-existing shadows darker or lighter depending on what she wants. Being a dragon, she also has a dragon form and can shift into a half-transformed body (like what’s seen with Tia). She has premonitions and prophecies as well. This ability typically manifests in dreams and can come to her the night before it manifests in reality, or even sometimes years in advance - there’s really no way to know. She struggles a lot trying to learn this - and to learn the difference between a premonition dream and just a normal dream - and has some basic understanding of it’s rules. She has absolutely no control over when she has these dreams, but she can occasionally put herself in a bit of a calm, meditative state where she can observe her surroundings enough to faintly feel energies, and from there she can receive some premonitions. When she receives premonitions or prophecies while awake, her eyes glow a brilliant gold - this stems from a more spiritual side of her genetics (*explained later). This ability to very hard to control, though, and can rarely be done despite her persistence in it. 

History: She... didn’t have a very peaceful life. Since her birth, her parents had basically been at war with each other. She grew up under a distinct combination of good influences and bad influences from both parents, but for the most part her mother was her major support as her father failed to be there for her. Neither extended family had much impact, but her father’s family knew of the terrible things he did and didn’t do anything. She continues to hold a grudge against many humans for being forced to live an endangered upbringing when she and her mother were so clearly crying for help. However, she’s aware that this is also what drives her some days, as she didn’t live through all of that just to die shamefully with an unlived life. In time, her grudge against humans has calmed, but it flares back up whenever she’s reminded or learned about something terrible that humans have caused or do currently - it’s a continuous battle and she has a hard time giving an honest opinion on humanity due to her complex emotions. She came to Eldarya when she was 18 (like Guardienne/Erika) and the rest is history (*and is explained below).

Relationships: Miiko is... alright. It’s a bit of a love hate relationship sometimes, but Fenris is usually quite cordial with her. Nevra and Ezarel were irritating at first, but Nevra’s lovableness and Ezarel’s humor slowly grew on her. She liked Valkyon when she first arrived and somewhat quickly pursued a relationship with him. She didn’t mind Leiftan - he was always very kind and left her alone while being cordial (remember, she’s not an angel in this so Leiftan wouldn’t be into her like how he was with Guardienne/Erika). Karuto is like the good father she never had, but she puts her foot down with him on occasion - she doesn’t like to be told what to do, scolded, treated like a child or anything. This is only because she views him in a bit of a fatherly way, and doesn’t want a repeat of her original father. She makes sure he knows that she truly appreciates him, though. Jamon is a bit of a brother if anything, but he’s really just a close friend / colleague that she likes a lot. She appreciates his gentleness and protectiveness for everyone. Ewelein is basically a second mom, she reminds Fenris a lot of her mom back on Earth and has a deep respect for the Elf. Chrome is a bit like an irritating little brother, but she also has a sisterly affection for him. Ykhar and Kero are the panic colleagues; she has a hard time seeing them doing anything else than panicking. She worries a bit for their health as long-term stress is destructive and tries to be as comforting and as nice as possible with them without betraying her personality and morals. Karenn and Alajea are close friends, almost sisterly, but not exactly so. She’s a bit closer with Karenn than she is with Alajea. Cameria is similar to Karenn in the way that she has a bit of a sisterly relationship with Fenris, but in more of a battle partner way. They have a tendency to train together a lot, and they heavily trust each other to have their back in war. Huang Hua is a bit of a friend / leader - she respects the phoenix a lot and has a bit of a close friendly relationship with her. Feng Zifu is a bit of a father figure in the manner that she respects him a lot. She likes to listen to his advice and appreciates his formality.

The AU: So before I explain the plot of the AU, I need to explain a few basics of how I set up the world. In this AU, the crystal breaking could destroy Eldarya, but if it’s shattered in a certain way with certain spells and chants, it’ll release the spirits of the dragons (who sacrificed to create the crystal) and allow them to retain a sort of half-living form - basically they’re alive but... not? It’s weird to  explain. Why does the crystal breaking in this way not destroy Eldarya? The sacrifice allowed a release of energy that originally created the world and then primarily manifested into the shape of the crystal that maintains that world, so this ritual that would be preformed upon it’s shattering would basically allow the energy of the dragons to maintain the world while allowing them to roam around in a different form - hence why they’d be half alive in a way. They’d be physical, but they have additions and limits on what they can and can’t do because they’re still technically dead. However, this isn’t common knowledge (because the guard protects the crystal, they’re the ‘only’ source of ‘accurate’ information on the crystal and both Yonuki Kaze and Miiko have stated that if the crystal breaks Eldarya will fall), only Lance has figured this out (and many of his mercenaries believe him or are working with him because of his destructive habits), so due to this, his ambitions are sort of split in two; destroy the crystal to revive the dragons, and destroy anyone who may try to stop him. In terms of history, Lance in this AU witnessed Miiko (and Nevra - there’s a history behind that that I won’t go into right now) sacrificing dragons to the crystal when he was a part of the guard to try and maintain balance and confronted her about it, only for her to threaten him (in basic; she was convinced sacrificing was the only way to keep balance, and that’s because Yonuki Kaze influenced her into thinking that, so from her perspective Lance coming along and saying it was wrong and had to stop was basically him saying to let the world die) to not tell anyone and stay out of it. Lance then spent a while researching and devising an idea on how to actually balance the world and this included destroying the crystal in a specific way to release the energy (technically there are two ways; the sacrifice was supposed to happen with dragons AND angels, so the ritual was devised to work with the two, but a ritual originally for two races used only with one is basically a ritual preformed improperly, and therefore bound to yield improper results - hence the infertility of the world and shiftiness of it. Undoing the ritual would allow the world to stay while “canceling out the sacrificial imbalance”, but if an angel or demon were to willingly sacrifice - preferably alongside a dragon at the same time - then it would be solved in that way as well). Lance tried to explain this to Miiko later, only to barely get past “I have another idea” before being shut down again. He kept quiet because he feared for himself and his brother (and the only reason Lance could have known that dragons were being sacrificed - without being a dragon himself - is that Miiko said it during the sacrifice he saw, so he didn’t want to raise suspicion onto him and his brother). Later on, Lance is sent to lead an army in a foreign land and is nearly killed, but he saw a chance to escape the guard and took it. From there he’s been Ashkore.

Basically this AU - instead of being “oh no, he’s trying to destroy the world because he’s angry and hurt” - is actually more like “if you had listened the world could be stabilized and also a powerful race could be revived.” It takes the trope of hero and villain and twists it, so the villain is actually a bit of an underdog, villainous hero while the hero’s are - in a way - villains who are heroes because their damning stories haven’t been revealed in a wide-spread manner. Overall, it’s supposed to blur the lines of good and bad, and right and wrong - showing that both sides have good and bad within them, and which side is ‘good’ can depend solely on perception and one’s life anecdote.

*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this): Dakota came to Eldarya by accident via mushroom circle and was placed into the Obsidian guard. She adjusted in time (and willingly took the potion in episode 13 to ease her family / mother of pain and worry) until she got used to things and entered into a romantic relationship with Valkyon. She was sent on basic missions and such and met Ashkore a few times in war (and around the guard), and then she met him accidentally while alone later on outside of the guard. He offered to train her (more like threatened if she didn’t?) and she accepted in time. They trained at night, which was a bit of an issue as she now shared a room with Valkyon and, therefore, had to sneak around. Her skills quickly improved, and her relationship with Valkyon began to decline as he began to become a bit confused / suspicious about her sudden and seemingly random upturn in skills. There were feelings of neglect as well. This carried on for many months and Dakota learned more about Ashkore as well as herself. He eventually admits that she’s a dragon and that he’s investing some of himself into her because of that, and she does her best to explore her abilities with him after that. Eventually she accidentally discovers his actual identity, but keeps quiet about it. As they grow closer, she begins to ask more about him and his reasoning, and he explains his motives for going after the crystal while brushing on the topic of why he’s ruthless to some, but leaves others alone. As she discovers the truth about the dragons and Lance, she realizes that her feelings to the guard were based on lies and false implications, and she begins to grow mentally and emotionally closer with Lance. She becomes less empathetic / sympathetic with Valkyon and eventually sleeps with Lance. This happens a few more times and they enter a sort of limbo where they don’t talk about their relationship with each other but know there’s something heavy going on. Back in the guard, she’s still with Valkyon, and she begins an internal war on what exactly her plan is knowing that she’s sleeping with two guys on the opposite side of a war and that it can’t continue. Her and Valkyon break up in time and she invests her full time into training with Lance, expressing interest in joining his cause. They begin to work together and he gifts her with a specific outfit / armor (that can alternate between identity concealing and revealing for her comfort and safety) so she can go on missions with him. They develop an elaborate scheme to allow her to go on long-term missions with him without suspicion from the guard. She’s eventually sent on a mission and it’s on that mission that she discovers her relation to an ancient dragon named Fenris, and then expresses her interest in taking that name to Lance and the rest of his allies that she’s met (from then on she’s known as Fenris with Lance and Dakota in the guard). Back at the guard, she continues training with Lance and maintaining some sort of odd relationship with himin secret. She’s found elaborate ways to get out of the guard without their suspicion so she can spend many days at a time alone with Lance in a cabin he has hidden in the forest. Over the span of many months / years, she goes on missions with the guard to foreign towns / establishments that are attacked by Ashkore - whether she knows that prior or not - so as she trains she also has actual encounters where she needs to truly fight Lance without actually hurting him while looking as though she’s truly trying to hurt him. When she’s allegedly away on some missions from the guard, she wears the armor that Lance gave her to campaign with him and this occasionally leads to her fighting against the guard if they’re around. In this time and when they’re alone, Lance and allies calls her Fenris as she’s requested them to do. Eventually they go to Memoria together and find out that they have a deeper connection than they think - Fenris (who was an ancient dragon that Dakota took the name of due to her relation with him) and Tia actually knew each other and had a complex history that carried forward to Lance and Dakota / Fenris, and there’s a prophecy of sorts surrounding them. Their relationship after that is still complex, but is more stable as they confirm an attachment to each other. Lance’s identity is eventually revealed to the guard, and sometimes later Fenris is revealed as well, and Lance - in very short, important seconds - offers her to join him completely outside the guard’s walls. She accepts and they flee the guard for a while and plot. Eventually they attack the guard in a final push and get to the crystal, successfully breaking it with... some losses. From there is the skip to ANE, but New Era is... complicated. I haven’t yet thought how she fits into ANE, as many things would be different. Maybe I won’t put pressure on creating her story in it, but if I do I might list it here. Her story in ANE would need to be based off of her story I have here in Origins.

If I write excerpts of this, there may also be many more adventure scenarios that are written but aren’t mentioned here (Lance offering to “help” the guard bring down another greater threat and then turning his forces on them in the midst of war for his own gain, sending them on a wild goose chase, the guard tracking them through rough, unforgiving landscapes trying to catch them, etc.) depending on how the details of her story manifest.

I apologize; that’s a lot to read but I can be very specific and this AU has a lot of important detail that separates it from the original Origins storyline. And this talks over my OC’s details and an AU, which is a lot since there’s not a lot of referencing because I’ve never talked about either before... However, if you’ve read all the way through this post - congrats, and I hope you’re interested in it!

Again, writing excerpts about my OC and her storyline in this AU is an option you can vote on in my writing poll that determines what I’ll write now so I can post later when I can’t access my Tumblr for a few weeks, so if you’re interested in reading about this then please read the info I have about the poll here and feel free to vote!

[julies-butterflies]

Honestly, your writing reminds me a lot of the buffyverse. Just the perfect balance of humor and sadness and romance and heart that just feels like a vivid window into the world you've created.

God the Body...the best forty minutes of television I may never watch again. I've rewatched Willow and Tara's kiss (because I'll adore them forever), but just...the weight of it. It took me a full month to work up the nerve to watch the episode, to be ready to cry that much.

What you said about not wanting people to suffer, because of your work...It's never once felt like that for me. And I've cried a LOT while reading your work. I'll try to explain it the best I can

Grief can be so isolating, and disorienting. Your world goes topsey-turvey, supports you took for granted go flying into the abyss and suddenly it's a minefield of those glass shards. And no one's grief is identical. No two circumstances are the same. It's not possible for anyone else to know exactly how you feel, because no two hearts break alike.

Sometimes, it's because people just don't understand. Sometime's it's because they no longer want to. But some days, that feeling of aloneness can be crushing.

Then one night, I stumbled upon Let These Shadows Fall Away Like Dust. That one hit me way harder than I was ever expecting. The question of how to grieve the living, the dilemma on when forgiveness is deserved...Alex's anger, his devestation, the rawness of it all....That's my broken glass. Those are concepts I've been struggling for over a year. I'm still picking up pieces every day.

I sobbed, because it was such a relief. To see the feelings that had been scrambled up in my mind just reflected there, on my screen. The reminder I had desperately needed, that I was not alone. That even though my circumstances were different, I was not the only one trying to unravel those messy emotions.

Then again, I also read your deathfic for fun, so maybe I'm not the best judge of this. I tend to like angst. I tend to get a lot of "WHY WOULD YOU MAKE IT THAT SAD" in group chats :D

Please don't feel any pressure to respond to me quickly or anything. I never mind the wait. I'm so sorry for the rough times. Wishing that you and your family gets whatever you need to help ease your storm. Sending love and support as well.

(sorry for all the metaphors. I'm super sleepy and apparently, I resort to purple prose when tired lol)

I know exactly what you mean about Emily. I understand why people don't like her, but I just love to see her written as such a grey character. It's just so much more powerful when the love is so clearly there.

I mean, that's what a tragedy is, really. Love cut short. Grieving a future that could have been everything, if fate had not been cruel. I don't know if you know musical theater, but I like to think about the Barber and His Wife, from Sweeney Todd: the whole tragedy of that show, is that they were happy all together, and then permanently broken. How their paths keep crossing, but they never connect to heal. Never lost, but never found.

And that's the tragedy of Luke and Emily: too stubborn and too late. You find that grey area, the messiness so well, and just bring it all out so wonderfully. You do the same with Bobby/Trevor, ESPECIALLY in the horror and the wild. God, that absolutely devestated me. I'm not a big fan of horror in general, and I haven't explored the genre that much but...if all horror is like yours then DAMN, I might just have to become a fan.

This got super long (lol) so I'll wrap it up now but! THE SIC FIC QUEENS TOGETHER???? When I tell you I lost it.... all too well Bobby and what you've lost reggie in the same story are killing me. I am hooked and incredibly hyped. Loved both updates so far, and cannot wait to see where the story goes!

Oh yeah and I forget: I have to ask, do you have a fan cast of the one, the only, the incredible Keith Richards? (and that goblin is so cute!!! I really want to pet the blood thirsty monster. So badly)

Love, your totally-not-undead-pen-pal, :D

-Vampire Anon

Know musicals? Vampire Anon my beloved, I am a musical theatre bitch. Take a look at my high school graduation cap! (Anastasia is my favorite musical... something about the themes of home, love, and family, the idea of always finding a place in the world even after enduring incredible hardship, that anything is survivable with faith and love in your heart... I'm also a Romanov history bitch, and Christy Altomare is such an incredible talent and human being.) Literally, talk to me about musicals anytime!

And yeah, I definitely see your metaphor... the tragedy of The Barber and his Wife was how close they came to each other throughout the whole show, existing within reach the entire time, after being separated for so long. But it wasn't the same; it never could be. Time and trauma had changed them both into something unrecognizeable, and when they came face-to-face, they could only hurt each other. At a certain point, the ghosts of your past are meant to stay ghosts. Sure, you might want them back more than anything --- but what would it mean? What would you truly be getting back?

Luke's "back", of course, and he comes home to visit his parents multiple times... but they're not the same people he left. They're older, greyer, changed by grief... while he's just the same. A snapshot forever frozen in time, a memory crystalized in amber. You can't hold memories in your hands. You can't pull them close and refuse to let them go. Eventually, they'll slip away... and to Mitch and Emily, a memory is all their son is, now. That's what's so heartrending about the situation we see in the show, especially --- so much love still exists between all of them, but it has no place to go.

Okay, sorry, it's 3am here and I'm rambling too, haha --- mentioning musical theatre was a mistake.

I'm so glad my stories have been able to connect with you, especially 'shadows' --- that one resonated with a lot of people, more than I ever realized it would. It's not the most personal story to me... but definitely one that needed to be told, and the emotion in it... hits home for a lot of people. It means so much to me knowing that story, and Alex's internal struggle, has made people feel less alone.

I think I'm going to have a hard time looking back on that one, though. We were staying at my aunt's house for the weekend where I wrote most of it; I read a few excerpts to her, and she said she liked it. She was always interested in my writing... I kind of wish I'd gotten the chance to share more of it with her.

Like you said. Grief's a funny thing. Disorienting, relentless, and crushing.

Please just remember, though --- whatever you're dealing with, you're not alone. You don't have to cut yourself on those broken pieces... one day, you'll wake up, and realize you feel whole again. It will never feel the same, and the pain will always be there... but healing around it is what makes us stronger. You don't owe anyone your forgiveness; it's okay to grieve when you've lost something, regardless of whether death has taken them from you. Grief doesn't have to be earned, it simply has to be felt.

You'll be stronger for it, in the end. I'm sorry you've been hurting so much.

Anyways! Oh gosh! On to lighter, happier topics! Please tell me...

What are your favorite fics? (Like, my fics, obviously, which fics of mine do you just go gaga over? Please praise me or else my ego will shrivel like a worm on hot pavement.) No, okay, I'm kidding --- what are your top fics for this fandom? Like, what are the ones that really resonate with you, that you could read over and over? The JATP fandom has so many greats, but I'm always drawn back to Some Killer Queen You Are by pearlcaddy (buffyverse meets jatp!! iconic!!), Lantern's Light by thefairhero (literally the SOFTEST reggie), the sky's not empty tonight by firefall (just... devastating and beautiful in a dozen ways), and literally anything by foundfamilyvevo.

How long have you been in the JATP fandom? Who are your favorite characters? What's your favorite JATP song?

And finally, most importantly... what are your favorite musicals?

(also... since u asked... behold keith richards and tremble)

[banyanas]

10, 17, 20

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Very planning-heavy. There’s a ton of spitballing with friends on the topic, but usually if I get an idea, I’ll let it marinate a bit > finish an outline (which takes the most thought because actually Plotting A Story alongside technical details) > edit outline (for things like pacing and consistency) > rough draft > editing the rough draft (pruning and rewording and occasionally adding things) > letting it sit so I forget some of it > proofreading for shit like spelling errors. I also pre-write my author’s notes (they are always long i am very sorry) and title/summary/tagging stuff. As you can probably guess, I am an extremely slow writer when it comes to words per day.

Bear in mind this is only for more involved stories- multichaps or long oneshots. I absolutely am guilty of just writing by the seat of my pants for 1k-ish oneshots and other things. Somethings u just gotta crank one of ‘em out in a night and plaster it on the internet after only editing once.

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Ough this is a tough one. There’s always going to be information lost, whether it be in what the environment looks like or in motivations or other intent. In terms of people perceiving it differently? Honestly, one of the hardest things to balance for, say, Soul-Stricken, was “I want the readers to be able to pick up what I’m putting down, but I also want them to think” and it’s... well, I sure hope I succeeded. Especially since re-reading value was something I consciously focused on for it.

As for surprises... hmm. I like to think my motivations are pretty transparent? I’ll be the first to admit most of my tastes in tropes, both fandom-specific and in general, tend to be niche; I’m writing the ideas I love, first and foremost, and those just happen to diverge from common fanon most of the time.

There is a little bit of spite inherent in my motivations, not gonna lie, but that’s the case for every genfic writer I know, since most fandoms are extremely ship-centric (ahit is one of the blessed exceptions).

(though I am curious what readers think of my motivations now, hmmm)

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Legit there are Layers to the whole deal with Snatcher/Luka and Apolonia regarding selfishness and responsibility. Luka stayed because of his sense of duty to his clan, and his wife-to-be, and to the forest- he wasn’t selfish enough, and it hurt him. Y’all already know how that turned out. Apolonia ran from her responsibility to chase her own happiness, leaving her family and friends behind to cut all ties, and that responsibility caught up to her; she thinks all of Clan Pryce is dead except for her and her children, and she was the only surviving Clan Head available to do the duties of one for the remnants that made it to Alpine- she was too selfish, and it hurt her. (Also special mention to the crown being left behind deliberately in the cellar because Subcon is no longer attached to Omnoc- just like mother dearest wanted, except nothing like she wanted)

ANYWAYS ON LESS DEPRESSING META STUFF I enjoyed being cheeky in the in-universe excerpts and how they connected to the actual events of the stories. Special mention to the Magic Boom in Thrice-Cursed, and the one in ch1 of Soul-Stricken, because the incongruence between how other ghosts work and how Snatcher works doesn’t get solidly revealed as a plot point until chapter 4. Although there are quite a few other hints about Snatcher’s nature scattered around, you just have to look for him.

(Also Brigid Larsen exists to be a bit of a meta easter egg, as the author of quite a few of the excerpts in Thrice-Cursed- which have good guesses for what may have happened during the Fall of Subcon! But their weakness is that they make too much sense lmao)

[veorlian]

Idolatry - Concealed Carry

Note: Part 1/3 of the chapters on the Citadel DLC. Technically part of a much longer fic, but I think they stand up okay on their own! An everybody lives/nobody dies au except that I didn’t realize I could do that until 2/3 of the way through. Sorry Kaidan :(((((((

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard

Rating: T for swearing and stabbing.

ao3 link

Excerpt:

Bullets rained down from the front of the restaurant, and Brooks let out a blood-curdling shriek. Shepard swore softly and dragged Joker down, lifting up their table as a makeshift barricade. A group of heavily armed individuals marched in, their faces masked.

“Tonight’s performance was brought to you by random acts of violence!” one of them shouted.

“Where’s Commander Shepard?” another yelled. “Find her!” They spread out through the restaurant, sending the civilians running.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two hours. I’ve been on shore leave for two hours. They couldn’t let me have an appetizer first?”

One of the mercs hauled away Brooks, kicking and screaming. Shepard grabbed the knife she had tucked away in her coat.

“Why do you have that?? We were going for dinner!” Joker hissed.

“Would you rather I didn’t have it right now? I have a few others, do you want one?” she asked, taking stock of the room.

“No???”

Full text under the cut!

...

The apartment was huge. Shepard was sure there were other, fancier words to describe it, but she sure as hell didn’t know them. An entire wall was a window, looking out into the night lights of the Citadel. There were walls wholly covered in green, verdant plants that she couldn’t identify. There was a damn waterfall. Shepard let out a low whistle, looking around. 

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe. These walls weren’t closing in on her, they were too far apart. The ceilings were vaulted like a church, reaching up into the sky. 

She wandered down to what had to be the living room (two giant couches, a fireplace, a grand piano??), and the TV flickered on.

“Shepard, good to see you,” Anderson said. There were new wrinkles creasing his forehead. She could hear distant explosions in the background of the vid.

“And you. How are you holding up?” she asked.

“We’ve had better days,” he said wearily.

“I know what you mean.” Damn, did she ever. “But why am I in this apartment?”

“I want you to have it,” he said, and Shepard’s brows reached her hairline. “I bought the place for Kahlee and I to settle down. Thing is, the longer I stay on Earth, the more I don’t want to leave. Figure someone should get some use out of it.”

“That’s...very generous. Are you sure?”

“It’s practical. We need you at your best, and you need somewhere you can take a break.”

“I-- thank you,” she said. “I’m guessing I don’t have a choice anyways?”

“Not even a little bit. Make yourself at home,” he said, smiling. “You take care, Shepard.”

“You too, Anderson,” Shepard said. He nodded and stepped out of frame. Marie replaced him. Her hair was more grey than black now, but she was smiling nonetheless.

“Good to see you in one piece, Jeanne,” she said. “I hear you killed a Reaper single handedly. Have I mentioned that you should be more careful?” Shepard grinned crookedly.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Apparently it bears repeating.” The affectionate exasperation was palpable, even with the light years between them.

“How are things there?” Shepard asked. Marie’s face became carefully blank, but Shepard had known her since she was a child. She couldn’t disguise the look in her deep brown eyes, or the small frown on her lips. Easy to forget, impossible to forget, that she was only 24.

“We’ll make it,” Marie said firmly. And then, “You’ll make it too. That’s an order, Commander.”

Shepard’s grin widened, and she sketched a salute. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. Marie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. That was all that mattered.

“Go and get some rest, will you? The bags under your eyes are visible from Earth.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Shepard said easily. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jeanne.” The call disconnected, and Shepard glanced around her new place. Her new place. Even the church had never truly been hers. There weren’t many things she considered truly her own, she supposed.

There were recordings littered around the apartment. Apparently Anderson had taken down voice notes for his biography. She couldn’t help the small, fond smile that flitted across her face. Her hands paused above the one labelled Shepard on the kitchen counter (she’d never had her own kitchen before). She pressed the play button, and she listened.

“Sure, I can talk about Commander Shepard. Big topic. There’s been a lot written about the Commander, but most of it isn’t true. People are quick to judge. They don’t know the whole story, I don’t even know the whole story. But I know the woman. Worked with her, fought with her, trust her with my life. Shepard’s had some rough patches, who of us hasn’t? She’s been forced to fight a lot of battles alone. God only knows how she got out of some of that. Makes your head spin.” 

Anderson’s warm voice filled the apartment, and his every word was laced with pride. Shepard realized belatedly that she was crying, hot tears painting her cheeks. Gently, she sunk to the floor and rested her head against the cupboard. She thought of Aratoht then, as she always seemed to. Makes my head spin too, she thought.

“Thing is, you never heard a complaint. Never once got ‘no sir, I can’t do that.’ She never hesitated. Few people know what Shepard’s been through. I like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes she forgets: there’s a whole bunch of people who lose sleep about her getting back home. Maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe we’re just to dumb to say it. Soldiers like the Commander are rare. Women like Shepard...even more rare.” Anderson’s voice drifted away.

I just...you don’t need to do everything alone anymore, you know? Garrus had said. Maybe they were right. Her heart was so full. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the warm feeling in her chest. Loved, maybe? Not a word she was used to choosing, but it fit the bill. She carefully picked herself up and dusted herself off, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

Her private message terminal was blinking, and she went to check her unread messages. There was a note from Joker asking him to meet him at a sushi restaurant. Huh. She’d never had sushi before. No time like the present, she supposed.

Shepard glanced down at herself. Perhaps, she thought, her N7 hoodie and cargo pants wouldn’t be appropriate for an upscale sushi place. She wandered upstairs and peeked into her room (there was a hot tub. She’d...well, she’d never had a bath before. No bathtubs in the Alliance). She tugged open the closet and her eyes widened. There was that dress Kasumi had insisted she keep, but next to it was something else entirely. Reverently, she ran her hands over the fabric. It was soft to the touch, velvet maybe? She pulled it out.

It was a suit. It had to be a suit, although it was unlike any she’d ever seen before. The matching pants and jacket were there, but that’s where the similarities stopped. It was a deep blue, but as the fabric shifted in her hands it looked dark burgundy. There was a matching silk black camisole to wear underneath. It felt luxurious, soft as a cloud. She’d never owned anything this expensive that didn’t fire bullets. There was a small note tucked in the pocket.

Thanks for all your help. Consider this an early birthday gift. Who knows, by the time you take a break it may be your actual birthday. I think I’ve got the measurements right, but nobody’s perfect.  - Miranda P.S., there’s a white shirt as well, but it’s much harder to get blood stains out of white silk.

Shepard smiled down at the note, and very carefully got dressed, anxious not to damage the clothes. She tugged on the heeled boots that seemed to go with it, and examined herself in the mirror. Miranda might insist that she wasn’t perfect, but she’d done a damn fine job with this. The cuffs fell to the exact right spot on her wrists, and for the first time in her life, the legs were long enough. The boots had a low heel, comfortable and well-balanced enough that she could run.

And Miranda, blessed Miranda, had included a concealed pocket for a switchblade. Shepard loosened her strict braid into something a little more casual, and she smiled at herself in the mirror one last time. Then she left for sushi.

The lineup outside the restaurant was around the block and then some. The people waiting were distinctly unhappy that Shepard had a reservation. If looks could kill, Shepard would have been pushing the daisies. She strode past the glares with practiced ease. Joker was seated at a table at the back, and he waved her over.

“Just gotta save the galaxy twice to get a place here, huh?” he said. “Hey, maybe when we do it again they’ll let us eat free!”

“That’s the spirit,” Shepard said. “How are you enjoying your vacation?”

“I feel like I should go check the Normandy for missing parts,” he griped. “I don’t trust those engineers.” Shepard chuckled and patted him on the arm.

“She’ll be fine, Joker. She’s been through the Omega 4, she can handle a few repairs. Relax, you’re on shore leave.”

“I’m gonna need a lot more drinks with umbrellas in them,” he said mournfully.

“I’m the first human Spectre. I’ll get you two umbrellas,” she said wryly.

“Awesome use of power, boss! So, what’d you ask me here to talk about? Your note said it was important.”

“Me? You invited me here,” Shepard said, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Commander Shepard, please I need to talk to you!” A young woman in an Alliance uniform pushed her way forward, with the maitre d’ shouting after her. The people in line looked positively murderous.

“Can I help you?” Shepard asked politely.

“I’m Staff Analyst Maya Brooks of Alliance Intelligence. Someone’s trying to kill you!” the woman cried. Shepard and Joker exchanged a look.

“Uh, yeah. I think she’s aware,” Joker said dryly.

“No! I don’t mean the Reapers and Cerberus. Other people,” Brooks said. “They’re hacking your accounts, your communications, and it looks like they’re targeting you personally!”

“What information do you have?” Shepard asked. She straightened up, suddenly all business.

“Well--” Brooks began.

Bullets rained down from the front of the restaurant. Brooks let out a blood-curdling shriek. Shepard swore softly and dragged Joker down, lifting up their table as a makeshift barricade. A group of heavily armed individuals marched in, their faces masked.

“Tonight’s performance was brought to you by random acts of violence!” one of them shouted.

“Where’s Commander Shepard?” another yelled. “Find her!” They spread out through the restaurant, sending the civilians running.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two hours. I’ve been on shore leave for two hours. They couldn’t let me have an appetizer first?”

One of the mercs hauled away Brooks, kicking and screaming. Shepard grabbed the knife she had tucked away in her coat.

“Why do you have that?? We were going for dinner!” Joker hissed.

“Would you rather I didn’t have it right now? I have a few others, do you want one?” she asked, taking stock of the room.

“No???”

“Joker, I need you to stay calm,” Shepard whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to take these guys out. When the coast is clear, go find the rest of the team. But I need you to stay here until it’s safe, understood?”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” he said fervently. One of the mercenaries approached to look behind the table. Shepard caught his arm and sent him sprawling to the ground, following it up with a devastating jab from her omni-tool directly to the face. She grabbed his gun and held it at the ready. She glanced around her cover and saw two more mercs coming at her. One went down with a shot to the face, the other with a thrown knife to the throat.

“Joker, now!” she hissed. Joker got up and stumbled away as best he could. Once he was out, Shepard activated her tactical cloak and booked it across the room. If there was one thing she’d learned these long years, it was that the best fight was the one you avoided. Once she’d made it to Brooks, she tried to help her to her feet. A sniper appeared from above and fired a shot, hitting Brooks. Shepard backed away and each shot landed by her, sinking into the ground.

If only the restaurant hadn’t decided to use fish tanks as their floor.

Shepard went down, glass shattering around her. She seemed to hit every bone on the way down the side of the building, banging into the wall over and over again. She slammed into the ground hard, all of her freshly-healed wounds screaming obscenities at her.

“Commander!” Brooks called over the comms. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” Shepard groaned. “Can you find me a way out of here?” Dr. Chakwas was going to have a fit. She’d been off the ship two hours and she was already broken again. Ugh. At least the clothes seemed to be in one piece. Small mercies, Shepard supposed, as she struggled to her feet.

“Uh, yes! Keep going forward, I think!” Brooks said. Shepard grit her teeth.

“Thanks,” she managed. She slid down the ladder up ahead of her and took a look around. Somewhere in the wards, she figured.

“There’s a sky-car lot up ahead of me, Brooks. Could you find me a path there?” Shepard asked.

“Ah, yes! Of course!” Brooks replied nervously. Shepard tried very hard not to roll her eyes as she wove her way through the wards. She came up on some kind of market, and she caught sight of another group of mercs barrelling towards her.

“There she is!” one of them called. Shit. This outfit really wasn’t built for stealth, huh? God, she’d kill for a rifle right about now. Instead, she slipped back into her tactical cloak and hid behind a fruit stand. What a weird fucking day.

“Shepard! Are you alright?” It was a relief to hear Garrus’ voice, even if it was only through her earpiece. Tension she didn’t realize she’d been carrying dissipated, ever so slightly.

“I’m fine, but I could use a hand,” she said ruefully, aiming an incendiary blast directly to the face of one of her attackers.

“Joker sent me your location, I’m on my way,” he said immediately.

“This is a secure channel!” Brooks cut in. “You’re putting Commander Shepard at risk!”

“I’m what? Who is this?” Garrus demanded.

“Brooks, Garrus. Garrus, this is Brooks,” Shepard said. “Now please hush, it's a little hard to kill mercenaries with people arguing in my ear.”

“Shepard, I am sending backup to your location,” EDI said.

“Sounds good, things are getting a little dicey here,” Shepard replied. She glanced over the fruit stall and had to duck quickly as a drone came barrelling towards her. It exploded directly next to her, sending pieces of watermelon and blueberries flying.

“I will attempt to register surprise,” EDI said dryly. Shepard grinned crookedly at that. She dashed forward as another round of mercs came at her. She spent the next several minutes fading in and out of invisibility, running hell for leather past the mercs. Her legs, miraculously, stayed upright. Small mercies. She pulled into the car lot and slammed the door shut behind her. A shot zipped past her, missing by inches. … “Having a bad day, Shepard?” Garrus called. He took out the merc that had shot at her, and scanned the area for any more threats. It looked like they were clear for the moment. Now to find a way out of the lot.

“You could say that,” she said, pushing flyaway hairs away from her face. “Let’s look for a control panel.” His eyes finally came to rest on her and his breath stuttered in his throat. She was wearing that thing humans called a ‘suit,’ but not like any he’d ever seen before. His mouth was suddenly too dry.

“Nice outfit,” he managed. The look she gave him was unimpressed, but he wasn’t thinking with his brain at the moment. “Ah, control panel. Right.”

Shepard strode through the lot and glanced into the darkened office. She gently tapped on the glass. Garrus hurried after her.

“Could you open the doors up?” she said politely. The doors opened a second later. “Much appreciated.”

“Please leave,” the volus inside pleaded.

Garrus motioned for Shepard to stay behind him. Only one of them was armoured, after all. She raised an eyebrow and took point.

“So...you fell through a fish tank?” he ventured.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she replied.

“Damn shame,” he said, and now he was just doing it for the reaction. Midnight blue fabric. Not thinking with his brain. “I hear it was the best on the Citadel.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said more firmly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, and then they both stepped onto the landing zone. That Brooks person had apparently radioed to say that a C-Sec shuttle was on the way. When it appeared though, the door opened to reveal a group of the same mercs that had been attacking Shepard. Garrus ducked down and dragged her with him. Bullets skittered across the ground around them.

“Any chance I could borrow that Widow of yours?” she asked breathlessly. He looked at her incredulously.

“I must not have heard you right,” he said. “You definitely did not just ask to borrow my favourite gun.” She opened her mouth to reply,  and then her eyes widened.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?”

“Krogan coming through!” Wrex bellowed, soaring through the air. He slammed down onto the front of the shuttle, sending half of the mercenaries flying. He mowed his way through the other half, shooting, punching, and in one case, launching them off the shuttle. Shepard was grinning wildly.

“Wrex! What are you doing here?” she asked, running forward.

“Negotiating krogan expansion with the Council,” he explained. “But that AI of yours said there’d be a fight. So here I am.”

“Glad you could make it to the party," Garrus lied through his teeth.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Wrex said. He clapped Garrus on the shoulder harder than necessary. “Figured Shepard would need some help, if you’re the only backup she has.”

“Try to keep up, old man,” Garrus shot back.

“It may have escaped your notice, but we are being shot at right now, boys,” Shepard said dryly. Ah, right. Fair point. ... Once they were clear, they gathered in Shepard’s new apartment. Brooks was pacing back and forth, and Shepard put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“Me? I got shot! Like, with an actual bullet. I took a desk job so I wouldn’t get shot! They said the medi-gel might make me jumpy, do I seem jumpy to you?” Brooks said.

“Hey, hey,” Shepard said soothingly, the voice she usually reserved for grieving families. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

“We need to stop those guys, they might hurt more innocent people! Like me! I got shot!”

“Yes. Do we have any leads?” Shepard asked. The door to the apartment opened gently and Liara stepped through.

“I may have some suggestions on that,” she said. “Are you alright, Shepard?”

“I think my ribs are bruised again, but what else is new?” Shepard said ruefully. “That C-Sec shuttle should have had officers in it. I’ll get in touch with Commander Bailey, see what happened,” Shepard said, punching in the number in her omni-tool.

“Wait!” Brooks said. Everyone turned to look at her. “Uh, wouldn’t anyone you contact also become a target?”

“She’s got a point,” Garrus said.

Shepard nodded brusquely. “You're right. We keep this between us for now.”

“Fortunately, I’ve brought a few people who can help,” Liara said cheerfully. The door was knocked on its hinges as every member of her crew -- and a few people who weren’t -- filed in. The apartment was large, but even so Shepard was going to need to figure out where to put all of these people. What, was there an event going on at the Citadel right now that had brought them all there? Well, besides her attempted assassination.

“The riff-raff have arrived. Garrus, hide the silverware.” Shepard’s voice was pitched to carry.

“Up yours, Shepard,” Jack shot back.

“What she said,” Zaeed added.

"I'll go see what I can find. Come find me when you have a moment," Liara said.

Shepard wandered around to speak with everyone, but it all just seemed to be variations on the theme of “haha Shepard ruined the sushi restaurant” or “Shepard, how could you destroy that sushi restaurant”? Evidently they’d collectively decided to forget that she hadn't exactly chosen to be shot at. What compassionate friends she had, she thought wryly. She gave up after a while and went to talk to Liara.

“What's the word?” she asked. The others slowly gathered around. There was barely enough room for them all to stand together. 

“That pistol you found, it’s not available anywhere on the market. I’ve tracked it to a weapons dealer named Elijah Khan. He owns a casino nearby. They’re holding a charity event tonight,” Liara explained.

“So we sneak in and talk to this Khan guy?” Ash asked.

“My sources tell me he’s locked himself in his panic room. We would need someone to sneak inside this vent system.” Liara pulled up a map of the casino interior. “And deactivate the lock.”

“I say we blow the place to high heaven,” Zaeed suggested.

“I’m in,” Wrex said immediately.

“I’m open to other suggestions,” Shepard said. “Any other suggestions.” Zaeed politely flipped her off.

“Bringing a large group would arouse suspicion,” Thane said thoughtfully. “A covert infiltration would be best.” Shepard nodded.

“Alright, just a small crew then. I’ll need someone to take point with me, and then someone else will crawl through that vent,” Shepard said. “Any takers for the vent?” She looked around the room for volunteers. They were not forthcoming.

“Mechs are not allowed in case they are used for cheating. Legion and I will not be able to enter,” EDI explained. Shepard’s eyes swung to Tali and she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me!” Tali protested. “They’d uh...pick up my suit!” Shepard shrugged.

“What you need is somebody trained in zero-emissions tech. No electronics, no metal. Just undetectable polymers. We had a course back at Op-Int, disabling a bomb with these little tweezers. See, the bomb was filled with shaving cream…” Brooks trailed off as she realized everyone was looking at her. Shepard smiled at her reassuringly.

“Alright Brooks, you’re our alternate,” she said.

“What? Me? I couldn’t...what do you mean alternate?” Brooks asked. Shepard smiled ruefully.

“I wouldn’t want to put you in more danger. You’ve already been shot once. And since I’ve had two gun mods go missing since I got back, I have a sneaking suspicion that there’s someone here who can lend a helping hand. Kasumi?”

The galaxy’s best thief materialized, sitting on the kitchen counter. She had a cheeky grin under her hood.

“You’re getting very good at that,” she said cheerfully.

“Sure would’ve been awkward if I’d been wrong,” Shepard replied wryly. 

“Damn, I should’ve stayed hidden!”

“What do you say to a heist with me?” Shepard asked. Kasumi hopped down from the counter and sketched a bow.

“I’d be delighted,” she said.

“There’s just one problem,” Liara cut in.

“Current estimate: 57 problems and counting,” Mordin replied. “Additional 34 if you decide to take the krogan.” Shepard couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Well, one of the problems is that it’s black-tie only,” Liara said. Shepard raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her outfit. It was still damp from crashing through a fish tank, but otherwise undamaged.

“Will this do?” she asked, motioning to the suit.

“It’ll more than do,” Garrus said huskily, and then coughed awkwardly when several sets of eyes turned to look at him. “What? I’m just answering the question.”

“Who’s going with us then?” Kasumi asked, and Shepard grinned.

Bright lights flashed in Shepard’s eyes as she and Garrus walked down the literal red carpet, arm-in-arm. Maybe one day they’d get to go somewhere nice without worrying about a nefarious plot. For now, she was on vacation and she was going to enjoy herself, attempts on her life be damned.

“You clean up well,” Shepard commented. He had on another of those intricate turian outfits, with more buckles than fabric, in a combination of black and white. He wore it well. They were, she imagined, quite a striking couple. For one, they were a good head taller than anyone else. For two, well...

“Yeah? Then it’s a damn shame that all eyes are on you,” Garrus replied.

“I did the best I could without a carapace or a crest,” she said wryly.

“Well your best has my mandible on the floor. Damn!” he said easily.

“You two are adorable,” Kasumi said from somewhere to Shepard’s left. Shepard flushed a brilliant red, and she heard Kasumi laugh brightly.

Shepard and Garrus mingled with the wealthy clientele, occasionally providing support for Kasumi as she travelled through the vents. Shepard realized, suddenly, that this was the bright and shining culture she’d seen from afar when she was younger. This was what she’d wanted to experience. As far as she was concerned, they could keep it.

Distracting the guards to disable the alarms wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but they managed it. But when they arrived in the panic room, Khan was already dead. Shit.

“It’s never that easy, huh?” Garrus asked.

“He received a call a few minutes before he died. Give them a ring and I’ll see if I can trace it,” Kasumi said. The large screen behind the desk flickered to light and a figure appeared on the screen. Their face was concealed by static, and their voice was altered.

“Elijah? Come crawling back?” they asked.

“Guess again,” Shepard said. Kasumi's hands flashed across her omni-tool.

“You. I see you’ve recovered from flopping on the floor like a fish.”

“You’ll have to do better than that. The last guy that trash-talked me was a few kilometres taller than you.” Shepard leaned back, crossing her arms.

“Brave. I thought as much, but it won’t matter. You have nothing. All you can do is wait for the hammer to fall. I’m going to take everything you have, and everything you are.” The call ended.

“Gotcha,” Kasumi said brightly.

“Shepard, someone’s wiped the drive. Bit of a messy job though, there might be something left,” Garrus said.

“Between EDI, Legion, and Tali, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something. Let’s go.”

They were once more gathered around the pool table, now with even less room than before. They were discussing the information they’d been able to find on Khan’s drive, mostly information about the guns that Shepard’s attackers had bought. Glyph flew over and hovered above the table, flashing red.

“Commander, I have found your Spectre code being used at the Citadel Archives,” he said.

“What would they want there?” Shepard asked.

“Shall we go find out?” Liara said.

“But who? We can’t bring everyone,” Brooks piped up. Shepard grinned.

“Why not?” she asked. “All hands on deck for this one.”

“Very well, but who will take point with you?” Liara asked. Wrex coughed pointedly. And then Javik coughed even more pointedly. Tali coughed politely, but also pointedly.

“Garrus and Jack, you’re with me. Everyone else, divide up into three teams of whoever is least likely to want to kill each other.”

“What happens if I want to kill bird-brain?” Jack asked.

“Think happy thoughts,” Shepard suggested.

“Those are my happy thoughts,” Jack replied snarkily. Ah. Some things never changed.

They’d barely made it into the archives when they walked into a trap. The others were up on the catwalks above, and every door in the room slammed shut. A figure appeared behind Brooks and pressed a gun to her temple. They were shadowed, and even Shepard’s excellent vision couldn’t quite make them out.

“Don’t move, or she dies,” they said.

“Who are you?” Shepard demanded. The figure chuckled darkly.

Why do I know that voice? Shepard wondered. The figure tossed Brooks aside, and strode forward into the light. She wore the same uniform as the mercs, but her face…Shepard stared back at her own Roman nose and burning red hair. Only not quite. This nose had never been broken, and there wasn’t the familiar patchwork quilt of scar tissue across her face and neck. 

“I’m you, but better,” the other Shepard said. “Without all the doubts and the wear and tear.”

“Huh. This officially takes the cake for the weirdest thing that’s happened to me,” Shepard said. “Let me rephrase: what the fuck is going on?”

“Cerberus spared no expense when it came to bringing you back. Me, they made for spare parts, in case you needed an arm, or a lung, or a kidney. When they had you, they discarded me,” her clone snapped. Shepard’s brows knit together.

“Well if you’re me, then we should be working together,” she said. The clone scoffed.

“Why would I bother helping you? Why should I care? You took everything from me, and now I’m going to take everything from you. But there was no way I’d fool your friends, so I needed to get rid of them as well. All the people that turned their backs of their responsibilities to join the cult of Shepard,” the clone spat. The cult of Shepard…?

“No one will ever believe you’re me,” Shepard said, trying a different tactic.

“Sure they will, when I’m flying your ship,” the clone replied. Shepard froze and then immediately started keying into her omni-tool.

“Traynor, I need you to lock down the ship, understood? Here are the command codes,” she said quickly. Her clone smirked and waved a hand in front of her.

“Good idea, if only that message had been sent,” she said. She keyed up her own omni-tool and raised her voice slightly. “Traynor, this is Shepard. Prepare for departure. Here are the command codes.”

Shepard’s hands balled up into fists. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before someone steals my ship.”

The clone shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll see about that.” She turned to leave.

“Tell me,” Shepard called after her. “Do you know your own name?”

“It’s Joan,” the clone replied smugly. Shepard grinned, baring her teeth. 

“Guess again,” she said, and she activated her tactical cloak.

They fought their way through the archives, the other teams racing on the catwalks above. Liara’s information drone, Glyph, scouted ahead. Occasionally he returned, saying that he mistook the clone for Shepard. Shepard tried very hard not to roll her eyes, and she mostly succeeded.

“The other Shepard’s still alive!” one of the mercs yelled.

“The next person who says that is a dead man!” the clone snapped over the comms.

“An accurate observation,” Legion said.

“What do I do??” Brooks cried. “They’re firing at me!”

“Just follow Shepard's lead and let us do all the heavy lifting!” Liara called.

“Touché, T'Soni!” Garrus shot back.

“Think you comedians could actually hit something?” Shepard shouted, ducking to avoid oncoming enemy fire. 

They forged on through the archives, passing by clips of history. One by one, the teams stopped responding. Shepard pushed on faster, concern creeping up on her. And so she rushed headlong directly into a trap that she should’ve seen coming. Shepard set foot onto a platform and a forcefield appeared around her, Jack, and Garrus

The clone stepped forward, smiling smugly. Shepard tried to shoot her, but the force-field stopped the bullets dead. Shit. Shepard felt light-headed. She was locked in a small space. A very small space. Oh god, such a small space. Her heart hammered in her chest and she fought to control her breathing. She reached for her familiar, cold veneer. Like hell she was going to show weakness in front of the enemy. 

“Well well, the great Commander Shepard. But not for very much longer.”

“Where are my friends?” Shepard spat.

“Locked up in iridium vaults forever. And it’s all your fault,” her clone taunted.

“The Alliance will stop you--” Shepard began.

“Will they?” Her clone cut her off. “What do you think, Staff Analyst Brooks?” Brooks sauntered forward from the shadows.

“I wouldn’t know.” Her voice had shifted, becoming deeper, more assured. “I don’t actually work for them.”

“You bitch,” Jack spat.

“I’m with Jack on this one,” Garrus said. Shepard arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t her own.

“This feels like the time when the villain explains their grand plan,” she said. “So what the hell?”

“Really we just wanted your Spectre codes,” Brooks explained. “But then you had to insist on surviving. So, I had to improvise.”

“Then I must say, I'm impressed,” Shepard said.

“Oh?”

“Your optimism is impressive,” Shepard clarified. “You threw, what, fifty mercs at me and you thought that would finish me off? For such a smart woman, that's remarkably short-sighted of you.”

“I think I've made up for it now. Let's see you get out of a locked box.”

“What, this? No, I've been in far worse situations than this. Last week I was trapped at the bottom of an ocean in a mech. This is nothing.”

“You seem remarkably calm for a dead woman,” Shepard’s clone said. Shepard’s eyes flicked to her and she sneered.

“I could say the same of you. You can change the records, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. You know the name on my file, but you don’t know the first thing about me. How are you going to convince Anderson or Hackett or--”

“Or General Shepard?” Brooks cut her off. “We’ll deal with her.”

Shepard stilled. Her erratic heartbeat settled. Her words, when they came, were soft. “If you threaten her again, I will make you wish that I’d only killed you.”

“That's quite a threat. I might even be afraid, if Commander Shepard had said it. But you're nobody,” Brooks said.

“And you're on borrowed time,” Shepard replied. Brooks' expression faltered, just a tiny bit, at whatever she saw in Shepard’s eyes. Shepard’s clone scoffed loudly, breaking through the tense silence.

“You know the one thing about us that they can’t replace? Our handprint. It changes based on life experiences,” the clone said. Shepard thought of the scars that used to twist across her palms. “But now I’m going to replace yours.” The clone pulled up a terminal and pressed her hand down.

“Hello, Commander Shepard,” the computer said. The clone grinned smugly.

“Goodbye,” Brooks murmured. “I guess this is where legends go to die.” She and the clone waltzed away, seemingly without a care in the world. The platform jerked beneath Shepard and walls slowly closed around her.

“I’m going to strangle them,” Shepard vowed.

“I’m all for that, but we’re still trapped in this fucking box,” Jack pointed out.

“With limited air,” Garrus added. Shepard hummed noncommittally. 

“Hey Glyph, you still out there?” she called.

“Yes Commander.”

“Get us out of this thing, and then go find the others. Nobody steals my ship, not even me.”

Joker pulled up in a sky car just as the last stragglers pulled themselves up onto the roof.

“I’ve got room for Shepard and two more, and you better decide fast because those assholes are stealing my baby,” he snapped. 

“I could drive--” Shepard said.

“NO!” The sound of the entire crew shouting the word echoed across the rooftop.

“Fine,” Shepard muttered. “Garrus and EDI, with me.”

“I wanted to go,” Wrex grumbled.

“You should have thought of that before you insulted my driving,” Shepard said. “Joker will be back for you soon.”

Joker hit the pedal to the floor as soon as everyone was in the car. A moment later, there was a whirring sound from the back seat. 

“They’re trying to take control of the ship--” EDI said. Her eyes spun around, and sparks flew off of her. She shut down.

“Crap,” Garrus said. EDI powered back up, her eyes still askew.

“Are you...okay?” Joker ventured.

“I am functional, but I have no control of the Normandy. I feel...lost,” EDI said brokenly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you back in no time. You have my word,” Shepard said.

“Thank you.”

They arrived on the Normandy just as it was starting to pull away. Traynor was in the entryway, sputtering various unflattering things about Shepard. She caught sight of Shepard and she held her toothbrush threateningly in front of her.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “You were...you were back there! I was minding my own business, and then you marched in and fired me! I barely had time to grab my toothbrush!”

Shepard held up her hands. “That’s a Cision Pro Mark IV. It uses tiny mass effect fields to break up plaque and massage the gums. I know that because you told me, because I’m the real Shepard. The one you saw earlier was a clone.”

“I--”

“I wish I had time to explain, but we need to get on the ship. No one knows it better than you do, Traynor,” Shepard said quickly. Traynor thought for a second. Apparently she decided to go along with it, because she leaned down to examine the ground.

“There should be a ventilation shaft around...here.” She pulled up a piece of the floor. EDI shook her head.

“You would need something that could precisely manipulate mass effect fields,” she explained. Shepard met Traynor’s eyes, and Traynor determinedly turned on her toothbrush.

 Crawling through a shaft wasn’t exactly ideal for Shepard’s over six-foot frame, but she just about managed it.

“If you’d told me this morning that a toothbrush was going to save the Normandy, I’d have been very skeptical,” she whispered. “Remind me to reimburse Traynor, I think it broke.”

“Shepard, you--” EDI began.

“Later. Remind me later.”

They opened the grate into the CIC with guns blazing. The mercenaries were no match for them. EDI looked like she was running on sheer, unadulterated rage. She grabbed hold of a dying mercenary. Her voice was like ice. “Where are they?”

“Cargo bay,” the merc managed.

“Thank you for your assistance,” EDI said, and shot him in the face. Shepard met Garrus’ eyes and shrugged helplessly. They made their way to the elevator, and Shepard’s heart dropped to the floor. Mako’s cage, along with her carefully assembled collection of model ships, was resting in a garbage bin. There was a note on top with handwriting that was almost (but not quite) the same as Shepard’s.

“Please get rid of this, a ship is no place for…oh that is so not okay. They messed with my hamster guys. Now it’s personal,” Shepard hissed.

“Was it not personal before?” Garrus asked.

“I-- well, yeah. But Mako’s defenceless. What was a little hamster going to do to them--”

“I suggest we keep moving,” EDI cut in.

“Right, right. Of course.” Shepard hit the button on the elevator.

[elysianecho]

The Meeting: An Excerpt

Summary: Roxy found Bucky. She doesn’t tell anyone. Not even Steve. 

Pairing: Bucky x OC (platonic) Steve x OC (established and from afar)

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, descriptions of a panic attack, brief mentions of blood, hallucinations, and a fender bender, PTSD and memory issues. Guilt. (I think that’s it?)

Word count: 5900~

A/N: So I’ve been working on a Steve x OC fic for a while, and I had this idea and really wanted to write the interaction with these two and then it ran away from me.

OC is Roxana Mercer. Born with wings and the power of lighting. 

Here goes! 

~~~~~

“No, no...Ah--” Roxy tried saying the word again, but still received the same hand waving and the same angry phrase. The older woman behind the booth clearly frustrated with this apparent dumb American. Roxy rubbed her hands down her face and took a deep breath. She would not lose her cool with this woman. She would not. 

Roxy went to open the translating application when a smooth voice came ringing through the chaos. The man talked with the vendor for a moment before chuckling to himself and turning vivid blue eyes to Roxy. 

“She’s been trying to let you know she doesn’t have pineapples as they are out of season and hard to come by,” he said, still grinning. “What were you trying to ask for?”

“Not pineapples. How on earth did I-- nevermind,” Roxy shook her head and looked back to the brunet, “I was asking if she had red apples; all I see are green.” 

He nodded and turned once more to the lady. His voice was almost velvet to Roxy’s ears, in stark contrast to the shoulder-length hair, rough stubble on his face, and faded cap. Not to mention his jacket and jeans looked like they had seen better days. In just a few moments, he’d managed to defuse the tense situation and even had the lady giggling as she playfully swatted his arm. She even smiled at Roxy and, according to the translator, apologized for being rude. 

The stories were true. Bucky Barnes could charm the pants off just about anyone. 

In the end, Roxy had her apples and everyone was breathing a little easier. She stepped away from the booth and her new translator followed suit. 

“American, huh?” 

“That obvious?”

“Eh,” he tilted his head and smiled, “Your accent wasn’t bad, but from what I heard you need to work on sentence structure. And maybe get the right word.” 

Roxy hung her head and nodded. He assured her that with practice she’d be a professional in no time at all. He stood with one hand in his jacket pocket and pointed out some good vendors in the open market, the best in his opinion, most of his weight on one foot and shoulders relaxed. Eyes that were constantly watching their surroundings, crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Roxy. She couldn't help but return the smile.

“Well thank you very much, Mr.--?" Roxy said, holding out her hand. He took a breath and his smile became tight before he shook her hand. 

“Just call me Bucky."

“It's nice to meet you, I'm Roxy. Now, if I'm not mistaken, that's a very American accent you got there, Bucky," Roxy said, he hung his head slightly, still grinning.

“Yeah, I'm a transplant. What about you? What brings a lovely dame like yourself to Romania?” he asked. Roxy raised an eyebrow. Oh, this was going to be very interesting. 

Five weeks of trying to get him to talk to her. Five weeks of showing him she was not a threat. Five weeks, three times she lost him in the city, four times he threatened her and one time she believed him. One panic attack in the park. 

She was fine. Perfectly fine taking pictures of dew on grass, moss on rocks, and one grumpy ex-assassin petting a dog with the biggest grin on his face.  She watched as Bucky threw a stick and the scruffy stray bounded after it. She listened as he called the dog a good boy and threw it again. 

In her five weeks there she’d seen him be the sweetest customer to vendors and shop owners, effectively terrify three middle school boys from picking on a classmate, and feeding and loving every stray animal in the city. She’d approached him several times and he seemed mostly tolerant of her presence. He hadn’t left the country yet. Some of their conversations were just small talk, twice she’d begged him to translate for her, and some were harsh. Those were the ones where she had tried to get him to open up to her; she talked about Steve, the Commandos, never Hydra. Some days he smiled in remembrance, but never divulged anything on the topics, other days he struggled to understand what she was talking about and told her to fuck off. 

Now she was giving him space. It had been ten days since she spoke to him; she had been playing tourist and hadn’t even followed him around. She was surprised to see him at the park that day but decided to get some good pictures of him before going back to her macro shots. A yelp and apologies broke her concentration on a beetle and she saw Bucky helping a lady up and getting a handle on the dog. He threw the stick in another direction before apologizing again and blushing when the lady winked at him as she went on her way. Roxy quickly adjusted her settings and zoomed in on the bashful face of Bucky Barnes. That was definitely one she would show Steve later. 

She lowered her camera as a wave of nausea swept over her. 

Steve. 

Her heart ached and she took a deep breath. It had been five weeks since she’d seen him. 

Since she’d lied to him. 

She pursed her lips and willed herself not to cry at the thought of it all. Steve, Sam, Roxy, and Natasha had all been working on finding Bucky. Roxy was the one who found a good lead and kept it to herself. She’d scoped it out and by pure happenstance, he had appeared. The story was that the lead was ages cold, but she’d found clues to a suspected Hydra ring and was going undercover to get more information before the team came in guns blazing. Solo. No details. Limited communication. No one liked the idea; even Nat had offered to be backup, but Roxy knew that if anyone else came along, Bucky would run and they would be left at square one. 

A scream erupted, tires squealed, and metal crunched against metal. A horn blared and the smell of smoke filled the air. Roxy jerked her head up, adrenaline rushing, ready to fight, but when she saw the tall blond fall out of the car, catching himself and looking her dead in the eyes, everything in her turned to ice.

Steve. 

Blood poured down his face onto his shirt. His eyes wide, disoriented and betrayed as an onlooker made to help him up off the concrete. She could barely make out what he was saying: why did you lie to me? 

One hand grabbed her shoulder and another forced her to look into steely blue eyes. No green; not Steve’s. Roxy looked back to the accident to see a tall blond man talking to the woman he had rear-ended, but it was not Steve. There was no blood, no betrayal. Then why did her chest hurt? 

“Roxy, look at me. Breathe.” 

She looked up to the steel-blue eyes again and found concern. Why was Bucky so worried? What scared this gentle puppy? 

“Roxy!” 

Her voice wouldn’t work. The air around her buzzed and her lungs felt like they were in a vice. Bucky jerked his hand away from her face with a hiss. 

Oh.

The breath she took came as a sob. And more followed. Her hands found her camera as she sank to the ground. Bucky moved it to the side and waved someone off. 

“We’re okay. Anxiety attack, she’s gonna be okay,” he said to the person before turning back to Roxy, “You’re gonna be okay, doll, c’mon. Just breathe, that’s it.” 

She wanted to laugh. The Winter Soldier was helping someone come down from a panic attack and called her ‘doll’. Good Lord. Her mind seemed to catch up before her body did. She coughed and slowed her breathing down. It was another minute of steady breathing before she realized he was rubbing her back and had moved her hair to the side. Roxy sniffed and wiped her face on her jacket sleeve. She grimaced. 

“Well, that’s attractive,” she muttered. Bucky chuckled. 

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up, Mercer,” he said, grabbing her camera as he stood and extending a hand. She raised an eyebrow and took his hand. She didn’t remember telling him her last name. He raised an eyebrow back at her and smirked. 

“You really think I haven’t done my own recon? I just wanted to see how long you were going to stick it out,” he said, handing over her camera. Roxy nodded as she inspected her equipment to find minimal scratching on the DSL screen; the lens seemed fine. 

He started to walk and she followed, wiping tears away with her clean sleeve. Roxy didn’t really notice where he was leading her until she heard the rattling of keys and the creak of the door as he stepped aside so she could enter.  She did. 

The Winter Soldier let some girl who had been tailing him into his home because she had a panic attack. 

What?

Bucky moved some books and newspapers off the couch and offered her a seat. He gave her a water bottle from his fridge and a box of tissues. She blew her nose as he sat down on the other end of the couch. She took a drink once her nose was clear and her face was dry. Silence hung overhead in the apartment and made it feel even smaller. Roxy jolted when she heard a chuckle beside her. 

“What?” she asked, looking at the smirking man beside her. 

“I know this isn’t the best couch in the world, but you can at least try to relax,” he said, scratching at his growing beard, “If I was gonna kill you, I would’ve done it the day you said ‘I’m here to help’.”

Roxy scooted back from the edge and leaned into the couch. Her body felt like it was on high alert, ready to attack, defend, whatever was needed. But as she looked at Bucky sit with his back against the couch arm, one leg bent leaning on the backrest, and hands clasped on his stomach, she just shook her head. This man was something else.  

“So why didn’t you?” 

His eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips. Fingers tapped on the back of his metal hand as he thought to himself. Roxy could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. His chest rose as he took a deep breath.

“I don’t do that anymore. And because I think…” he took another breath, jaw set, and continued, “I think I do need help.” 

Roxy turned to face him fully. 

“Where d’you wanna start?”

~~~~~

“Wait, wait, wait...”

Roxy stopped shredding the chicken and turned to Bucky who opened a can of soup and dumped it into the bowl. He just grinned. 

“You mean to tell me that Steven Rogers had that voice before the serum?” she asked. He just chuckled and nodded as he dumped frozen peas in the bowl. 

“His voice stopped cracking before mine did. I was so mad. Imagine-” he turned to her, leaning a hip on the counter, “a voice fit for a linebacker coming out of a kid who looked like he would fall over if a strong breeze came through, and me at 18, trying to get a date with a dame and my voice cracks.”  

Roxy slid down and leaned against the cabinets in the tiny kitchen, unable to control her laughter at the thought of it all. Bucky laughed along with her, but pulled her up after she wiped her tears away. The casserole would never be done otherwise.

Moments like this had become more frequent in recent weeks. Roxy had rented an apartment adjacent to Bucky’s so she could be available if he needed her. She’d been in Romania for almost four months and progress with Bucky’s memories had been slow but improving. He had been keeping journals and sketchbooks before Roxy had shown up and, after a couple of weeks of talking, he’d felt comfortable enough to share them with her. She had explained at the beginning of it all that she was not a trained therapist or psychologist in any way. She just wanted to be a friend. Thankfully, he accepted her offer. 

Roxy had contacted Rhodey and told him there was an enhanced Hydra operative that wanted out. She asked how she could build a case for him in case they came back and the gracious U.S. government wanted to lock him up. He hadn’t seemed too confident about the scenario but gave her a few pointers anyway. The team still thought she was undercover. Communication was scarce and guilt had started to eat at her resolve like acid. 

As much as she had been there for Bucky, he had been there for her as well. Nightmares plagued her and once he had to forcefully wake her before she caught the building on fire. She had woken up several times to hear yelling from his apartment. Needless to say, the neighbors loved them. 

“My Lord, I would have died. He was such a cutie!” she said, finally putting the completed concoction into the oven. Bucky laughed. 

“He would’ve died if you’d said that to him,” he said, shaking his head. He grabbed the bowl and utensils, put them in the sink, and pushed up his sleeves. “He was always hopeless with women.”

“He’s still hopeless. I called him ‘cutie’ once and he turned red and could not function for a solid minute,” Roxy said, setting a timer on her phone. Bucky dropped his head and muttered something about being a dope. 

“The best part of it-” she giggled, “-we were in the middle of a raid. Pretty sure he got punched in the face, too.” 

Roxy’s face was starting to hurt from all the grinning, but when Bucky threw his head back and clapped a hand to his chest, she had to laugh with him. Her phone rang in her hand and she had to wipe tears away to see the name. Her heart leaped. 

“Hey, I’m gonna take this, okay?” she said, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. His laughter had died down to giggling, Bucky Barnes giggled, and he nodded and waved her on. She answered as she closed the door to her friend’s apartment. 

“Hey, hot stuff, how are ya?” she said. She went into her apartment and flopped on the couch. She didn’t hear a response for a moment and was about to say something when she heard a deep sigh. 

“Hey, babe…”

“Steve? What’s up? You sound upset,” she said, as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. Her nerves started bubbling up again. Had he found out where she was? She rifled through her mental files and found her prepared speech. Why she didn’t say anything before now, why she didn’t want to tell anyone else exactly what Bucky’s been going through, please don’t be mad. She heard another sigh. 

“It’s...ugh, it’s Ross. And Tony and Nat, of all people. And Peg--” he took a shaky breath before he continued, “Rox…” 

“When d’you need me?” she said. 

Roxy knew that meeting with him for even a few hours would be dangerous for the mission. She knew that if Steve heard she found Bucky he would demand to see him. Bucky wasn’t ready. Roxy’s case for him was growing daily and she felt confident that, with some actual legal help, he would be accepted again. Maybe even join the team. She hadn’t mentioned going back to America yet; Bucky was still not ready. 

Roxy agreed to meet in London and got her plane ticket at that moment. ‘I miss you’s’ were exchanged, and then Steve was called away by Sam in the background. Roxy let her hand fall to her side and sank further into her couch. 

She hadn’t gotten any details really about what Ross was going on about or what happened with Peggy, but something in Steve’s voice made her heart ache. If Ross was involved it had to be big. And for Steve to sound like that… Roxy texted Nat and asked if she knew anything on the matter; she didn’t know anything about Peggy either. Her alarm went off for the casserole. She took a deep breath and went back over to find Bucky getting the dish out of the oven. 

“Heard ya comin’,” he said, setting it down on the stove. He turned to Roxy, but the smile he had fell. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, “Something not good. I have to go to London for a few days, Buck. I know this is short notice, but Steve’s not doing good and I-- I want to be there for him.” 

“Alright. Your boyfriend, Steve, right?” Bucky said as he threw a dish towel over his shoulder. He got plates down and silverware was ready on the counter. “I think I used to know a guy named Steve. You ever get that feeling?” he asked, turning around. 

Roxy’s eyes were on the couch. She was trying to swallow the guilt, the worry, the exhaustion. This happened. They would be talking about Bucky’s past, the conversation would lull or one of them would leave the room for a moment and he would only remember parts of the information given to him. 

“I forgot again, didn’t I?”

Roxy looked up at him. He leaned on the island, his arms crossed, his face neutral, but his eyes were troubled. His breathing was controlled and he swallowed once. She shook her head.

“It’s okay,” she said. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his metal one, he only tensed for a moment. “Is it okay if we watch something mindless? Like Three Stooges or something? I think we both need a break.” She was grateful for the chuckle she received. 

“TV’s in your room. It’s up to you, Rox,” he said, “But you gotta make a decision soon, I’m starving. Look at me, I’m withering away!” He let his body go slack while Roxy still had her arms around his and nearly pulled her down. She just giggled and shoved him. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Oh, you wanna fight? Fine, I’ll just take this whole thing to my place,” Roxy said. She made to grab the dish but was blocked by Bucky who started scooping his portion onto his plate. She just chuckled and waited her turn, but had to physically shove him out of the way so she could get at the casserole before he claimed it all for himself. 

The earlier part of the day was spent in laughter and the end of the day was spent just the same. Threes Stooges turned into Abbott and Costello and that somehow turned into both RED movies, with Bucky and Roxy both critiquing the action in the movies. 

The next day was not so happy. 

Roxy had packed everything she needed for her trip, went over her mental list five more times, grabbed her keys, and went to Bucky’s apartment. He always locked his door even if he was home, so they had given each other a key to use. They both had gotten used to letting themselves in, so Roxy did just that. 

Bucky sat on the couch in just jeans and still damp hair in a small bun. He traced his scarred shoulder with his right hand and was flipping a combat knife with the other. He stared straight ahead; brow slightly furrowed and he chewed on his bottom lip. 

Roxy stood in the alcove of the door and watched him for a moment. He hadn’t noticed her and she was debating on whether she should leave him be or talk to him. He scowled. He bit his lip so hard she thought he made it bleed. He dragged a nail down a scar with so much pressure it left a glaring white line. 

“Bucky.” 

He blinked. 

The knife stalled in his hand and he swallowed hard. Roxy slowly moved toward him, watching his facial expressions morph rapidly. She ghosted her hand over his metal arm and, with the lightest touch, ran her hand down to where he had stopped the knife. He let her take it. 

“Why do I remember you?”

Roxy set the knife on the table and looked at him. He didn’t look at her. She saw the dark circles under glassy eyes and the red marks on his neck where he’d been scratching. His right hand had stilled, but his left was clenching and unclenching. 

“I barely remembered my name this morning, but I know you,” he said, swallowing again. “Why do I remember you?”

“I don’t know,” Roxy said, hopping up on the table. He glanced at her before scowling at the floor. 

“It could be because I’m new and your brain is processing newer information better than old. It could be because I see you every day and having a constant is usually comforting. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m the one asking you to remember. And seeing me causes you to think about your memories, good or bad,” she said, still watching Bucky’s face. He had pulled his right knee up and was biting his thumbnail, brows still drawn together. 

“Maybe I’m just that annoying.” 

He scoffed, but his brow unknit itself and he rubbed his eyes. 

“Don't give yourself so much credit," he said, dropping his hands to his lap. His shoulders relaxed slightly and Roxy took it as a sign that he had come out of whatever funk he'd been in. Or was coming out of it at least. 

“Alright," Roxy said, as she stood and moved to him again. She smacked his raised knee. 

“C'mon, we gotta go grocery shopping. You are in desperate need of more than just peanut butter bars," she said, “You do have to put clothes on, though, I don't wanna fight every female in Bucharest."

“I don't wanna," Bucky mumbled, head down and picking at his fingernails. Roxy raised an eyebrow.

“Don't want to put clothes on? You literally just need a shirt-" 

“I don't wanna go...out," he said. 

“Tough cookies, you gotta," she said, smacking his knee again. He lowered it and sank deeper into the couch, a pout forming on his face. “C'mon, Buckaroo, you need provisions." 

“I've got stuff…" 

“Yeah," Roxy scoffed, “Enough to last tonight. Dude, it’s Tuesday. It’s grocery day.”

Somehow Bucky managed to sink even lower into the couch cushion. Roxy sighed and rubbed her forehead. 

“Fine, break your routine. You can have whatever’s in my fridge when you want it. I’ve got some hamburger that needs--”

“I’m not taking your food!”

Roxy blinked at the volume change. Bucky looked at her like she had grown seven other heads. 

“I’m not gonna be here for, like, three days. At least. It needs to be eaten or it’s just going to go to waste.” Bucky’s face scrunched at that, and his mouth pulled into an exaggerated frown. Roxy knew she had him. 

“But you need it more than I do--”

“Ha! You eat, like, three times as much as I do!”

“You callin’ me fat, Mercer?”

“I’m callin’ you a glutton.”

“I am not a glutton! And you need it more than me, you’re smaller…”

As Bucky’s voice died, his eyes glazed over and he seemed to look through her. It sent a small shiver down her spine, and she took a half-step back. He licked his lips and a rage that Roxy had only seen once before filled his eyes. 

“I leave him alone for five fucking minutes--”

And then he was standing. 

Roxy took another step back at the sudden movement. Her fingertips sparked and her spine tingled with another, more violent, shiver but she knew the rage was not directed at her. She took a steadying breath through her nose. Bucky’s eyes flickered between hers before looking above and behind her as he raised a hand and splayed his fingers out.        

“Five fucking minutes and he’s part of some crazy science experiment because he wants to prove himself. To himself,” he scoffed and shook his head, “I knew I shoulda got him a leash before I left, I knew it. Cause he’s so damn full of ‘fight me’.” 

Bucky shook his head again and marched into the kitchen. He yanked a notebook off the shelf and a bag of chips were thrown to the floor. He slammed it open on the counter and grabbed the pen inside, but threw his left elbow back as if he hit someone. 

“Fuck off, Morita, you have no idea what that little shit put me through,” he scribbled as fast as his hand would let him. “Gonna get him a chain out of fuckin’ vibranium…” 

Roxy could only watch as he continued to mutter to himself and furiously write what was happening to him. She had witnessed this once before, but that time had been about Peggy putting the whole team to shame with one-armed push-ups, and ‘Steve’s subsequent swooning’ as he put it. 

Roxy took another breath and unclenched her fists; when she’d done that she didn’t know. Her vision blurred with tears and she blinked them back. She had watched him struggle with this for nearly three months. It had been two years since the fall of SHIELD. Since Bucky pulled Steve from the river after giving him a beating that landed him in the hospital. Two years Bucky had to watch and feel and write what was happening in front of his eyes that no one else could see. 

Bucky had admitted to her that he hadn’t left Romania after her introduction because he knew he needed help. He just didn’t want to ask. 

Roxy watched as the muttering and scribbling slowed to a stop and he braced his hands on the counter, his shoulders still tense and head lowered. He jerked his head around when she sniffed involuntarily. Her face was contorted as she tried to hold everything in, but when she saw Bucky’s worried face she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. 

As much as he had been through, as much as Hydra had done to him, he never stopped to be truly concerned with his own wellbeing. Roxy couldn’t help but wonder what James Barnes was made of because he had one of the biggest hearts she had ever seen. 

Bucky held her and smoothed her hair down as she cried into his chest. Her heart ached for him. She wanted him to be able to sleep without night terrors plaguing him. She wanted him to see Steve and recognize the man that he had influenced so much. She wanted them to meet and be truly happy again. 

She was so tired of watching her friends suffer.

Roxy felt Bucky kiss the top of her head as she calmed down and she smiled. What a dork. She sniffed and apologized as she backed away from him. He kept one hand on her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. 

“You still need to eat that hamburger in my fridge.” 

Bucky never went to the grocery store. Instead, when he heard Roxy was leaving that afternoon he went into full-blown ‘mama bear’ mode. Roxy was not prepared. 

He went through her bags, much to her ignored protest, and added things to her luggage. Snacks, mostly. He went through a list of his own about weapons, where to hide them, and what they should be made out of to pass through a metal detector unnoticed. Roxy had to go behind him and remove three pocket knives (which he knew would be fine on the plane), the pistol she kept under her bed, and ten plastic knives in five different places (“Because no one’s going to question plastic knives,” Bucky said. He just put two in at a time and forgot about the others). 

As she was running around undoing all his extra packing, he talked to her about how to “watch your surroundings, try not to walk alone if you can help it, you’re meeting your boyfriend, right? Take him everywhere. You packed your cute underwear, right? Make sure you use protection. Do you have any? You may want to buy some when you get there--”

Roxy had zipped up her suitcase and hauled it off the bed only to drop it on her feet. She knew her face had to be blood red as she whipped her head around to Bucky who sat on her dresser, arms crossed and kicking his feet. She just gaped at him as he blinked at her. 

“What?” he said, “Don’t tell me you two haven’t done it yet. You’ve been dating, what, almost two years?”

“That doesn’t matter!” she said, her voice squeaking, “And that’s none of your business, James!” 

He leaned toward her, tilted his head, and his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“My God, you haven’t…” 

“I--that’s--it’s a choice! One that neither of us have made yet…” she said. Her face and neck felt like they were on fire as she tried to move the suitcase. It slipped again.

“Tell me you’ve at least done something physical with him?” he said, searching her face. 

“That’s none of your business!” Her voice raised almost two full octaves as she twirled to face him again in what she hoped was righteous fury, but her eyes felt wide as saucers. He merely nodded and smirked at her. 

“Okay, you have, that’s good. At least you two aren’t completely hopeless,” he said, shaking his head.

“First: what makes you think people need to be sexually active to make a relationship work?” she asked, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip, “Second: I didn’t tell you--”

“Down and to the right, Birdie, you were remembering something,” he said, with a devilish grin on his face, “And I never said anything about needing to be sexually active, I’m merely suggesting that it might be good for you.”

Roxy rolled her eyes and huffed at him. He giggled. 

“Besides, I’ve never seen you go that red. Whatever you thought of had to be good.”

“Get out!” 

He laughed as she threw her pillow at him. The fire in her blood came back with a vengeance at his words and she chased him out the door. He took the stairs three at a time and shut his door so quick that it almost came off the hinges, but she could still hear him laugh after she shut her own door. Roxy turned and huffed again, going to her suitcase and setting it by the door. She threw her phone charger into her backpack.

She would be lying if she wasn’t looking forward to having Steve’s hands on her again; to feel his warmth. A hug, a kiss, holding his hand, his hands in her hair, his nails scratching lightly on her thighs, his teeth on her neck…

Roxy shook her head like a cat, her hair flying a bit, and hid behind her hands. Even though Bucky was no longer in the room to see her self-induced embarrassment, she could feel that he was still laughing. The jerk. 

After she composed herself and finished packing her carry-on, she texted Bucky and asked if he was still going with her to the airport. She threw on a jacket, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and turned to see Bucky leaning against her door frame eating a granola bar. 

Roxy jerked and reached to her thigh where her gun should have been. Bucky just smirked. 

“I thought you were supposed to be an Avenger. What did I tell you about paying attention to your surroundings?” Bucky said, gesturing to her with his snack. She made a mocking face, grabbed her backpack, and stuck her tongue out at him as he grabbed her suitcase.

They caught a bus to the airport and Bucky was not happy about leaving her at the door, but Roxy insisted. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, his shoulders were raised, and his mouth was twisted in an attempt to pout. The two stood by the bus doors while people were filing off, Bucky’s eyes were darting around at all the people and it was Roxy’s turn to be ‘mama bear’.

“Please, Buck, if you need to talk, text me first and the second I can I’ll call you. If it’s an emergency, call. Don’t hesitate. Just call me. I don’t care what time it is. If anything changes, I’ll call you. Please eat whatever you want from my fridge; again, it’s just gonna go bad if you don’t. And don’t forget you’ve got that job on Thursday, do you want me to text and remind yo--”

“Oh my God, Roxy, my memory may suck, but I’m pretty sure you’re not my mother,” Bucky said, holding a hand out to stop her tirade. She blinked at him, mouth slightly open and phone in her hand to set a reminder. A smile grew on her face and she hung her head.

“No, but I think I’m turning into mine,” she sighed and put her phone up, “Gah, I’m gettin’ old. Don’t scoff, I know exactly what I’m saying. Now shut up and hug me, Grumpy.”

Bucky tensed slightly when she hugged him, but relaxed quickly and gave her a squeeze that lifted her off the ground. Roxy smiled. He had gotten so much better with physical affection. Or affection of any kind, really. When they started this journey, Bucky was hesitant about receiving hugs or playful smacks on the shoulder. Giving such affection was another story entirely. 

Bucky Barnes was a hugger. 

And he gave solid hugs, too. Spine-cracking, soul-repairing, big-brother, ‘best-sleep-you-ever-got-with-a-cold’ hugs. He understood that hugs needed to last more than the typical two-second hug received in most greetings. 

Roxy loved his hugs. His hugs reminded her of Tony’s hugs and she desperately missed her brother and all her friends. Once she pushed through the anxiety of not really knowing what she was walking into, she buzzed with excitement that she would see her friends again. If only for a moment.

Bucky put her down and ruffled her hair. Big brother indeed.

“Be careful, Bird,” he said as she stepped back from him. She smiled.

“I will, ya big softie,” she said. She slung her backpack on her shoulder and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, “Be back in a couple days, Buck.” 

Roxy shot him one last smile and made it to the front doors before his voice boomed over the cacophony of the airport: 

“Don’t forget the condoms!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was too late. People knew who he was talking to just by her reaction. The fact that she reacted. And the fact that her face felt like it was on fire was a good sign she was blushing like an idiot. She did not turn to see if Bucky was still standing there, grinning like the devil he was. She marched on and tried to focus on finding her plane.

[pheita]

NaNo Excerpt No 5

So a chapter 5 excerpt. I love this scene because it tells a lot about Thurash’s and Nardik’s friendship and how much Nesryn already settled in after a month in this world. Thurash organized this picnic in the woods to get Nesryn out of the dorm and her brooding state. Kinarrah is just 17 despite the fact that magicians start their academy time at age 18. She is so strong that she needed to start at age 16. So that’s why Thurash waits with the mead until she is gone for a moment because legal drinking age is 18 in Thorkglesh.

The merry gathering got disturbed by Thurash’s phone. Nardik swore under his breath and Nesryn was pretty sure she heard something not so nice being said against Alashtaire by him, especially since Kinarrah got beet red. Meanwhile Thurash got up and left the picnic blanket with a few steps to the side. “Since we are without your watchdog for a moment: Eshmerrik wants to invite you over for dinner. He is extremely curious about the strange woman I picked up.” The doubtful expression in Nardik’s face let Nesryn assume he was worried about her meeting his husband. “It will be a pleasure. I am also curious to meet the man who can keep up with you for years.” He narrowed his eyes. “Thurash says the same every now and then.” “Maybe because you are such a trickster.” “I am a harmless person. I don’t get what’s the matter.” He feigned to be pouting what made Kinarrah giggle. “Harmless as an eagle.” “Or a big cat.” Conspiratively Nesryn and Kinarrah looked at each other. “Moment like this remind me why I like men.” “AS if this would be the only reason.”, Thurash grumbled amused behind them. “Already finished?” Nardi stretched his head back till he almost fell on his back. “Yeah, it’s Tashwyn. It seems like some people caused an uproar at the guesthouse again and she wanted to know if I couldn’t change the duties with the city guards to ensure safety for everyone.” Because of Kinarrah’s reaction Nesryn could tell there was something special about the guesthouse. “Guesthouse?” The eyes of the men went to Kinarrah who still appeared as she wanted to be swallowed by the ground immediately. “I don’t know how they call these places in your world but over here a guesthouse is a place where adults meet to enjoy each other’s company in an intimate way.” Nardik’s malicious grin got even bigger as Thurash also turned red while explaining. It seemed like Thurash and Kinarrah were a bit prude. “Oh, such a place. We have a lot of names for them. Back home I have been at such bars sometimes.” “I take a look at the horses.”, Kinarrah jumped up suddenly. By now she got a deep red shade in her face that would make people think she is sick. Or a ripe tomato. “I help you.” In the matter of a breath’s time Thurash vanished as well. Slightly irritated Nesryn glanced at Nardik. “After all these rough jokes he gets embarrassed by that?” He simply shrugged. “Sometimes I also don’t get him. Or it is because the last time he visited the guesthouse Pashyn saw him leaving it.” “I think he mentioned her a couple of time.” She turned into the direction where the horses stood. “He is interested in her but she is a woman with her own mind. A lot like you. She also tries to do everything by herself and kills cliches with a lot of joy.” Both laughed at the thought that Pashyn sounded like someone that would clash a lot with Thurash in a relationship. “I would love to meet her.” “I think I can arrange this.” The sound of footsteps stopped them from digging deeper into this topic. Thurash saw both grinning mischievously and stopped abruptly. “What did you conspire about? You grin. Both of you. That’s not good.” “You can’t know this. This never happened before.” She battered her lashes sweetly at him. This was enough to make Nardik laugh hysterically. “Eshmerrik gonna love you. I am afraid I have to be jealous.” “Don’t worry. I am not here to find the love of my life.” With a pained groan Thurash fell back onto the blanket. “Kinarrah gathers some herbs she needs for something. Kids these days. Always busy.” He shook his head. Within the same movement he pulled something out of his bag that looked like a pocket bottle. “Don’t tell me you got alcohol with you.”, Nesryn burst out disbelievingly. “There is nothing that would speak against a sip of mead.” He smirked, took the first sip and handed the pocket bottle over to Nardik. “That’s why love being around you.” The mead got handed over to Nesryn. With a questioning glance she accepted it. “If I fall off the horse because of this you are going to explain this to Alashtaire.” The only answer where impatient gestures. 

@lady-redshield-writes @bookishdiplodocus @zwergenmaedchen @contes-de-rheio @sirilikestowrite @albarnesauthor @justafriendlymonster @i-rove-rock-n-roll @alinakerrin @jaimistoryteller @abalonetea @drabblesofthesoul

[haljathefangirlcat]

Writing meme thing

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/original/anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence. Tagged by @janiedean

... okay, so. This is like, the roughest of rough drafts. Literally just me going, “I wanna write the thing but I’ve had writer’s block for centuries now so what the fuck are even words I can’t remember”, no editing just banging my head on the keyboard. Even this short little excerpt feels clunky af and unreadable rn, probably bc it is. But honestly, I’m just irrationally proud that for once I got tagged in this type of thing when I ACTUALLY AM WORKING ON SOMETHING INSTEAD OF STARTING AT A FUCKING BLANK SCREEN ALL EVENING. So, yeah. Posting this tiny thing anyway, stil don’t know if it will ever become something but I really do hope so.

It did not come as a surprise to him that, only a few years after his brother’s birth, when the king needed a healthy boy to send away to Pannonia in his own child’s stead, Aldrian claimed the honor of volunteering his own supposed firstborn son swiftly and with no hesitation.

I feel I should probably mention to those few ppl who may recognize the fandom and would probably thinks this is weird and philologically incorrect and uncalled for that I’m actually planning (... sorta. what are even plans) to mix some different canon that should probably not be mixed. The result, if I ever get there, should be total and utter crack.

Tagging @feanoriel bc the thing above is her fault for making me think about crack theories (guess what the topic is gonna be, bro) and whoever else wants to bc too many fucking words.

[katranga]

Disclaimer: Fic is just for fun. Nobody on ao3, or tumblr, or wherever, is expecting perfection. Most of these tips are gonna take a little extra time and effort to implement, and if you don’t feel like doing that, because you just wanna post the darn thing? Go for it! I’m not here to tell you what to do, and I’m certainly not saying that your writing is bad if you don’t follow these tips. These are just suggestions that will hopefully help you improve your work, if that’s what you’re after.

Intro: Why Revise?

To kick things off, I’d like to go over the importance of revision!! This is more of a general writing tip, but it’s a great starting point, because I DON’T want you to be thinking about most of my future tips while you’re writing the first draft. 

I want you to get. those. words. on. the. page! That’s all you should be worried about when you’ve got a blank page staring you in the face. 

There’s so much pressure to get writing right the first time, but I’m here to tell you that’s pretty much impossible. So, pressure’s off! Just write the basics so you get to know your story first. I

I know it seems like writing it perfectly will save you editing/revising time later on, but you can’t revise—let alone post—what you don’t have written because you’re stuck on one line that doesn’t sound just right. You with me so far? Great!

Honestly, writing gets so much faster when you remind yourself that no one is going to see your first draft!

So I cannot overstate the importance of revision.

Because guess what? Everything you don’t like about your first draft can be fixed in revision!

Okay. What is it?

To clarify, when I say first draft, I don’t mean the stuff you do in high school, where you write out a shitty essay on paper first and then type it up basically the same, just to prove to the teacher you wrote a first draft?? Or whatever.

I mean you just write the absolute basics of your story down, and fill in the rest and perfect it later (I’ll go into detail about how exactly to do that in my motivation post).

Now, grammar, spelling, and overall readability, are all important things to fix before you post. But that’s little stuff, and your word processor will be able to pick up on some of that, and just rewording a few sentences to make them clearer probably won’t take too much effort on your end (though I am gonna have a post about filler words and clarity and stuff like that, so if that tends to be a problem for you, I gotchu).

Besides basic grammar/spelling, most of what I change as my first draft transforms into my second or third is: 

Improving the flow of a scene (it can’t all be dialogue, unfortunately)

Pacing throughout the fic (are they falling love too fast? is this scene too long? etc)

Overall clarity (I know why the character did that, but will the reader?)

It may be different for you. Basically, you’re polishing up whatever you didn’t worry about writing the first draft.

My first drafts, for example? They’re 80% dialogue. Because that’s my favourite! And that’s what comes to me when I’m dreaming up fics. But then I go back later and beef up the rest—the characters’ movements in a scene, their inner dialogue, description etc.

Because as much as I love dialogue, scenes feel empty and too-fast with just characters talking. Similarly, scenes can feel bogged down and slow with just characters thinking about things.

But revision isn’t just about adding things! Sometimes you need to take stuff out. Inner dialogue that later gets covered by dialogue? Cut it. (Or vice versa—maybe the detail isn’t important enough for the characters to talk about, and just the mention of it within the narration is enough).

The point is, repetition needs to go. The reader rarely needs to be told the same thing twice.

Quick example from the top of my head:

Lance had lost his jacket. He’d looked over the whole castle for it, but couldn’t find it anywhere. His brother gave him that jacket. One of his last ties to Earth, and it was missing in action.

Maybe Keith took it to spite him, that jerk.

“What’s up, Lance?” Hunk asked when he passed him in the hall.

“I lost my jacket!” Lance said. “My signature jacket, the one Marco gave me! I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s gone. Do you think Keith stole it?”

Same information twice: Lance can’t find his brother’s jacket despite a thorough search, and suspects Keith stole it. No reason to repeat that. Something’s gotta go.

I know cutting stuff isn’t fun. You worked hard on that! You spent hours/days/whatever perfecting a sentence until it gleamed like a diamond, and now just because you thought of a better way to get that information across you have to get rid of it? No way!

I’ve been there, trust me. But hanging on just slows down the whole writing process. Because, for me at least, I know when stuff needs to go, or needs a massive overhaul, or whatever. I’m just digging my heels in because I don’t wanna do any additional work.

Luckily, this is where your shitty first draft comes in handy! If all you did was spit words onto the page as soon as they entered your head, then you didn’t spend a lot of back-breaking effort on whatever you need to cut! And what you need to cut isn’t anything awe-inspiring, it’s just your rough notes, so tossing it aside isn’t nearly as stressful!

Remember, you can always save scenes/dialogue/etc in a separate document! Maybe you’ll be able to salvage some it later. Alternatively, create separate versions of the doc as you edit/revise. If you end up actually needing part of a deleted scene, you’ve still got it somewhere!

And please, never think of the stuff you cut (or fics you never finished) as “wasted time”. Writing time is never wasted! You’re practicing, you’re honing your craft, and even if some bits never see the light of day, you’re still benefitting from all that work you did!

Now, I know I know I know most people edit/revise as they write. Can’t think of the next scene? Reread the previous scene and fiddle with it until something comes to you. That’s great! Revising already written material is loads better than just staring at your screen!

BUT I’ve recently started writing the whole gosh darn diddly thing without looking back and that is so much faster! While I highly recommend it, that’s obviously difficult to do when you don’t know what’s going to happen next in the fic.

Or if you just don’t have the motivation. So! That’ll be our next topic: Getting words on the page!

But for now, I’ve got an example under the cut, as well as additional resources and links if you want to learn more about revision!

Here’s where I take an old embarrassing fic of mine and revise it, hopefully clarifying the points I’ve been making, as well as proving that only practice makes better!

Okay so this is an excerpt of one of my unpublished fics from 2011. I’m just gonna be honest with you here, it was a Twilight human!AU where Edward was a massive nerd. 

For background, Bella has been at the new school like a week and is appalled at the bullying happening to Edward, who she barely knows. (It’s first person bc that’s how the books were written. Just deal with it.)

Here we go:

“They gave him a swirly yesterday,” I announced, appalled.

“Who?”

“Edward!”

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “Nothing new.”

“Well what are they, twelve?” I demanded angrily.

“He kind of needed a hair wash,” Mike muttered.

Snorts of amusement followed.

“Stuffing his head into a toilet is not funny,” I argued.

“Yes it is, Bella,” Alice chuckled.

“Kay, next time we go to the bathroom, I’ll shove your head into a toilet,” I offered. “And we’ll all laugh about it.”

This was a whole scene, I kid you not. Now, this isn’t bad because it’s just dialogue. It’s ten lines. That’s a reasonable amount of space for a quick dialogue exchange. HOWEVER, there’s about four people in this scene, so the dialogue tags are a little sparse. ALSO, this is the first time Bella’s bringing her concerns about Edward to the group, so there should be more inner reflection on that.

Overall, it’s just way too minimalist lol. So  this is a good example to beef up.

First of all: where the fuck are we? Notice how no setting was given? Not the greatest habit to get into. If it’s already been established in the fic where people are, and the setting’s not that important, I guess you can skip it, but a quick mention isn’t gonna hurt. You don’t want the reader confused!

Since this a Twilight fic, let’s say they’re in the caf. (In Voltron fics, you’re probably gonna be on the ship, but you can always mention what room they’re in. Or, if it’s a new planet, give a line or two of description).

Explanations for changes I made are in [square brackets]:

I tossed my lunch tray onto the table before throwing myself onto the chair next to Alice. “They gave him a swirly yesterday.”

[Indicated setting. Also implied she was feeling “appalled” using verbs instead of outright stating it. Showing not telling!]

Across from me, Angela looked up from the sandwich she was picking at. “Who?”

[Indicated who was speaking—always important—as well as gave brief description of speaker].

“Edward,” I said like it should be obvious. I scanned the cafeteria for him, but the corner he usually sat in alone was empty.

[Another mention of setting. Also backed up her concern for Edward with action and not just talking about him].

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “So what?”

“So?” I repeated incredulously.

So I’d never heard of someone actually getting a swirly. In real life. Shitty teen dramas? Yeah. Actual high school? No. It was ridiculous, and gross, and… I hadn’t seen anything to indicate Edward deserved it. (Nobody who’d ever deserved a swirly had ever received one, I was sure).

[The almighty character motivation! Note that you don’t actually have to explicitly state why they’re doing something—obviously we as the reader know the deep-down motivation is because Bella cares for Edward. But characters are not always forthcoming with information, even to themselves. Right now she’s focusing on the unjustness of the situation, and partially trying to convince herself that’s all it is].

Mike slung an arm across the back of Jessica’s chair, snorting a laugh. “He needed to wash his hair, anyway.”

“A toilet’s not gonna do that, Mike!”

[Just a cleverer response. Also, a dialogue tag isn’t needed, because no other speaker at the table is gonna be defending Edward. We know it’s Bella.]

He ignored my glare, choosing instead to steal a fry off my plate. I smacked his hand away.

[Again—action. The characters aren’t just static in their seats.]

“Well, really,” Alice began. “What’s it matter?” She sat up sharply, an idea just now occurring to her. “You haven’t been making friends with him, have you? I told you, Bella, it’s social suicide!”

[Gives Alice a chance to respond to Bella’s outburst—in this AU Alice is very concerned with popularity and does not want Bella associating with Edward. She would definitely have a problem with Bella sympathizing with Edward.]

I rolled my eyes. “No, I just…”

The whole situation was ridiculous. This wasn’t how people should be treated. Was I the only one who realized that? Was I really the only one who cared?

“Whatever,” I grumbled, crunching down on a fry.

[This feels like a more natural resolution to the conversation. Alice directly asks why Bella cares, and Bella reiterates to herself it’s just because. And then decides it’s not worth the argument. This is 2k into an (unfinished) 30k fic. She’ll make a bigger deal out of stuff later.]

Now it looks more like a real scene! 

So, to summarize, I added: Description—both setting and character! Character musing! Cleverer comebacks! 

These are just some of the things that you can fix with a keen-eyed round of revision.

--

And that about wraps this up! I didn’t want this to get too long, but it did anyway. (I’m sorry about the graphics I’m a writer, not a graphic designer. But I had to split the post up so it wasn’t one big block of text)

Was any of that helpful? Was it too long? Did the example clarify things? Let me know, I wanna make sure these tips are helpful!

--

Additional Resources That I Highly Recommend:

DRAFTING: THE THEORY OF SHITTY FIRST DRAFTS -- This post probably explains shitty first drafts better than I ever could! If you still have concerns about it, definitely check it out.

Editing & Revision Answerathon -- Okay, this video is pretty long, but I looove Max Kirin for anything writing-related and especially revision!! They’ve got a tumblr and a Youtube account filled with writing tips! If you like getting your writing info through videos, definitely check out their stuff.

Top 5 Writing Tips: Revision -- Here’s an infographic by Max if you don’t want to watch a 44 minute video lol. Also, you can go through their /tagged/revision for more!

[suallenparker]

Philinda Fanfic: In Control, Chapter 1

RATING: Explicit as in lots of detailed sexual practices between two consenting adults.

SPOILER: ALL the backstory we saw on the show up until Melinda met Andrew. - Because this is set before she met him. ;)

SUMMARY: After Melinda expresses an interest into the BDSM scene, Phil offers to scratch that itch for her. So they meet at a hotel to explore her fantasies …

NOTES: Let’s not kid ourselves here, this will be a smut-feast with lots of mutual pining as they both explore a Dom/sub relationship. We all know they love each other, we all know how “just scratch an itch” has to end for them! But before that end, there will be so. much. sex. So very much of it! I’m very thrilled to bring you this story and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

WARNING: This story features consent. Any and all sexual acts in this story will be obviously consensual, by which I mean that our beloved OTP will make very sure they’re both always comfortable with what they are doing to each other, because rape culture sucks and we all deserve porn that doesn't romanticizes or excuses rape.

THANKS to @crazymaryt for listening to all my ramblings! You’re absolutely amazing and the very best cheerleader and fanfic-confidant anyone could ever wish for!

NEXT

o0o

Chapter 1: In which they set the ground rules.

It wasn’t like she would actually get involved with Phil Coulson. Because that would be stupid.

Melinda took a breath as she pressed the button for the hotel elevator

He was a co-worker, sort of. Sometimes they worked on missions together and it was always was fun. He was a great person and they had a good partnership, whenever they were partnered up. A relationship would ruin that. Never date a coworker, her mother said. And she wouldn’t. She would just fuck him. Well, it was likely they would fuck tonight.

God, she hoped he’d fuck her tonight.

It was nothing personal, it was just scratching an itch. She needed something and he had offered … assistance. Hopefully that assistance would include fucking.

She really wanted to see his cock.

She swallowed hard.

She wanted to fuck him. She wanted to kiss him. She just plain wanted him.

Nothing personal, of course. Sexual curiosity, maybe.

The elevator arrived and she stepped in. She pressed the button to her floor. After the elevator doors closed, she tugged down the hem of her short black dress. It tended to hitch up her thighs when she walked, which was why she usually avoided wearing it, but tonight it felt appropriate. Same went for the black high heels and the red lipstick. Her hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves, which had taken her half an hour to achieve. He had texted her the room number an hour ago and five minutes ago, she had told the pretty receptionist in the lobby that she was Mrs. Smith and that her husband had left a key for her.

The elevator stopped. She got out and turned left just to stop right in front of the room door.

This could be her next great mistake. At least, this was a big risk to take.

Her heart was racing. She hadn’t been this nervous about something in years!

Totally stupid. This wasn’t even life threatening.

The key card pressed into her palm. She could still leave. She could still tell him thanks for the offer but no.

But she wasn’t a coward. And this was Coulson. He’d never do anything to hurt her, it just wasn’t in his character. So what did she really risk here? Embarrassment, for sure. Rejection, too. But on the other hand …

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and entered.

The room was big, with white walls and long white curtains in front of the big windows. A white leather sofa in stood in one corner of it, framed from two elegant white leather chairs.  A low metal table with a dark wooden top stood in the middle. On it lay a standard office file folder, a note book, two black ballpoint pens and a glass of … whisky, according to it’s color. Next to the door stood mini fridge, a small bar cart and a dark wooden desk with a brass lamp on top and a metal office chair. But the real eye catcher of the room was a massive metal bed with a metal headboard and white bedding. It was framed by two metal nightstands with identical brass lamps. Framed black and white photographs of sky scrapers decorated the walls all around. Everything looked sleek, clean and elegant. And a bit sterile.

The sinking sun colored everything red and yellow. They were high enough in the sky, so that she had a view all over the city.

Coulson sat in one of the leather chairs and rose as soon as she entered. He wore his usual uniform, dark grey suit, white shirt and a tie with blue and grey stripes. His jacket rested on the arm of his chair, his sleeves were rolled up. He had such lovely arms.

Maybe he could use that tie to tie her up before he’d turn her to face the wall and drove his cock in her.

She tried hard to not stare at his crotch. Instead she lifted a brow. “Mr. and Mrs Smith?” she asked.

He grinned. “It’s funny because we’re spies.”

She rolled her eyes, but he kept his smile.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

Something to calm the nerves would be good. “How’s the whisky?”

“Over expensive but delicious.”

“Sold.”

He went over to the fridge and the bar cart and poured her a little whisky bottle that probably costed fifteen bucks. He added two ice cubes before he handed it to her.

She smiled. It was silly, but the fact that he actually remembered how she took her drink made her feel more comfortable.

With the drink in her hand, she followed him as he returned to the seating area. They both sat down in the chairs and when he reached to the table, he didn’t grab his glass, but the file folder.

“So about tonight,” he said and swallowed. “How would you like to do this?”

Right to the point. She took a sip of her drink. “You’re the pro. You tell me.”

He pulled in a deep breath. “Are you familiar with SSC?”

She shook her head slightly. She thought she read that somewhere but from the top of her head, she couldn’t place it.

“It stands for sane, safe and consensual and if you decide you want to try anything BDSM related with me, those will be our ground rules.” He bended the folders edges with his hands and smoothed them over again. “That means that before anything happens, we’ll discuss it and make sure both parties give their full consent before we proceed into …” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “That consent can be withdrawn at ay point during our session and then we immediately stop. After the session there will be aftercare, where we can discuss what happened and how you feel, to make sure you’re ok.”

“Will there be a safeword?” She had heard of those. “Red for stop?”

“If that’s the word you want to use, yes.”

“Do you have a different safeword?”

“He straightened up and looked her in the eye. “Pugs.”

She snorted. “Pugs?”

“See?” He grinned. “They deescalate every situation.”

“Pugs it is.”

“Then we get right to the sane part.” He swallowed again. “What would you want me to do to you tonight.”

She pulled up her shoulders.

“If you can’t say it, we can’t do it.”

He was right and she was being ridiculous! Usually she had no problem to ask for what she wanted, but this was … “I want you to take control,” she mumbled and looked to the ground. “I want you to order me around and to use me.”

She wanted to please him. She wanted him to strip of her clothes and bent her over the chair to fuck her.

She was comfortable with being in control. But more so she wanted to give herself to someone else. To just trust them and to let go. She felt herself blush. Wasn’t that pathetic?

“We can do that,” Phil said. His voice was soft. “Have you ever done anything like that?”

Was he expecting her to just lay out her life like that? She nibbled on her lip.

“I already told you that I had a girlfriend who was into this stuff,” he said, “she liked being tied up and to be fucked. She liked to be spanked and to …” He sighed. “This is awkward for me too, but I promise the worst that can happen  is that we both just go home, if that’s what you want. I won’t tell anybody about this. I won’t mention it to you at work. Everything that happens here will stay here.”

She looked up and met his gaze. His eyes were so gentle. “I always liked sex,” she said, “I like it rough but so far it never …” She nibbled at her lower lip. “It wasn’t bad, I just would like to try something else.” He said he had spanked his former girlfriend. Her mouth felt dry and she took another sip of whisky.

She could lay across his lap, dress hitched up, panties around her ankles and his hand hitting her ass …

“I have a list of things we could do if you want,” he mumbled, “Would you like to look at it?”

She nodded and he handed her the folder.

When she opened it, she looked at a page that read “SSC – sane – safe and consensual – how to enjoy the BDSM life style …”

She looked up to him.

He shrugged. “The first few pages are research on the topic I thought you’d like to have.”

She grinned. Just like in the field, Phil always came prepared with knowledge.

“Please turn to page five,” he said.

She flipped through the pages – one on consent, one on the difference between BDSM practices and abuse and one about safewords … Then there was half a page that looked a bit like an excerpt of a dictionary:

Bondage – the state or practice of being physically restrained, as by being tied up, chained, or put in handcuffs, for sexual gratification. - details and limits to be discussed.

Exposing the submissive

Dirty talk

Kissing

Fingering

Role play - to assume the attitudes, actions, and discourse of (another), especially in a make-believe situation - details and limits to be discussed.

Vaginal sex

Doggie style sex (vaginal)

Sex up against the wall (vaginal)

Spanking - to strike (a person,) with the open hand, especially on the buttocks, as in punishment.

Hair pulling

Spanking using a crop

Oral sex (Cunnilingus / Blow job)

Use of sex toys (dildos, vibrators)

Anal play

Use of anal sex toys (butt plug)

Anal sex

…

She read through all points and felt herself getting wet. She rubbed her legs together.

“That list isn’t exclusive,” he said. “If there’s something you’d like to try that isn’t on the list, we can of course discuss it.”

She kept staring at the list.

“And just because it’s on the list doesn’t mean I’m expecting you to … It’s more a sort of menu card, if you wish.”

“Could you tell me to undress?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Yes.”

“Could you look at me and …” She licked her lips. “Could you touch me?”

“Where?”

“My body, tits, ass, wherever you want. Like you’d examine me.”

“Do you want me to finger your pussy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be fucked?” His voice was rough now. He shifted in his chair.

She looked up. His hard cock tented his pants. God, yes. She wanted to be fucked. She nodded.

“Say it.” His hand squeezed his right knee. He probably longed to touch himself. If he’d order her to get on her knees, take out his cock and suck him off, she’d do it.

“I want to be fucked,” she said.

“How?”

“However you want to fuck me will be fine.”

“The more details you give me, the closer we can get to your fantasy.”

“I want to be turned against a wall, hands tied behind my back, fucked from behind.”

His cock twitched and he groaned. “We can do that.”

“When?” She looked at him and he smiled.

“We still have to cover the safe part.”

“We already talked about safewords.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Condoms, Melinda. Do you want me to use them?”

“Do we have to?” The idea of feeling his cum inside her … to be left messy and used appealed to her.

“If you turn to page six, you’ll find a clean bill of health. I got checked out last week,” he said.

Crap. “I don’t have a bill of health with me.”

“But you’re clean?”

“Got tested last week, too.” It was mandatory.

“Good enough for me.”

“So no condoms.”

“No condoms.” He nodded and grabbed his knee tighter. “Remember the safeword?”

“Pugs, yes.”

“Then we can begin when you’re ready.”

She put the folder on the table. “I’m ready.”

o0o

MORE NOTES: Did you like it? Oh my god, I hope you liked it! Please leave me a comment if you have the time, I’m so nervous!

NEXT

[parultongaria]

The Calling

Hey

You remember that night I asked you a question that seemed philosophical? A question I had been asking everyone lately and I wanted, no needed your inputs on it, I built up the mahaul* and eventually, asked you a variation of "how do you find your calling or how do you know what your calling is"?

At first it seemed weird to be asking that, when we are just chilling. But it seems, we have all grown older, and our chilling involves answering random questions about the meaning of life and the work that we do.

I asked a few of you, my very intelligent, gorgeous and brave friends (not to mention, for some weird reason, a lot of you into fitness and super fit \m/). After I came full circle, Bangalore-Mumbai-Delhi-Bangalore some patterns seemed to emerge out of the seemingly disconnected responses that I had received. And I wasn't doing it to make a survey of sorts. The conversation seemed to evolve into a longer discussion, city to city, one friend at a time.

The interesting thing is, even though the conversation took place in pieces, it was almost fluent and connected, as if somewhere, we were all listening in to the same questions and thoughts. The wisdom is not mine. Most of the words are not mine. I have tried to recollect what you said, and share with you the complete conversation.

It only seemed fair, to share with you, what I have learnt from you. Here follows:

You don't find your calling, it finds you.

In other words, someone else said, you try a lot of things and one of them becomes super hit (if it does), and that in retrospect, becomes your calling.

And then another point of view is, no matter how hard you tried, at something you thought is your calling, if it doesn't respond to you, it doesn't. And something else does, effortlessly, or with seemingly little effort. It pays the bill, it keeps you occupied, it gets you clients. And before you know, you don't mind waking up at 5 for it, everyday, no matter how tired you are. And lo, you have found your calling.

You only know in retrospect.

You don't know, the steps beforehand, or the path, that you have to take in order to become successful. Only once, you have become successful, you retrofit the incidents that led you to this point.

That you rationalize and tell fascinating stories about how these things were meant to be, but a lot of times, they are nothing but accidents.

Intent is added as an afterthought. A lot of it is experiment and willingness to be flexible, to change course, to listen to the universe or opportunities if you will, when they present themselves.

And other things...

Nobody knows what they are doing. They fake it for the most part. They have to look grown up, like they have their s#it together. Like they have made it. But they are as clueless, as ourselves. They go through the bad days. And there are a lot of bad days before the good days.

It's ROUGH out there. Finding your calling, is not easy. Sometimes, it takes sacrifices, sometimes going broke a few times, and other times, it means literally a broken wrist or an ankle!

There's not necessarily ONE calling. You may have more than one. And it's corollary: it's not necessary that everybody has a calling!

It doesn't have to make you money. It often gets confused with making you a ton of money while you're having fun working on your calling, but sometimes it doesn't make you money. Other times it does. If that happens, lucky you!

Parts of original email, not relevant on tumblr: 

One last thing, you're not in bcc because its a 100 people list. You're in bcc because I value your privacy.

PS:I'm a little sleepy, so pls pardon my tense inconsistencies, typos, or the very important point you said and I missed. :)

PPS:Have you read / come across something else on the topic. Please share

What some of my friends added [excerpts] :  

[1] Somewhere I read the definition of Hell: 'The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.'And that was enough of motivation for me to actually DO what I want to do, what I didn't regret doing and leave out things I wouldn't regret not doing.See the correlation? What often seems to be our calling, is something that we really LIKE doing. The very reason we SHOULD wait, be patient and keep experimenting to find our true calling(s), when the person we became meets the person we could've become, is the realization that they are identical TWINS (couldn't help it).

[2]  I would highly recommend you to read a few things that I read sometime back. The articles suggest and I agree, that more than calling you need to focus on filling your life with "meaning". passion | meaning of life | life purpose 

[3] A very lengthy version of a similar conversation. 

[stuckwidmedbooks]

RESEARCH ABSTRACT WRITING

What is an abstract?

An abstract is a concise summary of a larger project (a thesis, research report, performance, service project, etc.) that concisely describes the content and scope of the project and identifies the project’s objective, its methodology and its findings, conclusions, or intended results.

Remember that your abstract is a description of your project (what you specifically are doing) and not a description of your topic (whatever you’re doing the project on).  It is easy to get these two types of description confused.  Since abstracts are generally very short, it’s important that you don’t get bogged down in a summary of the entire background of your topic. 

As you are writing your abstract, stop at the end of every sentence and make sure you are summarizing the project you have undertakenrather than the more general topic. 

Do abstracts vary by discipline (science, humanities, service, art, or performance)?

Abstracts do vary from discipline to discipline, and sometimes within disciplines. 

Abstracts in the hard sciences and social sciences often put more emphasis on methods than do abstracts in the humanities; humanities abstracts often spend much more time explaining their objective than science abstracts do. 

However, even within single disciplines, abstracts often differ.  Check with a professor to find out about the expectations for an abstract in your discipline, and make sure to ask for examples of abstracts from your field.

What should an abstract include?

Despite the fact that abstracts vary somewhat from discipline to discipline, every abstract should include four main types of information. 

It should state the main objective and rationale of your project,it should outline the methods you used to accomplish your objectives,it should list your project’s results or product(or projected or intended results or product,if your project is not yet complete),and it should draw conclusions about the implications of your project.         

What should my Objective/Rationale section look like?

What is the problem or main issue? Why did you want to do this project in the first place? 

The first few sentences of your abstract should state the problem you set out to solve or the issue you set out to explore and explain yourrationale or motivation for pursuing the project.  The problem or issue might be a research question, a gap in critical attention to a text, a societal concern, etc.  The purpose of your study is to solve this problem and/or add to your discipline’s understanding of the issue. 

Some authors state their thesis or hypothesis in this section of the abstract; others choose to leave it for the “Conclusions” section.

What should my Methods section look like?

What did you do?

This section of the abstract should explain how you went about solving the problem or exploring the issue you identified as your main objective. 

For a hard science or social science research project, this section should include a concisedescription of the process by which you conducted your research.  Similarly, for aservice project, it should outline the kinds of service you performed and/or the process you followed to perform this service.  For ahumanities project, it should make note of any theoretical framework or methodological assumptions.  For a visual or performing artsproject, it should outline the media you employed and the process you used to develop your project.

What should my Results/Intended Results section look like?

What did you find? 

This section of the abstract should list theresults or outcomes of the work you have done so far.  If your project is not yet complete, you may still want to include preliminary results or your hypotheses about what those results will be. 

What should my Conclusion section look like?

What did you learn? 

The abstract should close with a statement of the project’s implications and contributions to its field.  It should convince readers that the project is interesting, valuable, and worth investigating further.  In the particular case of the Undergraduate Symposium, it should convince readers to attend your presentation.

How should I choose my title?

You probably already have some idea for a title for your project.  Consider your audience; for most projects, it is best to choose a title that is comprehensible to an audience of intelligent non-specialists. 

Avoid jargon; instead, make sure that you choose terms that will be clear to a wide audience. 

What my project isn’t finished?  What if my results didn’t turn the way I expected?

More often than not, projects are not completely finished by the time presenters need to submit their abstracts.  Your abstract doesn’t need to include final results (though if you have them, by all means include them!). 

If you don’t yet have final results, you can either include any preliminary results that you do have, or you can briefly mention the results that you expect to obtain.

Similarly, unexpected or negative results occur often.  They can still be useful and informative, and you should include them in your abstract.  Talk with your mentor to discuss how such results are normally handled in your discipline.

In any case, whether you have complete, partial, projected, or unexpected results, keep in mind that your explanation of those results – their significance – is more important than the raw results themselves.

How can I fit all of this into just 125 words?

Be straightforward.  Don’t worry about making your abstract “flow”.  Don’t worry about writing a long or elaborate introduction or conclusion, and as we suggested above, don’t include too much background information on your project’s general topic.  Instead, focus on what you have done and will do as you finish your project by providing the information we have suggested above. 

If your abstract is still too long, look forunnecessary adjectives or other modifiers that do not directly contribute to a reader’s understanding of your project.  Look for places where you repeat yourself, and cut out all unnecessary information.

How should I start writing my abstract?

Re-examine the work you have done so far (whether it is your entire project or a portion of it).  Look specifically for your objectives, methods, results, and conclusions. 

After re-examining your work, write a rough draft without looking back at the materials you’re abstracting.  This will help you make sure you are condensing the ideas into abstract form rather than simply cutting and pasting sentences that contain too much or too little information.

Bring your draft to the Writing Center to get feedback from a writing instructor.  Call 263-1992 to make an appointment.

What stylistic techniques will make my abstract most effective?

Avoid jargon.  Jargon is the specialized, technical vocabulary that is used for communicating within a specific field.  Jargon is not effective for communicating ideas to a broader, less specialized audience such as the Undergraduate Symposium audience.

Discipline-specific sentence: Hostilities will be engaged with our adversary on the coastal perimeter. Revised for a more general audience: We will fight on the beaches.

Discipline-specific sentence:  Geographical and cultural factors function to spatially confine growth to specific regions for long periods of time. Revised for a more general audience:Geographical and cultural factors limit long-term economic growth to regions that are already prosperous.

Discipline-specific sentence: The implementation of statute-mandated regulated inputs exceeds the conceptualization of the administrative technicians. Revised for a more general audience: The employees are having difficulty mastering the new regulations required by the law.

(Examples excerpted from Lantham, Richard.Revising Prose; McCloskey, Donald N.  The Writing of Economics; and Scott, Gregory M. and Garrison, Stephen M., The Political Science Student Writer’s Manual.)

Be concise. Don’t use three words where you can communicate the same idea in one.  Don’t repeat information or go into too much detail.  Don’t just cut and paste sentences from your research paper into your abstract; writing that is appropriate for long papers is often too complicated for abstracts. Read more aboutgeneral principles of writing clear, concise sentences.

Use short, direct sentences.  Vary your sentence structure to avoid choppiness.  Read your abstract aloud, or ask someone else to read it aloud to you, to see if the abstract is appropriately fluid or too choppy.

Use past tense when describing what you have already done.

Check with a professor in your field to determine whether active or passive voice is more appropriate for your discipline. Read more about active and passive voice.

Don’t cite sources, figures, or tables, and don’t include long quotations.  This type of material takes up too much space and distracts from the overall scope of your project.

What kind of feedback should I seek to make sure my abstract is effective?

Work with a professor or another student in your field throughout the entire process of writing your abstract.  People familiar with work in your field will be able to help you see where you need to say more and where you need to say less and will be able to help with clarity and precision as well.

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Who is Fiona Hill and why does her public testimony matter?

By Amber Phillips | Published Nov. 20 at 4:47 PM EST | Washington Post | Posted November 21, 2019 |

On Thursday, a former top Russia expert for the White House, Fiona Hill, is testifying publicly in the impeachment inquiry about why she and other national security officials were concerned about what people in President Trump’s orbit were telling Ukrainians.

WHO SHE IS:

Hill was the White House’s top expert on Russia. Her official title was senior director for Europe and Russia on the National Security Council, which is in the White House. She was Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman’s supervisor, and she was succeeded in her position by Tim Morrison. Both Morrison and Vindman testified Tuesday. She is also a former senior U.S. intelligence official and Russia scholar, and an author of a respected biography of Russian President Vladimir Putin.

WHY SHE MATTERS:

Hill is important because she witnessed or heard about key early events, including a July 10 meeting between national security officials, Trump’s point person on Ukraine and Ukrainian officials at the White House. But she also is a proxy for one of the people Democrats most want to testify: former national security adviser John Bolton. She reported to him directly.

WHY BOLTON MATTERS:

Hill and other officials have testified that Bolton was quite upset about how Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani, and one of Trump’s point people on Ukraine, European Union Ambassador Gordon Sondland, were handling Ukraine policy and usurping the national security and diplomat apparatus. Bolton would be one of the highest-level officials to testify, someone who regularly talked to Trump. He would confirm other witnesses’ accounts about what he heard and share some of his own conversations with Trump, report The Washington Post’s Carl Leonnig and Tom Hamburger.

But Bolton is not scheduled to testify yet. Even though he no longer works for the White House, Bolton has said he can’t talk because of a White House ban on participating with the inquiry. He instead joined a lawsuit with another former deputy to ask the courts to decide which branch should win out in a battle on whether he talks: the White House or Congress. That lawsuit may take too long to resolve for Democrats’ timeline.

WHAT WE LEARNED FROM HER PRIVATE TESTIMONY:

Hill describes in detail two July 10 meetings at the White House where diplomat Sondland brought up to the Ukrainians investigations wanted by Trump. It alarmed national security officials. She said Bolton abruptly ended the meeting in his office with his Ukrainian counterpart after Sondland blurted out a reference to “the investigations.”

Hill then followed Sondland to a second meeting in the West Wing basement where she says he went even further. She heard Sondland say Ukraine’s president would get a meeting at the White House if he agreed to the investigations Trump wanted — including one into a company, Burisma, that had hired former vice president Joe Biden’s son Hunter Biden as a board member.

She said: “And Ambassador Sondland, in front of the Ukrainians, as I came in, was talking about how he had an agreement with Chief of Staff [Mick] Mulvaney for a meeting with the Ukrainians if they were going to go forward with investigations. And my director for Ukraine was looking completely alarmed. And I came in again as this discussion was underway.”

She also said when she read the rough transcript of Trump’s call with Ukraine’s president that she was “shocked” and “saddened” to see the way he disparaged former Ukraine ambassador Marie Yovanovitch, and that it was “pretty blatant” Trump was asking Ukraine to launch political investigations to get a meeting with him.

KEY QUOTE FROM HER PRIVATE TESTIMONY:

“ … This is a direct quote from Ambassador Bolton: You go and tell [NSC lawyer John] Eisenberg that I am not part of whatever drug deal Sondland and Mulvaney are cooking up on this.”

WHAT SHE DIDN’T SAY IN HER PRIVATE TESTIMONY:

Whether Trump was involved in any of this, beyond what we know he told Ukraine’s president in the phone call. Hill left her White House job July 19, days before the Trump-Zelensky call.

WHAT TO WATCH FOR IN HER PUBLIC TESTIMONY:

Hill has the ability to connect a lot of dots: She was present when Sondland appeared to offer Ukrainians a quid pro quo. She heard Sondland say Trump put him in charge of Ukraine and Trump’s chief of staff told him to ask for the investigations. She didn’t like the way Trump handled the Ukraine phone call nor Yovanovitch, and she has insight into what one of Trump’s top aides at the time, Bolton, thought about it all.

Greg Miller contributed to this report.

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Who is David Holmes and why does his public testimony matter?

By Amber Phillips | Published Nov. 20 at 4:33 PM EST | Washington Post | Posted November 21, 2019 |

On Thursday, diplomat David Holmes will testify publicly in the impeachment inquiry, a late addition by House Democrats after he privately testified about a phone call between President Trump and diplomat Gordon Sondland on “investigations” in Ukraine.

WHO HE IS:

He is a top staffer at the U.S. Embassy in Ukraine. His official title is political counselor. As such, he worked closely with the former ambassador to Ukraine, Marie Yovanovitch, and works now with the current acting ambassador, William Taylor.

WHY HE MATTERS:

Holmes could add more evidence that Trump set up a quid pro quo for Ukrainians. He is one of the few witnesses who heard Trump’s voice ask about “investigations” that Ukraine’s president was going to undertake

He also said that from his vantage point in Ukraine, he could see Ukrainians “gradually came to understand that they were being asked to do something in exchange” for getting two things they really wanted from Trump: a White House meeting and/or military aid.

ABOUT THAT PHONE CALL HOLMES OVERHEARD:

Holmes was eating lunch with Sondland, the European Union ambassador and one of Trump’s point people on Ukraine, in July. It was the day after Trump talked to Ukraine’s newly elected president and had asked Ukraine’s president for “a favor,” to investigate the Bidens and CrowdStrike. Holmes testified behind closed doors Saturday that at the restaurant, Sondland pulled out his cellphone and said he would call the president.

Holmes said he overheard Trump with his own voice ask about Ukraine’s president: “So, he’s going to do the investigations?” Sondland replied: “He’s going to do it,” adding, “Do anything you ask him to.”

Also important: Holmes testified that he remembers the call “vividly” because it was so unusual, not least because U.S. diplomats assumed that cellphone calls and texts are being monitored by Russians: “I’ve never seen anything like this, someone calling the president from a mobile phone at a restaurant, and then having a conversation of this level of candor, colorful language. There’s just so much about the call that was so remarkable that I remember it vividly.”

KEY QUOTE FROM HIS PRIVATE DEPOSITION:

There are two excerpts, both long, but both critical to understanding Holmes’s testimony:

While Ambassador Sondland’s phone was not on speaker phone, I could hear the president’s voice through the ear piece of the phone. The president’s voice was very loud and recognizable, and Ambassador Sondland held the phone away from his ear for a period of time, presumably because of the loud volume. I heard Ambassador Sondland greet the president and explain that he was calling from Kyiv. I heard President Trump then clarify that Ambassador Sondland was in Ukraine. Ambassador Sondland replied yes, he was in Ukraine, and went on to state that President Zelensky, quote, unquote, loves your a--. I then heard President Trump ask, quote, “So he’s going to do the investigation?” unquote. Ambassador Sondland replied that, “He’s going to do it,” adding that President Zelensky will quote, “Do anything you ask him to.”

After the end of the call, Ambassador Sondland remarked that the President was in a bad mood. As Ambassador Sondland stated, it was often the case early in the morning. I then took the opportunity to ask Ambassador Sondland for his candid impression of the President’s views on Ukraine. In particular, I asked Ambassador Sondland if it was true that the President did not give a s--- about Ukraine. Ambassador Sondland agreed that the President did not give a s--- about Ukraine. I asked why not, and Ambassador Sondland stated: The president only cares about “big stuff.” I noted that there was “big stuff” going on in Ukraine, like a war with Russia. And Ambassador Sondland replied that he meant “big stuff that benefits the President, like the Biden investigation that Mr. Giuliani was pushing.” The conversation then moved on to other topics.

WHAT ELSE WE LEARNED FROM HOLMES’S PRIVATE DEPOSITION:

That there was an unofficial channel of diplomacy on Ukraine that excluded diplomats like him and seemed more consequential to the Ukrainians. Holmes mentions the group who called themselves the “three amigos” — Sondland, diplomat Kurt Volker and Energy Secretary Rick Perry — announcing they were taking the lead on working with Ukraine’s new president.

He said the Ukrainians particularly wanted to talk to Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani: “They viewed him as a significant individual in terms of their relationship with the United States.”

WHAT HOLMES DIDN’T SAY IN HIS PRIVATE TESTIMONY:

That Trump was directing all of this. Though Holmes did say Sondland characterized himself as acting at the president’s direction: “He would say things in meetings like, ‘I know the president would agree with what you just said,’ or ‘I heard the president say something like … ' I mean, he would portray himself as having knowledge, direct knowledge of the president’s priorities and interests."

WHAT TO LOOK FOR IN HIS PRIVATE TESTIMONY:

The call between Sondland and Trump that Holmes overheard is striking to read on the page. How will it play when he recounts it aloud?

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