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panthera-tigris-venenata · 2 years

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Truth or Dare

For @isleofdarkness; @descendantsgiftexchange

I hope you enjoy! Oh, and I’ll add AO3 version & link to it in near future! (Anyway, the main ship should be Harriet/Ginny/Anthony/Diego. They are playing truth or dare and everyone is being a menace.)

„So let me get this straight,“ Jay says, casually leaning back against the wall, „Your cousin has a date with Harriet Hook, Ginny Gothel and Anthony Tremaine, and you want to spy on them?“

Well, when you put it like this… Then it doesn’t sound as great as it did in Carlos’s mind.

He gulps and answers: „Yes.“

„And you want me to go with you?“

„Yes.“

„To go spy on a bunch of people, at least three of which could kill me in pretty creative ways?“

„…Yeah?“

…No one is killing anyone, are they?

Carlos would like to think that, at least.

Carlos is a pretty good liar.

Jay’s face breaks into a grin: „Are you kidding me, man? Of course I’m in! I live for the thrill!“

„And you have a few bets going on by Sammy Smee,“ adds Jade from where she was listening in, because of course she was listening in.

„…Yeah, and that,“ admits Jay carelessly, „When do we start?“

Carlos breathes in to answer, but Jade cuts him off before he can speak.

„Right now!“ she calls out and leaps off the roof, Jay only a blink of an eye behind her, and, wait, why is Jade going with them?!

Oh, who is he kidding.

Of course Jade is going with them.

In her opinion, there isn‘t any better use of her time than watching drama unfold. Relationship drama, bar fights, gang wars… She doesn’t care, really.

So Carlos sights and sets out after the two cousins: Diego’s date is just starting, after all.

…………..

The bottle spins and spins on the croaked floor, four people gathered around it and sitting on the floor without as much as a cushion. But hey, who cares?

Discomfort is temporary, as is life, after all.

A hand reaches in the middle of the small circle (...square?) and flickers towards the flask, as if to stop it. Two other voices cry out against it.

It spins and gleams as it catches the light, capturing Harriet Hooks’s attention in turn. Which could be a shame, since there is plenty to look at in this room, really, but. It’s shiny.

Harriet is a pirate and she could never resist the gleam. Besides, it’s starting to slow down:

Lazy anticipation builds up as the flask makes its last, agonisingly slow turns.

The bottleneck points to Ginny, the bottom to Diego, who leans back contendly and flashes his teeth in a semblance of a smile.

„Sunflower,“ he starts, and Harriet leans a bit forward in anticipation, ignoring Anthony’s soft chuckle, „Truth or dare?“

„Dare.“

Oh, this is gonna be good–

„Strip down to your bra.“

And indeed, the witch strips down with no hesitance or shame, only to immediately throw the blouse at Diego’s face.

„Fuck you, de Vil,“ she complains, „It is cold out there!“

„Is it now?“ Diego grins wider „I find it is rather hot in there.“

Well, that was smooth, Harriet will leave him that. Besides, she can’t say she disagrees.

And by the way Anthony winks at the other boy, she’d say he doesn’t disagree either.

She cackles at Ginny’s dark glare, and stills only when she reaches out to spin the bottle again. Harriet must say she doesn’t pay her full attention to the old battered flask this time, though maybe she should have, as the bottleneck lands on her this time, and before she can even blink, her girlfriend (if such thing can exist on the Isle), asks her „truth or dare.“

„Dare,“ she chooses.

„Great!“ a wicked smile plays on the witch’s lips as she requests for Harriet to hand her her cloak. Her red pirate cloak, would you believe it?!

„Fuck you, Diego,“ Harriet mutters and shots him a dirty look as she takes off the cloak and hands it to Ginny. The only person amused by this point is Anthony, that bastard, and Harriet dearly hopes that the next dare will fall on him. (she doesn’t think he’d actually chose truth, but hey, stuff happens.)

It is her turn to spin the bottle.

Anthony to Diego, it lands, and hey, fair enough. She winks at Ginny and Ginny winks back and giggles when Diego, too, chooses dare.

„I dare you to sing for us, right now.“

Anthony is always so nice with his dares, isn‘t he? So considerate. Making sure everyone will have fun with his dare.

„It would be my pleasure,“ Diego grins, climbing up to his feet. He uses Anrhony’s head as an armrest and ruffles his hair in the process: Anthony’s hands fly up to his carefully styled hairdo, and Harriet smirks a bit at his scandalised expression. She just loves it when he gets like this.

Then she leans back, and the sun shining through the half-closed blinds momentarily blinds her. She shifts, watching the light dance at the dust and reflect at Diego's white-black hair. (the de Vil hair.)

(Did she catch a glimpse of black-and-white through the window, or is it just a trick of light?)

And sweet heavens, does that boy have a voice. Harriet is sure that sirens would be jealous – at least the sorry things that remain of them at the port today.

In Harriet’s opinion, the song is altogether too short. She considers it the only fault of this little show, apart from the fact that Ginny still has her cloak, but let‘s not dwell on unimportant details, shall we?

Diego stops singing, bows down and spins the bottle in one smooth motion. Multitasking.

Harriet would give him a proper rumble for that, but that would require her to stand up: She settles for hitting her palm against the floor, while Ginny whistles and Anthony actually claps. Of course he does, poser.

As if Diego needed any more encouragement.

He bows again, and the bottle stops, pointing from him to Harriet, and Harriet can‘t quite decide how she feels about that wicked gleam in his eye. Judging by the direction of his stare, though…

„Dare,“ she states before he can ask, „Do be original, though, please.“

He pouts at her.

Ginny bursts out laughing: „He will need to think about a new dare, then!“ and „Boys only think at that one thing–“

„Excuse me?“ (That was Anthony, if you couldn’t tell.)

„Oh, shut up, Sunflower,“ blushing Diego, „As if you are any better.“

Now it’s Ginny’s turn to sputter out an appalled „Excuse me?!“, though a bit more aggressive than Anthony’s was.

„Aww, come on…“ she fake-pouts at her partners before they get into a full-on shouting match or a make-out session, and, right… Why is she interrupting them again?

„I don’t have the whole day, you know?“ she stretches a bit.

As if any of them had the whole day.

„Aww, bossy, aren’t we?“ coos Diego – who is still standing – and reaches out to ruffle her hair. Her hair. She playfully snaps at his fingers.

„Get on it, de Vil boy.“

„Can’t rush perfection, Captain Hook–“

Yeah, so, she has decided that she definitely doesn’t like that look in his eyes.

(„He has a point,“ states Anthony elegantly raising his palm up as if at some high-order meeting, for which Ginny proceeds to whacks him over the head with her blouse. Look how much useful that can be.)

„I dare you to exchange your jewelry with me right now and actually wear it for the rest of the week.“

Okay, that‘s not that bad…

Although you know what? No.

The things he calls jewelry are totally going to shatter her aesthetic! He wears a spiked collar around his neck, for heaven’s sake! And a cross earring – only one! Harriet is not wearing that!

„First of all, no!“ she protests, „Second of all, it’s literally only Tuesday!“

She shots a dirty look to Ginny, bundled up in her coat.

„Dare is a dare, Ettie,“ the witch laughs, while Anthony only nods.

„And don’t call me Ettie!“

Diego makes a „pay up“ gesture, and Harriet clutches her hand – fine, mainly the gold rings on her fingers – to her chest.

„Give that here, Ettie,“ Diego says, and so Harriet, in the spirit of the game, complies, cursing Diego all the way to hell and back.

„Good–“ Diego mutters, turning back to get into his spot, his hands full of Harriet’s treasures. Traitor, turncoat, backstabber–

Ginny bolts up and stands in front of him before he can even sit down.

„Gimme!“ she says, pointing at Harriet’s (!) rings.

Diego shrugs his shoulders and tells her to „pick whichever you like, Sunflower.“

…At least he couldn’t actually put it on her finger, what with his hands full. Small mercies.

On the other hand, he does casually drop another ring to Anthony, who immediately puts it on his own finger and admires how it fits and gleams.

Harriet barely contains the urge to irritably growl at her insufferable partners.

Anthony reaches out to caress her cheek, and Harriet leans into the touch, entirely against her will, of course. And don’t you dare suggest otherwise.

She can feel the cold metal of her ring against her skin.

„Take it easy, Harriet,“ he tells her, „It’s your turn to spin now.“

Harriet jerks back.

„Of course, of course–“ And with a flick of her wrist, the flask is spinning again.

Harriet struggles to pay attention to it, and Anthony even has to nudge her when it stops. Ginny to Diego.

Harriet lets her mind wander for a moment, and, really, why does she keep seeing black-and-white-and-red out of the window?

And faint traces of gold? That’s always suspicious on the Isle–

Oh, well, anyway.

There is a game going on, more interesting matters to focus on, you know?

…Besides, Ginny has been poking her into the shoulder for quite some time, hadn’t she.

Harriet makes a face at her: Ginny blows her a kiss, which makes Harriet laugh.

They play again, laughing, and leaning closer to each other as time goes on.

No one has chosen truth yet.

And she certainly won’t be the first to do so: she choses dare again and has to try and throw her dagger at a specific eye in the wood – now, you see, this is her kind of dare. She bows her head towards Ginny before she throws; she only hopes she won’t accidentally tear down this whole shackle.

She misses, but only by an inch or so, and that would be because she didn’t bother to actually stand up or aim. And anyone who says otherwise is a dirty liar.

It’s her turn to spin again.

The bottle lands on her and Anthony: he sights dramatically while she grins in a manner that some might describe as a bit maniacal. She doesn’t care for other people, though.

Now, she should have it here somewhere–

Anthony watches her fumble through her pockets with increasing worry.

Yes! Here it is!

Oh. Wait. She forgot to ask „Truth or dare,“ and he won’t chose dare if he knows what she has planned. So she asks now, and to her eternal delight, he agrees to a dare.

Victoriously, she pull out a flask, you know, that thin flat thing designed to be carrier on person?

Yeah, that one.

She unscrews the lid.

„Drink this,“ she dares Anthony Tremaine.

He reluctantly takes the flask, brushing his fingers against hers, and carefully sniffles the contents.

His nose wrinkles up in a manner that Harriet consciously chooses not to describe as „cute“ as he makes a long face at her.

„What is this? And where did you even get it?“

„Out and around,“ shrugs Harriet, „Some fancy drink I found in the barges.“

(It’s actually vodka mixed with an expired energy drink, a cocktail that has been keeping her up the last few days, but she isn’t gonna tell him that. She doesn’t fancy a lecture about her drinking habits and lifestyle right now.)

„I’m not drinking this,“ he states, „Absolutely not. And even if I did, I’d probably be risking a visit to the hospital.“

„Untrue. I drink that. And I’m fine.“

„…That has zero reporting value, Harriet.“ (Again, untrue.)

Harriet struggles to come up with an answer that isn’t just a string of vulgarities, while Diego leans over to sniff the flask himself and Ginny pouts at Anthony.

„What’s wrong with the hospital?“ she complains, „I work here!“

„Yeah, but that still doesn’t mean I want to visit it as a patient, darling.“

„…Not even if I put on my sexy nurse costume?“ Ginny asks, and Harriet almost chokes, trying to contain her fit of giggles, which would be unbecoming.

„Why do you even have a sexy nurse costume?“ Anthony asks weakly.

„Why, me and Harriet found it in a barge one time–“ Yeah, no, Harriet doesn’t think it’s necessary to elaborate on that. And yes, she’d also like to know why on Earth do Auradonians have such a thing as a „sexy nurse costume.“

Diego takes a sip of her spiked energy drink (alright, more like alcohol spiked with the energy drink, but who is counting?) and passes it back to Anthony.

„You’ll be fine, man,“ he says, „And you need no costume, Ginny.“

„Seconded.“ Because honestly, that thing is ridiculous. Impractical, too.

And it has print-on pockets.

Harriet would almost say that the creator of print-on pockets deserves the Isle, but even she isn’t that cruel.

Anthony wrinkles his nose once again and drinks, choking and coughing immediately after.

Something flickers behind the window, red-and-black-and-white, stealing her attention away from this frankly amusing sight.

She locks eyes with Carlos de Vil.

…………..

Carlos can only stand Harriet’s gaze for a fraction of second: He then breaks eye contact with a curse his mother would probably skin him alive for.

„Shit,“ he curses again, then he calls out at Jay, „Man, she saw me! What do I do?“

Jade breaks into cackles at that, which is decidedly not helpful at all, thank you for asking. Jay smirks too, casually standing up: „I suggest you run real fast,“ he says, „And pray that your cousin won’t let them kill you.“

With that, the Agrabah cousins take off, not bothering to climb off the roof; Carlos wastes few precious seconds wondering whether he should really try out their neck breaking path, and before he decides, well, it’s already too late.

The doors fly open and out marches one Harriet Hook, this time without her signature red coat.

Carlos decides that he isn‘t gonna test the nerves of his cousin and the other three any more today and bolts away.

„Wait for me!“ he calls towards Jay.

Wild laughter is his only answer.

…………

There are two more people watching the commotion, up on the roof few building off where they had just ducked behind the chimney. Two pirates in red coats, just like the one their older sister just temporarily lost in a bet.

„We’re not gonna help them, are we,“ more states than asks Calista Jane.

„Absolutely not,“ answers Harry, „Uma would have my throat if Ettie caught me,“ he adds, his voice half-a-whisper, and CJ giggles.

„Hey! I have stuff to do, you know?“

„Yeah, sure. Like making eyes at Uma–“

„Like doing rounds and keeping watch,you insufferable scallywag,“ he riggs her in the ribs, „Besides, we need to find a camera: Did you see what Ettie was wearing?“ He vaguely gestures towards their sister, then to his neck. CJ’s eyes light up with unearthly light.

„I know just who might have such a camera,“ she declares, and Harry rubs his hands and his hook together:

„Set course, then, sister dear.“

They are going to have so much fun with these photos yet.

#disney descendants #descendants gift exhange #carlos de vil #jay descendants #jade descendants #diego de vil #harriet hook #anthony tremaine #Ginny Gothel #harry hook #cj hook

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kanerallels · 2 years

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Fan Fic Appreciation Day!

I remembered that today is Fan Fic Appreciation Day, so I thought I'd make a post shouting out some of my favorite authors! This isn't in any particular order and it's probably mostly Star Wars fics, but you should definitely check all of these out! Oh, and I'm absolutely gonna forget some people, but I'm doing my best!

This got kinda long, so it's going under a cut! You can feel free to add on any fics that you'd like to talk about, of your own and others!

Okay FIRST is my girl @laughingphoenixleader!! She writes incredible Kanera fan fic-- Moonbeam: A Masterpiece lives up to the title for sure. She's so funny and incredible at writing the deep moments between Kanera! Plus she's come up with some spectacular OCs, and her way of portraying Kanera is clearly rooted in how much she adores the characters!

@chaoticdumbassrogue is so incredible at Kanera, too!! And she comes up with the BEST headcanons (I'm still low key in love with her Kanan as Mira's brother headcanon) and her au ideas are genius!! One of my favorites of hers is Cooking Lessons, which she actually gifted to me!! Super fun story!!

One series I didn't expect to get obsessed in would be the Empire Reimagined series by @musewrangler. It's very original trilogy centric, and the main characters are two Imperial officers, which definitely surprised me, so it took me a while to get into it. But then I started reading Rebellions Are Built On Hope when it was first being published, and I was won over so quickly by the kindness of the main character (Admiral Piett), and how he was very adoption oriented. My favorite part about these stories is how central a theme platonic relationships are-- I routinely lose my mind over Veers and Piett's friendship-- and how the author treats them with the same respect and care romantic relationships are treated with! (also Veers is hilarious and amazing and so ride or die for his best friend I love him so much)

An author I very recently discovered and became obsessed with is @jessicas-pi! She's one of two authors who have convinced me that Sabezra is actually a pretty awesome ship, her Quinlan Vos is hilarious, and her SWR time travel Time Heals All Wounds is slowly consuming my mind!! (seriously, I could NOT STOP THINKING about one of the cliffhangers, I was cackling like a deranged lunatic). Also she's SO funny

@hecckyeah is amazing for many reasons, not least of which is the fact that she's the first fic writer on here who I'm shouting out for non Star Wars reasons (that said, her Star Wars fan fics are AWESOME you should check them out). But! I'm a huge fan of scout and rainy, this incredibly adorable Dousy fan fic that I LOVE! (but also her Star Wars stuff is amazing and so deep and intense and I love it so much)

This collection would be incomplete without me mentioning @okadiah. They wrote one of the very first full length Star Wars Rebels fic I ever read, Blackbird, and so many other amazing Kanera stories!! Blackbird is amazing, incredibly intense, and overall just a really, really good read if you're willing to absolutely lose your mind over the tension but also DANG the message is good also Maz Kanata is there

There are two fic writers here that I'm gonna shout out, but honestly have not read enough of their stuff-- @winterinhimring and @sidesofmayo. I really love what I've read of their work so far, and I'm so excited to read more!! The former wrote an amazing RepComm series called Cin Vhetin that I'm slowly but surely tackling (don't worry, I promise I haven't forgotten!) and my favorite of the latter's was a fic that was posted on here, then ended up on AO3 with a second chapter! It's called Their First Place, it's Sabezra, and it's SUPER CUTE I'm gonna go read it properly after I post this

OOH JUST REMEMBERED ONE!! following a lover's path by @pontmercyingtil is easily one of my all time favorite Kanera fics, it's beautiful!! The Kanera is amazing and I just REALLY love the story. Plus the author's writing style is amazing!!!

There are a handful of other fics where I don't know the authors of on here, but I HAVE to shout them out anyways because I'm obsessed! (if you know the authors, feel free to give them a tag!) First is Morning Light by SweetSinger2010 (one of my FAVORITE Kanan lives aus I've ever read), & are we there yet? by iconocible (just. the feels. the angst. the V I B E S) Chess Pieces by Synapse (which I've definitely shouted out on here before but this ALSO has impeccable vibes which fit A New Dawn SO WELL) and An Unexpected Habit by Jillie_Chan (I particularly liked chapter five because Kanan and Ezra's father son relationship my beloved also you have NO idea how long it took me to find this fic)

#fan fic appreciation #fic recs #swr #star wars rebels #star wars #agents of shield #kanera #dousy #admiral piett #general veers #star wars original trilogy #republic commando #sabezra

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aimmyarrowshigh · 2 years

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📝 pick a number + send a pairing, and i’ll write you a drabble: Heaven Eleven 📝

If you send off anon, I can Gift the work to you on AO3, which makes me happy! I am currently only accepting requests for pairings and/or characters on my Ship List.

THIS LIST IS NOW COMPLETE, please click here for the current list!

public

backseat

donkey

hack

welding

serious

wirework

bisexuality

ivory

splatter

yellow

ancient

closet

Persephone

sketchbook

bronze

annoyances

burgers

cocktails

sleeping bag

come-eating

displaced

engagement

beauty

shut down

endurance

predicament

Queens

home alone

intimidating

moment

pasta

orgasms

pre-war

grown-up

possession

no strings

rook

premiere

rhyme

pups

shared bed

trauma

after hours

pumpkins

handjob

worthy

radiant

difficulty

alternative

smoking

buddy

rest

weekend

mentoring

holster

trench coat

formalities

cackle

physics

wrongness

boy

work

hypnotize

glaives

fate

amateur

orphan

triumvirate

cyclical

quiver

lady

birth

cronut

playing dirty

behind the scenes

abandon

pious

ashamed

miss

girl's night

uptight

life-force

bareback

love letters

braces

dense

blind

jellybean

stolen

replacements

grain

married

antipathy

shake it

formal

glare

abandoned

fire

Valhalla

#100 drabble tumblr challenge: heaven eleven #fandom #fanfiction #my fic

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mwolf0epsilon · 2 years

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Succesful Failure...

Summary: Olly can't save his vode from Sulu Ra. But maybe someone else can…

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

---

It was very dark. The church itself had shone bright, with the sunlight filtering through the old colourful glass panes that made up the intricate and rather delicate mosaics that had been laid out many years ago to tell their religious tales.

The ship connected to the tallest tower however, was cold dark and dreary. Just like Umbara. Lichtenberg did not like the dark

But Olly had been missing for a day and he knew exactly where his little vod'ika had gone. Revenge had been on his mind for quite some time now, and nothing would have kept him from his war path once every single clone on Epifania had been cured of their accelerated ageing.

Lich knew what to expect. He'd grabbed his blaster, grabbed PB, and the two had marched on without a word. Without stopping to wait for help. Without heeding Rhythm's pleas to let him catch up to them. This didn't concern him. This was batch business.

They marched through the darkness of the lab's halls and, even though his mind began playing tricks on Lich, didn't stop to contemplate the photoreceptors that followed their every move. They weren't exactly concerned with hiding their presence from the demagolka that had haunted their Free'ika's dreams. The two angry clones didn't stop until they found their little baby brother.

The sight that greeted them was a terrible one.

For all of Olly's strength, for all that he and three others outnumbered the monster, Sulu Ra still had them on the ground.

Hurting. Shivering. Twisting. Dying?

Whatever the case, the Kaminoan was enjoying himself while his victims writhed on the floor in sheer agony.

"You thought you could destroy me? He who made you?" The Mad Cloner of Kamino cackled. "Please... You were always pathetic little welps, even before I made something useful out of you all... You could only ever dream to overthrow your god!"

They could shoot the monster. Blast him to pieces. But compassion is a much stronger feeling than rage had ever been. Lich and PB drop their weapons and rush to the agonised clones's side. The three Olly had been trying to rescue are rather unusual to look upon, but the fear in their eyes is a familiar one and Lich isn't about to let them die afraid. Neither is Pretty Boy for the matter...

Sulu Ra continues to laugh as he watches the pain he's caused unfold. He's drugged them, and whatever is coursing through their veins is causing them immeasurable burning. Neither Lichtenberg or Pretty Boy are medics. They don't know how to help their vode, so they hold them as best they can instead.

Sooth and whisper and promise that even if this is the end, they won't leave their sides. They won't let the demagolka be the last being they ever see. They wish they could stop the horrid mad cackling, wish they could make this less stressful.

Their wishes come true.

Sulu Ra's shrill laughter is cut off. Lich only has seconds to look up before he sees a figure shrouded in darkness, face hidden by a gas mask, grabbing the Kaminoan by the neck. For a second he thinks they're going to snap it, but they instead push him off the catwalk.

The Kaminoan screams, almost in disbelief at this sudden turn of events, before that too is cut off by the sound of flesh and bone breaking apart. The bastard is impaled on one of his own machines, thick blood bubbling out of his mouth and nostrils as he begins to drown around his punctured lungs.

The figure up above watches with grim satisfaction, before looking down at them. The only thing Lich can see of them is a mess of wild curls and the glint of the gas mask's lenses. There's a pungent smell in the air that he recognises.

It was only a matter of time before hubris took the butcher. The irony isn't lost on Lich that he who maimed was stopped by someone who cures.

He just hopes Pox can still help save his kih'vode...

#Eps Writes #Star Wars #the clone wars #forceful intervention au #Star Wars ocs #clone ocs #sulu ra #clone trooper lichtenberg #clone trooper pretty boy #riot trooper olly olly oxenfree #clone medic pox #In which Sulu Ra finally eats shit and even tho I built up Olly being the one to end him it's actually Pox that gets the honour :)

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august-anon · 3 years

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Lullaby of Laughter

I've been trying to edit this for days but I've been having brain fog so it's been pretty unsuccessful lol. It was written months ago though and I edited it once back then so it's probably fine? Last time I did a fic poll this got the second-most votes so it made sense to post this next.

----

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Ship(s): Suki/Sokka/Zuko

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Sokka/Ler!Suki/Zuko

Word Count: 2038 words

Summary: Sokka's a bit too restless to fall asleep, and unfortunately all his fidgeting is keeping Suki and Zuko awake. Suki decides to show Zuko just how she tires Sokka out enough to sleep.

[ao3 link]

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

It was different, now.

Zuko had been worried that it would be different, that things would change. He often worried late into the night about it, if they would still like him after they all started to find peace. There was certainly something to be said about romantic bonds formed in the face of death itself, after all, and while Zuko was certain his own feelings were true, he worried about the feelings of his partners were simply in the heat of the moment.

After all, he had tried to kill them multiple times. And had their friends kidnapped, multiple times. And sent an assassin after them. And--

Zuko stopped that train of thought. Uncle Iroh had told him repeatedly how unproductive it was, and Suki and Sokka had started trying to convince him of that as well. He would begrudgingly admit that their methods were a bit more effective than his uncle’s.

But that didn’t mean Zuko’s fears had vanished.

The war was over, now. His father and Azula had been defeated, Aang had saved the world, and now Zuko was anxiously waiting on his own coronation. The heightened emotions from the battles were waning, and Zuko wasn’t yet convinced that Suki and Sokka’s feelings were not going to wane with them. It would be just his luck, wouldn’t it?

They were nothing if not persistent, though.

It was the first calm night since his father and Azula had been taken down. The past several days, everyone had been rushing around, putting out one political fire after the next, stopping battle after battle. Not everyone had gotten the memo that the war had finished. For the first time since Ember Island, the three of them were in the same building with no obligations.

Somehow, they all wound up in Zuko’s suite.

The three of them had slept in the same room before; heck, they had even slept in the same bed before, but they’d never done it alone. Team Avatar, as Sokka liked to refer to their group, was not only extremely close-knit, but also extremely traumatized. Odds were, if one person found their way into your designated sleeping area, five more weren’t far behind.

This was the first night the three of them would ever spend alone.

Zuko felt a bit out of place as he climbed into the bed, Sokka already sprawled out in the middle and Suki climbing in on the other side. Sokka had quickly made himself at home, letting his hair down and throwing off most of his clothing before climbing into the bed. Suki’d had much more decorum, but she certainly wasted no time in snuggling up in Zuko’s bed, cuddling up to Sokka’s side. They both glanced up at Zuko.

“It’s no different than any other time,” Suki said, her voice gentle.

“It’s a little different,” Zuko said.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Can you at least have your crisis while cuddling me?” He said. “I’m cold, and I need my weirdly-warm firebender boyfriend plastered up against my side, like, yesterday.”

Zuko huffed a small laugh, steeling his nerves and sliding into the bed. Sokka stayed sprawled on his back, Suki’s arms wrapped around his waist. Not sure where to go, Zuko hesitantly mirrored her position on Sokka’s other side.

The three of them laid in silence for a while. Suki was clearly dozing in and out, though not fully asleep yet. Zuko himself felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, the spaces between each blink growing longer and longer. Sokka, though, seemed incapable of settling down. His eyes remained wide open between them, and he seemed incapable of controlling his fidgeting, despite how hard he seemed to be trying. After the fifth time he’d jostled them both awake, Suki sat up.

“That’s it,” she said. “Do we need to tire you out?”

Zuko immediately felt the energy in the room shift. Suddenly on edge and no longer sleepy, he carefully sat up, glancing back and forth between Suki and Sokka. Sokka had his hands raised in a placating motion, a nervous grin on his face. Suki looked downright predatory.

Zuko made a note to himself to never be in the center of the cuddle pile. He didn’t want to risk her wrath if he couldn’t hold still, either.

He couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the situation, though. While this was a clearly practiced song and dance between Suki and Sokka, Zuko had no clue what was going on. He didn’t know why that grin was on Suki’s face, or why Sokka was blubbering incoherently, or why whatever this was would help Sokka get to sleep.

But then Suki looked over at him, her devious grin going a little softer at the edges. “Wanna help out?”

Zuko blinked. “With what?”

Suki smirked. “Sometimes, Sokka’s brain moves a little too fast for him to fall asleep--”

“I’m fine!” Sokka interrupted, deliberately snuggling back into the pillows on Zuko’s bed. “See! Totally tired.” He gave them a comically fake yawn.

Suki rolled her eyes. “So when that happens, I have a little method to help tire him out for the night.”

Zuko glanced back and forth between Suki and Sokka. “What’s the method?’

Suki grinned. “I’ll show you.”

Without any more warning, her fingers were suddenly spidering against Sokka’s bare sides. Sokka shrieked and thrashed around on the bed, but Suki didn’t let up. If anything, she tickled with more vigor, her grin growing. Sokka shied away from her fingers, shouting and pleading for mercy. Zuko’s hands twisted in his lap.

Suki looked up at him and her grin faltered. “Zuko?”

Zuko gestured awkwardly. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Suki’s face immediately softened and she slowly reached out to him, allowing him ample time to pull away or tell her no. He did neither, and she took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. Zuko stared at their hands, almost with a sense of wonder.

“I know he’s playing it up a lot,” Suki said. “But he doesn’t hate it.”

“I’m right here,” Sokka said.

Suki rolled her eyes. “Then you can calm our boyfriend down, since you’re the one who worried him.”

Sokka let out a drawn-out groan, but reached out to link his fingers with Zuko’s free hand anyways. Zuko ignored the way his heart seemed to be skipping beats.

“Alright, fine,” Sokka said. “I don’t hate it.” A flush spread across his cheeks and he fidgeted a bit where he lay between them. “I kinda like it, actually. Just a little.”

Suki scoffed. “He likes it a lot, he means. I wouldn’t do it to him if he didn’t love it.”

“And all the yelling?” Zuko asked.

Sokka shrugged. “Involuntary.”

Zuko nodded. Suki gave his fingers one last squeeze before pulling away and wiggling her fingers threateningly in Sokka’s direction once more. Sokka started giggling before she even touched him, flinching away from her and raising his free hand in defense. He made no effort to pull his other hand out of Zuko’s grasp. Suki lunged.

“You wanna help out, now?” Suki asked over Sokka’s laughter, a bright grin on her face.

A smirk slowly started spreading over Zuko’s face as he stared down at Sokka. His cheeks and ears were flushed, and his eyes were crinkling at the corners from the force of his smile. His laughter shook his entire body, though it was hard to tell with the way he was thrashing around on the bed, trying to escape the fingers pinching evilly along his waistline.

“Who am I to say no to that,” Zuko replied, his smirk growing into a predatory grain when Sokka’s eyes went wide.

Slowly, Zuko used the hand he had interlaced with Sokka’s to raise Sokka’s arm above his head. Zuko’s speed was originally because of hesitance, but then he noticed how flustered it seemed to make Sokka, his thrashing and pleading growing all the more desperate. It made Zuko chuckle a little under his breath as he finally pinned Sokka’s hand to the bed above his head.

“Hey,” Zuko said, voice so low that Sokka could probably barely hear him above his own laughter. “This might tickle.”

While Suki’s fingers occupied themselves with Sokka’s stomach, sides, and hips, Zuko’s own fingers landed on Sokka’s tricep and began slowly spidering down with the lightest of touches. It proved to be very effective, with Sokka arching his back and squealing at a frequency that only flying bison could hear. His legs kicked as he whined through his laughter.

“Torture!” He yelled. “Torture!!”

Suki laughed. “Light tickles get him so bad. He’s usually too squirmy for me to be that mean.” She shot him an evil-looking smirk. “But now that you’re here and I’ve got the extra hands, we can torture him as much as we want.”

Zuko laughed, gaining confidence. He kept his fingers feather-light where they were wiggling down Sokka’s arm. Right when he was above to dive into Sokka’s armpit, Sokka’s thrashing getting more and more frantic the closer he got, he switched directions and started a slow spider back up to Sokka’s elbow. Sokka kicked his legs around at the end of the bed.

“Don’t tease!” He said through his cackling, burying his flushed face in his free hand.

“But you’re cute when I tease,” Zuko said.

Sokka didn’t seem to have a response for that, but Zuko took mercy on him anyway. The next time Zuko made it back down Sokka’s arm, he continued into Sokka’s armpit, scratching the skin as lightly as he could with his blunt nails. It drove Sokka wild. Zuko hadn’t even realized Suki had stopped tickling at first, because Sokka was still thrashing and howling as desperately as ever.

“Are you tired, yet?” She asked Sokka.

“Yes!” Sokka cried, slapping at Zuko’s tickling hand with his free one.

Suki caught Sokka’s free hand and pinned it as well, scritching against his top rib with her nails. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please!”

Suki pulled back at that, so Zuko followed suit. She laughed as Sokka curled into a ball and started rubbing at his ticklish spots, trying to scrub away ghost tickles. Zuko couldn’t help his fond smile at the sight. Then, Suki grabbed his hand and leaned in for a kiss, once more giving Zuko ample time to pull away if he wanted to.

He leaned in.

Even through his breathlessness, Sokka wolf-whistled at them kissing over the top of him, and Suki giggled into the kiss. Zuko carefully kept his own smile under control, not wanting the kiss to end so soon, and brought his hand up to cup Suki’s face. He felt one of her hands run through his hair, while one of Sokka’s hands trailed up his side under his robe.

He flinched when Sokka’s fingers brushed a little too gently against his waistline, unfortunately pulling away from Suki in the process.

Sokka was grinning when Zuko opened his eyes.

“We are so exploring that later,” he said.

Zuko gave him a bashful smile, but didn’t protest. He let Sokka pull him down into a kiss, planting his hand against the mattress next to Sokka’s head for balance. The other hand went down to cup Sokka’s neck. Sokka’s hands cupped Zuko’s face, not letting him pull away until Zuko was properly blushing from the heady kiss.

Not that Zuko would’ve been pulling away, anyway.

Suki leaned for her goodnight kiss next, and Zuko smiled as her and Sokka’s lips met. His heart felt like it was turning into liquid, warm and thick and heavy in his chest in all the best of ways. The feeling only intensified when Sokka pulled him and Suki close again, the two of them cuddling up to his chest. Suki and Sokka drifted off first, this time, leaving Zuko to admire the peaceful faces they made in their sleep.

He was sure the spiraling thoughts would find their way back to him at some point. They always seemed to after all, no matter how hard he tried. For tonight, though, Zuko let himself relax into the mattress and hold his partners close.

He was starting to feel like maybe he belonged here.

#tickle fic #My writing #atla tickling #lee!sokka #ler!suki #ler!zuko #ticklish!sokka #atla #sokka #Zuko #suki #is that all my tags i dont even remember my tags lol #Suzukka

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for-the-ninth · 2 years

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HELLO I bring to you, for no reason other than my Very Good Writing Mood today, another excerpt from The Life That Left Me (which just got TWO new chapters added on ao3 for your enjoyment). If you're looking for some background on how my blorbos got to this point but don't have time to read the whole fic, check the "my writing" tag or read this post right here.

Beads of sweat formed on Cullen’s brow, and waves of conflicting emotions fought in the pit of his stomach, roiling up through his chest. He recalled the nervous excitement he’d felt when the Tranquil woman spoke of his new purpose weeks ago, how his mind ran wild with visions of a better future and all the ways he might redeem himself. She made him feel like his wretched life, with all its mistakes, might still be worth something. Yet, the same words from Shielan’s mouth made his muscles clench. Had she brought the idea to the war table some months ago, would he have said the same? And if he weren’t her unknowing test subject, would it still feel like a betrayal?

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

Shielan rolled her eyes and fished around in her pockets again. “What else is new?” She plopped down on the stone floor by the fire and gestured for him to sit as she lit her cigarette. “Listen, if you want out, nobody’s stopping you. You could settle down in some sleepy town and woo the farmer’s daughter, join a pirate crew and sail the high seas, or hunker down in the Anderfels and become a crazy old mountain man for all I care. I’ve got what I need from you.”

Cullen thought. Sailing was out of the question—he swore the nauseating journey from Kirkwall to Skyhold would be the last time he ever set foot on a ship. A quiet town in the middle of nowhere seemed pleasant enough on the surface. Mia and Rosalie would be overjoyed at the mere possibility of his getting married. But if he walked away now, if he heard of Inquisitor Shielan Lavellan defeating Corypheus, standing strong against the Chantry and changing the world as he knew it, he’d spend the rest of his life wishing he’d seen it himself.

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “I owe you my life. I plan to spend it serving the Inquisition, if you’ll have me.”

Shielan shrugged. “Long as you don’t go on any killing sprees, your life is yours.” She met his eyes with a pointed stare. “And you owe me nothing.”

It felt like more of a threat than absolution. He lowered his voice. “But why choose me for something like this? Surely there are other templars here who would’ve volunteered.”

“Maybe,” she said, exhaling rings of smoke into the air above them. “But you’d just suffered a loss, and loss makes people lonely and desperate. Given the choice between leaving what little remained and signing your own death warrant, I knew where you’d end up.”

“You took advantage of me.”

“I plucked a single brick from the Chantry’s foundation and used it to break their fucking windows.” She side-eyed him with a half-smile. “If you weren’t still sucking the toes of a dead Divine, you’d commend my strategy.”

“That is a heinous analogy,” Cullen said, shuddering. “Though, for what it’s worth, I do commend your strategy. It’s a brilliant plan, and I hope you succeed.”

Her brows shot up and she lurched toward him with the lit end of her cigarette pointed at his chest, so fast he shrank away from her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?” Both hands moved to shield different parts of his body—who knew what she’d be gunning for this time. “What did I say?”

Shielan cackled maniacally. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford—who’s dreamt of being a templar since he was a pesky little brother, who’s massive hard-on for Andraste made him Knight-Captain of the fucking Gallows—hopes to see the Chantry fall?”

“Perhaps not so literally as the first time,” he said, chuckling nervously.

“Unfuckingbelievable.” She shook her head and snorted, puffing little clouds of smoke through her nose as her shoulders shook with the remnants of laughter. “Withdrawal really did a number on you, huh?”

“You could say that.” Cullen’s brow furrowed. “How do you know my middle name?”

“I know everything our spymaster knows.” She grinned. “And you write it inside the cover of all your books.”

Cullen’s cheeks grew hot. “Not all of them.”

“Only seventeen out of the thirty-seven in your bookcase, all organized in alphabetical order by author and stored on the top shelf—high enough that anyone looking to play finders keepers would have to climb the slats and pray the case doesn’t come crashing down.” She reached over her shoulder to flick ash into the fire. “Which I did.”

Her invasiveness annoyed him, but the thought of her lying dead beneath his fallen bookcase punched a hole through his gut. “I would have helped, had you asked.”

“You were indisposed at the time.”

His blush deepened. What else had she found snooping through his office? The only “dirt” she had on him was what everyone else already knew, and he could think of nothing in his past more humiliating than that. It struck him as unfair—what right did she have to go mucking through his personal life when he was hardly allowed to know her?

“The other night,” he said, “in the dungeon—the magic you used, it felt…different.”

Shielan’s face went blank, save for the slightest twitch of one brow. “Don’t.” He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head. “You may think it unjust, this imbalance of power—me keeping secrets when I have your entire life’s history sitting in a desk drawer—and you wouldn’t be wrong. But my own safety will always take priority over your curiosity.” She tossed what remained of her cigarette into the fire and stood. “The surgeon said flashbacks are normal—incredibly shitty, but normal.”

“Wait—”

She brushed past him, posture rigid and jaw stiff—all business, when mere moments ago she’d been chain smoking and laughing on the floor of his bedroom. “Take it easy, rebuild your strength, and for fuck’s sake, don’t touch the knives again. Ask Diedre if you can knead bread or something.”

“Inquisitor, please.” Her back was already turned to him, her fingers curled around the doorknob. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn’t right. But whatever magic you used on me—and whatever else went on in that dungeon—was unlike anything I’ve seen.” He lowered his voice. “I need to know what happened to me.”

“You are alive because I saved your ass—again,” she said. “That is what happened.”

Cullen shook his head and stepped closer to her. “The Divine is dead. If you were practicing forbidden magic—”

“Forbidden to those with their heads up with their asses.”

“—it’s not as if I could turn you in. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I swear, you can—”

“Trust you?” She laughed ruefully. “That’s just what men say when they want what they can’t have.”

Cullen squeezed the sides of his head, fingers curled into overgrown locks. He was about three seconds from yanking them out of his scalp by the fistful. “I don’t understand why you came here, why you insist on looking after me when you could so easily delegate the responsibility to numerous others, if you’re only going to—”

Shielan whirled around on him. “I am here because you are a danger to yourself and others without my surveillance, and I’d advise you not to mistake my concern for camaraderie.” One foot out the door, she spoke to him over her shoulder. “We are not friends, Cullen. We never will be.”

The door closed behind her. He sank to the floor in silence, the venomous sound of his name in her mouth a broken record in his brain.

tags for no reason other than bc I like y'all and hope you read about my silly blorbos and also post about yours: @a11sha11fade @oxygenforthewicked @roguelioness @noire-pandora @emerald-amidst-gold

#cullen the fool rutherford #enemies to friends to lovers #dragon age fanfiction #my writing #wip whenever #inquisitor shielan lavellan my ANGEL

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lemonadesoda · 3 years

Text

Prelude story: Parting Words

Summary: Snatcher has a few more words to say to the Captain before he makes his final departure--words best not said in front of the kid.

Notes: Tumblr-only post for now, to give the interested folks the opening context story for the main fic I'm working on (so that some things referenced in future previews will make sense as well.) Once the main story goes up on ao3, this one will go up there too. As always, hope you enjoy!

When the meeting room doors slammed shut, both the Captain and the First Mate let out low breaths simultaneously. In the presence of the two strange Earth beings representing the child, a suffocating pressure had been steadily building--whether real or imagined was difficult to say, but in the empty hallway leading back to the ship’s bridge, the air no longer constricted their chests, no longer sat heavy on their necks.

The two of them walked in silence, the First Mate tense and staring at the ground but constantly glancing sidelong at the Captain whose narrow gaze remained fixed in the distance, far beyond the extent of the corridor, beyond the walls of the ship, beyond the present moment.

The First Mate flinched first when the blanched white light of the corridor flickered once, then again. They blinked and shook their head as the normally faint shadows deepened, sharpening the corners where the walls met the floor. Finally surfacing from his reverie, the Captain stopped mid-step, going completely still as the room darkened around them and the clamping weight returned to the air once more.

“I have something more to say.” The shadow that stretched out in front of their feet across the void-dark floor opened familiar gold eyes. Before them, projected into the floor with the silhouette of his hands clasped behind his back was the one called Snatcher, the proclaimed King of Subcon.

“What are you-” the First Mate yelped, dancing backward. They looked to the Captain who remained rooted in place, then back to the intruder. “You can’t be here!”

Snatcher lifted upward out of the floor to stand face-to-face with the two of them. He grinned far too broadly for what his theoretical bone-structure should have supported, a burning crescent splitting his expression like a volcanic fissure. “Our contractual business has concluded. What I have to say is of a personal matter. Off the record, you could call it.” As it had before, his voice echoed, layered as though he were speaking from multiple directions at once. Though his grin held, his eyes narrowed by a fraction, giving a bladed edge to the expression. “There are some things that are better not to say in front of my child.”

“This could be considered an act of aggression,” the Captain said in a low voice. He had recovered his composure after the initial alarm of the consuming shadows, returning to his rigid posture from their formal meeting.

“Good,” Snatcher snapped. “Because I really must emphasize that the only reason you are still alive is because that little kid, for some reason, prefers you to be.”

The Captain stood eye-level with Snatcher, forced to dig his heels into the floor to hold his ground. “What is your purpose in making these threats? I have already agreed to your terms.”

Just behind him, the First Mate straightened themself and moved up alongside the Captain. Snatcher’s lantern gaze flicked toward them, and he stared them down, holding the sickle-sharp smile in place until the First Mate’s jaw hurt from clenching their teeth. Like a bonfire, Snatcher radiated an aura that urged a retreat, that lit up the neurons in the brain that cried warning.

“Because I want to make some things very clear,” Snatcher said to the Captain, though still bearing down on the First Mate off to the side. “It would be in your best interest to make sure none of you come back. Because no one comes here to make threats or demands of our child. I don’t care if it becomes a diplomatic incident.” Snatcher’s shadowy form dissipated, melting like fog back into the floor.

“If it came down to it,” his voice came from over the Captain’s shoulder now, close as a whisper, making both the Captain and the First Mate whip their heads around, catching only darkness. “I would start an intergalactic war if only she asked me to.”

“That strikes me as irresponsible,” the Captain muttered, eyes searching the dark corners of the hallway for Snatcher’s reappearance.

“Then don’t make her ask me,” Snatcher said in a sing-song tone. His wheezing laugh rattled low in the air, shuddering through their rib cages. “I’m only warning you what’s at stake here. No matter what you or any of those people from wherever you came decide, we will protect our daughter above all else. But I can promise you this-” Snatcher materialized in the wall, shaping his silhouette in mimicry of the Captain’s form beside him. “If it really came down to it, you wouldn’t be around to witness the magnitude of your failure.” He lifted a clawed hand in the shadow and mimed a crushing vice with it. “So what happens next is really up to you.”

Snatcher peeled out from the wall, walking back into the center of the corridor as if from a hidden door. He looked at the two of them over his shoulder, the edge of his smile still visible. “Your move, Captain.”

With the echoes of a final cackle that shook the panels of the ship, the darkness blinked out all at once, replaced by the flash of the fluorescent white returning to the hall. Several meters ahead, the transport staff stood glancing about in confusion.

“Sir, what was that?” one of the staff asked as they approached. “There seemed to be a power failure just now, but we received no alert.”

The Captain remained silent for several seconds, prompting the staff to peer at him, brows furrowed.

“Sir?”

“Have engineering check the power couplers in the central hall,” the Captain said quietly, glaring over the shoulders of the staff. They ducked their heads, nodding at the command and one of them tapped a message into their hand-held terminal before hurrying past them to finish teleporting the entourage from Subcon back to the child’s ship.

As they neared the bridge, the First Mate looked up at the Captain. “You’re really just going to let that slide? We’re well within our rights to issue a reclamation of the time pieces after that.”

“When considering our options, it would not be worth the risk,” the Captain replied, striding just ahead of the First Mate and not turning back.

The First Mate hastened to walk in line with him, trying to catch his attention. “And leave that level of technology in the hands of a child? With those sorts of people as her guardians?”

“I can trust that she understands what’s at stake.”

“She’s a child! How can she uphold the Oath? If those things or anyone else on the planet wants to get ahold of that power-”

The Captain halted as the doors to the bridge chimed to alert them to their opening, finally whipping his gaze to the First Mate. “A child who apparently has the power to start wars with a word, given who is protecting her. The time pieces will see no misuse without her say so.” He bit the words out, an edge of aggravation hastening the statement more than his habit.

The First Mate snapped their mouth shut under the Captain’s scrutiny, only returning a sullen look as the two of them stepped back out to the bridge, the command crews all turning in acknowledgment.

As they took their place at the helm overlooking the various control stations of the ship, the First Mate muttered, “You’re setting a dangerous precedent here. Are we really going to kowtow because of a few verbal threats?”

The Captain’s jaw flexed. The nearest control crews looked up for prompting as to the upcoming course of action.

“What would you do, then?” the Captain asked in a low, steady voice. “Compel an invasion of a planet so far beyond the system that we had no existing record of it? For a derelict ship and its crudely harvested time power? Is that what you’re asking me to risk?”

The First Mate stared at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “He actually got to you, didn’t he? You’d jeopardize the stewardship of time because you’re afraid?”

This time, the Captain turned on them, pivoting on his heel in a lightning-sharp about-face, and though he did not actually advance a step, the First Mate took a half-pace back from the force of their commander’s attention, eyes going wide.

“You feel so strongly about this?” the Captain snapped. Though his voice remained low, his tone drew the nervous attention of the crew. “Then you make the decision, and you take the responsibility for it. I will defer to you!” He turned, addressing the rest of the bridge. “The First Mate will relay upcoming orders. Proceed as they command.” He stepped back, tipping his head to the First Mate, but holding eye contact throughout.

The crew all watched the tense showdown in silence, waiting on the First Mate who glanced helplessly between them and the Captain. Finally, with a last, frustrated glare at him, they stepped forward to oversee the crew. “...Chart courses for Cerian. Prepare for hyperjump,” they said, the orders so barely audible, the nearby staff had to relay them to the rest of the bridge.

As the crew hurried about to prepare for the jump, the First Mate stepped back, once again in line with the Captain.

“The Board won’t be happy with this,” they said.

“I will deal with the Board, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the Captain said, an underlying snarl barely contained by his professionalism worn thin.

The First Mate hazarded a glance at him. The Captain stood, focused ahead as he always was, as the crew always saw him. But the years working as his second reported to the First Mate the weight that currently bore down on him, the tightly-reigned frustration at having his hand forced and stress at the upcoming confrontation with the rest of the powers of the Enterprise. And if that Snatcher was true to his word, with the Captain’s own safety dangling precariously in the mix. They lowered their head. They shouldn’t have pushed.

As the alerts on the terminals warned of the impending hyperjump, the First Mate grimly replied, “It is what I’m worried about.”

The Captain made no further response, and the ship launched them across spacetime empty-handed.

#long post #ahit hide and seek #tbh dont really feel like tagging this as anything else #i just know there are some of you who would be interested in this

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hezjena · 3 years

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Thank you so much @kittynomsdeplume and @noire-pandora for the tagging me in the writing tag game! <3 Tagging forward @sidhelives, @enby-hawke @jrastegar, @piecesofsolaswriting and @the-cryptographer

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

553474 - (that’s almost as long as War and Peace!) :O

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Rituals of the Dalish - 305 kudos

Make no Mistake - 102 kudos

Blue Afternoon - 70 kudos

Hunger - 69 kudos ;)

Writer’s Block - 58 kudos

4. Do you respond to comments, why, why not?

So I try to respond to every single one of my comments, and I think I’ve got a pretty good success rate, but sometimes things fall through the gaps - particularly when work gets busy and I can’t keep on top of things. But I read every single one of them, often multiple times. I love every single person who’s ever left a comment on something I’ve written, and everyone’s support means the world to me <3

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

That is hand’s down, Feverdream. Not only because it’s Solavellan which is angsty as all heck, but there’s a fake-out happy ending before the epilogue hits right in the gut. I’m still evil cackling over that one <3

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Ohhh that’s a tough one, because I don’t really consider myself as someone who is good at writing happy endings - but the most hopeful ending(?) that might just have to be No Man’s Land featuring old!ladies Anora/Celene.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one that you’ve written?

Not anymore, and nothing that’s on AO3 - and then I cryptically disappear into behind a smoke bomb and you see me tiptoeing towards the door! >.<

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yup...

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Hehe yes! I like oneshot PWPs as well as incorporating it into longfics. If the characters want to go at it, who am I to stop them? Saying that I particularly enjoy writing femslash, but have written a fair amount of hetslash. My current side project is, City of the Dead an E rated Alistair/Bethany in which they cannot keep their hands off each other :’)

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I’m aware

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but my dear friend @piecesofsolaswriting made me a podfic of the first chapter of Make No Mistake, does that count? If the translation is from text to spoken word? Maybe? >.<

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, but I have grand plans <3

13. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Oh no, don’t ask me that, I love all of them >.<

But crackfics have a special place in my heart <3

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Rituals of the Dalish - I started my longfic way back in 2018, and it’s LONG. I recently cut it right down to the scenes that I needed with the hope of just getting it finished. But my motivation to complete it is drying out, because it’s lingered for so long. And my writing has improved so much since I started, I kept editing the bits I’ve already written rather than finishing it. I’d like to finish it before DA4 comes out and I get well and truly jossed. But, that might have to remain a dream >.<

15. What are your writing strengths?

EDITING. I love editing, my writing is bad, but I can just keep going over it and over it, until it’s half-decent and I love that. Taking my dumb lumps of coal and turning them into shiny glass :’)

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Burn out. Grand plans that fizzle out because I’m too lazy to complete them :’)

17. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Once upon a time, well over a decade ago, I wrote a character study for Jades-The White Witch from Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s probably still up somewhere in the depths of dA >.<

18. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

That’s really difficult, it’s a toss up between Malfeasance, a dark, gritty and serious character study of Merrill written for one of @the-cryptographer‘s prompts and Monarch a Trois a very unserious, femslash PWP, featuring three of Thedas’ Queens <3

#my writing #dragon age fic #writing tag game

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giggles-and-freckles · 4 years

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starting a new thread for this because the other was getting looooong, but I was tagged by @vanilla-chip-101 (thank you!!!)

Name: Abi (well, actually Abigail, but no one calls me that unless they want to be punched in the throat ❤️️)

Fandoms: Star Wars (mostly prequels and TCW!)

Most popular one-shot: I’m not sure what constitutes most popular and my writing is so sporadically divided across ao3 and here (which have very different interaction ratios), but I remember brilliant getting lots of love and making me feel warm and cozy

Most popular multichapter: filling the gaps is a WIP, but it’s been fun to see support for that! (I have the entire thing mostly complete now, but I have one scene in the next chapter that I have been wrestling for a while and it’s just not working for me...but update coming soon! hopefully! lol remember when I was going to try and update that one weekly?)

Actual worst part of writing: TITLES and SUMMARIES! I am so ridiculously uncreative when it comes to these. It’s a crushing blow to every fic I write.

How you choose your titles: I cry and hope God has mercy on me and will provide divine inspiration. Or, alternatively, I fall back on Taylor Swift lyrics or a random line in the fic that probably isn’t an accurate moniker for the work, but is adequate enough to push it over to posting.

Do you outline: uhh, next question please. No. ❤️️

Ideas I probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice? Ha! Um, so many? But right now I’m thinking about this adventure fic with disaster trio and padmé which is basically just everyone making fun of Anakin and trying not to die for a few thousand words straight.

Callouts @ Me: LEARN HOW TO BE SUCCINCT. Prompts make me literally cackle because I’ll start typing what I hope to be a ficlet and then BOOM its 2k+ and just...not what I was going for.

Best writing traits: Witty dialogue? Sometimes? On a good day? And a pretty strong grasp on the characters (or at least my own interpretation of the...which maybe makes this not an actually good writing trait haha whoopsie).

Spicy Tangential Opinion: I have lots but I’ve said this one before so I’ll just repeat it so as not to step on more toes. I have a hard time getting behind any Master/Padawan pairings, unless it’s AU and that aspect of their relationship is eliminated between them. The age doesn’t bother me as much; it’s mostly the power imbalance. (But also like I’ve said–I support those of you who love these ships!! It’s completely just a personal preference.)

And hmm, no pressure tags for @kckenobi @katierosefun @pandora15 @the13thbattalion @cloudyskywars & any of you other beautiful writing humans!!

#tag game #long post

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mimiwrites2000 · 4 years

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Legends

Chapter Thirteen ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa/ Jean x Hitch (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 6966

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

The air was salty.

Armin licked his lips, and he tasted salt, as if he kissed the ocean.

Seagulls hunted for generous travelers who tossed bread crumbs, seeking nourishment.

The sun was hot on his skin, coated with a slick layer of sweat. Blonde strands of his bangs sticking to his forehead, he kept brushing them away, but the soft, salty breeze ruffled them back on his face.

It was a hot summer day, hotter than usual. He should probably get inside his rented cabin, but the ocean had him under its spell. Armin held a book in his hands, neglected. His eyes never wavered off the infinite blue laid in front of him, blending with the sky in the middle. The white foam made by the ship matched the fluffy clouds scattered upon the sky.

The ocean enchanted Armin, it did since the very first time he saw it, and every time he sees it, he has all these unexplained sensations trembling in his veins, and he completely loses himself in the vast blue around him, the endless waves, and the sun's reflected rays on them, adorning the blue with glimmering glints of white.

He floated on a canvas with a bucket of blue paint spilled on, and he was that one, marginal dust on it. He couldn’t see the end of the canvas, and he lost the starting point long ago.

The ship broke through the waves, making its way to the safety of the island, and a tingle of excitement tackled Armin’s lips into a smile. He suppressed it, shaking it off.

The rage from two days ago felt so foreign to him at that moment. He almost forgot about the clutched paper in his hand; the reason he was on a ship, on his way to the continent.

Connie, whom Armin left in his house, had promised Armin he would take care of the house. Even though it wasn’t that big, and it’s not like Armin had a backyard filled with plants or a pet to take care of, still, Armin had a strong feeling that when he comes back, he’s gonna be greeted by a heap of charred wood replacing his house.

If anything calmed Armin a bit, it was his certainty that Connie wouldn’t step into his office. Since their training day, Connie had this cold war with books and theoretical subjects, and Armin was sure that his friend wasn’t nostalgic for those days-

“Ha!” Someone screamed from behind Armin, and he jumped in his place, a gasp left his lungs as he turned around to strike whoever the intruder was.

His eyes landed on someone that he was perplexed - to say the least- how coincidence brought them together, on this ship.

“What the hell? Hitch?!” Armin cried out, hating his shaky tone. His heart was beating so fast against his ribcage, it might as well jump out his throat.

Hitch laughed out loud, clapping her palms on her thighs, attracting other travelers’ attention. The flowery-patterned summer dress she was wearing ended right above her knees, her hair pulled away from her face in a bun so messy that seemed it might break at any second. Armin couldn’t help but admire how pretty she was.

He swiveled his gaze back to the ocean he was lost in a minute ago, disappointed at his interrupted moment, but after the shock wore off, he realized that he missed Hitch immensely.

“Oh God,” Hitch choked out between hiccups of ceasing laughter before she dropped beside Armin, “you should’ve seen your face!”

“Ha ha, so funny,” Armin tried to sound annoyed, but the smile on his face seeped into his fakely-bent-up tone.

“What a great coincidence! What’s up, Brainiac?” Then she leaned closer to him, and whispered “can’t risk calling your real name, after all, it’s been three years since you died.”

Armin rolled his eyes at the nickname, conceded to ignore it, but he answered her inquiry anyway: “I was going to ask you the same question, what business do you have here?”

“The ship? Nothing, I don’t work here,” Hitch retorted, spreading her arms on the bench’s back, crossing her legs, and Armin rolled his eyes again, “ok ok, I just have some business on the continent, what about you?”

Armin unconsciously tightened his grip on the paper in his hand, overlooking that this unremarkable gesture didn’t get past Hitch, who immediately snatched the paper from Armin’s hand.

“Hey!” he tried to get it back, but Hitch slapped her palm on his face, stopping him as his hands flailed helplessly, trying to retrieve the letter.

“Oh, well isn’t this interesting.”

“This is really none of your business-”

“Dear Armin…” Hitch started reading out the letter, and Armin groaned.

Dear Armin…

We’re so sorry if we were too much trouble today… we’re just worried for you and want you to be happy…

So we may or may not have asked Hanji for a small favor

Mikasa and Eren, and little Ymir

A small stick figure with two ponytails was drawn at the bottom of the paper, beside Ymir’s name.

“Little Ymir… isn’t that the queen’s kid?”

After a struggle, he released himself from Hitch’s grip. He rolled his neck and crossed his arms, nodding.

“So the queen still trusts her kid with these two morons?”

Armin didn’t answer; however, he did wonder how she knew about that… but considering what Mikasa told him a few days ago, about Hitch and Jean…

“What are they talking about?” she asked, checking the letter’s back.

“Oh…” Armin reached into his pocket, there was no point in hiding it from Hitch anyway…

Hitch read through the formal letter, her eyes scanning over it so quickly Armin thought her eyes would roll to the back of her head.

Her eyes lingered at the bottom of the letter, where the official cof the Survey Corps was.

“This is…”

“Ten official days off from Commander Hanji…”

Hitch gawed at Armin, before she lobbed the paper, giving Armin a second to catch it before it flew with the wind.

Hitch scoffed: “And I thought your dog died or something.”

“I don’t have a dog-”

“And what are you so upset about?”

Armin bit the inside of his lower lip. He trusted Hitch a long time ago, since the old days of spending sleepless nights at a certain cold basement, staring at a bulk of clear crystal, a girl floating in the middle of it…

Armin shook his head. He wanted to lie about the letter, come up with any excuse, but he couldn’t. Maybe the heat affected him, but... he suddenly had a foreign impulse to talk and talk, to let it all out…

“You know I didn’t ask for it…” Armin started, he was hesitant for a moment, but when he glanced at Hitch… she was listening, giving all her attention to him.

He took a deep breath and continued: “I never asked for a break, and they acted on their own, and I hate when they do that and it makes me feel pathetic and I’m so fucking done with them looking down at me like I’m still the weak nine years old kid- ouch!”

Hitch flicked her finger at Armin’s nose, he winced, wishing he could glare her to death.

“Yeah you are so pathetic,” she conceded, not stopping a second before saying it, “you never leave your house, you’re failing at relationships-“

“It was just one fucking relationship-“

“-and you developed a temper.”

“I didn’t.”

“You sure as hell did.”

“Ok so what?” Armin turned to her, frustration flailed his hands in front of his face.

Hitch raised an eyebrow at him, before she clicked her tongue: “You’re hopeless.”

Armin swallowed, he was thinking of any retort, any snarky comment that would throw her off, a remark that will make her as annoyed as he was.

It hit him, and he knew exactly what it was.

He leaned back on the seat, and with as much calmness he could muster, he said: “Well, it looks like you and Jean are much closer than I remember.”

From the side of his eyes, Armin saw the muscles in Hitch’s forearm clinch, the edge of her eyebrow uptick.

Armin fished for another comment: “I never thought he was your type-“

“Oh shut it, don’t mention that fucker’s name.”

If Hitch was trying to throw Armin off with her comment, then she vastly succeeded; it felt as if she kicked him off the deck and into the ocean. He flinched and shook his head, stared, trying to decide whether Hitch was joking or not, but she looked so serious, and Armin found himself speechless.

Guilt surfaced up his throat, because he knew exactly what it was like to be teased about this exact same topic.

“I-I’m sorry, I just thought you and him… you know, maybe you’re right, I’ve probably grown a bit impulsive through these…”

Armin forgot the rest of the sentence when he saw Hitch shaking… with laughter.

She bursted out in cackles and Armin touched his face, checking if he grew a third eye.

“You’re-” she snorted, “unbelievable!”

“I’m so done with you,” Armin got up, taking his suitcase with him. Hitch was dying of laughter as she clinged onto his wrist, splattering pleads for him to stay but half of her words were gibberish through laughter.

“No no no please please wait!”

“I’m so fucking done with you-”

“No no I promise I’ll explain!”

Armin plopped himself back on the bench, suitcase falling beside his jittering feet.

He tried to keep his eyes on a seagull as the hysterically-lost-it-all woman beside him gradually got herself together.

Hitch wiped a tear away as she said: “I knew I have it in me.”

“You’re not explaining yourself.”

“You’ve developed a temper alright,” Armin started to get up again, but she anchored him down with a hand to his shoulder, “no no please listen,” he sat down, but didn’t look at her.

“I’m going to the continent because I’m auditioning for a movie.”

“Uh… a what?” Armin heard that term somewhere before, he couldn’t put his finger on it…

She turned to him and elaborated: “It’s like… a play, but not really, it’s just… a bunch of pictures…” then she stopped, gesturing with her hands, as if the movement would compensate for her non-existent, poor explanation.

“Oh…” Armin remembered what she was talking about, it was these movies that are shown in places called cinemas… motion pictures.

Actors, directors, screenwriters… he read about these in one of his books.

“And… you want to become... an actress?” Armin asked, his eyebrows scrunched together. He would certainly be the happiest for Hitch if she became a big star, but he couldn’t imagine a soldier choosing that path after years of serving in the military….

“Well, after the war, the whole Military Police branch was wiped out. I thought, why not?” She retorted, shrugging her shoulders, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh right…” of course the Military Police was terminated in the aftermath of the war. There was simply no point in dividing themselves into three military branches. The same goes for the Garrison. All the soldiers were given the option of transferring to the Survey Corps or retiring…

Armin might be the only one from the original corps still serving in the military, beside Hanji of course… even captain Levi retired and opened a small coffee shop…

“You have that look on your face,” Hitch commented.

Armin raised an eyebrow.

“That look,” Hitch pointed at Armin’s face in circles,”it’s like that… that face you used to make when you stared at Annie.”

“Oh…” Armin went silent.

“It was that look… like, you were just absolutely out of it, like you’re dreaming or I don’t know, but very distracted,” Hitch looked at Armin, the seldom look in his eyes stopped her.

He looked away, pressed his lips, his eyelids fluttering,

“I…” Hitch softly shook her head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s ok.”

“I know she meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah…”

A beat of silence, seagulls’ cooing puncturing it.

“Do you…” Hitch muttered, “still think of her?”

Armin’s jaw clenched.

A beat of silence.

Hitch clicked her tongue: “and by the way, I wasn’t lying about Jean.”

Armin’s jaw relaxed a bit, glad she changed the subject.

“I can’t stand him, and he can’t stand me, and I don’t even know if what we had is even considered a relationship,” She said casually. Armin didn’t know how to reply; should her offer comfort? because apparently Hitch wasn’t that close to Jean after all, and the break up -if it’s even should be called that- didn’t seem to affect her in the slightest…

Armin gazed back at the ocean. A thin line of land was steadily boldening as the ship cruised towards it. At that moment, Armin wanted to freeze the boat for eternity, to stay in the midst of this vast, bottomless blue.

“I…” Hitch said, and Armin turned his head towards her. He was taken aback by the soft look on her face, she was being genuine, but she didn’t continue her sentence, she merely looked in Armin’s eyes, and he understood everything she didn’t say.

I’m sorry about her.

“It’s fine, it really is fine,” Armin said, a smile on his lips, it didn’t reach his ears.

Hitch’s lips pressed into a thin smile, before her face brightened up, a light bulb flashed above her head, and she suggested: “You know there’s this place that I heard off, it’s some sort of a village, or maybe a small town, anyway, it has some really interesting places, besides, it will be holding a massive celebration for the third anniversary of the end of the war.”

“….and?”

“And? Seriously?” Hitch rolled her eyes, but Armin didn’t fidget. She smacked her lips before continuing: “I can meet you there, in two days, I had other plans, but I can delay those, I can get you a room at the same hotel I’m staying in, we can have fun, yeah?”

After that, Armin found himself standing at the harbor, a small piece of bagel-brown paper in his hand, an address scrabbled on it, as Hitch waved off to him.

At least, he had plans.

~~~

Armin had two days for himself to discover the city he was staying at.

He mooched around the town, his suitcase dragging beside him. Just like the first time he visited Marley with the survey corps a few years ago; the same overwhelming jitters of astonishment rushed through his body. Enthusiasm of unveiling-the-unknown awakened in his heart, pumping quivers in his veins.

The mid-day sun overhead, shedding light on gray-tiled streets meandering between similarly-gray markets, contouring the sides. Puffs of smoke emitting from chimneys, blending together in a whirl of a gray before mounting up, the sunlight filtering through it, softening, adding a touch of haziness to the atmosphere.

In contrast to the gray-dull blocks, people clad in rainbow-palette charades, a flurry of liveliness, carrying singing instruments alongside it, its harmony a blend of melodious laughter, rhythmic chatters, nostalgic uproarious kids’ squeals, and the shopkeepers howling offers.

People spoke different languages. He recognized his own language spoken here and there, but in completely different accents that he didn’t understand parts of it.

One cohesive symphony delicately orchestrated.

Melodies from afar punctuated the coordinated harmony, adjoining another layer of ecstasy. Armin thought that it was his ear putting together all these overwhelmingly-pleasing sounds and making up this melody, but as he snagged his way through the sea of colors, the music source got louder, the notes in sync with Armin’s heartbeat, pulsating in his ears.

His feet led him to the sound, and it was close, so close. Armin broke out of a curtain of people, and-

A guy sat on a carpet woven from the rainbow beams, his fingers strumming strings effortlessly, on an instrument that resembled a guitar, but its neck thin, its body a hollow swelling of light brown wood. He played it like it was second nature to breathing, the notes compatible with the thudding of boots and chatter, merging in congruence. He faded with his surroundings, his gray unfamiliar-clothing matching the jagged bricks of the building behind him, only a few eyes glanced at him or at the colorful carpet beneath him.

When he saw that Armin was staring, he winked at him.

Unexpecting it, Armin backed away, accidentally stepping on someone’s foot.

Armin tumbled but didn’t fall, he stuttered out: “I’m so sorry!”

A man, the man Armin stepped on his foot, was babbling in a language Armin never heard before.

Armin flailed his arms around, trying to apologize somehow, but he stopped; the man smiled, bowed his head, and put his palm on his heart.

Dumbfoundedly, Armin found himself tentatively mimicking the man’s gesture.

After that, the man beckoned Armin to follow him, and started down the street. After a hesitant moment, Armin nodded and walked side by side with the man.

Their walk was interrupted constantly by the man stopping every few steps to greet someone. Armin wondered if everyone knew each other in this town… then it dawned on him that you don’t have to know someone to wish them a good day.

The town itself was a decaying skeleton of bricks and stone, but the souls occupying it blew life into every crevice of it, blooming as those souls grew older, their bond solidifying like bricks within walls.

They jostled their way through the current of colors. With every step they took, a sweet aroma wafted through the air. Armin sniffed, spotting a coffee shop down the street. The man invited him in, offering a hot drink and a weird dessert that Armin had no idea what it was made of, except for the flower petals adorning it.

The man refused any payment, doing the same hand-on-the-heart gesture from earlier.

A few minutes later, Armin resumed roaming with a warm cup in his hand. The burnt-brown mixture was not different from any other coffee, but the smell and the taste had a unique twist to them, accompanied with the flowers-infused dessert; an addicting taste that he could get used to. Armin couldn’t pinpoint the different ingredients, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

Beside the coffee shop stood a thin tall construction with a pointy head, like a pencil. Armin saw exact replicas of it scattered around the town as well; different colors and sizes, but same embellishments. He didn’t know its function; it reminded him of a lighthouse, but it certainly wasn’t; no lighthouse is in the middle of land.

A marginal part of Armin found it hard to admit it, but he felt… happy, or more like relieved. He surprised himself by the sudden feeling of wanting to go out, to see people and walk through crowds, not interacting with them, but merely watching from afar.

He was caging himself in a shell, forbidding himself from this very primitive liberty for so long.

A new yet rudimentary form of freedom.

He regretted treating Mikasa and Eren badly a few days ago. When he first read the letter, he boiled with anger. Ignoring Connie’s shouts, he sprinted out his house, taking the shortest route to Mikasa and Eren’s place, and when he reached it, he barely held himself back from denting the door with knocking.

Eren cracked the door open, and when he saw Armin, he slammed it shut in his face.

That was when Connie stepped in, and after tedious tirades and three cups of coffee, he convinced Armin to take this vacation and ‘enjoy his time’.

Armin bought a postcard and an envelope, intending to write to Eren and Mikasa and apologize to them.

He spent the rest of the day walking through town, taking in as much detail as possible, collecting memories to tell, and when his legs were numb enough to stumble upon, Armin decided to get something to eat.

He sat on a bench at a square, a spacious square with a fountain centering it, kids splashing water, as their parents shopped at the markets surrounding the place. A mouth-watering aroma allured Armin to a traditional restaurant where he got a sandwich with a drink, both have foreign names that were too hard for him to pronounce.

As his muscles relaxed, he realized how tired he was. He didn’t rest after the long boat trip, captivated by the charming spirit of that town, besides, he had been walking for hours with a suitcase as an extra weight. He needed a place to stay for the night.

A small girl with unruly red locks flailing around her face jumped around, her green, flowery dress swirling with every step she took. A stack of newspaper weighing in her hands, obviously a burden.

Armin waved his hand, catching her attention. With a smile on her face, she approached him, handing out a newspaper.

“Thank you,” Armin said, but the girl skewed her head at him in confusion, she probably spoke a different language.

“O-oh, um… thaaaa….nnnkkk….yooouuu…” he repeated it again but slowly, only to realize it wouldn’t make her understand. But then, she pointed at her ears, and it dawned on Armin; she was deaf. He remembered the hand-on-heart gesture from the coffee man before, so Armin bowed his head, and put his hand on his heart. The girl smiled, and did the same. He paid for the newspaper, and the girl trudged back to the middle of the square, holding the newspaper stack tight to her chest, keeping it dry with the kids splashing water around.

Armin opened the newspaper. He sighed when he saw most of it was written in the language he spoke.

The first title made him choke on his sandwich.

As the third anniversary of the war is nearing, the world is wondering, is it really over?

Armin scanned through the rest of the page, his mouth inching wider with every word, a crumb of chewed bread fell out his mouth.

Is it really over? Are all titan shifters actually dead?

Or is it just another trick from the devils of paradise?

The world demands proof that the Eldians are unable to turn into titans anymore, and it won’t rest until the truth is out.

Armin couldn’t believe his eyes, and suddenly, the sandwich in his hand was no longer appealing.

~~~~

The hunting for an affordable inn started. Armin roamed the streets again, instead of keeping his chin up and reading signboards, his gaze was fixated on others; he felt every pair of eyes on him, only watching him, somehow knowing that he was the colossal titan, with one, unremarkable scratch, he could blow this whole city, charring it into dust, as if it never existed before.

Fear shoved the ruthless joyfulness into a far, abandoned corner, cackling. Sweat broke on Armin’s forehead, his heart beating fast in his chest.

For the first time in three years, Armin felt unsafe.

All he knew for the past three years was living for his own self, safely. He was still stuck with the military, and he had troubles sleeping the first few weeks he moved alone into his house, but it was as if he was reborn, turned a new page, and started a brand new life. Even if the whole world declared his death, for him, it was a new beginning.

Armin needed a quiet place, as fast as possible.

He entered the very first inn he laid eyes on.

The inn was in the middle of the town, with an affordable price and clean rooms. Not big but not small. It wasn’t crowded nor was it empty. He booked a room closest to the emergency exit, hastily snatched the key from the concierge's hand, throwing a trembling thank-you over his shoulder as he scuttled as fast as he could up the stairs, reaching his room, checking the number engraved on the key twice, before going in and locking the door.

He flopped his suitcase on the bed, closed the curtains, then double checked that the door was locked.

Stepping into the bathtub, he stayed under the warm spray of the shower longer than needed, all the while checking behind the curtains.

He snuck under the blankets, unexpectedly cold after the warm shower, slept with one eye open, as light gradually faded behind the curtains, denoting the end of his first day of this unforeseen vacation.

The last thing he thought of before drifting into an uneasy sleep- was buying a ticket back to the island, first thing in the morning.

~~~

Light crept into the room as the sun rose up in the sky. Armin didn’t see it, he was under his blankets, speculating the closed curtains, his heart thudding loudly in his ear.

His ears perked up for any sound.

His throat was dry as a desert.

His water bottle was across the room.

Armin observed it, unmoving. He closed his eyes for a long second, hoping that when he opens them, the water bottle would be right in front of his face.

But it didn’t move an inch.

He should get going, get up, gather his stuff, and leave.

This is ridiculous, Connie himself would be ashamed.

He got up, a shiver went up his spine the moment his toes touched the carpeted floor. Even though he was aware he was being an idiot, he couldn’t shake off this paranoia. Tiptoeing to the water bottle, he reached to it, his mouth getting dryer, his fingers were an inch away from it-

KNOCK KNOCK!!!

Armin hit the water bottle, knocking it off, water spilling on the floor, splashing the curtain.

Freeze.

He didn’t dare move a limb.

His brain went through every possibility of who could be at the door. Angry people with torches and swords? Maybe men in black with guns in their hands? Or it was the government on a mission to arrest him? Or-

KNOCK KNOCK!!!

Armin flinched. He took a deep breath, and approached the door with inaudible steps, as light as he could. It felt like ages before he reached the door. He spied through the peephole, it was blurred with dust, but it was enough to see a figure of someone standing there.

A woman.

A blonde woman.

No way no way no way-

Short

Petite

Armin leaned against the door, squinting, trying to decipher her features, his heart involuntary beating faster in his chest-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!

Armin fell back, tumbling on his ass, a grunt escaped his mouth. He slammed his palm on his mouth, the pain from the fall momentarily vanishing, but it was too late.

“Alright if someone is in there, for God’s sake just answer the fucking door, I got other businesses to do!” a gruff voice called from the other side of the door, impatient, their tapping foot could be heard from down the hall.

That’s not… her...

“Y-yes?” Armin squeaked out.

“Towels? This is room’s services, do you need extra towels?”

What? Room service? I didn’t ask for-

“Just answer the goddamn question-”

“N-no!” Armin half shouted, trembling, “th-thanks I don’t need t-towels please.”

“You got a letter,” the gruff woman added.

A letter? Wha-

“Hello?! Can you stay with me for one fucking minute-”

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out, “f-from whom?”

“Do I look like I would know?” A very loud sigh, “are you even gonna open the goddamn door? Actually nevermind-”

Armin heard rustling, before the tip of white paper sneaked under the door.

“Next time answer the door faster, just wasting my Goddamn time, as if I had any more time to waste…” the complaints faded down the hallway.

Armin layed on the floor for extra few minutes, energy drained out of him.

Another letter.

Armin feared what could be in it.

He slit open the top of the envelope with trembling fingers, shook it, a small piece of wrinkled brown paper fell out.

He held it so close to his eyes, rereading the few lines over and over again.

Ayyooo Armin!

I hope you enjoyed your free time!

Just a reminder about our meeting tomorrow, oh and I already got you a train ticket and a room in that hotel

See ya there!

Hitccchhh~

He didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day. Plans of leaving to the island seemed way far off reach.

~~~

At night, Armin took the train to the town Hitch told him about. Keeping his eyes down, his movement unnoticeable, dissolving within the train’s car.

It was barely dawn when he arrived, the sky a dark blue, the moon absent.

It was one of those nights where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face; the surroundings plunged into darkness. The only available light coming from fluorescent street bulbs with vague halos, fireflies zipping around them. He barely got himself to the hotel Hitch told him about, the process of checking in all but blurry. Paranoia substituted by exhaustion. He flopped on the bed, only able to kick off his shoes before he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He woke up at noon.

Sweaty, hot, tangled in the sheets, the sun glaring through the window.

Sleeping at dawn and waking up at noon was one of the things Armin avoided for the past three years; he was an early bird who liked mornings. When he woke up with the sun scorching in the middle of the sky, it was as if he fell off a cliff and all his bones were broken, muscles from head to toe aching.

Of course, the morning buffet the hotel provided had long ended, (now that he was aware of it, the hotel Hitch recommended was rather nice… pricey as well, he noted to talk about this with her, he couldn’t let her pay for it). Armin could no longer ignore his stomach walls clamping on each other, so, with caution, all his senses fully activated, he left his room, making sure to hide all his personal stuff underneath the mattress and behind the closet.

Only then did he have a chance to look around the town.

Frighteningly astonishing, it looked as a bucket of rainbow splashed on it. The silent buildings decided to grow non identically; each one sprouted from its roots in fortuitous angles, frozen mid dance on inaudible tunes.

A canvas of a bored artist and a brush, spontaneously drawing strokes wherever and however. And what was a mere boredom act had become a masterpiece others marvel at.

It was quiet for such a colorful city, even though people zipped up and down the streets, but for Armin’s eyes that were still adjusting to the light, it was all but a blurry gray-scaled lines.

After his vision cleared… he found out it wasn’t much different than when they were blurry.

People clothed in three colors… black, white, and gray. Striped, dotted, and squared. Their faces wore similar schemes; stoic, prosaic, blank. All busy and in a hurry, scurrying down the streets, everyone going on with their day, not glancing at one another.

Armin, with his blue shirt and brown pants, felt so out of the place.

Any sort of the modern technology Armin saw when he first visited the continent- were nowhere to be seen; there was not a single car on the streets, only black bicycles that passed by him like wind. The zig-zagging chimneys sprouting from houses didn’t blow gray toxics into the air, and the air tasted different; clean and refreshing.

However, the fresh air didn’t seem to affect the people at all, either they were too used to it, or simply didn’t care.

Armin swallowed, thinking why on earth did Hitch recommend this city. Yes the place was nice, cheerful and pulsating with life, but its people were as emotionless as an unremarkable stone on the sideroad.

It wasn’t about the fanciness of a place, its color or its shapes, it never was and never will be.

it was all about the people.

They either spread life in town, or rob it from it.

Armin tried to not make eye contact with anyone, and not because of his dilemma of being exposed, but because everyone seemed intolerable to a delaying-glance.

He permitted himself to stroll the streets and discard his situation on the shelf for a while.

After all, it was ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

He took a turn right, a turn left, walked for some time, went through alleys and squares… it was too late until he realized he could no longer go back to the hotel.

He was lost and had no idea where he was, internally freaking out.

Do not panic don't panic do not panic

If his frantic thoughts showed on his face, he’d probably be an easy prey and get blindly robbed. He must stay sharp and focused.

Time passed, and Armin decided that he wouldnt find his way back if he didn’t move, and soon enough, he found himself walking through a traditional market rounding a vast square, traders wearing hints of color, intruding the greyness of the town-people, Armin realized that this market was attended by foreigners.

In the middle of the square, a small stage was being set up, almost finished. From people’s questioning stares and glances, Armin concluded that it was as foregin to them as it was to him.

But after fleeting looks, people would resume their life, running errands, their kids killing time waiting for their parents; playing and hopping around.

Armin forgot his hunger and that he was lost for a second, watching the kids.

Much like his younger days, with Mikasa and Eren in Shiganshina...

The atmosphere ignited nostalgia’s candle under Armin’s nose. He sighed, wishing that he invited his friends with him, maybe having company wouldn’t have gotten him in the mess he meddled in, why didn’t I even think about that?

Armin’s stomach grumbled in response, reminding him that he didn’t eat anything since… the day before...

The side market-stands with fresh fruits watered his mouth. He swallowed, approaching a stand where shiny apples were snatching glances from everyone at the market.

Armin picked two apples, one red and one green -he didn’t have a personal preference- and any food on an empty stomach is worth a fancy meal at the monarchy’s feasts.

Horns echoed.

Every head in the square swiveled to the center, where the stage was completely set up, a middle aged man standing on it, his chin up, beside him a younger man, a younger replica of him. Four musicians, carrying small horns that were a shame for real horns, standing behind him.

Classy

“Attention, people of this town,” the old man with a round belly announced, hushed murmurs transpired, and Armin heard admirable words like it’s the Mayor! Or how humble he is!, which made Armin raise a confused eyebrow.

Everyone went quiet, and as if on cue, the Mayor continued: “As words had been going around, we’re holding one of the biggest festivals here, in memory of ending the big war. Three years ago, when the world saw peace again!”

Claps erupted, Armin grimaced at the Mayor’s meek wording.

The mayor’s chest inflated with pride (or ego?), the buttons on his gray-striped shirt threatening to pop off. He raised his hand, and the crowd, once again, fell into homage silence.

“And as I promise you, my dear people,” few people sighed, “I’ll make it worthy for your praise and admiration. People from all over the world are going to visit us, and from my place here, I ask you for generosity and hospitality, and to take advantage of this trade investment! It’s a great opportunity for your markets to flourish!”

The crowd clapped again. The Mayor half bowed, before he descended the stage, his younger look-alike following him.

Comments, squeals, and whispers spread rapidly, and the square was as alive as it was before the pause.

“Young man?”

Armin turned to the seller, he almost forgot where he left. He reached into his pockets, but stopped when the seller whispered to him, his accent heavy but understandable: “Did you see what he did? He’s using the people, his people for money!”

Armin’s mouth opened and closed several times, taken aback, before he asked: “What do you mean? Isn’t this for their own good?”

“What? No young man, no. I take it you’re not from here?”

Armin shook his head.

“Well let me tell you something,” the seller leaned closer to Armin, his voice dropping to lower than a whisper, “that man owns this market, he takes 50% percent of the profit, from every single one of us!”

“...what?”

“Exactly!” the seller looked right and left, making sure no one was eavesdropping on them, “half of my hard work goes right into his pockets!”

Armin scrunched his nose; he had a bad feeling about the Mayor the moment he saw him. Armin didn’t know why the seller was telling him this… maybe he just wanted to let it out…

“His son looks no better than him… I’m sorry young man, I shalln’t hold you up any longer.”

Armin nodded with an apologetic smile, handing several coins for the seller, he turned around and-

He pumped into someone, and a paper bag full of groceries was dropped out on the ground, the two apples slipping from his hands and falling into the mix.

“I’m so sorry! I-I apologize!,” Armin knelt and started picking the goods and putting them back into the bag.

Armin wasn’t bothered that he picked up all the groceries by himself, their owners not doing anything; it was his fault after all.

When he was done, he stood up, glancing at the two apples which were no longer edible; one split in half and facing downwards, the other had a huge soft brown circle on it, contradicting how appetizing they looked just ten seconds ago.

“There you-” Armin’s voice stopped in his throat.

His eyes met a pair of familiar icy blue eyes, wide open, boring into his own.

“Annie…” Armin whispered, his eyes widening.

It was her, blonde hair in a bun, blue eyes- it was her.

No doubt.

Annie...

There is no way this is actually happening; she can’t just vanish for years then pop out of nowhere like this.

That wasn’t fair, it was ridiculous, the world had a plan, and Armin was a toy controlled by someone else, snickering at him as Armin couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t believe his eyes.

He spent three years trying to forget her, they can’t go through this again-

She yanked the paper bag from Armin’s hands, pulled a gray cape over her head and walked away.

Armin froze for a moment, but when he saw her figure fading into the crowd, he darted behind her.

“Annie! Annie, wait! Please wait!” Armin called, as he pushed through people, whose sudden purpose was hindering Armin from getting to Annie. He accidently pushed a guy who happened to be holding a basket filled with eggs to the rim. The guy staggered, squelching half of them on the ground.

“Hey! Watch out!” The man complained, but Armin didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest.

She didn’t slow down, she maintained her fast pace, ignoring Armin’s calls, pulling the cape further down her face when people started giving them suspicious glances.

“Annie! Please!”

More eyes looked at them.

Armin barely kept up with Annie, trying so hard to not lose sight of her. Until they reached an intersection, people double the number, bicycles zipping past Armin-

She turned right.

Armin sprinted, crashing into bodies, people throwing profanities at him. He turned right and-

She was gone.

She vanished.

Armin halted in his tracks, his breathing erratic, staring at the last spot he saw Annie at.

Was that… was that a facade?

A hand clapped on Armin’s shoulder, he jumped, only to see that the hand belonged to a man.

An angry man, with a basket of half cracked eggs.

The man was shouting, complaining, cursing. But Armin didn’t hear him; his ears ringing, his mouth dry, and his sight swaying.

A few blocks away, a blonde carrying groceries bag was hastily leaving the scene, covering her head, not turning around to check if he was behind her.

Ignoring the awkward glances from passbyres, she kept going until she was out of the center of the town, where houses scattered over vast land, and it was more peaceful than the market, less crowded, less people.

She walked to a small, humble house, took out keys and unlocked the door. Discarding the bag in the kitchen. She beelined to her room, closed the door behind her.

She looked around the room, searching for anything to break, to smash, anything to let out her anger on, anything.

When she decided she mustn’t leave a trace of her rage, she sat on the ground, leaning against the door, and bit down hard on hand. Closing her jaw as hard as she can on flesh, until she tasted her own blood.

Sharp pain shot from her hand, she let it go with a hiss, watching blood dripping on the ground.

She watched her wound.

A labored, shaky sigh left her mouth, she rested her head against the wooden door as she eyeballed steam emitting from her wound, flesh forming and healing, accompanied with a murmur of a hiss.

“Are you done? Did you let it all out? Or you wanna bite your other hand?”

She looked up, a girl sitting on her bed, legs crossed, a smirk blasted on her face.

“What… what have you done, Hitch?”

AAAAAAAAAHHH Oh my GOD I didn’t update Legends in so long I’m so excited to finally post this dkgdlsajgkds Thanks for everyone who tolerated this story not being updated for some time, thanks for sticking around, I really appreciate it I know I haven’t been updating as much as I used to, I’m gonna graduate soon, so I’m a bit busy with university right now The thing is, I’m too attached to this story, and only recently I realized this. I started writing this story in April 2020, it was the beginning of lockdown and all the crazy shit we’re going through right now. It was my own escape, and I enjoyed writing every single word of it I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ll never abandon this story, because it became a part of me that I can’t live without So thank you guys for coming along this journey, I appreciate it. ALSO SORRY FOR ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER I’M SO SORRY OH MY GOD Ok that’s all, feedback is always appreciated, here on tumblr or ao3 (or twitter uwu) OK THANKS AGAIN YOU GUYS I LOVE YOU MWAAAHH

#Aruani #Armin Arlert #annie leonhart #armin x annie #eremika #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #eren x mikasa #aot #snk #fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

orange segments

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Qin Su (one-sided, sorry JC)

Summary: Jiang Cheng and Qin Su share a few moments (and an orange) with Jin Ling and each other.

Rated G, Fluff, brief mention of canon-typical violence

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

* * *

A-Ling passes the orange back and forth between his tiny hands, nearly dropping it once. His eyes shine bright with mirth at this simple game.

He's still so little. Jiang Cheng has seen plenty of children in Lotus Pier, yet he is always surprised by how small A-Ling is if he thinks about it too much. Both of his hands, still fiddling with the orange, could fit in Jiang Cheng’s. His nose is a little bump; his oversized ears stick out and somehow make him look even smaller.

Perhaps it is so difficult to process how little A-Ling is because it seems like every time Jiang Cheng visits Jinlintai, A-Ling is a bit bigger. Today he's two years old—and a half, as he’s been proclaiming.

With a sudden peal of laughter, A-Ling places the orange on the floor and rolls it to Qin Su, who is kneeling in front of him with Jiang Cheng. The round fruit gently thuds into her knee. “Shenshen!” A-Ling calls. “Make it for me?”

“Alright,” Qin Su says softly. She glances at Jiang Cheng with a smirk, then picks up the orange, cleans it, and begins peeling it. “How come you don’t make your jiujiu do any work?”

“He makes me do plenty,” Jiang Cheng counters before A-Ling can erupt into one of his new favorite remarks to offend him. It doesn’t make a difference.

“Jiujiu is too busy pouting!” A-Ling says through giggles, and Qin Su laughs with him. He undoubtedly learned this jab from her.

Qin Su has only been in Jinlintai for several months, her lavish wedding to Jin Guangyao still a fresh memory in the cultivation world, yet she has taken a liking to teasing Jiang Cheng quite rapidly. Somehow, they’d become friends over A-Ling after just a few times meeting each other. Qin Su, eager for a child of her own and perhaps even more eager to make pleasant acquaintances outside her maids—a difficult task in the snake pit of Jinlintai—latched onto him and A-Ling quickly. Although Jiang Cheng is not sure how he counts as a pleasant acquaintance.

As for how he ended up taking a liking to Qin Su…he supposes that anyone who treats A-Ling well will inevitably gain his favor. The fact that Qin Su is warm-hearted and sensible, intelligent and down-to-earth enough to see through the vacuous opulence of her new clan, and stubbornly cheeky enough to poke fun at Jiang Cheng of all people—and also that maybe Jiang Cheng is a bit lonely—that could have something to do with it, too. Potentially.

He might also have a miniscule crush on her.

But Qin Su is a married woman, expecting her own son in the coming months, and even if three quarters of the matchmakers have blacklisted Jiang Cheng like he’s some threat to womankind, he isn’t so much of a monster that he would dare disrespect Qin Su’s honor. A crush is not an idea he can entertain.

They're just friends who happen to look after the same little boy.

“If I did pout,” Jiang Cheng says, shooting a stern look at Qin Su, “which I don't, it wouldn’t incapacitate me so much that I can’t peel an orange.”

“Ah, this is good to know,” Qin Su says as she delicately removes another strip of orange peel, then holds the fruit out to Jiang Cheng. “Then I suppose your scowl right now will not hinder you from finishing my work for me.”

A-Ling cackles. Little brat. He probably doesn’t even know why he’s laughing.

The boy watches with twinkling eyes as Jiang Cheng sighs and takes the orange. The bittersweet fragrance of orange rind swirls around Jiang Cheng as he peels the fruit, while Qin Su starts playing a clapping game with A-Ling.

These moments in A-Ling’s room every few weeks hold Jiang Cheng over until the summers, when A-Ling lives in Lotus Pier. Although, now that Jiang Cheng gotten used to Qin Su's company, he’s beginning to wonder if he will miss her during the months he no longer needs to travel to visit A-Ling.

He’s formed comradery with his senior disciples during the war—the cultivators he’d trust with his life—in a way he’d never been able to while he was still the sect heir during times of peace. Watching your home be burned to the ground and fighting back-to-back soaked in blood and mourning the lost can build strong bonds with one's clansmen, if not happy ones.

But this is different.

This might be the closest glimpse of something like family that Jiang Cheng has had since…since two years ago.

Peace, for once.

Half an hour later, A-Ling falls asleep, and Qin Su tells Jiang Cheng about her hometown as they watch over him. Her voice is soft and quiet as she speaks about trips to the ocean and the time she and a friend found a giant sea creature’s fossils sticking out of a crumbled cliffside after an earthquake. Jiang Cheng tells her about the boat racing games he’d play on the lake and the time he got buried under lotus pads, although he doesn’t mention who accompanied him back then.

It’s nice, to share these lost memories, with a child’s cheerfulness between them to break what otherwise might be sorrowful. Qin Su has been separated from her hometown. Jiang Cheng lives in an empty hometown.

Sometimes, he wonders what his life might be like now if it had been he, not Jin Guangyao, who saved Qin Su during the Sunshot Campaign, and if she had pursued him instead. He had never truly wanted a wife (or he at least tries not to think about the one time he considered it), but if marriage could be like this…comfortable, like sitting beside a friend…

What is he doing thinking this way? Even if these wandering delusions weren't about a married woman, he has seen how marriages fail. With his days and his entire mind revolving around his sect when he isn't with A-Ling—or isn't wallowing in his own miseries or isn't lashing out in anger—he's just tired. Callous. He has so little care to offer that the matchmakers were probably right to blacklist him.

Qin Su slides an orange slice between her lips. “Jiang-zongzhu. May I ask—your birth name is Jiang Cheng?”

Surprised by the sudden question, Jiang Cheng just nods.

“Cheng as in chengzi (orange)?” She smiles wryly.

He crosses his arms. “No. Cheng as chengqing (clear). No parents would name a sect heir after a fruit.”

“I think it would have nice imagery. A river of oranges to go with the lotus lake.” She separates a piece of fruit and hands it to him. Although he glares at her, he takes the orange segment, careful not to brush her fingers. But just as he is about to eat it, she adds, “It could also be inspiration to give the Jiang Clan robes a makeover.”

His hand drops to his side, fist closing over the orange segment. “You don’t like our robes?” he asks with more distress in his voice than he intended.

She laughs, eyes bright. “I do. Don’t worry. Violet is a nice color.” She focuses her gaze back down on the orange half she holds in her hands, lips quirked. “You know that I was only pretending to insult you; do not insult me. Eat the piece I gave you.”

“Hmph.” Jiang Cheng pops the orange slice in his mouth and looks away.

“Thank you, Chengzi.”

“You—”

She shushes him. “If you start yelling, A-Ling will wake up.”

Across the room, A-Ling breathes deeply, eyes closed, one side of his faced smushed against his hand. The sight calms Jiang Cheng, although he is still offended.

“Have I ever yelled at you?” he asks.

“You haven't,” Qin Su says thoughtfully. “You can be a bit loud, though.”

Heat rises to his cheeks.

Qin Su doesn’t look over, but somehow she notices the faint blush, as if she has some magical sixth sense for detecting embarrassment. “I enjoy the color violet, I enjoy the company of people who are a bit loud.” She gestures toward A-Ling with the orange in her hand. “So does he, when he's not napping."

"Understood,” Jiang Cheng says, and nods. "A-Ling...A-Ling likes your company, too."

Qin Su smiles and hands over another orange segment. Holding back a smile of his own, Jiang Cheng eats it quietly.

The comfort of a friend, and a glimpse of something like family, is already satisfying enough.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3! :D

江澄 - Jiāng Chéng - "river" and "clear, transparent" 江橙 - sounds exactly the same! - "river" and "orange" hence the "river of oranges" joke shoutout to @qi-ling for mentioning this a few days ago lol

I'm not sure if shenshen (father's younger brother's wife) is what Jin Ling would call Qin Su but I think it's right? Feel free to correct me.

#mdzsnet #chengsu #jiang cheng #qin su #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #emilu fics #emilu creations

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