#chapter 15 is the bane of my existence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burntheedges · 6 months

Text

Maintenance Request

main post & chapter list | 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 word count: 88.6k

Joel Miller x f!reader | complete 🧡

summary: Hot Construction Guy is the bane of your existence - he seems to only pop up at the worst possible moment for you, every time you see him.

There’s no way there could be something more there.

Right?

full fic tags/warnings: academia AU, modern AU, one-sided enemies-to-lovers, no outbreak, live music, fluff, banter, everyone is alive, misunderstandings, ex boyfriend who was manipulative and a jerk (only mentioned), no use of y/n, pet names (darlin, gorgeous, honey, baby, sweetheart), later: smut, kissing, grinding, frottage, p in v sex, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), creampie, somnophilia, phone sex, semi-public sex; each chapter will have its own tags a/n: this fic is completely finished! It was my 2023 NaNo project. I’ll post a new chapter every Friday. There are 23 chapters and an epilogue. There is eventually quite a bit of smut, but it’s going to take us a little while to get there. Mind the tags (for the whole fic above and for each chapter). That “one-sided enemies-to-lovers” tag was the motivation for the whole fic — what if only one of you thinks you’re enemies? And here we are. Chapters with smut are marked with *. The dates in each chapter are from a fictional fall semester, 2024. Shoutout to @fanatictypist for reading this and encouraging me 💕 and to the PPCU server. note about reader: in this fic you’re a college professor, vaguely of English literature and poetry. You like live music, you like to read, and Ellie is your niece. You have a best friend named Beth, a sister who is having a rough time, and a difficult mother. I’ve avoided physical descriptions and most clothing descriptions, except when plot-relevant. You are vaguely shorter than Joel. No age is specified, but I imagined 36-year-old Joel here (and 14-year-old Sarah), and most English PhDs wouldn’t get to this type of position until they were 28 or 29 at the earliest, even if they went to grad school right out of undergrad. So you can imagine reader any age from there to mid-30s, or whatever you want, really.

* = chapter contains smut

Come celebrate the end with me with some fun asks! Ch 23 goes up 5/17 and the epilogue 5/24.

Chapter List

Chapter 1 | 2.4k Wednesday, September 4, second week of the semester

Chapter 2 | 2.4k | preview Friday, September 6, second week of the semester

Chapter 3 | 2.4k | preview Monday, September 16, fourth week of the semester, Friday, September 20, fourth week of the semester

Chapter 4 | 1.8k | preview Interlude

Chapter 5 | 3.4k | preview Friday, September 27, fifth week of the semester Saturday, September 28, fifth week of the semester Monday, September 30, sixth week of the semester

Chapter 6 | 2.1k | preview Wednesday, October 2, sixth week of the semester

Chapter 7 | 2.4k | preview | art by @kittyoperas 🥰 Wednesday, October 9, seventh week of the semester

Chapter 8 | 2.7k | preview Monday, October 14, eighth week of the semester

Chapter 9 | 3.4k | preview Tuesday, October 15, eighth week of the semester Thursday, October 17, eighth week of the semester Friday, October 18, eighth week of the semester Saturday, October 19, eighth week of the semester

Chapter 10 | 5k | preview Monday, October 21, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 11 | 2.4k| preview Tuesday, October 22, ninth week of the semester Thursday, October 24, ninth week of the semester Friday, October 25, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 12 | 8.1k | preview * Friday, October 25, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 13 | 9.3k | preview * Friday, October 25 (still), ninth week of the semester

Chapter 14 | 3.9k | preview Friday, October 25 (still), ninth week of the semester Saturday, October 26, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 15 | 3.6k | preview Saturday, October 26, ninth week of the semester Sunday, October 27, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 16 | 5.8k | preview Tuesday, October 29, tenth week of the semester Friday, November 1, tenth week of the semester

Chapter 17 | 3.2k | preview * Saturday, November 2, tenth week of the semester Sunday, November 3, tenth week of the semester

Chapter 18 | 3.3k | preview * Monday, November 4, eleventh week of the semester

Chapter 19 | 7.6k | preview * Saturday, November 9, eleventh week of the semester Sunday, November 10, eleventh week of the semester

Chapter 20 | 3.3k | preview Saturday, November 16, twelfth week of the semester

Chapter 21 | 3.5k | preview * Friday, November 22, thirteenth week of the semester

Chapter 22 | 2k | preview Thursday, December 5, fifteenth week of the semester

Chapter 23 | 2.7k | preview * Friday, December 6, last day of classes

Epilogue | 5/24 Saturday, May 10, summer Break

…

Drabbles & longer asks

Where would Joel and reader go on holiday together? from the MR ending celebration

Beth & Joel's first meeting asks, part 1 and part 2, from the MR ending celebration

Would they have kids? from the MR ending celebration

About their future adventures and how I got the idea for the fic, from the MR ending celebration

Some insight into ch2, the pile driver, and Trevor, from the MR ending celebration

Does Joel ever run into Matt? From the MR ending celebration

About Beth and Joel’s friendship, from the MR ending celebration

How I wrote it, from the MR ending celebration

Coming soon: how Joel found the poem 😏

...

Moodboards

@sawymredfox made this moodboard and it’s amazing 😩 please go look at it 💕

@djarins-cyare made this wonderful moodboard, I love it so much -- please go look at it! 🧡💚

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #my fic #maintenance request fic #x reader #joel miller smut

761 notes · View notes

mayfast · 2 months

Text

Chapter 3 WIP (Unbetaed)

Crumbs for the the TigerSeal and SeaMonkey fans. So if you've been wondering where I've been, I got diagnosed with epilepsy. So I got put on some meds that make me hella tired. Like all the time. I would sleep 15 hours a day if you let me. So it's been a struggle to get this next chapter up and rolling. But I'm close to finishing it. Afterwards I'll send it to my Beta (I feel so cool saying that), then I'll get it all posted on AO3, God bless that site.

Enjoy~

__________________________

“Jake Sully,” Somehow, he’s been expecting this all night. But he still wishes he could have another day to mentally prepare himself. He throws a casual look over his shoulder to spot Ao’nung behind him, glancing at him almost shyly.

“Yes?” He sighs. He doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression, he’s started liking Ao’nung more. After he got over the Metkayina calling his daughter a freak, picking a fight with his kids, and almost killing Lo’ak. But hey, everyone makes mistakes, right?

“I want to court Spider.” He’s blunt and staring Jake in the eyes. Almost like it’s a challenge, like he’s ready to fight. Jake can almost appreciate the little spitfire, but after the tongue lashing from Norm and Max earlier…he’s caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Yeah?” He acknowledged with some gravel in his voice.

“…Yes.” The other held some confusion in his eyes. His blue eyes wandering over Jake’s slumped form, trying to get a read on him. “I don’t know what I’m doing though.” This draws a snort out of him. Took a big man to admit when he’s lost. Maybe Ao’nung is maturing.

“How so?” He raised an eyebrow and patted the ground beside. He had decided to take a little detour back to the center beach, where the adults are still celebrating, after laying Tuk down for bed. He was going to send Spider, Kiri and Lo’ak to sleep when he got back, but he wanted to give them a little more time with their friends. Now the current bane of his existent came and found him.

The younger man sat down on the beach as Jake observed the sky. “I… I don’t … There’s a lot.” Ao’nung breathed after a moment. His shoulders slumping, mirroring Jake’s posture.

“Well, find your first question.” He laughed, turning to watch Ao’nung roll his eyes, tail twitching as he digs his fingers through the sand.

“Is Spider old enough to be courted?” He questions after a moment. His gaze fixated on the sand below him and his ears are pinned back, distraught. Jake can almost feel pain. Dating someone younger than you can be a risky game, especially when they’re a different species with different aging practices.

“Dating.” Jake corrects him and looks up at the sky again. Finding the star that supposedly his first home orbits around. “We call it dating. And yes, he’s old enough to go on dates with you.” Norm’s going to tear him a new one. Max will stitch him up just to tear him a second one.

“It’s where you do courting practices, but you don’t mate even if you think your ready, at least not yet, he’s not old enough for sex, okay?” It feels dirty coming out of his mouth, like ash and acid. Yet, he needs to set some boundaries, some lines in the sand. He’s the only one here who understands how human teens work, kind of.

“Okay.” Ao’nung nods, good, he sounds accepting. “How do I court the human way?”

“Why do you want to do it the human way?” Jake finds himself suspicious. Not that anything Ao’nung says doesn’t make sense, but why is he going so left field for someone’s who’s so different from him. Jake had to learn the Na’vi way, because he was on Eywa’eveng. Ao’nung doesn’t need to go out of his way to learn another culture.

“He’s ashamed to be human.” Ao’nung tells him after a moment of internal debate. He’s confident in his answer, sounds like he and Spider have already had a conversation. “I don’t want Spider to be ashamed of what he is, or who he is. So, I want to prove to him that I accept all of him. Even the parts he doesn’t like so much.”

He’s not exactly sure how to feel about this. It’s a lot for his jar head to take in. Ao’nung trying to do this the right way. And shouldn’t Jake want the best for Spider? Someone who wants to make him happy and feel like he belongs? Still, shouldn’t that have been him? What if Spider end up with Daddy issues and acts out later in life? He could get self-destructive, well more self-destructive, or codependent on Ao’nung.

“Humans are different from Na’vi, Ao’nung, you know this. From how they look, to how they show affection.” He grabs Ao’nung by the shoulder, needing the other to look him in the eye. “They can’t form a tsaheylu, ever. Are you okay that?” Because he doesn’t want Ao’nung to regret his decision ten years down the line and start resenting his baby. It would be unfair to both of them.

“With him, I don’t need one.” Ao’nung clasps a hand over his forearm. The grip just as tight as his hand on the Metkayina’s shoulder. “I want him the way he is.”

It soothes a part of his soul. Jake’s gone through most of his life without a bond. But after experiencing it, he’s not sure he could go back. It was like an addiction. The peace of mind his mate gave him. A safe space that only he and she were allowed to curl up into. Ao’nung would never have that.

“If you’re serious about this, I need to warn you that humans don’t mature until twenty-five. That means he’s still changing a bit, figuring out who he is.” Jake retracts his hand and throws it over his bend knee. “I wouldn’t change being with Neytiri for anything, but I was twenty-two when she and I bonded. I was still figuring out my place in the world, but she helped me through it. Spider may not be the same person he is now.”

He notices the way Ao’nung closes his eyes and smiles. “Then he is like the sea. It’s never same.”

#ao3 #spider socorro #ao'nung #ao3 writer #aocorro #aonung #avatar spider #avatar the way of water #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #Avatar #TigerSeal #SeaMonkey

31 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 1 year

Text

10 Tips for Fast-Drafting

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Freewrite, a 2023 NaNo sponsor, is a dedicated distraction-free drafting device designed just for writers. Today, author Ashley Poston and the Freewrite team share some tips for completing a first draft of your novel quickly:

Hello from the Freewrite team! 👋 Here at Freewrite, we love a NaNoWriMo challenge, because we’re all about getting words on the page. We asked Author & Freewrite Ambassador Ashley Poston to share her best tips for fast-drafting and getting that first draft DONE!

No surprise, one of her secrets is her Freewrite. But what else does Ashley do to get those drafts done fast?

Here’s Ashley:

I have a confession to make: I hate drafting. It’s the bane of my existence. If I could reach into my brain and take out my story, fully-formed, and just work on the editing bit? I’d do it.

But, alas, that’s not how writing works. (Which is a real pity because I really do love editing. The way you go in with a fine-tooth comb and just torch the entire novel, then rewrite it for the third time. It’s truly majestic.)

Though after ten years, I’ve yet to figure out a way to pull a novel, fully-formed, out of my ears. So, instead, I like making the part of drafting as painless as possible… by doing the most painful, maddening, infuriating thing imaginable.

In other words: fast-drafting.

I’ve perfected the art. I can write a book in a week if I have enough caffeine and a death wish, and with these ten tips, so can you.

1. Find your characters.

Truly, the most important part of fast-drafting is knowing your characters from the outset. In a first draft, you usually find your characters in the middle of the second-to-last chapter. (Or is that just me?) So it often helps to know your characters inside and out from the start. Not only that, but know how they’d react in certain situations, know what would be on their Spotify playlist, know whether they’d have a repertoire of Your Mom jokes up their sleeve. How do they take their coffee? If faced with ten seconds to live, who would they call? Most of these questions you’ll never answer in the manuscript itself, but it’s important to know these people in your head on an intimate level.

2. Use your time(r) wisely.

Setting a timer can be a great way to increase your writing speed. Start with a short amount of time—maybe 15 minutes—and write like the wind, Bullseye! Then shake yourself out, set that timer to 15 again, and repeat. (This is SO easy on my Freewrite Traveler, because it has a feature that keeps time for you, making 15-minute sprints easy-peasy.)

3. Outline.

In addition to your characters, you really should get to know your plot, too, and a great way to do that is making an outline! There are a bunch of different tips and tricks to outlining—I personally use Susan Dennard’s 1-page Synopsis whenever I need to hash out a plot, and Rachel Aaron’s 2k to 10k Blogpost from Ye Olde 2011.

4. No distractions!

Writing is already hard enough, but it becomes almost impossible when you have a cat pronking on you every chance they get. Sometimes, life can just be that—distracting—and you can’t do anything about it. But minimize distractions wherever you can, especially if you’re sprinting. Turn off your phone! Disconnect the internet! And here is where I tell you my Freewrite has saved my butt countless times. I’m horrid at the whole “cut distractions!” bit, but with Freewrite, it’s easy as pie. It’s a lot like a typewriter, so internet? Never heard of her. iMessages? iThinkNot. It’s just you, your words, and the mounting existential dread of existence.

5. Compression gloves. (No, seriously, especially if you write every day.)

This is gonna sound like one of those weird ones—and that’s because it is. But if you’re planning on writing every day for at least an hour, please do yourself (and your budding carpel tunnel) a favor and get some compression gloves. Learn some hand exercises. We don’t call writing fast “sprinting” for nothing.

6. Don’t look back.

It’s so easy to get caught up in trying to perfect the prologue, but this can absolutely hinder you. Take it from someone who loves to make the first chapter perfect—you never will. I promise. Instead, focus on getting your ideas down on paper and worry about editing later. I promise that sentence you didn’t like will be there when you come back to it. It’s not going anywhere. This is another area where my Freewrite helps me focus.

7. Use prompts!

Sometimes, your brain gets stuck. If you feel stuck, or in a corner, use a writing prompt to get the creative juices flowing again! Maybe you’ll never use the scene, but that’s OK. If it means you get going again? That’s what matters.

8. Stuck? Hit the bricks! Real winners quit. But like… not forever.

Writing can be mentally draining, so it’s important to not push yourself too hard, and to take breaks when you need it. Take a walk, stretch, dance it out to ABBA—whatever helps you recharge. And then when you come back to the scene, you’re refreshed and rearing to go.

9. Chunk it up.

Breaking up your writing into smaller, manageable chunks can make drafting so much less daunting. Instead of making the goal finishing the novel, just finish the chapter. Finish this scene. Sometimes, it helps if people set a goal for a certain amount of words a day, but I find that this often just leads to burnout a lot faster. Instead of a word count, set a goal for a scene instead. Turn off the word counter. A first draft doesn’t have to hit a certain number of words—it’s called a first draft for a reason.

10. Practice makes more practice.

Like anything else you do, writing takes practice. I know I can easily hit 5k a day, but that’s because I’ve been writing professionally for a decade now. If you’re just starting out, don’t compare yourself to anyone else. (In fact, this is a great rule of thumb regardless.) Everyone writes differently, and everyone writes in their own time. No one ever asked Van Gogh how long it took him to paint sunflowers, did they? No one told Monet he was taking too long on his water lilies. Writing is an art, so let yourself enjoy it.

I hope this helps you, at least a little, write your next sexy dragon-shifter book! (Or whatever you’re working on.) Godspeed, and just remember: only you can write the idea in your head. Different writers can be given the same exact prompt, and every single story will turn out differently. Keep your eyes on your own paper, your heart full of joy, and chase that story only you can tell.

It’ll be worth it, I promise.

—Ashley

Reminder: Camp NaNoWriMo 2023 participants are eligible for a special Freewrite offer. Find all the details here.

Ashley Poston is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of The Dead Romantics. After graduating from the University of South Carolina with a bachelor’s in English, she spent the last decade working in the publishing industry before deciding to pursue writing full-time. When not writing, she likes trying various arts and crafts (she’s currently addicted to building miniature rooms) and taking long walks as an excuse to listen to Dungeons & Dragons podcasts. She bides her time between South Carolina and New York, and all the bookstores between.

Top photo by Djim Loic on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #fast drafting #first draft #ashley poston #by nano sponsor #freewrite

198 notes · View notes

rearranged-fanfic · 3 months

Text

Update (3/15)

I'm never actually going to get a chapter out on time. Lol. I am resigned to the fact that this is my truth.

So, fun stuff these past three weeks.

The next chapter? I hate it. It has been the bane of my existence for several reasons. I've deleted either the whole thing or massive parts of it no less than six times now. I've probably typed and retyped somewhere between 30K words for this one alone. I'm not happy with it at all. I've already put it off for another week, and I still can't get it the way I want. The perfectionist in me is telling me to pound it out until it's acceptable. The person inside who wants to meet my deadlines is screaming at me to just upload it in its current state and change it later.

I'm finishing it, though. Or, as finished as I can get it in an extra day. So, one more day and it'll be out for you guys to view to your hearts' content.

In other news, while battling frustration with the story, I've tried to distract myself from it so that my anger doesn't bleed into my writing. And I've wound up getting back into one of my old favorite chill games: My Time at Portia. I've put somewhere around 500 hours into it, and still love it. Lol. If you like things like Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing, you'll probably like Portia, too.

I've started rewatching My Hero Academia and Demon Slayer with my husband. Both of those things are living in my head rents free as well, alongside this fic and my game.

So, now I'm resisting the urge to contribute to a smaller, less-saturated fandom or pairing. Like, there are ten million GojoXReader stories, but what about for Arlo? Or Hawks? Or best boi Rengoku Kyojuro? Arrrggggh! The ADHD beckons, and I must resist its call!

I wish I could pause time so that I can write all the things I want to!

Also, I tried to unwind by watching The Boy and the Heron to celebrate its win at the Oscars. And I feel like I'm being gaslit by the world and anime community as a whole. Because it was… not great. Like, it was a genuinely incohesive and confusing movie? The plot was chaotic and nonsensical? The characters weren't very fleshed out? Character motivations suffered due to poor pacing? Emotional payoff was non-existant? The plot "reveals" weren't satisfying? The worldbuilding was lackluster and simultaneously too involved but not involved enough? There was a crappy third-act villain? The English dub is mid (barring Robert Pattinson, who is stellar, TBH); Why the fuck did Christian Bale decide that a Godfather-esque mafioso accent would be fitting for a WW era Japanese man when nobody else in the movie sounds like that?!

IDK… I went in expecting this to be on the same level as Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, or Spirited Away. And I feel like we got Tales From Earthsea all over again. Except this time, for whatever reason, it won an award and is being praised as Miyazaki's magnum opus?!

I was actually salty for days. Scratch that; I'm still salty.

So... in conclusion, I'm back, bitches. And I'm vibing to the music of my own internal screaming.

#REARRANGEDfanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #update

21 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 1 year

Text

Eclipse: Chapter 16

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades Now, I could make the gods' lives easy... or I could not. No prizes for guessing which way I went here. I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 15

APOLLO XVI

Tell a tale of woe Cross the lamenting river And then we get stuck

While he’d been preoccupied – Apollo hesitated to call it dreaming, because that implied he’d fallen asleep – his form had made considerable progress in pulling itself back together. His healing abilities were superior to most, even down in the depths of Tartarus, it seemed, and when he pressed a hand to the knife wound in his gut where Orion had tried to disembowel him, he felt nothing but unmarked skin.

His throat, too, was intact once more, as were the other various smaller injuries he’d picked up from both their battle with the giant and the broader Tartarus experience, and part of Apollo wondered how long he’d been sat there. Ichor still stained his armour and skin alike, a jagged slit in the abdomen of his armour showing where Orion’s hunting knife had passed through it as though it hadn’t existed, but it was a simple matter to will it away.

The action didn’t bother his essence in the slightest, adding credence to the suspicion that he had been… out… for some time, for whatever measure or worth time had in the Pit, and some self-evaluation put him at not quite a hundred percent, but recovered enough that he was confident in his abilities to handle most non-Orion levels of confrontation once more.

Cool metal, celestial bronze at its finest despite the haphazard nature of the creation, made itself known in his hand and he looked down at the Valdezinator – or rather, the remains of it.

The instrument was, for lack of a better word, ruined, and Apollo felt a not inconsiderable amount of regret at the sight. For something he had more or less forced Leo to give up to keep up his own appearances, he had grown attached to the strange yet utterly unique instrument, and had been making great strides in mastering the art of playing it.

In fact, his performance against Orion could have argued that he had if not mastered, at least achieved a high level of proficiency in playing it – something Apollo had never fully expected himself to manage. Not because it was outside of his realms of ability – it was a musical instrument, it was always within his abilities – but because of the requirements for playing it.

The Valdezinator fed on emotions. It was ingenious – music and emotions were heavily intertwined, but never had Apollo before seen an instrument that required emotions to make sound in such a way as the Valdezinator. When he considered that it was constructed with less than a thought from Leo, simply something his hands did while his mouth was busy, it seemed unbelievable – and yet, it fit so perfectly. Something created on a whim, away from conscious thought, that required the intangible to play… Apollo loved it, but the vulnerability it had forced from him had been something he had been unwilling to display.

It demanded honesty, not a performance, and Apollo had never thought he would be in a position where he would willingly shed his performance in front of an audience – at least, not until his trials, and Lester, and everything that had entailed.

Still, against Orion – in front of Hades – with the fear from the Helm swirling around him and Orion’s vicious face threatening him, threatening his sister and his children, Apollo had managed to harness the right emotions to stop the giant, to lasso the fear his uncle’s Helm emitted and channel it into a weapon against his bane. He’d hoped that would have been enough, but he’d known that just the music wouldn’t have been. More had been needed.

Apollo hoped Leo would understand. His hands shook as he looked down at the mangled metal, before he pushed at it with his essence, picturing the nook he had placed it in for safe keeping on Delos. Such a piece of mastery deserved far, far better than to be discarded in Tartarus for evermore. Perhaps, if Leo forgave him its destruction, he would be willing and able to repair it.

Summoning it in the first place had been exhausting, not just because he’d lost so much ichor he’d been struggling to perform any truly godly feats at all but also because of the distance between Delos and Tartarus. Sending it back, despite being well-rested, was just as difficult. Having his ichor and strength restored helped, but Tartarus was automatically opposed to things leaving, and it took several long minutes before the instrument faded from his hands entirely.

He took one more moment to remember it, to mourn the instrument that had saved him at the cost of itself much like a certain ukulele, before casting his attention around the cave to find Hades.

His uncle was stood at the entrance, sword held loosely by his side. It was the exact same position Apollo had seen him take up as he’d slumped against the wall of the cavern, and he wondered if Hades had moved at all since then.

All gods were capable of remaining still for long lengths of time – Apollo preferred not to, preferred to keep moving, keep seeing and doing and learning, but he could, if he had to – so it wasn’t entirely out of the question. He decided against asking Hades if he had; with time so hard to track in Tartarus, he couldn’t even ask probing questions like how long was I out?

All he could do was pull himself to his feet, pass his hand over his quiver to make sure it was once again bristling with arrows – running out against Orion had not been fun, not when it had slowed him up and the damn giant had starting timing how long it took him to summon more arrows, ending with a perfectly-timed strike while Apollo was mid-summon and couldn’t do anything about it – and head for the entrance, where his uncle stood.

“Are you sufficiently recovered?” Hades asked as he approached. Apollo caught sight of dark eyes flickering in his direction briefly before returning to look out upon the jagged plains of Tartarus.

“I am,” he said, offering him a slightly apologetic grin. “Sorry about that. And… thanks, for fighting him.”

That was another thing that had been playing on his mind, beyond the safety of Asclepius – Orion had not been Hades’ responsibility to fight. He hadn’t needed to fight, Orion had given him the chance not to, but the older god had intervened regardless, once again taking on the role of melee combatant while Apollo stayed back as support, despite the fact it should, really, have been Apollo’s fight. After the earlier encounter, barely getting away from his bane, he had simply been glad for the help.

“I do not need your gratitude,” Hades dismissed. “I merely saw no reason to stand aside, and certainly not once he implied that I should. Giants have no right to order me around.”

The reasoning, when he heard it, made sense; Hades’ pride had been insulted, so really, Orion had brought his wrath down upon him himself. Still, Apollo couldn’t shake the feeling that, more importantly, Hades’ involvement had been the difference between defeat and victory.

“There is no more to be gained from sheltering here,” his uncle continued, sheathing his sword and turning to face Apollo fully for a moment. “Come. The prison is still far.”

Typically, he didn’t wait for a response before striding out, forcing Apollo to follow and take some extra strides to fall into step beside him.

For some time, they journeyed in silence. Hades was not the sort for idle conversation at the best of times, and Apollo could think of no topics to address that his uncle would deem worthwhile, especially while they traversed a terrain as unforgiving as Tartarus. The idea of singing, or even quietly humming, was also dismissed before it fully formed – again, not in a terrain as unforgiving as Tartarus. Apollo had no desire to attract the attention of the Primordial any more than was absolutely necessary; if he was honest, he was already worried at how much attention their fight with Orion had gained, and he suspected Hades was similarly displeased at the potential notice.

Surprisingly, it was Hades who broke the silence, as they started descending back down the jagged ground. At this point, the constant slicing and healing of their feet was simply a background familiarity; neither of them left a trail behind them, healing too fast for the ichor to drip.

“You said that neither you nor Artemis have ever defeated Orion,” he observed. “However, I am aware that he has been defeated in the past. If you did not defeat him, who did?”

That was not a topic Apollo particularly wanted to discuss, but he could understand his uncle’s reasons for asking. Gods didn’t like not knowing things, and Orion hadn’t kept his mouth shut while they’d fought.

Nor had he, although Apollo barely recalled letting the confession slip.

“Orion didn’t fight against us, the first time,” he said, unable to keep the venom out of his voice as he spat his enemy’s name and not particularly caring to try, either. “He was the first male to join Artemis’ Hunt. They were friends.” Or so Artemis had thought; he remembered her delight at meeting such a talented, respectful male archer. At the time, Apollo hadn’t noticed the danger he posed, either. “He was… sly. Artemis never likes me spending too much time with her Hunters, so I saw little of him. By the time I realised who he was – what he was… He’d almost destroyed her.”

He felt himself flare up, the rage and fear when he’d discovered what Orion was truly doing in the Hunt, the way he was grooming Artemis, intent on taking away her maidenhood, of everything that made her the independent goddess she wished to be, writhing around within his essence.

“She didn’t listen to me,” he admitted, and the pain of that stung, too. In the millennia since, they had talked about it, and Artemis had realised how ensnared, how blindfolded, she’d been, but at the time…

At the time, it had been the first true division between the two of them, a rift that for several centuries, Apollo had feared would never mend.

That was the first time he’d truly realised that he’d do anything to protect Artemis. No matter what.

He still wasn’t certain if she’d realised that.

“I cursed Orion,” he continued, skipping over the years of arguments, of fighting, of fearing he was going to lose his twin, either physically or emotionally (or even both) because that was still raw, too raw to talk about. “I couldn’t kill him, but I could drive him mad.” Dionysus had helped, a secret between the two of them. Not even Artemis knew he’d been forced to enlist the help of another god – Orion had always needed two gods to oppose him, after all. “In the end, the Earth killed him.”

In terms of storytelling, it was probably the worst thing he’d ever told. Too staccato, to abrupt, with no pacing and absolutely no embellishment at all. Were the topic anything else, Apollo would have felt embarrassed to have even considering voicing something like that.

But it was Orion, and Orion didn’t deserve a proper story. Nor did Apollo care enough to give him one. Not after everything he’d done and almost done to those he loved.

“He was the first giant to come back,” he said after a moment. “He hunted the Hunt for centuries; more of my sister’s Hunters have fallen to him than any other cause, but he never showed himself when Artemis or I were nearby.”

“I recall the deaths,” Hades told him, his voice quiet. “He hunted Nico and his travelling companions in the recent war.”

Apollo remembered that. “That day was a slaughter,” he said, fury and grief welling up. “We- She lost so many Hunters that day.”

Hades looked at him sharply. “We?”

He’d hoped that slip of the tongue would have gone unnoticed, but the black flames boring into him told him otherwise. It wasn’t like it was a secret, that some of Apollo’s daughters joined the Hunt the same as any other demigods, but voicing it out loud still felt dangerous.

“One of your daughters entered Elysium that day,” Hades said after a moment, clearly realising that Apollo wasn’t going to say it.

Apollo hadn’t realised his uncle knew the parentages of the dead, let alone that he could keep track of where they had all ended up – there were so, so many of them, from across the millennia. Even Apollo, despite his perfect memory, couldn’t fathom remembering every single one.

“Phoebe served Artemis for four thousand years,” he said, because talking about his dead children hurt but they always deserved to be remembered, and as time passed and the mortals that knew them passed, all too often he became the only one who cared to remember them. Artemis would remember Phoebe, too, as would the surviving Hunters, but that still didn’t diminish his desire to remember her. “She joined before Orion.”

Hades said nothing else, but he had started the conversation, and Apollo was grieving Phoebe’s death, still, like he was grieving Jason and Crest and so many others who had died in the past year and he hadn’t had the chance to process yet, so he kept talking, as they traversed Tartarus, slowly descending down in gradual increments. He told Hades about when she was born, about the fate of her mother and the fate that had almost befallen her, about intervening, because the Laws hadn’t been strict on that, back then, and taking her to Artemis, who welcomed her with open arms.

Four thousand years was a long time, and Apollo had a lot of stories to tell about his sharp-tongued, vibrant daughter with her healing hands and strategic mind. He didn’t know if Hades was paying any attention, or if he’d tuned him out as background noise, but his uncle made no indication that he wanted him to stop talking, so he didn’t.

It felt cathartic to talk about her, to share stories even if his audience was both captive and unresponsive, like a celebration of her life rather than a mourning of her death, so when his mood suddenly swung around to grief again, the weight of her death pressing back down on him and stifling his words, forcing him to swallow them down before they turned to sobs, he faltered. Grief was a tricky thing, but never had it changed his feelings so rapidly.

“Apollo.”

Hades spoke for the first time since he’d begun telling the stories, his voice firm and a little sharp. It didn’t overly surprise Apollo that perhaps his uncle had finally tired of hearing him, but the hand that gripped his bicep almost made him jump.

“Focus,” the older god told him. “Cocytus lies ahead.”

The river of lamentation.

Now that Hades had mentioned it, Apollo could hear the whispering cries, the accusations of all those he’d failed to save, of those he’d killed in cold blood and later regretted. They were on the edge of his hearing, words indistinct but intent crystal clear.

He’d briefly come across the river in his rare forays into the Underworld, but it had never troubled him there. Here, in the depths of Tartarus, it was clearly far more dangerous.

Apollo was self-aware enough to know that he had too much raw, unprocessed, grief to be able to push through the river, but at the same time turning back was not an option. The prison was the other side, and no matter what, they had to reach it.

Beside him, Hades’ jaw was unusually set, a stiffness to it the older god would never normally show. His uncle had been unaffected by the Phlegethon, but it was immediately clear that the Cocytus would be a far greater challenge for both of them.

“How do we cross?” Apollo asked, feeling tears welling up, pushing and pushing and pushing until they finally spilled over, down his face. His voice shook, completely out of his control.

Hades tightened his grip on his arm.

“Keep talking,” he said, through grit teeth.

“About what?” Apollo nearly sobbed. They hadn’t stopped walking, and the wailing voices were louder; intellectually, he knew it was just the river, that nothing it was saying was real, but everything was accurate, down to the exact timbre of their voices.

“Your daughter.” It sounded like an order, and it startled Apollo so much the tears halted for a moment.

“Phoebe?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Hades told him impatiently. “Or another one, if you’ve somehow exhausted all your stories about her.”

Normally, Apollo needed no persuading to talk about one of his children – Olympus, he’d just spent the last however long talking about Phoebe – but with the Cocytus wailing his sorrows back at him, the timing felt somehow wrong.

“I-” he started. “Why?”

His uncle’s grip tightened again, his nails digging in almost painfully. “To cross,” he said firmly, “we need a distraction. So: distract.”

Distract who, Apollo didn’t ask. The river’s sole purpose was lamentation – it could not be distracted from its entire being. It was them, the gods, who needed distracting away from the river’s cries, before they ended up in a lot of potential trouble.

Apollo could do one better than talking.

With the Valdezinator destroyed, and returned to Delos beside, and no other instruments with him, he had no accompaniment, but while Apollo liked to blend his voice with the beauty of music, he could carry a tune perfectly fine without. His first instinct was to sing of grief, but he still had enough presence of mind to recognise the river’s influence, and that music, no matter how raw, could not hope to outmatch the river with its own genre.

So he sang of life, of his children – not just Phoebe, but all of them, and their accomplishments. Of everything they did with their lives, the hearts they touched, the stories they made. He celebrated all of them, feeling the ever-present demand of grief pressing against him, trying to smother everything he remembered with joy and override it with the dark bitterness of lamentation.

It was difficult. Not to sing, nor to tell stories of his children, but to keep it away from the inevitable grief that ended each of their times in his life. Cocytus wasn’t interested in the good things, in the light, in the love, in the kindness and laughter. It wanted the tragedy, the heartbreak, to drown Apollo in the tears that he couldn’t keep from falling no matter how brightly the stories shone.

He felt Hades pulling him forwards, shaking him aggressively whenever a strain of grief trickled into his voice until he chased it out and replaced it with joy instead. Part of him registered that it felt strange, to have such prolonged contact with another god – with Hades, the most notorious of all for keeping his distance. It helped him to keep singing, the reminder that Hades wanted him to distract them from the river’s thrall, and followed his uncle as they reached the bank of the river, and waded in.

At the touch of the water, a deep chill that had Apollo’s voice shaking, he stumbled, grief pressing down on him more incessantly, insisting that he stop and let the river pull him so far under he’d never resurface again.

Hades kept him upright.

How his uncle was managing to keep going, one foot in front of the other as they waded through the Cocytus together, assailed by the river’s determination to break them, Apollo didn’t know.

But he kept singing, because it was keeping him something that could almost be deemed functional, and it had been Hades’ idea so perhaps it was what was keeping him going, too. The water around them stopped getting deeper, and then started receding again, and still Apollo sang.

He didn’t stop until Hades pulled them to a halt, finally releasing his arm and taking a half step back, re-establishing his personal space. They were some way past the river; Apollo could almost hear the words within the wails, could certainly still identify the voices. But they were past.

“Clean yourself up,” Hades instructed, not for the first time since they’d arrived in Tartarus. Apollo suspected it would not be the last, either. It was the largest admission of unease his uncle was consistently showing – a need to look perfect, to look untouchable, to the monsters that watched them hungrily as they passed. Apollo understood; appearance had been a large part of his life for a very long time. Fake it ‘til you make it, mortals were fond of saying.

Apollo considered it to be a very important motto, too.

There was no ichor to clean up this time, simply tracks of tears that had cut down through his cheeks. It made a nice change, as Apollo willed himself back into a presentable appearance. He was not a fan of the puffy, gold-stained eyes that crying inflicted upon his face, either.

Hades barely waited for him to clean up before resuming his walk, leaving Apollo to take a couple of larger steps in order to fall back in line with him. Conversation – even one-sided – now felt unwelcome, and while part of Apollo wanted to continue to play and sing his song, especially without grief trying to clog up his voice, the rest of him knew that he, too, had to process what they had just been through, so he kept it to himself.

He was also nervous about the next river; according to Hades, it was Styx, and Apollo could not imagine how that encounter – if, of course, the goddess decided to reveal herself – would pan out. Her actions on the edge of Chaos remained an enigma, and Apollo did not know her well enough to predict what she would do.

When they reached the banks of the river, however long later, the goddess was waiting for them.

Arms crossed, she stood in the middle of the flowing water, her legs seeming to dissolve and merge with the flow of foggy river.

“Oath Keeper,” she greeted, confusing Apollo for a split second, before her black, cruel eyes landed on him and her voice changed to a guttural snarl. “Oathbreaker.”

The look Hades gave him was indecipherable, and Apollo played it safe by not responding to either of them. The last time he had seen the goddess, she had reminded him of the important lessons he had learned and then walked away, allowing him to go free despite her ability – and motive – to unfurl his desperately reaching fingers and cast him into Chaos, much the same way he had cast Python bare moments earlier.

“Styx,” Hades said after a moment’s silence.

“The Oathbreaker does not pass,” Styx said, her eyes still pinning Apollo in place. “You, Hades, Oath Keeper, are free to cross my waters, but I will not allow Apollo the same luxury.”

It felt like Apollo should say something. Not a defence – his oaths had been rash, but that had not made them any less binding, and breaking them no less of an offence – but something.

“We need to cross,” Hades told her, unwavering in the face of her glare. Apollo did not know exactly how close their relationship was, but Styx guarded the Underworld, so clearly there was some degree of a working relationship, if nothing else. “Let us pass.”

“No.” The water swirled around her exposed torso aggressively. “You, Oath Keeper, may cross. Apollo, Oathbreaker, may not.”

“Styx-” Hades started, but the goddess seemingly held no fear for the god of the Underworld as she cut straight across him.

“If you cross my waters, I will take my owed dues.”

Her dark, dark eyes bored straight through into Apollo’s essence, uncomfortable in their intensity, but nothing compared to the painful twist of his insides as the threat registered.

“And what would those be?” he asked, keeping his back straight even though there was a large part of him, god of knowledge or not, that did not want to know what Styx thought an appropriate recompense for his rash oaths. He remembered her threatening him before, with deaths of loved ones, taking the credit for Jason and Crest even though Jason, at least, had been prophesised to die, but it had never completely felt like she had taken her price, not even on the edge of Chaos when she’d turned away instead of casting him down.

Now was a terrible time for her to take it, so of course now would be when she chose to.

Her answer came in the rapids of her water, not words. In an instant, she burst her banks, water cascading down on Apollo. It didn’t drive him to his knees – as a mortal, he would have never stood a chance against the onslaught, but he wasn’t mortal, not anymore, and being one of the twelve Olympians counted for a lot – but it hammered his form nonetheless.

It also showed him images.

Images that made him roar, blasting away the water and shattering the vision of Will, dragged down to Tartarus and tossed from river to river before Styx dragged him down into her depths and his body went slack, blue eyes glassy and lifeless.

“No,” he snarled, knowing that he had no right to dictate the terms of punishment, but refusing to let any of his children take the fall for him.

Styx seemed unconcerned at the way he’d scattered her waters, drawing it all back within the bank and letting the clouded rapids continue hurtling their way down the body of the Pit.

“Anything else,” Apollo continued, his hand tightening around his bow for wont of something to do, “but not my children.”

“You do not get to decide that,” Styx told him, her voice chilling. Apollo trembled, whether with fear or rage, he didn’t want to determine. “Oathbreaker.”

“This is a waste of time,” Hades interjected, catching Apollo’s attention as he began to walk away from the river. “Come, Apollo. There is another way.”

Apollo hesitated, the clear threat to his children making his instincts scream that he had to do something to get them off of Styx’s list of potential retributions. The goddess smiled at him – not a nice smile, but a harsh, cold smile.

“Go,” she told him. “Go, and suffer in the depths of Tartarus. Or…” Her teeth flashed, sharp, like a predator, and uncanny in her otherwise human face, “cross me.”

It was a test, but it was an easy one that Apollo didn’t even have to think about.

If he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything to save his children, he would never have returned to Tartarus in the first place. Whatever Tartarus – and Styx, it seemed – was willing to throw at him, Apollo would endure. Anything but his children.

He turned his back on the goddess, and followed Hades as his uncle led them away from the river.

Chapter 17>>

#trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #pjo apollo #pjo hades #pjo styx #tsari writes fanfiction #eclipse

18 notes · View notes

whimsicallyenchantedrose · 6 months

Text

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 21: Deck the Halls...or Maybe the Neighbor

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t! One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia. A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns. So here you go! Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2253

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

Notes: This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

CS Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU

She was going to kill him. She was going to drive a stake of holly through his heart or strangle him with a strand of Christmas lights or…well, some other holiday themed method of homicide.

Emma worked hard all day chasing down the scum of the earth and hauling their worthless asses back to jail where they belonged. Was it really too much to ask that she have a little peace and quiet downtime to relax once she got home.

According to the idiot who lived in the apartment directly above hers, apparently so. Every damn day since Thanksgiving he’d blared his Christmas music loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past. Sometimes he even enthusiastically belted along with it. (She had to admit his voice wasn’t half bad, but that was entirely beside the point.)

Emma hissed as she dabbed at the cut beside her eye where tonight’s skip had clocked her. She’d got him in the end; Emma Swan always got her man, but now that the adrenaline of the chase was over, her cuts and bruises and sore muscles were screaming at her.

And the guy in the apartment above had just started singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” at the top of his lungs.

Emma growled, tossing the bloody cotton ball into her bathroom trash and getting to her feet. Enough was enough. This stopped now. He could take his merry little Christmas and shove it up his south pole.

Two minutes later, she stood before his apartment. Pounding on the door felt extremely satisfying if she did say so herself.

The music suddenly stopped, and a moment later the door opened, and for the first time Emma got a glimpse of the man who’d been the bane of her existence for the past two weeks.

Her jaw dropped. He was drop dead gorgeous, melt-an-entire-population-of-snowmen hot.

“Well hello, there, Love,” he said with an appreciative grin-and in an accent that had her toes curling in her boots. “How can I help you?”

Emma’s stomach swooped and her heart stuttered and then started racing. She blinked and the spell was broken. She wasn’t some teenager who drooled over hot guys. Especially hot guys that she’d been seriously contemplating murdering five minutes ago.

“If you don’t stop with the Christmas crap, I’m going to punch your stupid, festive face,” she gritted out.

His eyebrows raised. “Pardon?”

“Your music!” she said. “Every freaking day, everytime I get home you’re blaring the Christmas music, and it got old about five minutes after you started. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I have a little peace and quiet in my own home.”

He huffed a breath. “Darling, I had no idea anyone was even in the building in the middle of the afternoon. Did it ever occur to you to come to me and ask me to turn down my music?”

She had to admit he had a point there. Maybe yelling at him and threatening bodily harm wasn’t the best opening salvo, but it had been a long day, and she was in pain, and she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

“Look, just turn it down,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Your wish is my command,” he said with biting sarcasm, sketching a mock bow. “Now is there anything else you wish to yell at me about or may I get back to my tasks at hand?”

“Nope. That’s all,” she said.

“Good,” he said and then tacked on a biting “merry Christmas” before shutting the door in her face.

The next morning, Emma was rather embarrassed about her interaction with Hot Christmas Guy upstairs, as she’d been calling him in her mind. She’d had a frustrating day–the skip she’d gone after had left his wife and kids just before Christmas, taking every penny of their Christmas fund.

It hit too close to home for a girl who had grown up with no family, with no one. Hard to get into the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit when no one gave a crap about you.

She’d been too harsh with Hot Christmas Guy, but at least the results were in her favor. He’d been as good as his word, and if he’d continued playing his Christmas music, he’d done it at a low enough volume that she didn’t even hear it.

Emma had only just begun to think she should go upstairs and apologize, when suddenly there was a knock at her door.

She opened the door to find the man himself, standing there holding a large plate of cookies. Her stomach not only swooped this time; it did cartwheels. The guy looked even better in the bright light of morning with his slightly disheveled black hair, his reddish scruff, his blue button down that highlighted his even bluer eyes and his black leather jacket.

“I’m afraid we came to rather a bad start, yesterday,” he said. “Perhaps we might start again, Aye? My name is Killian Jones, and I’d like to offer you these Christmas cookies as a token of my apology for the excessive volume of my music.”

Emma took a step back and gestured for him to enter her apartment. “Hey, I’m Emma Swan, and no apology is necessary. In fact, I kind of think I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have just come out swinging like that.”

He smiled at her, the fine lines around his (beautiful) eyes crinkling with the gesture. “Apology accepted Love. I’ll leave you to your morning.”

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Emma didn’t want him to go. “Killian wait!” she said.

Obediently he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

“Would you like to stay and help me eat these cookies?”

He shot her a skeptical look. “Dessert at nine in the morning?”

She shrugged. “Can’t be much more unhealthy than my normal blueberry PopTart.”

Killian laughed then, taking a step back inside. “Do you at least have milk to wash them down with?”

“Of course.”

Killian ended up staying for two hours, and it amazed Emma how quickly they fell into conversation. It was like they were old friends catching up rather than relative strangers. Emma learned that Killian was a novelist. His music helped him with the creative process, jump started his creativity as it were.

The conversation had then turned to the upcoming holiday.

“Swan, do you not celebrate Christmas?” he’d asked, looking around her apartment.

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess I do. I’m not like opposed to Christmas or anything. Why?”

“I can’t help but notice you have no tree, no decorations of any kind, and your opposition to the music of the season is well established,” he said.

Emma looked around her neat but rather sterile apartment and shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t see the point of going to all that trouble. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to have any presents under the tree or anyone to share the holiday with.”

She had expected him to look at her with pity at her admission of just how alone she was, but instead, the look on his face was knowing, understanding. “The holidays are difficult when you’re alone, aren’t they?”

That surprised her. Was he speaking from personal experience?

“Aye love,” he said, answering her unasked question, “I suspect we have more in common than you might have supposed. Ever since my brother passed a decade ago, I’ve been on my own. The holidays always bring with them a special kind of melancholy.”

“But…” she began, “but you play Christmas music. From the glimpse I got of your apartment yesterday, you have all the decorations and trappings. Doesn’t that make the loneliness worse?”

He shook his head. “It helps me to remember the good memories, and there are always good memories if you dig deep enough.”

The conversation stuck with her long after she and Killian had said goodbye and gone their separate ways. Maybe…maybe he was right. Maybe if she let a little Christmas cheer into her life, it would help, even in a small part, to soothe the pain of a lifetime of loneliness.

The next morning, bright and early, there was a knock on Emma’s door. This time she smiled as she went to the door, knowing instinctively that she’d find Killian on the other side.

What she wasn’t expecting was the large, beautiful, fragrant pine tree he was holding in front of him.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the door wider so that he could awkwardly maneuver himself and the tree inside.

“This, Swan,” he said with a teasing grin, “is called a Christmas tree. Traditionally people set them up in their houses this time of year and decorate them with lights and colorful baubles.”

She grinned, rolling her eyes at him and playfully swatting his shoulder. “I know what it is, smart ass. I’m wondering why you brought it here.”

He propped the tree against the door, and then reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “I got to thinking after our conversation yesterday. I wanted to bring you some of the Christmas joy that has helped me through the season for years. I hope I’ve not overstepped by bringing this.”

Emma smiled gently, stepping up to place a hand on his arm. “This is really sweet, Killian,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, stepping outside to gather the boxes of lights, ornaments and tinsel he had waiting for him. “If you’ve the time and inclination, I thought perhaps we could decorate your apartment together.”

She took one of the boxes from him and set it on her living room floor. “As it turns out, I have the day off, and decorating a tree sounds like the perfect way to pass the time. If you play your cards right, I might even let you play some Christmas music while we work.”

They’d spent the entire day together, first decorating her tree, then splitting a pizza from the place down the street, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

The next day he was back, and the day after that she went to his apartment. Barely a day went by that they didn’t see each other. Each day brought a new holiday themed activity.

For the first time she could remember, Emma felt the magic of Christmas. For the first time she woke up looking forward to what the day might bring–and it was all due to Killian Jones. It should scare her how comfortable she felt with him. It should scare her how much she was coming to look forward to their time together, to their daily phone calls and text conversations.

But somehow it didn’t. She could read people; it’s what made her so good at her job. And Killian? She read him loud and clear. He was the real deal. She could trust him.

And so it was that when the idea occurred to her she didn’t let herself think too hard, merely acted.

“So I was thinking,” she said, turning toward him on the couch where they sat together watching Christmas movies on Christmas eve.

“Dangerous prospect, love,” he said with a teasing grin. She smacked his shoulder.

“I think that we should spend Christmas together,” she said.

This shouldn’t be that big of a deal–after all, they’d spent the last two weeks together–but somehow it was. Somehow spending Christmas together felt huge. Like this-could-be-the-start-of-something-life-changing huge.

Killian’s eyes widened. He clearly understood how momentous this question really was. After a moment, his look of surprise softened into a gentle smile, and he reached up and cupped her cheek. “Emma, I’d like nothing better than to spend Christmas with you.”

The relief, the joy that came over her at his answer overwhelmed her, and so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment. She leaned forward and kissed him.

On Christmas, they made plans to spend New Years together, and on New Years, they made plans for Valentine’s Day.

And on the following Christmas, Killian got down on one knee and asked her to make plans with him for the rest of their lives.

It seemed only fitting that for their wedding several months later, they play Christmas music. After all, without the sounds of the season, the beautiful, perfect life they’d built for themselves may never have begun.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#christmas reruns 2023 #cs fanfiction #captain swan christmas ff #my fanfiction #deck the halls...or maybe the neighbor

5 notes · View notes

theyhaveacavetroll · 4 months

Text

Tagged by @pazithigallifreya. Thanks, I love doing these!

Tagging @partiallypearl, @imfunnyandrude, and anyone else that wants to!

1 How many works do you have on AO3? 90 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 585,148

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Cure for Sorrow

Cup of Their Deserving

As a Stranger Give it Welcome

Reclamation

To the Upper Air

Obligatory disclaimer: I'm only proud of three out of these five, but I'm glad that people are still getting something out of the other two. Cure for Sorrow and As a Stranger were written when I was a different person and well before the finale of Black Sails. 'Nough said.

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, yes. I sometimes run out of time and energy because I work a full-time job where I'm out of my apartment 12.5 hours a day during the week.

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

I don't write fics with angsty endings. Battle Raven comes the closest and even that isn't angst, it's just not sunshine and roses. If you want dark fic or real angst, I'm not your girl.

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

I think most of my fics have happy endings. If I had to pick a "and then they all lived happily ever after" fic it's probably most of the stuff in my Fate The Winx Saga works.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Yes, when the idea occurs to me! I'm particularly fond of You Steele Know My Name, which I WILL finish, I swear.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate. I've received weird comments and "when will you update" no other feedback given comments, but nothing truly mean.

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

Yep! I've written kink and what I'd consider vanilla, or at least nothing to write home about. I've gotten better at it over the years.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of and that is NOT a challenge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I'm aware of.

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

Yep! I have quite a few co-written fics with various people.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

In terms of what rewrote my DNA? Probably Flinthamilton but in terms of a ship that I always come back to where I have no negative fandom associations and endless, endless need to fix canon? Bagginshield.

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

And the Sea With Its Deepness, aka the Black Sails fic where I faked everyone out with the first chapter specifically to enjoy the screams of "wait, that's WHO that got nabbed?!!" I want to come back to it but... yeesh, the fandom. I left for a Reason, and then there's the fact that I just can't with writing a certain character anymore.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Plot and dialogue. I'm one of the best damn mimics of character voices you'll ever meet and that's just facts.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. Action scenes are the bane of my existence, and I have a tendency to end paragraphs on an em dash too often that I've been trying to curb. A few is fine but there is such a thing as excess.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I like to do it but only in short bursts and for languages I can be confident I'm getting right.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Probably Star Wars when I was very, very, VERY young indeed.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Does it count if I have an unpublished WIP already? If so, then Downton Abbey and The Hobbit. If not, then honestly I have no idea.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Ironically, arguably my favorite is one none of you have even seen and might not because I have no idea if I'll ever finish it. It's long, it's sprawling, and I've worked absurdly hard on it but it's just. so. much. As to finished fics, though - probably Reclamation. It's got Themes and everything.

5 notes · View notes

criminal-sen · 11 months

Note

For the writing meme! (I am so curious about your answers XD)

Imma hit you with

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title]

4. How many WIPs you have right now?

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

Hi, thanks so much for the ask! (This is from the Fic Writer Ask)

1) oh god, I actually don't listen to music while I write so this is kind of a tough one. I do have this one 'theme song' for the evil version of Kisuke in Imperfect though, it is..

...which is this gratingly happy electronica track that I'd have a hard time recommending to anyone. But uh.. lol this hard to explain. It reminds me of having a revelation while in a really unstable headspace, like the euphoria that might come with that. And 'for me' is how he views Mayuri so🤷

4) Hmm I actually don't have that many that are officially in the works (as in I have words written down for them).. there's just my AFK Arena fic, which is more on hiatus than wip status🤔 And my Mayuri x reader that i want to turn into a compilation. But I have like.. 3 or 4 other ideas I wish I could just manifest into existence lol

15) good question, I don't! Fic titles are the bane of my existence and I am soooooo bad at coming up with them. That's why Imperfect wound up being called Imperfect and not something more unique... that's also why I have a FFVII fic called 'at least he's hot'🤦 my brain just shuts down and I can't think of jack shit lmao. Chapter titles are awesome and I used to do them for my older fics, but somewhere along the line I stopped. I'm kind of tempted to name Imperfect's chapters just cuz there are so damn many of them and I lose track of which is which:/

Thanks again, this was so much fun🎉💕

#imperfect #ask

4 notes · View notes

terapsina · 2 years

Note

Fanfic writer ask game: 4, 8, 15, 16, 18

4. Do you prefer writing multi-chapter or oneshot fanfictions?

It really rather depends. Writing multi-chapter stories is certainly a lot more stressful (the sad line of my old dropped attempts rather showcase that).

But at the same time my longer stories do bring me bigger amounts of joy I guess. I get INVESTED in them.

But I also love writing short little drabbles that are like me baking a cookie, instead of a line of cakes. So I guess I like writing both, it's just about what I'm in the mood for.

8. What kind of document do you use to you write? Microsoft Word? Google Docs? Straight in the AO3 text box?

No, I'm a true savage, I write straight on Tumblr and make frequent use of 'save as draft' (I have an explanation to this, I used to write more TV show meta posts when I joined the hellsite, and I got so used to this particular font, in this particular size, on this particular background that writing anywhere else gets so distracting I might as well give up).

I do last edits in AO3 drafts though 🥺 that makes everything okay, right?

15. Are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

Ugh, the bane of my existence is how when I write and come up with a word that fits, the word somehow gets stuck in my mind and I'll find it used again two paragraphs down. And I don't notice until I do a reread aloud in editing. At which point I tend to google a bunch of synonyms.

Also: 'burst into laughter', 'choked back her tears', 'swallowed past the stone in her throat'. Also also my characters tend to raise their eyebrows and roll their eyes a lot, I think.

16. How long is your longest fic?

31'060 words as of yesterday, She's Come Undone and Set Free. Who knew how invested I'd get into letting Elena be angry; having Caroline dealing with her s1 trauma; making TVD era Rebekah get actual friends; and (most recently) giving Bonnie a properly interesting love interest *cough*Rebekah*cough*. (I already knew I could get invested in Elejah, that one wasn't a surprise).

18. Recommend someone else fic! (And tag them if they have a tumblr!)

This question is confusing but I'll take it to mean I should recommend someone else's fic to everyone who reads this.

Okay. I'm gonna narrow it down to TVD/Legacies fics because that's what I'm recently writing myself and if I don't put some kind of theme limit I'll get a headache.

We Remain by AnonymousObsesser - Elejah, starts during American Gothic and then goes a completely different way (I have read the first three chapters at least 5 times, the Elejah feelings are seriously top-notch).

A Year to Eternity? by @missnmikaelson - Elejah, Klaroline, a bit of Bonnie/Kol, a bit of Handon - Starts out during 5x12 of The Originals. But with TVD had a different ending (Elena isn't married to certain people for example and I love it). Neither Elijah, nor Klaus die because that's stupid (Caroline yells a bunch at Klaus about it, Elena's blood is always the magic cure we should all know this: "To seal the Hollow away we need the willing support of Elena Gilbert." Amusement sparkled in his eyes. "I'm asking about your knees, Nik, because you're about to grovel on them.").

plastic crown by @jennifersminds - Elejah but not as the focus, the focus is Elena runs away from the Salvatores (Rebekah gives her a car, Elena ends up in Vegas, I honestly don't know how to describe it, the story just has a very unique imagery) and tries to build herself back up. Trauma. Vengeance. Female friendship. Strip clubs and slight bit of vampiric serial killing. Oh, just read it, you'll understand.

(I think the three above mentioned fics can probably be blamed for me starting to write She's Come Undone).

tis the season for a kidnapping by @vorpalmuchness - Elejah, Elena gets kidnapped by a couple of idiots whose information is a BIT out of date (they call Elijah and expect gratitude is what I mean, those poor poor morons). And I LOVE it.

being unwanted (and wanting too much); by @natalia-dyer - Post s4 Hizzie, basically Lizzie coming to her great lesbian awakening/acceptance of self as she realizes why none of the guys were ever quite right.

Torn by the hours by @isagrimorie - (if you don't think I absolutely love that fic, you are WRONG, it lives in MY head rent free). Hizzie, with Lizzie waking up in the middle of the battlefield where Hope has pulled a full on massacre because she thought Lizzie was dead? I am RABID for this scene.

(okay, it's possible I overdid it a lil'bit).

#writing #writing asks #ask game #elejah #hizzie #fic recs #isagrimorie #answers #otp: i remember reading that in a letter once #otp: we're in this 'til the bitter end

20 notes · View notes

darsynia · 1 year

Note

Hey Babes, thank you for sharing the fanfic asks. As you know I haven't had a chance to read anything yet, but it is on my list.

5. A fic I haven't read yet, but I want to?

So I was browsing your list and whew! So many great things to choose from. The one that really piqued my interest was Safe In My (Our) Arms. It looks like it can be full of a bit of everything! I also see you are working on it, good job getting those chapters out. I love a good smutty story as well as one with lots of emotions in it.

13. If Ive ever talked about your fic to someone else?

I would suggest anyone looking for some Tony Stark stories to go your way! You have such a great list with Tony stories that there has to be something for any Stark fan.

15. A question I have about one of your fics?

How about which fic is your favorite fluffiest one? For the readers who are looking for some nice comfort and softness.

Hey there, as I was going to put in yours (drat the character limit hehe! Always and forever a bane of my particular existence), I'd started writing it and then had to make dinner; it was nice of you to send something anyway, very kind of you!

5. Thanks re: Safe, I really wanted to take something familiar (Sex Pollen) and flip the trope a little bit (public health crisis about to implode). On top of that, there's the dichotomy between a pair that could have fallen in love the normal way (Steve and Dee (Reader)) but for the way they met, and contrast that with the pre-existing friendship-that-could-be-more between Steve and Bucky, and Dee and Bucky. The contrast between a forced bond and one that was specifically chosen, and that both can be strong and joyful, even between three people... yeah, catnip to me. It's definitely emotional, for sure!

13. Aww very kind of you, thanks! And, hee, yep, I have a wealth of Tony fics! A lot of them are long AF, and given that I have found few Tony readers on Tumblr I've held off posting some until I can tempt them, so here's hoping. Of course, they're on AO3 if anyone wants to skip ahead, no pressure though!

15. As for fluffiest, that would definitely be Happy Val, a Coffee Shop AU that features Humanitarian Lawyer!Steve and Shy Barista!Reader, who works at Thor's shop (called Bean Charge, where the food section is called Meal Near). I wrote it for Valentine's Day this year--and I fully intended to write their first date for my wedding anniversary but! I ended up with my middle kid in the ER. Hopefully I can slough off those associations and write the sequel!

From Fanfic Asks for the Askers!

#i definitely used too many exclamation points!#oops there's another one #darsy twirls her asks #sweater-daddiesdumbdork #it's so lovely to get to connect with people on here #so thank you!

4 notes · View notes

khaleesiofalicante · 2 years

Note

Hola Dani 👋🏼 ¿cómo estás? What have you been up to?? I am so tired right now this week was hard!!! But at least I'm going to see Cocoa this weekend!!! 🙌🏼

I decided that I will be doing a top ten moments from the chapter since it's a long one and I tend to ramble to much... we'll see how it goes 😌

The One with the Maserati

1. The unseelie court OMG I did not see that coming!!! I had made assumptions based on the snippets...

2. I love how from David's POV is always Alec Lightwood 😍

He will come. Oh, he will come. The heir of Lucifer.

4. I love my twin and David bonding over boys 😍

5. I was NOT expecting the device to be that big!! I was thinking it would be like a car or something but Holy shit!!!

The boy giggled. “Magnus Bane is dead. Didn’t you feel it? Maybe your love is not as strong as people say.”

6. This bitch really wants to see my twin go feral!!! KILL THEM ALL!!!!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥

The nephilim boy was on the ground, unconscious and unmoving next to the red Maserati.

7. WHAT THE FUCK???? 🤬🤬

Alec, if he survived this, was going to burn this asshole down.

8. Exactly!!!!! Fire is the answer 🔥

9. NOOOOOOO!!!! DAVID!!!!! Why did you do that???? 😭😭😭😭😭

“We go to Devlin Corp and set the fucking place on fire until they tell us where David is,” Lexi said as if it is the obvious solution.

10. Yes FIRE 🔥... burn them to the ground!!! Except Mallory that bitch needs to drown, in boiling water if you want but drown her!!!!!

He had smelled it on his son.

10. I knew it!!!! See Nicolas this is why you should listen to me...!!! But NO!!!!

You are re-grounded 😒

Also... petrichor is my favorite smell 😍 math doesn't deserve that smell 😒

“Don’t you dare blame this on us!” Magnus hissed. “Tell me how to deactivate the device.”

12. Not to side with the bad guy but it is kind of your fault... I specifically told my twin not to do that but he did it anyways... this is why you should all listen to me!!!

Bapak’s face softened. He cupped Rafael’s face with a hand. “Sometimes, Rafael, I am so proud of that you that it hurts my heart.”

13. I KNOW!!!! Mi bebé precioso es lo más bello y perfecto que existe... lo amooo!!!

“I think David is not coming back,” bapak whispered. “And I’m scared it’s going to drive your brother into madness.”

14. Noooooooooooooo!!! Don't say that!!!!

Rafael nodded. “It’s a little farfetched and kinda impossible.”

Bapak smiled. “I love it.”

15.

They were uniting The Eldest Curses.

16.

WOW!!! Daniela!!!! This chapter OMG!!! I love it so much!!! Alec and David together are the greatness!!!

I am very worried about David 😭😭😭

Thank youuuu Dani!!! Eres la más grandiosa, talentosa y fabulosa 🙌🏼 I am love you 💚💚💚

PS: noticed how I said top 10 and then... 🙃

YES IT'S COCOA TIME LET'S GO LET'S GO.

I love lists (especially long ones hehe) THANK YOU BEBE.

This week was really tiring for me too. I hope we can find some time week next to recover and rest.

I AM MANIFESTING IT BABE.

#lbaf

8 notes · View notes

clotpolesonly · 1 year

Note

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

technically, i have 31 items in my "fanfics WIP" google drive folder. however, the vast majority of those have been languishing in there for a very long time 😅 as far as, like, things that i am currently actively working on and intending to post soon, there's like 3 things maybe. if i'm realistic about things.

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

varies WILDLY from fic to fic. sometimes i've got 8 pages of detailed outline and sometimes i am freewheeling from a vibe and a dialogue snippet.

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

i usually either grab a song lyric that feels relevant or i snatch up a few words from within the fic itself that feel thematic in some way??? i fucking hate titling, it's the bane of my existence, lol

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

at the very last possible second, under duress

send me fanfic writer asks!!

#and the answer is #rosieposiepuddingnpie

2 notes · View notes

violets-in-her-arms-writes · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday Tag

Thank you @rubywrite for the tag ! ♥ (even though it took me 3 days to answer XD) It forced me to write on my main WIP, so thank you so much !

RULES:

In a reblog (or new post/w rules attached) post up to five filenames of your WIPs, not titles, file names

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be something you wrote in the last 7 days (we're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!)

After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from, write 3 sentences on it anyway and then 3 more on another to share!

That's it! You can invite others to join in or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request.

I usually name my WIP documents with the (temporary) title, so I'm afraid it won't be very interesting but anyway, here are 5 of my recent-ish WIPs:

🦇 La Fledgling (version complète) → doc where I compile all the things I've written for this WIP, because otherwise they are separated in "chapter 1" to "chapter 11" documents, but I like to have a complete doc to know how many words I have

🧜‍♀️ Mermaid AU → not very original since this is, you guessed it, an AU where the two main characters of the Fledgling are mermaids (well, one is currently drowning but I only have 600 words, I'll get to the mermaid part one day). It's a baby WIP, something I write for fun when I don't feel like writing for the main WIP. I might try my hand at a soulmate AU next, but I need to decide what kind and that's gonna need a lot of thinking (15 minutes to three business weeks, basically).

🌠The Wishing Star → it was my Camp NaNo project, about a woman who wants to become a pilot in a war-torn galaxy but first has to serve in a postal ship. Unfortunately, the ship is attacked but the resistance, she discovers she's adopted and has to fight to liberate her birth planet. Poor girl. It's currently on hold, because I was tired of it by the end of April XD

🐍The Witch's Time (tome 3) → the love of my life and bane of my existence. I'm stuck in the middle of this book, I need to cut half of it and put it in the 4th book and figure out... so many things. I printed the first two and they are soooo pretty. Unfortunately, this third book is kicking my ass. I'll be back Llewella, I swear, but I need time. It's not you, it me (I say, like a liar). It's technically an AU of another project of mine, but it grew a mind of its own and now I'm attached.

👽 Le truc avec les aliens (tome 2) → technically, its name is "Empire Déchu, tome 2 - La malédiction de Suli" but that's way too long so I just call it 'the thing with the aliens' because, really, that's what this is. A novel. With aliens. And a poor girl kidnapped and hailed as the saviour of a dying sect who want to resurrect a dead guy.

Now that I'm face to face with a few of my WIPs, I realized a lot of them have English titles, for some reason. I mean... I know why "La Fledgling" is called that (hint: it's because i couldn't find a good equivalent in French. Come on, jeune ? Débutante ? That's... not good. I'm not writing about a noble woman making her debut in society, be serious). But the others are just... choices. It sounded good and now it's stuck. Ok, maybe not 'the wishing star' because I don't like this title, but for WsT it's too late. I'm three books in, I can't go back.

Excerpt behind the cut, because this post is getting a little too long.

Excerpt:

"What do you want?" I asked her without giving her a chance to say anything.

As much as I hoped she would call me with something positive to say, I had known Anaëlle Charles since kindergarten. If she called me, it was always a bad sign.

"Jo, dear, I could use your help."

"Yes, I know. That's why I asked you what you wanted, moron."

I got up from my warm and cozy bed, still talking, put my phone on speaker the floor, and began to fumble for my clothes in the dark. Where the fuck was my left sock ? I was pretty sure my shirt was inside-out, but I doubted anyone would notice where I was going. Wherever that was.

Please dont let in be the swamps again, I prayed while putting my boots on.

"I'm... in trouble."

I was about to tell her that, yeah, obviously she was in trouble, she wouldn’t be calling at four in the morning if she wasn't, but something in her voice stopped me. It didn’t sound like the «I’m lost in the swamps again» kind of troubles, not even the «I think my magic is trying to eat me (again)» kind of trouble, both of which I could solve with my eyes close (mostly). It sounded… Like the bad kind of trouble. The one I wasn’t awake enough for.

Before I could ask her what the fuck was going on and why she sounded so… off, she went on, her voice almost as low as a sigh. Her breath sizzled in the receiver and I could hear her fingernails clicking against something metallic.

Ana was good at pretending, but she always ended up betraying herself.

"I'm at 23 Boulevard de l'Aube. Come get me. Hurry."

She pulled the phone away from her, shouted something I didn't understand, and hung up.

Tagging : @ladyniniane, @flowerprose and @amewinterswriting if you want to play (even tho it's not wednesday...)

#wip: la fledgling #écriture #tag games #this is longer than it should be but osef #translating excerpts is fun but time consuming because i have to adapt the way they talk #fuck is not the exactly same as putain and yet #in french ana says she's “dans la panade” but in english i wrote “in trouble” even tho it's not the same implications #“panade” sounds more level-hearted than “trouble”

5 notes · View notes