#also the soldier bit is from a fanfic. can’t remember what it’s called will update when i do

[soul-gums]

ASK ME ABOUT MY SUBMISSIVE TENDENCIES

[kob131]

RWDE Story Comparison 1: Dudeblade Part 1

https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/181687313437/done-dirty-word-choice

I’d give you the middle finger Dudeblade but I cut it so I’ll just settle for verbally tearing you apart.

You assholes wanna talk to other writers? FIne, better make sure you don’t share the same blind spots.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Not entirely sure how to break this down.

Basically, the choice in words is important. In a non-comedic series like this one, fans, theorists, and critics are going to comb over pretty much every detail.

Except that in a different post, when someone (suspicious you never mention WHO considering this is before Monty’s death) you bitch at the writers for a joke. An even then, people combed over Red Vs.Blue when it is largely comedic so that doesn’t work here.

Why am I doing this? Cuz Dudeblade is gonna try to use comedy as a defense since I’m gonna be using his precious fanfic.

Easy example: The word choice on how Qrow describes his semblance (fun fact: I have this particular screenshot labeled “Qrow being a melodramatic piece of shit” on my laptop).

Now, with the phrase “It’s always there, whether I like it or not.” Heavily implies that it’s on 24/7. That he has no control over it whatsoever. However…

This clarification from the Reddit AMA then says that Qrow’s semblance isn’t at all how he worded it. Now, this could be because even Qrow doesn’t know his semblance that well, but given that these are the writers whose response to being given an out by a fan who theorized that the reason Zwei survived all that stuff in Volume 2 was because Tai unlocked his aura was “There’s this thing called ‘Anime.’” I doubt that they’ll use that reason.

Funny thing:

"Indeed." Ganon added, "Do you want an update on that curse that I cast?"

Lex hummed and nodded in response. "Well, it took hold of the one that the emotionally weakest. They should be turning into a being of near-insufferableness soon."

"I'm pretty sure that 'insuferableness' isn't a word." Lex mentioned.

"It does not matter." Ganon replied, "Soon, we shall be able to use one of their own against them."

"Why the one with the most glaring emotional weaknesses, though? Wouldn't a much more stable victim be more useful to our cause?"

"The curse works in mysterious ways, Luthor. We must first force them on our side. Then, we break the heroes from the inside." Ganon replied.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11815703/104/Aftermath-The-DB-Chronicles

Why was the change so drastic? - Because time travel That's why.

https://www.deviantart.com/dudebladex/journal/Mewtwopoint-of-Future-Past-Alt-Timeline-battles-694649032

You’ve pulled that shit yourself.

So if it’s NOT okay when Miles does it, why did YOU do it?

Here’s another example:

Jaune knowing about Yang’s mom. Given Yang’s dialogue with Blake back in Volume 2, we can gather that it’s a very important secret to her. Given her reaction to Qrow knowing where Raven was but never telling her, we also know that for a fact. Given that Yang said that Ruby was a bit too young when she went on her “I want to find my mom” search to remember, we can gather that it’s likely that even Ruby doesn’t know. But, even if she did know, what reason does she have to tell RNJR?

Was she all “Hey guys! Let’s all share secrets with each other as a trust exercise! I’ll go first! Yang’s been searching for her biological mom for over ten years!”???

See, if it had been Ruby who had said Jaune’s line, we could gather that, yeah. Yang probably told her what happened. But we don’t get that. Instead, we get Jaune asking about it. Which either implies a betrayal of trust either on Qrow’s part, or on Ruby’s part. Either way, one of those two shared information that was very personal and important to Yang, and it was… brushed over.

IBurnBlonde: What, are you planning on dating me or something? IBurnBlonde: T? IBurnBlonde: Tifa? IBurnBlonde: Seriously. It's been ten minutes. What happened? IBurnBlonde: Forget it. I'm signing off. * * * [LockYourHeart has made a Private Chat With Buster Blader] LockYourHeart: Cloud! I need your help! Buster Blader: What is it? Did Yang confess her love to you? LockYourHeart: No, but she almost figured out that I have plans to date her! Buster Blader: smh… You didn't go on your tirade about how nobody deserves her, did you? LockYourHeart: … Buster Blader: You dug yourself in this, Tifa. I'm not digging you out. LockYourHeart: You are absolutely no help. Buster Blader: If you want help, as Link. Speaking of, I think he's in the main chat. LockYourHeart: Really? We might get to see how he chats with people? Buster Blader: Yep. Buster Blader: Tifa? Buster Blader: You did this to Yang, didn't you?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11815703/103/Aftermath-The-DB-Chronicles

Why do I bring this up? This is a betrayal of Yang’s trust in Tifa except Tifa is doing it for far more selfish and creepy reasons.

Again, apparently it’s okay when DUdeblade does it.

And as for a third example, we have this:

If the narrative or writers wanted to paint Tai as a “Father who is trying to work through his loss to take care of his kids” then these lines of dialogue don’t help in the slightest. “

"What?" Jaune asked, "Are you seriously going to tell us that we need to go out there? - I already lost enough people in my life, thank you very much."

"Then you aren't cut out for the real world, kid." Frank said, "I lost my wife and children, and I still go out to keep the city clean of criminal scum every day. But you?" He gestured to the swordsman, "You only lost someone you barely paid attention to. That was your only personal loss. Everyone else here lost more than you, more than once, and we still go out there to fight." Jaune was at a loss for words. "So make your decision. Live and hide, or fight and die.

" "Your girlfriend chose the second option. But considering that you couldn't be bothered to even try to save one of your other friends after bemoaning losing everything earlier, I guess it's no surprise that you can't be bothered to try when it's the whole world at stake." Deadpool sneered.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11815703/134/Aftermath-The-DB-Chronicles

"Klicks? What are those?" Jaune asked, "Can't we use a distance people actually know? Like Kilometers?"

"How did you get into a prestigious combat school without knowing this basic combat stuff again?" Chun-Li jeered.

"I uh…" Jaune stuttered. "He cheated." Tucker clarified, "He wasn't sent there to be used as a test dummy, he actually cheated."

"So, why doesn't he know the basics?" Chief asked in an annoyed tone. "I heard from Blake that he slept in class and spent most of his study time reading comics." Cheetara mentioned,

"That probably has something to do with it." Jaune sighed, "Can we just… drop it? Please?"

"This is going to escalate later." Mega Man realized, "I don't know how, but it will."

"Seriously, were you reading a comic book while we were doing the debriefing on the way here?"

"No!" "He actually wasn't." Tucker defended, "He was busy crying over a picture of his girlfriend that he has on his phone."

"There are other people who lost more than you." Master Chief pointed out, "Also, two Klicks to Joker and Skull's battleground."

"Guts definitely lost more than you." Doomguy pointed out, "How someone on the internet thought that you had the worse life than him is beyond me, but whatever."

"Guts has not had a 'worse life' than mine!" Jaune whined. "How so?" Chief asked, putting his binoculars away.

"His girlfriend's still alive." Jaune said, as if it proved his point.

Everyone else was silent. Even one Predator facepalmed at the statement.

"Starting to see why Guts said that nobody would miss you." Tucker sighed, "You make pain be all about yourself, and don't let anyone else mourn.”

"Please." Mega Man sighed, "Please tell me that you're making a joke that's in poor taste and that you don't actually believe that."

"Uh, it… kinda is…" Jaune trailed off.

"Oh my God." Tucker snarled, "You actually think that?"

"Well, I don't know his life!" Jaune defended.

"His girlfriend was violated!" Sonya screamed, "I swear, if you actually think that dying is a worse fate than that, then I'm throwing you out there to get killed!"

"See, this is why nobody likes you." Doomguy pointed out, "You don't care about anybody but yourself, and put more people in danger than you actually save."

"The only thing worse than baggage is baggage that whines and complains all the time." Master Chief replied, "Get your priorities straight kid. People might let failures slide if you actually try, but if you just look away from a friend about to be killed without trying to save them, then you aren't any better than the killer."

"How so?" Jaune asked, "All I hear is 'Jaune, you suck at this!' or 'Arc, you suck at that!' but I never hear any ideas of how to improve!"

"Did you ask?" Mega Man asked, deflecting some plasma blasts with his Mirror Buster. "Well uh, no… But-"

"No buts." The Blue Bomber replied, "It's not our job to 'open the door' for you and offer advice. You have to be willing to accept it, and acknowledge that you have things to improve on!"

"Yeah, I mean, I was willing to listen to Wash when he was offering some tips on how to be a better leader back on Chorus. But you just grunt and walk away." Tucker pointed out, taking his sword out of another Hydra soldier.

"You aren't complaining that it's hard to improve," Orchid growled, "You're complaining that it's not 'magically happening' automatically."

"Beat has the area covered. We can move on to the next sector." Mega Man reported.

"You can either stay here, or keep going." Tucker said to Jaune, who was visibly shaken up, "But we're not going to be playing babysitter. I get enough of that with Caboose. Except Caboose can actually fight."

Our HEROES ladies and gentlemen, showing even LESS empathy than Dudeblade’s delusions he calls Taiyang Xiao Long. For those of you who don’t know, Dudeblade hates Taiyang because he called Yag’s depression ‘moping.’ And yet here is his HEROES, the guys we’re suppose to be ROOTING FOR, mocking Jaune for the exact same thing, using arguments Dudeblade as decried as immoral and sociopath.

Once again, not okay for RWBY but a FAR FAR FAR worse version is okay for Dudeblade.

Overall, these lines and details don’t have a lot of thought put into them. They’re used to further develop characters, but the writers don’t realize the implications of who is saying it, what they are saying, and why the choice of words matter.

I could bring up in each instance how Dudeblade is fucking up, whether it be that Qrow doesn’t understand his Semblance, that Yang could have old JNPR like Blake told them about her race or the numerous arguments about Taiyang but you’ve heard it all before. Instead let me prove to you that RWDE has no fucking idea what it is doing, By showcasing that for every single bitch they deal out: they commit the same if not WORSE sin.

The issue from them isn’t the action: it’s just the person who did it they hate.

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

Hey, can you do 9. ‘We might die tomorrow’ kiss and 10. ‘You nearly died’ kiss for Luke/Tori please? (when you have time)

sorry this took so long fam. i actually had an idea a week ago, but i also had to go back to grad school. so i mean good news: i’ve been able to really think abt these prompts. bad news: it took a bit to get to them. but here they are! (i may post them later to ao3 and ff, so look out for this updated post with links!)

for those of you just tuning in :D tori is my oc, and i’ve written two stories abt her so far in the pjo-verse: it’s the perfect story & i need another story, just for some context

9 and 10 are both under the cut. it just looks like 9 rn bc of organizational stuff

ps: to the anon who sent in #20 for this meme with tori, i will get to that prompt next (but it may be another week before i post it, for that i apologize). also i got your other ask abt tori and the canon other universe and will also get to that soon

Kiss Meme Prompt #9: “We might die tomorrow” kiss

Luke and I kept each other’s gaze once Percy had given our cabins their assignment, only breaking away from each other once when Thalia and the Hunters of Artemis came and offered to hold the Lincoln Tunnel. Obviously, he’d want to greet his old friend. I wouldn’t say I was friends with Thalia, but we exchanged a brief glance, nod of the head, and a small smile. Which was fine by me.

Luke and I stayed quiet when Percy raised his sword and shouted, “FOR OLYMPUS!” which the kids around us echoed. Everyone started off in the direction on the place they’d been assigned to, but as I turned to follow my siblings, I felt a calloused hand grab my arm and pull me back.

“You’re not actually leaving without saying goodbye, are you?” Luke murmured in my ear. I rolled my eyes but smiled and turned to face him, Luke’s hand resting on my waist. Around us, the patter of footsteps leaving died down and I could feel eyes on my back. We were in the middle of the war, and they still found room for gossip. How human of us.

“Of course not,” I replied, resting the palms of my hands on his chest. Luke waited, when I didn’t move or say anything else he glared at me ruefully, a smile playing at his lips.

“Do I get a kiss? I could die you know,” he said.

“No, but I’ll do you one better,” I told him. Luke raised an eyebrow. “Don’t die. That’s not a request, it’s an order.”

“Is it now?” Luke asked, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me flush against him. His eyes glinted with mischief and a challenge.

“Yeah, and you’d better follow that order,” I responded, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing myself even closer to him. “Soldier.” I closed the distance between us, not caring that basically the entire camp, minus the Ares cabin, were watching our public display of affection.

The kiss started gentle and playful, but the joking soon evaporated, replaced by a desperation and overwhelming anxiety. Luke’s fingertips dug into the small of my back, riding my shirt up slightly. My arms tightened around his neck like a vice and I stood up on the tips of my toes—I couldn’t press myself close enough to him even though I could feel his heartbeat against mine.

When we pulled away, I was so breathless I couldn’t speak for at least 30 seconds. Luke looked like he didn’t want to let go of me. Even so, I stepped away, my eyes burning with a flood of tears.

“That’s an order, remember,” I managed, despite my closing throat, my unshed tears. I pressed hand against his chest, as if to punctuate my point. Luke smiled tenderly and took my hand on his chest, bringing it up to his lips and kissing my palm before resting it against his cheek.

“I love you,” he said, meeting my eyes with such a gentle look, my heart did a summersault, reminding me why I fell in love with him in the first place.

“I love you, too,” I managed, more tears flooding my eyes.

A second passed before I began to pull my hand away, but Luke kept his hand in mine until both our arms were completely outstretched, until just our fingers were touching, then our fingertips, and then—

I spun around, taking a deep breath, trying to blink away my tears as I passed my waiting siblings. I could feel Luke’s eyes on my back, but I knew if I turned around, I wouldn’t want to go to the Williamsburg Bridge.

what

a happy au, in my writing?

the idea of luke being part of the percy’s regime is based off of a fanfic of my fanfic called djinn dreams by lucifersfavoritechild over on ao3.

summary without spoiler: it’s kinda an au where tori convinces luke to go back to camp, but someone else becomes kronos’s host so things play out p similarly as they did in the pjo books, just with luke and tori on percy’s side

Kiss Meme Prompt #10: “You nearly died” kiss

so this is almost a direct continuation from the last ask

Travis met me at the elevator to the top floors of the Plaza.

“Where is he?” I asked stepping out of the elevator, my voice hoarse from crying and terse from worry.

“This way.” Travis’ voice was quiet. He turned without another word and started making his way through the floor. I started to follow, but paused and looked back at the rest of my siblings (Will and Kayla gone—called ahead to the Plaza), all eyes rimmed with red from crying.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Austin tried for a small smile. “We’ll be okay. We’ve got work to do.” His voice broke and he looked away.

“We’ll be fine,” Cressida reaffirmed.

I nodded, not believing it, but promising to check up on them as soon as I was able. I turned and followed Travis, who’d waited for me. We weaved through the other campers and Hunters grabbing something eat or drink, resting, or bandaging wounds.

I smelled it before I got there—the smell of blood and something…rancid. I tried not to gag, but my eyes watered and I couldn’t help the involuntary cough that welled up in my chest and forced its way out of my throat. The rest of the Hermes cabin was there, but parted when Travis and I came into view. My heart dropped and I felt all the air expel from my lungs. My feet froze.

Kayla was kneeling next to—what were they called?—a fainting couch, where Luke lay. Both of them looked sickly, but Luke looked worse. Kayla was pale from healing, her forehead sweaty. Luke looked…ashen grey. His eyes were closed, and from where I stood, I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

If he was even breathing…

“Is he—” I gasped, my body finally unfreezing and went forward to the edge of the couch. My nose had gone numb from the smell that was coming from a trash can filled with a mix of blood and some weird, dark green slimy substance. Tears filled my eyes and it wasn’t from the stench. “Kayla,” I whimpered, my knees buckling.

“He’s still alive,” she whispered. “He needs more healing, but I’ve stabilized him for right now.” She paused. “Though it may not look it.”

I was about to ask her what’d happened, but my sister’s eyes fluttered and I just barely managed to catch her. I looked up to the Hermes cabin. “Can someone help her to a bed?”

Travis came forward and I helped stand her up so Travis could sling one of her arms over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” I told him. Travis nodded and started off, his siblings parting to make a path for him. I turned back to Luke, kneeling next to the couch again, taking Kayla’s place. More tears flooded my eyes and I reached up with a shaking hand to gently brush the bangs from his forehead. Now that I was closer, I could see he was still breathing, but it was shallow and thready.

I took one of his hands in mine, holding it to my forehead as some tears slipped from my eyes.

You can’t leave me, I thought. You promised.

“He took a poisoned arrow for me.” Travis’ voice startled me from my thoughts and I pulled back. Travis was the only one here now, standing on my left. He’d pulled up a chair. I looked up at him through watery eyes. His eyes flickered to his brother. “I don’t know how, but it found a chink in his armor, I guess.” Travis shook his head, frowning. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

I stood up, letting go of Luke’s hand and pulled Travis into a hug. It was a bit awkward because there was a chair between us, but I guess I was feeling particularly sentimental.

“This is not your fault,” I told him firmly. I pulled away and, of all things, smiled, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, he’ll be fine. He’s on strict orders not to die, remember?”

Travis rolled his tear-filled eyes, but smiled. “Thanks.”

I squeezed his shoulder and pulled away. “You should get some rest.”

Travis nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, and I brought this chair over for you, by the way. And, one more thing, he might need to throw-up more of that…stuff, so just grab the trashcan if he lurches or jerks awake. His body is still purging the poison.”

I nodded, every word like daggers flung into my body. I may have joked about it just now, but I was deathly afraid of losing him, worried he might not last the next few hours. Just the very thought of life without made my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

Travis shuffled off and I moved to the chair as close as possible to the edge of the couch before sitting down and taking Luke’s hand back into mine. I was exhausted, and as soon as I sat down, it hit me like a freight train. But I didn’t want to go to sleep, or close my eyes. I wanted to keep them on Luke, make sure he was still breathing.

None of the color had returned to his skin, and his breathing was still shallow and irregular. To be fair, it’s only been like 20 minutes, but I thought if Kayla had stabilized him, it’d show. Even a little bit.

Just as I was about to doze off into sleep, Luke’s jerked and coughed. My heart shot into my throat and I had to let go of his hand to grab the trashcan and hold it up to him just in time for Luke to roll onto his side and retch more of the poison. The stench hit my nose again, fresh and strong, but I swallowed hard, forcing back my gag reflex. I was slightly relieved to see that he was no longer vomiting blood with the poison, however.

Once he was done retching, Luke fell back against the couch, his breathing labored. His eyes fluttered closed and he was out again, his breathing slowing to its shallow and ragged pace again.

More tears flooded my eyes. My hands were shaking again as I took one of his hands into both of mine and kissed his knuckles.

That’s an order, remember, I thought, closing my eyes.

I don’t know when or how it happened, but at some point, I ended falling asleep half on Luke, and half in the chair. My head rested on his chest, while from my waist down rested in the seat of the chair. (I would be told this by my siblings later.)

A soothing sensation, like something was massaging my scalp, roused me from sleep. At first, I was confused because I was having trouble orienting myself because of where I was laying. When I realized where I was and remembered what’d happened, I shot up with a gasp. But because of the position I was in, I ended up sliding out of the chair and taking a tumble to the floor with a squeak.

I pushed myself into a sitting position just in time to see Luke start to sit up, what color had returned to his face, draining from the effort.

I glared at him. “Don’t you dare.” Swallowing hard, Luke laid back down. I was close enough to tell even that little movement had caused him to start wheezing. Worry shot through me like an arrow.

I carefully picked myself up off the floor and pushed the chair away so I could sit on the edge of the couch, facing Luke. I moved my hair from my face and over one shoulder.

“You undid my braid,” I complained. Luke smiled—and, oh, was it so good to see those blue eyes twinkle again—and reached up to run his fingers through my hair.

“Your hair is soft,” he murmured. “I like running my fingers through it.”

I frowned. “How long have you been awake?”

Luke shrugged, pulling his hand away from my hair, but cupping my cheek. “Just a few minutes.” I leaned into his caress, and closed my eyes for a moment. I brought my hand up to cover his and opened my eyes again, smiling. My heart did a little gymnastics routine at his returning smile.

Slowly, I leaned forward, bracing my left lower forearm against the couch, next to Luke’s head. I hovered over him for a long moment, allowing myself to get lost in his eyes, allowing myself a moment to breathe, to feel cautious relief that he was going to survive.

Then Luke cupped my face and brought my lips down to his. I giggled and returned his affections.

Impatient as ever.

I don’t know what happened. One moment it was a sweet, but still swallow-you-whole kind of kiss, the next I felt hot tears streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks. I could taste the salt on my tongue when they hit my lips.

Luke pulled away. “Tori.” He started to shift, to sit up most likely, but I stayed where I was.

“Don’t.” I kept close, close enough our lips brushed. I could feel sobs building in my chest, and my breathing started to stutter as more tears flooded my eyes and reality settled in. I could sense Luke’s restlessness, but there was no amount of comfort he could offer me right now that would make me feel any better.

Finally, when I felt I’d gotten my breathing and tears a little under control, I pulled back so I could look at him. His blue eyes glittered with worry, and he instantly reached up to wipe away the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.

“I almost lost you,” I sobbed quietly, looking down at him, still pretty pale. But not ashen anymore.

“I’m right here,” Luke assured, trailing his fingertips down my left arm before taking my hand into his. His other hand stayed, caressing my face. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” His lips pulled into a crooked smile. “I’m under strict orders, remember.”

I snorted weakly, a small smile pulling at my lips, regardless.

“I love you.” Luke’s expression morphed into something I couldn’t quite read, but it was almost like…he was afraid I wouldn’t say it back. I wasn’t sure what had brought that on, but I quickly remedied it.

“I love you, too,” I replied, reaching up with my free hand to cover his that was still caressing my cheek before lacing my fingers through his.

Luke smiled, his blue eyes lighting up. I had to bit my lip on a silly, school-girl grin that was currently threatening to stretch across my face. My heart thumped strangely in my chest, blood flooding my cheeks, making me feel like a teen who’d just fallen in love all over again.

if you’ve read the books (i mean by this point, i hope you have…) this is right after the first night, and michael dying so that’s why all the red-rimmed eyes and somber mood. and i mean, luke was wounded p badly too so. also they are kinda in the middle of a war, so i mean there’s that too

this was so fun to write! thanks for sending them in ^_^ i know the second one is p long, but i wanted these to be as emotionally charged as they could be (bc i mean the prompts are p charged) but also subtle

i hope i accomplished that!

send me kisses

[ylc1]

Fanfic Master List (Johnlock)

I left this pairing for last since it’s the one I’ve written more fics about so... well. Here we are! Enjoy!

Burned hearts

Johnlock, complete, 7300 words.

Summary: A retell from the scene at the pool in TGG, in which John is never revealed to be Moriarty’s hostage. Believing himself fooled, Sherlock goes through a bit of a meltdown.

Some personal notes on it: this idea came to me when I first watched TGG. I think that I could have expanded it so much more and make it even more angsty but well… I still like it.

Additional notes: angst, lots of self doubt, Sherlock doesn’t cope well, Mycroft and Greg are very concerned.

Apples and Oranges

Johnlock, complete, 600 words.

Summary: Kid Sherlock is attempting to figure out why would people like kissing. John helps.

Some personal notes: this was a fill in for a tumblr prompt. Just some kidlock fluff.

Additional notes: AU, kidlock, fluff.

Long shot

Johnlock, complete, 44200 words.

Summary: Omega werewolf Sherlock is engaged to human Prince John, after having scared off his last suitor. It seems it might be working out for the best though- at least until the Dark and Immortal Wizard Moriarty rises again.

Some personal notes: when I write original fiction, I tend towards fantasy with a mix of romance. Indulging in my love for both genres was a joy. Also, this was my work with most kudos for a long while, so I guess it shows ;)

Additional notes: A/B/O dynamics, Mpreg, arranged marriage, angst, pining, misunderstandings, Jim being Jim (he’s the perfect fairytale villain, honestly)

Wildest dreams

Johnlock (although victorian), complete, 3800 words.

Summary: Watson puts an end to his relationship with Holmes, in order to marry Mary Morstan.

Some personal notes: have I told you how I love Taylor Swift’s songs? I had been trying to avoid writing this particular fic because I worried about my abilities to write something with such a strict historical setting, but I should probably have stopped listening to the song because it soon became too much :P

Additional notes: victorian (but a bit loosely I think), angst, pining, unhealthy coping mechanisms… HAPPY ENDING

Mistaken impressions

Johnlock, complete, 16300 words

Summary: John is convinced his neighbor’s boyfriend is a jerk. He sort of is, but he’s actually Sherlock’s brother.

Some personal notes: I liked this idea, but as I started writing… I lost my way a bit. So now I’m a bit stuck with is, since I have no idea where exactly I want to go with it, although I have what I think might be the last chapter half-written.

Additional notes: references to past abusive relationships, past drug addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, drama, pining, MISUNDERSTANDINGS and some attempts of humor.

Hopeless

Johnlock, complete, 45800 words.

Summary: John’s a slave in Lord Magnussen’s household. When a new slave arrives and the Master takes a fancy on her (although it’s really him), John finds himself doing the best he can to protect him.

Some personal notes: this idea came to me in a dream. Which is why it’s far darker than my usual writings and also the reason for Trans Sherlock. I don’t like fighting my inspiration and well… I went with it, even if it added another layer of complications to this particular fic.

Additional notes: trans character, misgendering, implied/referenced noncon (although there’s nothing explicit), underage (it’s never explicitly stated, but Sherlock is 14 when the fic starts), slavery, sexual slavery, very dark, very angsty, mentions of violence, murder and abuse. It has a happy/hopeful ending, though!

Home for Christmas

Johnlock, complete, 8500 words.

Summary: When Mycroft Holmes informs his family he’s bringing along a friend for Christmas, the household is thrown into utter chaos: Mummy Holmes is delighted, of course and Mr. Holmes is just baffled. Sherlock, however, is determined to figure out what is his brother up to. Mycroft doesn’t do friendships, let alone relationships, so who is this mysterious Dr. John H. Watson and what’s his business with his brother?

Some personal notes: this is the actual summary on AO3, but I really don’t know a better way to describe it ;) I think my attempt of humor did work here, even if it endeded up including a bit of angst (but not much)

Additional notes: Alternate First Meeting, humor, Christmas fic, misunderstandings (of a sort), family.

Black magic

Johnlock, complete, 7400 words.

Summary: John ends up with a magic love potion (he was drunk, don’t judge him!) and in a fit of desperate longing, he gives it to Sherlock. He didn’t expect it to work since magic does not exist, so he’s a little baffled when Sherlock starts acting love-struck.

Some personal notes: this was the first fic I meant to write for the fandom. I never got around finishing until now, when I figured I might as well give it another try. I think it could have been longer, but I had no idea what else to write :P

Additional notes: attempt of humor, magic, a surprising amount of discussion of consent issues, not actually unrequited love.

All is fair (in love and war)

Johnlock, complete, 6300 words.

Summary: Eurus’ “game” forces John and Sherlock to confess long hidden feelings. It turns out as well as you’d expect.

Some personal notes: It started as a rewrite of the “I love you” scene in TFP, turned into a sort of fix it fic. I like it, even if I’m not completely sure the logic holds :P

Additional notes: angst, drama, hurt without comfort, but has a happy ending!

Priceless   

Johnlock, complete 22485 words.

Summary: Sherlock is a Prince with a Kingdom at war. He makes a deal with the all powerful wizard called “the Dark One”; the wizard will stop the war if Sherlock stays with him forever.

Some personal notes: this fic is result of the FandomTrumpsHate auction, for the lovely @sherlock-and-john-getting-it-on​. I was asked for a “Beauty and the Beast” inspired fic with John as the Beast. I asked for the chance to use the Once Upon a Time spin of the tale and this is the result.

Additional notes: magical AU, pining, misunderstandings (they’re both so silly it hurts!), includes my attempt of some proper smut, Jim wrote himself into it and in doing that provided me with an ending :P

Saving all my love for you

Johnlock, 

Summary: Unrequited love is no fun.

Some personal notes: I just wanted to write something angsty, heart tugging. There isn’t much plot, really, just a lot of pining and self reflection.

Additional notes: based on the song by the same title,angst, pining, sad, unilock.

The art of letting go

Johnlock, complete, 47400 words.

Summary: Sherlock convinces himself that if he can’t remember what happened on the stag night, then it didn’t happen at all. Until he finds out he’s pregnant and he can’t keep pretending, that is.

Some personal notes: Oh, I loved working on this. I have a thing for unplanned pregnancies (as you can probably tell) and while writing a character as trans always makes me nervous, I thought it worked well. The story is very angsty at points and it doesn’t get hopeful until the very end so… be warned!

Additional notes: Trans character, Mpreg, angst (a lot), jealousy, pining, Mary and John are married but she isn’t pregnant, pos TSoT, follows HLV more or less.

A fortunate encounter

Johnlock, complete, 4528 words.

Summary: While escaping a group of enemy soldiers, Sherlock ends up in a mysterious island.

Some personal notes: after watching the Wonder Woman movie I couldn’t contain myself and ended up writing this short thing ;)

Additional notes: Wonder Woman AU, love at first sight, spoilers for the movie (somewhat, but not really), romance.

Just friends

Johnlock, side mystrade, complete, 4400 words

Summary: Just friends don’t live together, have sex and generally enjoy a life of sweet domesticity.

Except John and Sherlock do, apparently.

Some personal notes: Cliche, I know, but cute. I became a little obsessed with the idea of friends with benefits due a song :P

Additional notes: alternate universe- college, a little angst, friends with benefits (except not), lack of communication.

The answer

Johnlock, very side Mystrade, complete, 16700 words.

Summary: Friendless and penniless, John agrees to participate on a study conducted by the renowned researcher, Sherlock Holmes, to find the answer to what’s probably the most important question in the world: what’s love?

Some personal notes: this is vaguely based on the book “The answers”, going in the direction I thought the author was going to go when I started reading it (I like my idea much better, I must say)

Additional notes: fake/pretend relationship, a little pining, Sherlock is bad at feelings (and so is John), pseudo science (don’t look too deep into it), lack of communication.

Don’t forget me (I won’t forget you)

Johnlock, complete, 2600 words.

Summary: Sherlock wakes up one day to find he’s the only person who can remember John Watson.

Some personal notes: this idea came to me one day and refused to leave until I wrote it down. It’s just the beginning of a tale, but I don’t have much a plot planned so it’s marked as finished.

Additional notes: Eurus has actual telepathic powers, a little angst, memory alteration, open ending.

And that’s it! They weren’t quite as many as a feared :P 

I hope you’ll enjoy them! Kudos & comments mean the world to me.

And if you can, maybe Buy Me a Coffee

My other lists are here: rare pairs, johnlock & mystrade, mystrade

Last updated 18.12.2018

[feyreofthewildfire]

Wasteland - Nessian Fanfic

Hey lovelies!!

This is not an update to We’ll Go Together (woah), but a response to this post by @modernbookfae that got my wheels turning. Personally, when it comes to writing WGT I get most excited about writing from Nesta or Cassian’s point of view, so a Nessian centric story was not far behind that realization. 

Disclaimer: this fic got WAY out of hand. I'm a cat laser kind of writer, in which I don’t plot (at least not extensively) and instead word vomit all over a Google Doc. I somehow managed to shove one of my own OCs in here as well. I apologize for what you’re about to read.

Please enjoy anyway aha.

(Inspired by the song Wasteland by Against the Current) 

Candy coated lips You’re the sweetest kiss But a bad trip

Nesta burns.

Not with strength and fervor as she once had, but with passion and some sort of affection towards that damned overgrown bat. Her hands clench into fists as her chin threatens to fall, the parasitic and festering feelings that have been settling within her since she’d met the commander now the cause of her fall from grace.

Her heart is a fortress and he’s decided to lay siege—or she thought he had. Perhaps it had all been a game to him. He’d barreled through her defenses and instead of finding and cherishing her as she had desperately, fruitlessly hoped he would, he’d walked straight through the other side and left her there—heart wide open like a gaping wound, a ravaged wasteland of broken bits and pieces hidden behind walls erected even stronger than the ones before, giving the perfect illusion of constructed poise and grace.

It’s been two weeks and they have yet to speak. She’s retreated into the library, burying herself in books and characters that don’t exist, if only to rid herself of the reality she so feverishly despises, if only so that she doesn’t run into the blonde Third.

Nesta is almost ashamed of the way she avoids Morrigan—of the way she avoids everyone. But her dreams—no, her every waking moment, is haunted with the corpse of her father, with the sound of metal crunching through bone as she severs a sovereign’s neck, with the emptiness inside her where power once rumbled, with the sound of Cassian’s screams as Hybern destroys his wings.

It seems that every part of her is haunted.

Nesta knows that she is not needed in Velaris, not essential to the happenings. It’s only been a week since their return and she has yet to do anything. Elain no longer needs her, having found contentment in the garden she begins to grow behind the House. Feyre has become the queen of an empire, needing no one and nothing but her mate.

She supposes it could’ve been argued that Cassian needed her not so long ago, but she knows it’s not true anymore. He has his brothers and Mor.

So when Vassa asks her to leave with her to Scythia as Emissary after her curse had been broken, she leaves with the queen immediately, only remembering to send a letter to Rhysand at the last moment.

For the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels free.

She takes residence on the same ship as Vassa on the way back to the continent, though she’s given a wide berth when she deigns to go above deck during the day. She is not afraid to put her hair up, to show off the delicate points of her ears and the immortal beauty she’d been cursed with.  

When she truly feels alive is when the night comes.

Maybe it’s some remnant of her time spent in her youngest sister’s home or just the fact that it’s the only time she can speak to Vassa thanks to the queen’s busy schedule. The sound of waves over the sea calms her, the slight breeze caressing her face. Were it not for the scrutinizing stares, were it not for the mask she’s forced to wear, she’s certain she’d go above deck during the day.

Then they dock in Scythia and her fantasy, her adventure is over.

Nesta barely speaks within the walls of the Palais, all too aware of the wandering eyes and ears that poison every corridor and room of every castle she’s ever been. The joy she’d secretly found in the open sea is stifled in the dinners she’s forced to attend and small talk she’s forced to make.

Still, when she does change an opinion of an important advisor, she can’t help but feel important—she can’t help but feel needed. She is an emissary, after all. Her work is truly done in the homes of royalty, far away from the place she supposes she calls home now, if for no other reason than her sisters are there.

The only thing anchoring her back to that place is her sisters and the reports she sends to Rhysand. Letters come in every so often from all three, most commonly from Elain. The tales her sister weaves of the happenings in the House never fail to make Nesta smile, even if it’s only the smallest uptick of her lips. Elain is happy and cared for—more than what Nesta could’ve wished for not even two years ago.

Then she meets General Fionn.

He’s young, born of nobility and ancient traces of Autumn Court blood that gives him the smallest power over flame, carefully hidden away in fear of losing his position. His smiles are pretty and his words are smooth. It’s easy to banter with him, given the fact that he only laughs at her insults and poisonous words. It’s easy to find some sort of ally within him.

When she wakes up from a nightmare of Elain being tortured by Hybern, she asks him to train her.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding and agreeing. They have to run it by Vassa and Rhysand first, but the Queen and High Lord seem oddly nonchalant about the message their training sessions will broadcast to the world.

In three weeks she’s worked up into swordplay, her movements graceful and violent—strong and swift, laced with the High Fae elegance that had seeped into her veins from the Cauldron. Her immortal strength gives her the ability to knock Fionn over with nothing more than a shove, and she has to remind herself to hold back so that she doesn’t kill him on accident. While it would be interesting, it would be a shame to lose a friend and create a diplomatic disaster.

They move from swords to every weapon imaginable in the next two weeks and, occasionally, when they’re alone, she helps him with what little Autumn Court lingers in his blood. She’s by no means a qualified teacher, but he becomes surprisingly proficient at wielding the small bit of fire in his veins under her guiding hand.

When she pushes him against the wall in the armory and kisses him, she tells herself it’s because she feels something for him.

Their training sessions become more playful after that. Nesta has already learned how to use every weapon under the sun with decent proficiency, and they just spend hours sword fighting and sparring to pass the time.

She’s not sure when she begins to wear her hair down, or when her smiles become polite rather than serpentine, only that she’s convinced herself that she’s found home in a pair of human arms and distracting pet names.

When she pins him to the ground for the thousandth time, she doesn’t realize a smile’s bloomed on her face until Fionn’s eyes widen, a certain kind of reverence filling the blue orbs framed by thick lashes

So she kisses him again, unknowingly superimposing hazel over blue.

Then one of the other queens invades Scythia and he’s torn away to the western border.

He gifts her his favorite dagger and kisses her twice before leaving, bestowing upon her promises and promises of what they’ll do together once he gets back.

They send letters as fast as they can. Nesta has learned how to send letters through whatever magic allows such things to teleport long distances, though has to wait the three days it takes for his letters to get back to her through horseback. Scythia has the finest cavalry on the continent, and the messengers are well-trained and ride well, also giving them the fastest communications on the continent.

The gaping hole in her heart left by the commander across an ocean has begun to heal over, the wasteland behind the walls beginning to return to what it was once again. Every letter that arrives from Fionn and Elain gives her strength, gives her what she needs to rebuild herself and perhaps one day be able to look Cassian and Mor in the eye without wanting to hide away.

Perhaps she can find love outside of the small world she’s always found herself trapped within—her small world where love was nothing but a myth, a far-fetched tale told to the daughters that would be sold off like cattle one day.

Then the neighboring queen attacks the camp in the night and slaughters every soldier.

She doesn’t receive a condolence letter, she’s by no means his family or next of kin, but she thinks that perhaps receiving one would’ve helped with the grief, with the pain.

She doesn’t know if she was in love with Fionn or maybe just who he resembled, but the agony that ripples through her is enough to make her swear off soldiers, any man who walks into battle arms open and swords wielded, ready to greet Death as the old friend it is.

She shoves the training clothing to the back of her wardrobe and shoves the swords and daggers into a miscellaneous drawer, reverting back to braided updos and serpentine twists of her lips. It’s safer this way, she tells herself.

The walls around her heart reinforce once again.

Not a week later she’s convinced the last advisor to her side, gaining the support of the Queen’s entire court as she was sent to do. The next day Rhysand is standing in the courtyard, ready to winnow her back to the Night Court.

If he has something to say, she’s glad that he doesn’t say it. She’s wished all her farewells and her belongings have been packed up, ready to be sent back the moment she arrives in Velaris.

It’s only been three months, she knows this, and yet the place she’s supposed to call home is utterly unfamiliar.

Her heart has become a wasteland once again, torn to pieces by the man she’d chosen to give it to. Her words are more biting than before, her eyes more often narrowed then not. Every rise and fall of her chest reminds her of Fionn, of the merry laugh that always fell from his lips and the crisp apples he tasted of.

Then Cassian finds her.

He’d been off in Scythia helping with the incoming war, showing solidarity in the alliance formed between Prythian and a kingdom on the continent. He’d been her replacement after her job had been done, forcing neither of them to see the other.

She hadn’t even known he’d been arriving back, or she would’ve locked herself in her bedroom rather than sit in the exposed library.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The words drip with sarcasm, with an anger barely reined in. His place leaning against a bookshelf seems casual enough, though the crossing of his arms and clench of his jaw tells another story.

Her eyes flicker up towards him, finding that he looks exactly the same as she’d last seen him. His hair is pulled back and his Siphons gleam in the low light, a sword strapped to his back that makes her sick to her stomach.

“Commander.” Her voice is void of any emotion, the words monotone. Her hands clench around the book she’d been reading, the only sign of her distress.

He nods to the dagger strapped to her waist. “You know how to use that?”

She tenses, all the insults she wants to throw at him falling away. “It’s not mine.” She dismisses, standing from her place on the armchair and swiftly beginning to walk away, book clutched against her chest.

His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to block her path. The intricate sewing of the leathers nearly makes her sway where she stands. “Whose is it then?” He bites back, none of the careful, begrudged concern she’d come to expect in his eyes. There’s nothing but sheer will and fire in them.

She almost throws up at her own analogy.

“That is none of your concern.” Her voice raises for the first time. She will not fall apart in front of this good-for-nothing bastard. He had treated her as nothing, and she will do the same. She no longer owes him anything. She had been willing to die for him—willing to leave behind Elain. She’d laid her own body over his, looked Death in the eye and blinked.

He had made a proclamation about regrets, about having more time and yet when it had been given to him he hadn’t used it. He’d avoided her and fallen back into old habits as if the war hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t been granted immortality and great power only to have the latter ripped away from her, as if he hadn’t had his wings shattered twice and expected death, gone running onto the battlefield arms wide open and a grin on his face.

“I heard some rumors about your time in Scythia,” He starts, unwilling to let her go, to leave her be. She doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. “I heard that you made friends with one of the generals there.”

Something inside her snaps.

“And why do you care?” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, “Why does it concern you? Why does my every move have to involve you, Cassian? I did my job. I followed every rule in the book and made a few of my own. Rhysand approved all my decisions. So why do you care?”

She’s not sure she’s ever said his name aloud, not without some insulting title following it. Her heel squeaks on the wooden flooring as she turns and struts away from him, careful to recollect the poise she’d lost in those moments.

A hand gently catches her wrist, the grip loose enough that she could rip herself away quite easily. But she doesn’t. She’s not sure why. A shaky breath falls from her lungs as she turns back to see Cassian once again, some sort of devastation laced in the strong planes of his face.

“I care about you, Nesta.” He answers her, an incredulity to his tone as if he can’t believe that she doesn’t already realize that little fact. “I care more about you than any of the shit that happens as a result of this war. I heard about what happened and I guess that was my shitty way of being concerned.”

She can only stare at him as if the answers to every question she’s ever asked lie in his features. There are so many things she wants to shout at him, so many things she wants to scream, and scream, and scream about. She wants to ask why he’d left her, why he’d avoided her and then sought her out once again like a child who’d had their forgotten toy taken away.

She’s so tired.

“I appreciate your concern, Commander.” The words are cold, formal, ones she’d spoken a million times in Scythia, usually followed by a contradicting retort.

But this is not a war room, and she does not owe the bastard anything. Not one single part of herself does she owe him.

When she walks away this time, he doesn’t stop her.

I Don’t Wanna Wake Up (Companion Fic)