#fanfic appreciation month

[hed-romancer]

the most experimental fanfic i've ever read - destiny by avulle (avatar: the last airbender)

REMINDER TO CLICK!

for day 1 of fanfic appreciation month, i talked about an experimental avatar: the last airbender fanfic that i've been thinking about for years. today we i will be doing the exact same thing, this time the fic destiny by avulle (@avulle on tumblr)

in general, i love parallelism in writing, it's one of my favorite rhetorical devices. this fic, which i first read in 2016, is my favorite example of parallelism, for the sheer amount of parallels it draws.

the premise is this: toph's spirit is born into azula's body and she is blind. azula's spirit is born into toph's body and she has sight. this changes a lot.

the fic is extremely unique in the sense that, with 6,613 words, it tells its story from the pov of 22 different characters, as well as an omniscient 23rd pov. each of these 22 character POVs has this same parallel structure:

the first sentence tells us the character's name, who they are, and how, why or who they love, do not love, trust, or hate. then, it explains what happens when they run into toph or azula, and how they react. at the end, the character does the only thing they can do.

everytime i read this fic, i'm both so impressed and notice something new. this last read, i noticed that of the 22 characters with POVs, only four are not said to "do the only thing [they] can" - Ozai does what is only proper, Long Feng still has no choice even if the exact phrase is not used, and Toph and Azula gain control of their own destinies.

My two favorite POVs are Sokka and TyLee, and I personally think their sections embody the themes of "doing the only thing you can" and love the best. TyLee, who loves everything, finds the only thing she can do is love more. Sokka, who loves slowly, finds himself loving and trusting anyway. "he does the only thing he can. He rolls over, and goes back to sleep," is such a banger line for real.

This concept is genius and interesting as all hell, and the execution is flawless and breathtaking. I've been thinking about it for years and I'll keep thinking about it for years.

Fanfic appreciation month (December) will be me taking time to talk about (at least) one of my favorite fanfics everyday, and then cross-posting it to the ao3 comments section, because my comments have been lacking lately and i'm gonna fix it! i'll be trying to link to the author's tumblr page as well if i can find it, but if i don't find it and you know what it is, please let me know so i can credit them here as well! See you tomorrow!

[kacievvbbbb]

Two Halves, One Whole by @mollydewinter

Reread this amazing fic by Mollydewinter. And God aren’t they so right? What a bigbrain take on the situation.

Because of course Mihawk doesn’t tolerate any insinuations that Shanks is weak. That’s his equal the other side to his coin if he’s weak then you’re calling Mihawk weak and Mihawk can’t have that. Probably reason 897 why Mihawk was so upset about left arm gate. Because Shanks went down to the East blue, the weakest of the blues, and lost his arm. It was probably months of people questioning his strenght and if they question his strength then they question Mihawk’s and mihawk has worked to hard on his reputation to have it all be undone by the prophetic whims of a red head.

[sunfloweraro]

Sneak peek!

Aka more Pink Bunny AU!!

Ravio reaches his breaking point.

@thatonecrazysidekick as promised >:)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

First, Link had stopped speaking. Then, he had stopped being Hylian. Now, he was refusing to eat, too.

What was Ravio doing wrong?

“Please,” he begged, pushing the bowl closer to Link. “Eat something. It will help you feel better.”

Link turned away again.

And something within Ravio snapped.

He slammed his hands on the kitchen table, tearing a flinch from Link. “Please eat something, Link!” Link turned to him, alarmed, but Ravio couldn’t make out his expression when his vision went blurry with tears. “Come back to me already, I miss my best friend, damn it!” He clenched his hands tightly, nails digging into his palms. “What—What’s wrong with you?!”

Silence rang out between them, as it had for months now. And then—

Link whimpered softly, a terrified little thing that had Ravio’s breath hitching.

What had he done?

“Link, I—I—”

Another whimper when Ravio reached for his friend, and then that blur of pink darted away from him. Ravio scrubbed at his eyes, vision clearing in time to see Link dart out of the open kitchen window and into the snow. A gasp tore from his throat and he raced to the window, leaning out as desperation swelled within him. But Link was already gone.

Link was… gone.

What had he done?

Another sharp gasp, which turned into a hitch of his breath. Ravio turned back to the kitchen. He should go out there and find his best friend. He should apologise for being so awful, for not being enough. He needed to fix this.

Instead he leaned back against the wall, slowly sliding down the old wood. His vision blurred as hot, sticky tears dripped down his chin. He dropped to the floor, gazed down at his shaky hands, hands that his best friend had flinched away from. With a choked sob, Ravio buried his face in his hands, curling up on the kitchen floor, alone.

This was all his fault.

[theweirderstuffblogdontlook]

early draft Bob Velseb Fanfic

(im still working on a small comic to accompany this fic before i release it officially, but i would appreciate the feedback, so dont hesitate to comment as it encourages me to make more art for the au. This comic takes place after the events of this post.) For reference, the woman in this image next to bob is Mary-Anne

then in this image, from left to right (no including Bob in the middle) we have Roxy, Greta, Sparrow, Ash, Trixie, Jane (who's the bar's manager and doesn't appear in the fic), and Billie (who is the bar's bouncer)

Fic is below the readmore. And I kinda recommend looking back at the images every so often to keep track of who's who, cus there's a lot of lesbians hanging out chatting in this fic.

Hanging out in the mismatched collection of old sofas in the lounge area of the local lesbian bar, some of the bar’s regulars were having a casual chat. When another of the regulars, a woman named Mary-Anne, excitedly came up to the group with a laptop in hand. Mary: “Hey you girls wanna see my latest true crime theory?! I think I've got a really good one this time!” Sparrow: “YEEEEAAAAHhhhhhh! Lemme see it! Show us what detective work ya been up to!” Trixie: “Did you finally see if I’ve done any murders I didn't know about? You said you’d check.” Mary: “Yeah I know, and I'll get to it eventually, but I found something way more interesting…… Barbra.” Sparrow: “Barbra?” Mary: “Yeah!” She sets up the laptop on the table, the women all crowding around to get a look, as Mary-Anne puts on a dramatic, though still a bit joking, tone and pose.

Mary: “Barbra, could secretly be, the notorious serial killer…. Bob Velseb.”

Ash: “Who?” Sparrow: “No fucking way! The Halloween cannibal from that other town down south? How’ed you make that connection?”

Roxy: “Excuse me, Cannibal?!”

Ash: “That’s pretty metal actually. Wish looking into me found connections to crimes that sick.” Greta: “Ummm, isn’t that man dead?”

Sparrow: “Wait yeah good point. The news said he got caught and killed by police last Halloween night. Shouldn't that be like, disqualifying for what hypothetical crimes you think your friends might have committed?”

Mary: “Wellllll…. yeah, supposedly he even had an autopsy and everything. But It fits too well if you just ignore the whole being dead thing!”

Roxy: “Hey! Don't you buncha freaks go just comparing Barbra to people like that. She hasn't even been around that long. Don't need you scaring her off with your true crime detective mess when I know you didn't even ask if she was okay with it first!”

Mary: “But it's suuuuuuuch a good one though!”

Trixie: “Yeah lighten up, I doubt she's gonna mind. I mean it's not like Barbara is actually gonna be a DEAD criminal. And especially with those morbid jokes she likes, she'll probably think it's hilarious.”

Roxy: “Nuh-Uh! I don't care how funny it is. She's still doing this without asking! It's one thing for her to look into yalls lives like a creepy stalker when you ask her to. But don't you go encouraging her with that spying into people's business shit without permission!”

Mary: “Aww come on.”

Ash: “Okay, I'm actually gonna agree with Roxy here. I mean what if one day, I really have to murder someone? I don't need Sherlock Holmes getting on my trail ten minutes later. You could at least ask first.”

Sparrow: “Come on, that's different! I'm sure you'd have a good reason if you did ever murder someone. And she'd be more likely to help you bury the body than turn you in. We all would.”

Roxy: “Nuh-uh, I still don't like this biz. Plus, isn't Barbra a trans woman? You'd probably end up hurting her feelings more by comparing her to a dead MAN than to the whole criminal thing.”

Sparrow: “Wait, since when was Barbra trans?”

Ash: “She was kinda making it obvious with that wig she always wears.”

Sparrow: “Wait really? I thought she was wearing the wig because she had some grizzly scar or something on her head from the car crash and didn't want to call attention to it. I mean they did say she had a bad head injury. Like it's why they said she's always wearing the sunglasses even when inside. The concussion like, messed up her ability to look directly at bright lights or something.”

Ash: “...Yeah okay that's a fair point I didn't need to immediately jump to her wearing the wig being to make her pass better. But like, there's still a lot of stuff besides that. Plus Caprica admitted to it. Barbra definitely used to be a dude.”

Greta: “Doesn't really matter if she's trans regardless, since she only ever really flirts with Caprica.”

Trixie: “I'd fuck her even with a dick like are you fucking kidding me? She's hot as hell.”

Sparrow: “Oh my god same! I swear Barbra is wasted on that woman.”

Roxy: “Yeah, but like, I ain't gonna pretend I wouldn't get a massive crush too if some lady pulled my fat ass out of a burning car wreck and lemme stay at her place while I recover like Caprica did. That's like some fairytale relationship shit.”

Trixie: “Exactly! if I got my life saved all dramatically by someone who's not just gay, but gay AND single ANNND they let you stay at their house for free? I wouldn't even care if they were hot or not. You'd have to be a real big piece of shit to be getting rid of me anytime soon. I'd be grabbing on with both hands. Maybe not as hard as Barbra seems to be, but still.”

Greta: “Umm, I meant more that she's not pressuring anybody, so it wouldn't matter either way what she has.”

Mary: “We're getting off topic! I wanna talk about my cool theory!”

Ash: “Right, right, let's hear it.”

Roxy: “Let's NOT hear it! She didn't ask Barbra for permission!”

Sparrow: “Well since she's already put it together, the least we could do is go over it and let her know if it'd be a mistake to tell Barbra and hurt her feelings. Like if it is something really insulting, it would be better to act like it never happened right?”

Roxy folds her arms and grumbled, but otherwise stops complaining. Letting Mary-Anne get on with it.

Tapping on her laptop for a second before turning it around to show a PowerPoint style compilation of research and pictures, starting with Bob's prison mugshot, which the ladies leaned in to see.

Mary: “So here's what I found. So we've got this Bob Velseb guy right? Notorious cannibal serial killer, captured on Halloween night a few years ago and put in prison.”

Billie: “....Did you really make a whole presentation for this?”

Mary: “I told you, it's a really good one! And I had to keep my evidence somewhere anyway. So it's like a digital scrapbook, and I just cleaned it up some to show you.”

Trixie, with a bit of a teasing tone: “Becha wish you could make a whole corkboard setup with red yarn instead.”

Mary: “I sooooooo would, but it’s just too hard to fit that sort of thing in my car and drive it around. You all gotta come meet at my house so I can have the excuse to set up a real one!” Billie: “....Amateur detective potluck.” Mary: “Omg yes. With like a bunch of detective based desserts! Sparrow: Chalk outline chocolate cookies!

Ash: “Halloween coleslaw.” Roxy, through half muffled snickering: “Girl, the fuck is halloween coleslaw??” Mary: “We’re getting off track! Back to what I was saying…”

She switches to the next slides showing clips from newspapers and the like.

Mary: “So he stays in prison for awhile. But then last year, he escapes from prison with a few other small time criminals.

And he spends a few months killing people, like 8 or 9 bodies being found, all with the same M - O. Until Halloween night comes around again. He goes after the same family he got caught while trying to kill that other Halloween. And it leads to an encounter with the police who kill him in a shootout. Where he's brought to the morgue for an autopsy and has the cause of death confirmed…..

BUT!!!”

She changes to the next slide, which was talking about a car crash, a man found dead, and had a map with some areas marked in mspaint.

Mary: “The next day after the news report of Mr. Velseb’s death goes out, we have this weird little event happen. So there’s this man, who was supposedly on his way to a hunting trip? He's found stabbed to death on the side of the road here.”

She zooms in on the map, showing the road between this town and the weird little town where Bob comes from, and points to the marked location just past the outskirts of Bob's town.

Mary: “Now wild animals had gotten to the corpse before it was found, so it was pretty mangled, but he had definitely been stabbed. Which is a bit of evidence that could link to the knife wielding serial killer. Bob Velseb, also known as the devil butcher, so named because he used to be a butcher and ended up feeding his victims to his patrons.”

Roxy: “Oh, no, ew why'd you have to go and tell me that?”

Mary: “Well I had to give you the context that this is a guy who stabs people, so we should be looking for stuff like this where the victim was stabbed.”

Roxy: “You could've just said he stabs people!”

Mary: “Well, he also tends to butcher and eat people so we gotta keep an eye out for…”

Billie, in her slightly monotone, but firm voice: “Maybe cool it with the gruesome details.” 

Mary: “Alright alright. It's not super relevant right now anyway, since it looks to me like the guy was in too much of a rush anyway to actually butcher anyone. Because the interesting thing for us…. is this man's truck.”

She points to a location further down the road, on the outskirts of their own town/small city and close to one of the parks.

Mary: “His truck… was found here. Crashed into a ditch, blood all over the inside of it, but no body. So if it had been a regular crash, then the hunter's body should have been right here with his car, not all the way back here covered in stab wounds. So according to the evidence, he was stabbed to death here, had his car stolen by someone who looked to be pretty injured themselves, which was then driven all the way here… to our town.”

Roxy: “Guuuurl…. Shut the hell up! That is sinister as fuck! You're telling me we've got somethin coming up from that creepy ass missing kids town, to over where we live? Man I don't even care if it happened the day after some big time serial killer died. That should still be a big ass problem!”

Mary: “Don't worry, it gets even better!”

Billie: “I think you mean worse.” 

Mary: “Yeah! It gets even worse! So in the days after this body was found up until now, the number of murders went way up for about a month or so. With the bodies matching Bob Velsebs usual modus operandi. Showing up stabbed and mangled with pieces missing. With even a few cops getting killed in that time! 

And then after that, even though there weren't any more bodies being found, the number of missing persons still stayed higher. Almost like a murderer who used to work out in the open….  was now covering his tracks.”

Trixie: “That's spooky as hell! Why's this the first time I'm hearing about somebody out there killing people??”

Billie gave a bit of a knowing look as she explained: “Because what we're listening to is a conspiracy. She's not seeing the evidence and working from it, she's made a theory first and is putting together all the information that supports the theory. That's how these true crime conspiracies work. It's good for a spooky campfire story, but there's a reason why the actual detectives aren't saying the same thing and telling the local news to spread the word.”

Roxy: “Man, you're just gonna be working me up over nothing then.”

Mary: “Not REALLY nothing, this stuff has actually happened.”

She then pitches her voice low and spooky for emphasis.

Mary: “And who knows, maybe there really was a cover up with the serial killer not actually being killed.”

Sparrow: “Yeah! Don't be a spoilsport! So like, so…. Like… uhhh… so how does this stuff have anything to do with Barbra though? Like you're saying the death of this Bob guy was a cover up, but how does this connect to Barbra?”

Mary: “Well first up, their descriptions are very similar. Barbra has the right height and build for…”

Billie: “How tall did they say this Velseb guy was?”

Mary: “Uhhh….”

She flipped through the presentation back to the mugshot 

“6 foot 4.”

Billie: “Yeah, that's about right for Barbra.”

Showing her experience as a bouncer with being able to judge people's height from comparing them to their ID's.

Mary: “Right! Hair color, skin, build, even the accents match too.”

Sparrow: “Cool! That's already way better than when you tried to link me to any murders!”

Mary: “I know right!”

Greta: “Still, that's just looking like a dead serial killer. If you're only going based off of just happening to know someone who matches the description, that could still lead to hurt feelings.”

Mary: “But that's the thing, it's not only looking the same. Like for instance, think about how Barbara and Caprica said they met.”

Billie: “.... A car accident.”

Mary: “Right! And what started off this whole uptick in violent crime? This guy getting killed, getting his truck stolen, then whoever stole it crashing the truck into a ditch on the outskirts of the town.”

Trixie: “That's not the same type of accident they described in how they met though.”

Mary: “Yeah, but any good cover story has an element of truth in it.”

Ash: “So you're basically saying, that Caprica pulled somebody out of a wreck, who turned out to be a cannibal serial killer that the cops covered up the death of. And who instead of cannibal serial killing her, fell head over heels in love, and now…. what, they're like a serial killer power couple or something? So is Caprica secretly a serial killer now too?”

Mary: “Weeeeeeeelllllllll…. Kinda? Yeah? I mean, turns out, Capricas actually kinda legit been through some horrible stuff in real life. Buuuuut I'm not so sure about talking about that stuff since it, you know, actually 100% happened to her.”

Trixie: “Shit, so you're saying she actually has some kind of excuse for how trying to make smalltalk with her, makes her look like she's offended you even thought to try and speak to her?

It's not like… you know. Because of some guy…. Right?”

Mary: “No, no, nothing like that.”

Greta: “Well… you might as well tell us since we've come this far.”

Mary: “....Okay. Just a sec.”

She goes to the laptop, clicks open a web browser, and takes a moment to look up the right event.

Mary: “Okay, so over a decade ago, there was this thing that happened at a campsite near here, where this big elk supposedly ate something bad, like old rat poison from the 70s or something, which made it freak out and go on a violent rampage where it gored a bunch of campers to death.”

She steps back to show an old newspaper clipping with a picture of Caprica and a bunch of young scouts.

Mary: “Caprica was one of the few survivors, who also saved a bunch of cub scouts by having them climb a tree where the elk couldn't reach them.”

Sparrow: “Hold on, I actually recognize this one! That's the state record for the single most people killed in a single day due to an animal attack! So Caprica was one of the people involved in it the whole time? That's wild!”

Ash: “From hero to serial killer….. That's pretty brutal of her…. Nice.”

Sparrow: “Of course the lady who still dresses goth every day even though she's pushing 40 would have that be the takeaway here.”

Ash: “I know what I'm about.”

Trixie: “That still seems like a bit of a reach though.”

Billie: “I’ll reiterate. This is a conspiracy theory being made up for fun. It's going to be full of reaches.”

Trixie: “No I mean, Barbra is absolutely crazy for that girl. Like remember that one time? (comic about bob drowning his sorrows in liquor because caprica had to go to a doctors appointment and he couldn't come along.) Trixie: ���It just seems disproportionate to fall that hard after a life of murder and cannibalism, to Caprica of all people.”

Sparrow: “You literally just said a few minutes ago if you were in Barbara's position getting your life saved, they wouldn't be able to get rid of you if they tried.”

Trixie: “What, am I suddenly not allowed to embellish a little? But I mean, come on, haven't you seen the two of them enough? Heck, starting out I was more worried that Caprica was like… like she didn't even want to be in a relationship?”

Ash: “I always got the opposite impression personally, like she was taking advantage of Barbra. She's always acting so mean to her. Like with us she's at least trying to be polite, but not so much with Barb. I've been trying to keep an eye for any other red flags like that, but Barbra’s never seemed to mind soooo….”

Greta: “Hey now, let's not start implying Caprica is abusive. It's clear she's done a lot for Barbra, however begrudgingly. Even coming to the bar all these times. It's clear Caprica isn't doing it because she enjoys clubbing. Barbara's always been the one having the most fun.”

Roxy: “Yeah, let's not have this get out of hand with all these accusations.”

Mary: “And more importantly, I want better feedback on my theory! I mean of all the reasons why it could be wrong, I'd hope for better than something like “Barbra is acting way too crazy to have POSSIBLY been a deranged cannibal serial killer.”

Sparrow: “That Barbra is a certified freak 7 days a week and I love that for her.”

Roxy: “Forget about Barbra, I still don't like the thought that some cannibal serial killer has come over from that town with all the spooky shit going on and is around here terrorizing people!”

Billie: “Once again, she's not following the evidence, she's inventing a ghost story and then finding scary evidence to support the narrative while leaving out any conflicting evidence or context. If it were genuinely something to worry about, this wouldn't be your first time hearing about it.”

Trixie: “Plus it can’t actually be the cannibal serial killer guy, he's super dead.”

Mary-Anne, with a bit of a mischievous tone as she leaned in back to her presentation: “.....You know, I actually found some cell phone video of the guy getting run over I can show everyone.”

To which Billie the bouncer stood up sharply and said: “Nope. Putting my foot down. New rule. No snuff films in the bar.”

Before closing the lid of the laptop.

Mary: “Awwww what? No!”

Trixie: “Killjoy.”

Ash, clearly sarcastic and kidding around: “Yeah, no watching the brutal deaths of serial killers in a bar? What are you, homophobic or something?”

Mary: “It's actually a pretty funny video without much gore or anything. The guy gets run over by a car like 4 times in a row. Like a loony toons character.”

Billie: “I don't care how funny it is, that's the sort of stuff that can get the business in trouble.”

Roxy: “But can't we make an exception this time? I'd feel a lot better for sure knowing that guy is dead.”

Billie replies as she straightens out her pants and shirt: “It's almost time for me to start my shift, so might be best to just call it quits here.”

Mary-Anne went back to the laptop to scroll through the list of images she'd gathered for people either missing or dead.

Mary: “Awww, but I didn't even get a chance to go through the list of victims yet.”

Greta: “No, she's right. I think we've seen enough. I doubt this is anything we should be letting Barbra see. Let's just stop here before…”

Sparrow: “Wait. Scroll back up.”

Mary-Anne did as asked, scrolling a bit up again and upon seeing it Sparrows eyes got wide, and she covered her mouth in shock. Prompting a few of the others to look as well. Getting a similar look of surprise.

Ash: “Oh, wow.”

Mary: “What? What is it?”

Ash: “You weren't there that day. So you wouldn't know. But that one?”

She points at a certain picture of a man on the screen.

Ash: “That's one of the guys who grabbed Caprica that day.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment.

Mary: “This guy?”

Ash: “Yep.”

Trixie: “Okay that's spooky. But one guy going missing is a coincidence at best. Especially the kind of guy who'd behave like he and that other jerk did. I bet he's asking for a fight everywhere he goes. So let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe if they both went missing that might be a…”

Mary: “Well let's see! What did the other one look like?”

She said with a bit of excitement, scrolling through the rest of her list of missing persons.

Billie:“.... He looked like that.”

Mary: “Huh?”

Billie stepped over, and used the laptop trackpad to scroll a bit upwards, then pointed at a specific picture in the list of missing persons. The picture of the second guy who had tried to hit on Caprica that night.

Mary: “Thats him.”

The air hung still for a moment, the weight of the realization sinking in. Trixie Being the first to break the silence with,

Trixie: “..... Well shit, Barbra and Caprica might actually be some kind of serial killers.”

Another moment of silence, until

Ash: “.....Good for them.” The humor of the response breaking the tension with an indignant, though slightly giggly response of Sparrow: “Ash! Oh my god!”

Ash: “What? Am I supposed to be upset that a pair of creeps who snuck into a gay bar and try to sexually harass the shortest lesbian they could find in the club, and right in front of her girlfriend no less, have gone missing? Good riddance if you ask me.”

Sparrow looked between the women nervously before her gaze settled on Billie: “For real though, should we… call someone about this?” Mary: “What happened to helping bury the bodies?”

Trixie: “Would probably be burying Barbra if you sent the police after her.”

Sparrow: “What?” Trixie: “Seriously, what the fuck do you think would happen if we called up the police and told them that a lesbian trans woman MIGHT be involved in the disappearance of two men? And not only that, but that we’re suspicious of her being involved in their disappearance because she got into a fight with these two dudes when they tried to “correct a woman from the deviancy of homosexuality”. You might as well be broadcasting “Hey dudes! Free target practice over here! Feel free to shoot this woman as many times as you want, because no jury is going to condemn you for murdering a butch trans woman!” to almost every trigger happy misogynist dirtbag in town.” Greta: “I knew this was going to be a mistake….”

Billie let off a sigh: “Trixie is right. We could easily be putting Barbra’s life at risk based on a coincidence she had nothing to do with. Whereas it would be a roll of the dice if it even mattered to law enforcement if she were actually guilty or not.”

Sparrow: “....I guess you’re right.”

Roxy: “Man I told y'all this was gonna be a bad idea. Now yall are speculating about turning Barbra over to the police. But you know what? I’m with Ash on this one! Even though Mary-Anne’s been trying to freak us all out trying to link all these murders to Barbra, the only real evidence we have is that two wannabe date rapists who happened to get into a fight with Barbra have now gone missin. And even if Barb and Caprica did off those two, then good on em for actually being proactive in getting rid of creeps like that. Long as they’re sticking to cleaning up trash like that, and aren’t going after any of the people I care about or who have the good sense to just be minding their own business, then I couldn't give less of a shit.” Trixie: “I hope Barbra and Caprica did kill those pigs though. Fuck the cops, I wish more of them had been killed.”

Greta: “.....I think it might be best for everyone if we just change the subject and forget the whole thing.”

Mary: “........Do you think maybe Barbra and Caprica might have room for one more in their relationship though?” Sparrow, through laughter: “OH MY GOD!” Ash, also trying to stifle a chuckle: “Dude, don’t go trying to be some couple’s third wheel just because you think they might be serial killers.”

Trixie: “Yeah, what if they say yes and then you find out they’re actually super boring and you just end up being disappointed?” Mary: “A girl can dream can’t she?” Roxy, clearly not taking it seriously: “I’d be more worried about you thinking the worst case scenario here would be them NOT being serial killers.” They continue chatting for awhile about various things before eventually going their separate ways, having all agreed not to tell Barbra or Caprica about this conversation. 

[lbibliophile-sw]

Communication lines

Also on AO3 [1,000 words] @212thappreciation - day 7: Umbara fix-it

People always seem to assume that Boil and Waxer are batchmates. They’re not, but the confusion is understandable. Ever since they first met at ARF training, they’ve just clicked.

When they fight together, they move like two bodies with one mind. They can coordinate plans with just eye contact and a few gestures. They can find each other even in the densest scrub most chaotic battlefield. And they always seem to know when the other is feeling down and what they need – whether a hug or a distraction or just quiet company.

Everything is just easier when they are together, and they are eternally grateful that the ARF trainers had seen sense and formally paired them.

___

Boil wishes Waxer were here now. He can feel that something is off – like watching an under-strength droid patrol while out scouting and wondering if the missing droid is coming up behind him – but he can’t put the pieces together. He wants to talk it through with Waxer, seek his keen insight, but for two problems.

The first, is the ankle he has propped awkwardly under his chair. Twisted when he found a pothole in the damnable Umbaran gloom. It will be fine with a bit of rest, but it’s enough to keep him in camp on light duty while Waxer is back out with their platoon on the latest scouting mission.

The second problem, and the more worrying one, is the comms blackout blocking any signals further than line-of-sight. It’s not uncommon for the Seppies – or in this case the Umbarans – to try to mess with their electronics, but it’s always a tense time being out of contact as they get things up and running again while also preparing for whatever attack that their enemy is trying to hide.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Boil looks over at the kid seated at the terminal next to him, one of the scout shineys – Flick – similarly relegated to comms duty due to injury.

“The Umbarans stealing our armour? You’re telling me. Although if we hadn’t mostly been facing clankers, I’m sure someone would have had the bright idea already.”

“What? No. I mean, yeah that’s pretty karked too, but… look.”

Boil moves so he can read the screen, and runs his eyes over what appears to be a communications log. Including, he notes, several messages with 501st codes that the 212th shiney really shouldn’t have had access to. The timestamps on the messages abruptly cut off about an hour previously when the Umbarans managed to impose a comms blackout that they’re still trying to find a way around.

“What am I looking at?”

Flick highlights two messages towards the bottom of the list.

“I was going back through the logs, tracing the blackout, and saw these two. They’re almost exactly the same. Same timestamp, same file size, same encryption and authorisation codes. The only differences are the recipient and the sender; this first one, was sent from the 501st to the 212th, but then there’s this second one, to the 501st from the 212th. And that’s weird enough, except that neither of them are showing up in the respective outbound logs.”

Boil hums, reading through the scant details again. Looking at the timestamp of the message sent to the 212th, it seems likely that it was General Krell’s warning that the Umbarans had stolen trooper armour. But if that’s the case, then why is there a matching message in reverse? Could it just be coincidence?

Something about that thought niggles at his mind. Something about enemies hiding behind familiar disguises as the trap closes.

Suddenly he remembers another detail from the briefing he attended beside Waxer. The message didn’t just contain the warning, it also contained coordinates. The likely attack vector of the Umbarans. The same coordinates that Waxer and the rest of their platoon are currently investigating, expecting to find the enemy disguised in stolen armour.

What if the 501st did get the same message, apparently from the 212th? They would have responded in the same way, sent troopers to the coordinates to ambush figures creeping around in armour.

And the comms blackout. It's a trap. It has to be. Why would the Umbarans bother with taking and learning how to fight in stolen armour if they can just hack their comms and trick the 212th and 501st into slaughtering each other.

“Are…” He clears his throat and tries again. “Are the comms still down?”

“Short-range is stable, but it looks like anything further is still out. You’d have to check with the actual comms techs whether they can jury-rig something.”

He… has to tell the General. It’s a trap. Has to… He… Waxer. It’satrap. Waxer.

He wishes he knew how to pray.

___

Deep in the Umbaran jungle, Waxer shivers. He’s about ready to be off this planet already. It was bad enough with the eternal gloom and hostile flora and fauna, but now with the Umbarans stealing their armour…

Everything about this is so wrong. For all that they flaunt their individuality where they can, Waxer finds comfort in knowing that he is always surrounded by brothers; familiar history to go with familiar faces. To know that there are strangers lurking beneath the familiar armour; enemies where there should only ever be brothers…

He hesitates, an idea lodging itself in his mind. An urgent, irrational fear. His hands drift almost without thought towards the seals where his helmet meets his armour, unlatching it.

His training screams that it is reckless to remove his helmet when heading into a firefight, foolish to lose the advantages of his built-in sensors and comms. But another voice – Boil’s voice – is whispering that it is necessary, that he is about to be surrounded by combatants all wearing helmets of the same make, and they need to see his face.

Waxer removes his helmet and clips it to his belt. He has always trusted Boil before; he’s not going to stop now.

It’s a risk, yes, but he’d never forgive himself for any friendly-fire accidents.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 9

Trend

Ford’s eyes were level with the workbench, laser-focused on the syringe hovering above a petri dish. With a steady hand, he depressed the plunger, releasing a thin stream of blue liquid into the sample. It spread and mingled with the solution inside in a dance of color and chemistry. Each movement was precise, honed by countless hours of practice—methodical, mechanical. When the syringe was empty, he set it down with a deliberate gentleness, careful not to disturb the delicate array of glass beakers and instruments surrounding him.

Leaning back in his chair, Ford pulled off his latex gloves with a sharp snap, tossing them onto a nearby table cluttered with crumpled notes and abandoned experiments. He rubbed his eyes, fatigue creeping in like an unwelcome visitor, but the persistent hum of the fluorescent lights and the bitter edge of his fourth cup of coffee— or maybe this was the fifth—kept him tethered. The motions of each task had become second nature, a rhythm that promised completion yet led only to more. He reached for the ashtray, retrieving the half-burned cigarette teetering on its edge, and took a quick puff as he scratched a few lines in his notebook, the ink flowing freely from the heavy-weight ball point, smooth like the thoughts racing in his head. Without thinking, he pushed himself back and spun the chair, the metal wheels screeching against the floor, a fleeting disruption in the otherwise sterile air.

Standing, he faced the bulletin board, his index finger absently scraping against the stubble on his chin. His eyes darted over the scattered notes and data points pinned in haphazard rows, each one a thread in the complex tapestry of his research. He lingered on a photograph of the field site before his gaze shifted to a graph detailing the energy readings. “The field anomalies here…” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “They’re still not aligning with the projections. Something’s off.”

He turned, moving toward one of the machines lining the wall closest to his desk, fingers deftly adjusting the dials, each click echoing the mounting frustration in his chest.

“It’s not the data that’s off,” Bill’s voice chimed in, low but steady, wrapping around Ford like a familiar cloak. “There’s a pattern here you’re just not seeing yet. Keep going.”

Ford grumbled, rubbing his temple with his knuckles as he puffed little clouds of smoke through his nose, eyes glued to the graph. He leaned back over the desk, resting his weight on his hands as low, frustrated groan escaped his lips. “I’m looking at the raw numbers,” he replied, the objective tone barely masking the irritation simmering beneath. He swept a few sheets aside, fingers landing on a list of different data points. He tapped the page, muttering under his breath. “The interference spike is too irregular—it doesn’t fit any of the variables we’ve accounted for.”

His foot looped around the bottom of his chair, pulling it under him as he sank back into it, the familiar contours welcoming yet unyielding. He grabbed a different pen from the cup in the corner of the desk, the ink gliding across the page as he scribbled out several points, each stroke of the pen a mix of determination and desperation. The dance of numbers and patterns was his life, but the rhythm had been off all week, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was slipping past his sight.

A faint pressure ghosted over Ford’s wrist, a familiar nudge. Not quite controlling, but enough to make Ford aware of Bill’s presence. The pen in his hand twitched, his grip loosening as if someone else were guiding it to stop his scribbling. “Think broader,” Bill said, his voice calm, instructive. “You’re locking in on specifics too early...”

Ford’s hand moved on instinct, flipping through a different stack of papers he hadn’t touched in over a day. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the notes Bill had directed him toward; a detail of a minor electromagnetic variation he had dismissed earlier. Without thinking, he circled a number with his pen, feeling the nudge once again. “Wait,” Ford muttered, leaning closer to the paper. “This discrepancy… If we adjust the range of interference just slightly—maybe about… three millimeters—” he paused, eyes darting back to the board, “it could recalibrate the field to match the earlier readings.”

“Getting warmer,” Bill replied, his voice steady, edging with approval. “Focus less on the noise, more on the trend. We need those broader parameters to stabilize the field before you get too granular.”

Ford exhaled sharply. “You make it sound easy,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s because you’re the one doing the grunt work,” Bill quipped. “But you’re making progress. Rerun those calculations and let’s see.”

Ford’s fingers danced over the keys of the nearby computer, inputting the data and adjustments Bill had prompted him toward. He didn’t speak for a moment, his focus sharp on screen while the hum of mechanical tabulations fill the room. The lines on the monitor shifted, recalculating the field metrics.

“There.” Ford stepped back, crossing his arms. “We’ve narrowed it down. If these adjustments hold, it might stabilize the entire sequence.”

“There you go,” Bill encouraged. “This is what we needed. Now we just have to maintain control long enough to manipulate them consistently.”

Ford nodded, scribbling a few more quick notes into his journal, the scratch of pen on paper the only sound in the quiet lab. He paused for a moment, his pen hovering above the page as he felt something—an odd pressure, a familiar sensation like a weight leaning against his shoulder. He glanced sideways, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you… using me as an armrest?” he remarked, the amusement in his voice breaking through his earlier tension. His brow raised slightly, eyes flicking to the empty space beside him. “You know I know you’re not actually here, right?”

Bill’s voice was in the same ear, smooth as ever, with a casual indifference Ford had come to expect. “I’m part of this process whether I’m standing next to you or not, Sixer,” Bill replied, his tone nonchalant. Ford could almost picture him—leaning back with that air of superiority, probably examining his nails as he spoke, an idiosyncrasy Ford had noticed—and found endearing.

I’m just takin’ her easy until I’m needed,” Bill said, his voice settling over the room, soft and velvety, like he had all the time in the world. There was an ease to him, a confidence that wrapped around Ford. “You work better when you feel like I’m around—admit it. The semblance of realism? Does wonders for morale.”

Ford didn’t need to see him to know Bill was grinning. It was that slow, sly kind of grin, the one that always hovered just under the surface of his face. “After all, I’m only here to… expedite things.”

Ford rolled his eyes, though the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips. He reached up to adjust his glasses as he leaned back in his chair. “Expediting, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now? Because from where I’m sitting, sounds a lot like backseat driving.”

“Oh please, I’m a regular Lapérouse,” Bill retorted, voice brimming with that sharp, amused edge.

Ford let out a quiet chuckle, a small huff of air escaping his lips as he shook his head. His attention turned and then his chair, his eyes flicking between his notes and entering the data into the computer, the blue light casting shadows across his tired face. A small smile came over him again and he glanced away from the screen. “Didn’t Lapérouse got lost at sea?”

“Watch it, Pines,” Bill warned, his tone playfully threatening. The tone that made Ford straighten up. He could feel the electricity in the air before what felt like the tip of a finger brushed down his cheek, pushing his attention back to the screen. The touch sent a shiver along Ford’s spine. “Save that brainpower for the lab...” he jeered, before his voice lowered to a whisper in Ford’s ear. “I can think of so many better uses for that smart mouth.” he added with a purr. Ford couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face, his lip caught between his teeth as heat crept up his neck, his fingers moving diligently over the keys. 

A softer warmth bloomed in his chest, a strange but welcome sense of contentment. It spread slowly, the steady flicker of a fire catching its rhythm, ignited by the feeling of Bill’s presence, lingering just over his shoulder. Bill was never far away. He wasn’t physically there, but Ford could feel him. His eyes flickered over the chaotic sprawl of the lab—multicolored tubes snaking across the counters, stacks of paper strewn in haphazard piles like scattered thoughts. There was a method to the madness, but only they could see the pattern, the ideas threading together, constellations in a sprawling sky. He turned his focus back to the task at hand, the screen’s pale glow illuminating his furrowed brow as the numbers flickered in front of him.

The air around them always felt charged, alive with possibility. And it wasn’t just the work; endless streams of data and theories and tests that flowed between them. It was the rhythm they had found, effortless and easy. Their banter, their focus—it felt natural, like a conversation they had been having for years, most of it unspoken.

But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? The unspoken part. The other part. The part that kept Ford on edge in ways he wasn’t used to. He’d been alone for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be anything but. No one had seen him without clothes on in…what, a decade? More? Even back then, it had been rare—almost always after a few too many drinks, always fleeting, always forgettable. They’d been one-offs, hollow and meaningless.

Ford hated the idea of going through the motions. It always felt so contrived, so performative, as though he were following a script written by someone else. He’d play the part for a while—let the attraction flicker, let the night stretch into something more, but it never lasted. It was always just an act, and worse than that, it left him feeling emptier than before. Like he’d missed something crucial, something everyone else seemed to grasp effortlessly. So, he’d simply stopped seeking it out altogether.

There was a comfort in that kind of solitude, a predictability. He could rely on it—no expectations, no disappointments. He buried himself in his work, his research, his pursuit of answers that felt more rewarding than fleeting human connection. It was easier to chase ideas, to solve problems, than to keep chasing that feeling, that elusive spark that never seemed to linger long enough to mean anything.

But this? Here, in the lab, in the middle of the chaos he and Bill had created? This was different. Ford wasn’t sure if it was the challenge, or the thrill, or just Bill himself, but there was something about it that made Ford feel like he was in the middle of something bigger than either of them. Something he couldn’t pull away from, even if he wanted to.  It wasn’t an act. There was nothing scripted about this, nothing predictable. With Bill, the push and pull was constant, seamless. It wasn’t about going through the motions; it was about discovery, exploration. Each interaction, every touch, felt like something new unfolding. It kept Ford on edge.

He couldn’t deny the pull, the way their energy—fused together, building on itself—made him feel. Captivated wasn’t the right word. It was deeper than that. It was all-encompassing. It was all he could think about. 

“Let’s see if we can make sense of this,” Ford muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in closer to the screen. The light reflected off his glasses, eyes scanning the intricately detailed schematic that sprawled across the monitor. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a rhythm only he could hear as he adjusted parameters, shifting variables and recalibrating the settings. The feedback loops from their recent tests spiraled before him, and his focus sharpened. “If we tweak the signal frequency here…” he trailed off, chewing on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. The possibilities stretched out before him like an endless equation, waiting to be solved.

Bill’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the lab, cool and steady. “Don’t forget to account for the variable resistance in the circuit—it gave you some trouble earlier.” Ford pictured Bill lounging casually against one of the machines, watching him with that knowing smile, always a step ahead. “If we can minimize that, I’ll bet you’ll get a more stable output.”

Ford paused, one hand still poised above the keyboard as he raised an eyebrow, a hint of admiration slipping into his expression. “Reading up on electrical engineering, are you?” There was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice, surprised by how Bill seemed to effortlessly slip into every role, offering insight that Ford, despite his brilliance, hadn’t considered.

“A bit, a bit,” Bill replied, amusement threading through his words like a low hum. There was that grin in his voice, that sharp, self-satisfied look he’d grown so used to. “Just trying to keep my seat at the table, y’know?”

Ford’s lips quirked up in a smirk, shaking his head slightly as he turned back to the screen. “There’s always space for you, my muse,” he said, a rare warmth creeping into his tone, though he kept his eyes trained on the numbers in front of him. The excitement began to stir, subtle but undeniable, as he typed in the final adjustments. His fingers moved faster now, confidence building with each keystroke. “Alright,” he murmured, almost to himself, “let’s run the recalibrated simulation.”

His finger hit the enter key with a exaggerated force and the screen lit up with real-time data streaming across it, the numbers shifting and pulsing like a heartbeat. Ford leaned forward, eyes widening as the output began to stabilize, the fluctuations that had plagued earlier tests smoothing out into a steady rhythm. “Look at that!” Ford’s voice was full of barely-contained enthusiasm, his heart pounding in his chest. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, sparkling between him and the data unfolding before them. “The output’s stabilizing,” he continued, his grin widening as the results confirmed what he had hoped for.

Ford felt the thrill of discovery take root, spreading through his veins. “I think we’re onto something here,” he said, his voice tinged with exhilaration. It was a rare moment of validation—one that reminded him exactly why he pursued this work so relentlessly. And even though Bill’s presence loomed larger than ever, Ford didn’t mind. There was something about their partnership, their shared goals, that made moments like these feel even more electric.

Ford could feel it—the low rumble of Bill’s excitement resonating deep in his chest, like a second heartbeat vibrating through him. “Nice work, Specs,” Bill’s voice hummed, rich with satisfaction. Ford could practically feel him leaning in, ever-present at his shoulder, the hint of a grin curling in the spaces between his words. “Told you you’d get it. Just needed a little fine-tuning.”

Ford’s lips twitched into a smile, a rare lightness settling over him. Despite himself, he couldn’t quite hide the pride that slipped into his voice. “Yeah, but this is just a preliminary breakthrough,” he said, his gaze still glued to the glowing screen in front of him. The numbers were steady, smooth, promising. “We’ll need Fiddleford to review the results before we move forward.”

There was a subtle shift in the air, something quiet but undeniable. Ford felt it before he heard it—the way Bill’s presence seemed to shift slightly, the warmth cooling, his tone dropping by a fraction. “Oh, well… didn’t I review it just now?” Bill’s voice was still smooth, but there was something sharper beneath it, something colder, that made Ford pause for just a second.

Ford straightened, reaching absentmindedly for a nearby scroll of readings, his fingers brushing over the rough paper. “Well, yes…” he began, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension he hadn’t realized had built up. “But Fidds definitely should, too.” He kept his tone light, trying to dispel edge had crept into the conversation. “It’s important to get his perspective. Besides…” Ford glanced over his shoulder, half-smiling, “I don’t think our sponsors would accept ‘celestial being in my head’ as a legitimate source of ongoing peer-review.” The joke was easy, a way to smooth over the discomfort, but he could already feel it sliding between them. “Practical application is still the goal,” he reminded Bill, “I mean, all this theory won’t mean much if I can’t turn it into something useful. And Fidd’s is our builder.”

“Right, right…” Bill replied, but the annoyance threaded through his voice was unmistakable now. It was subtle, but it lingered, twisting around the words. “I doubt he’ll have much more to add, anyways. Your math is perfect.”

Ford blushed lightly at the compliment, a quick flush of warmth rising in his cheeks. He glanced down, the faintest hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Bill,” he said, sincerity breaking through the banter for a moment. Bill’s praise always felt different—more real, more intimate than anything he got from his peers. But there was no time to dwell on it now. Ford ripped another page of printouts from the machine, the paper crinkling softly in his grip, the sound almost soothing.

As Ford reached the top of the steps, he turned into the kitchen, immediately greeted by the warm, inviting glow of the room. Fiddleford was leaning casually against the doorframe, the house phone cradled between his shoulder and ear while his hands moved with practiced ease, deftly rolling a joint. The quiet drone of his wife’s voice filtered through the line, the soft cadence of her words forming a comforting, familiar backdrop to the quiet of the evening. Ford paused for a moment, taking in the scene—the domesticity of it, the contrast between this, and the intensity they shared in the lab.

Fiddleford was dressed in an old T-shirt, the kind that had clearly seen better days, with a faded band logo across the front. The frayed edges of the neckline and hem spoke to years of frequent wear, much like the well-worn jeans that clung loosely to his frame, scuffed and torn from work. The kitchen’s light cast a soft, golden hue over his face, the shadows settling gently across the lines of his expression, blending effortlessly with the cool darkness of the night beyond the window.

“Uh-huh… I understand, Em,” Fiddleford murmured into the receiver, his voice low, almost distracted. “Well, I’ll call there tomorrow when we’re done in the lab, and—” His words trailed off, punctuated by a long pause as he listened to whatever Emma Mae was saying on the other end. “Well, no… no, I don’t think it does…” he rambled, his tone patient but tinged with a quiet sort of fatigue.

Ford stepped closer, the papers still clutched in his hand, the numbers and results burning a hole in his palm. His mind was racing, filled with the breakthrough he’d just made downstairs, his enthusiasm bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to spill out. He raised the papers slightly, trying to catch Fidds’ attention, his mouth already half-open to launch into an explanation.

Fiddleford glanced up just as he brought the tightly rolled joint to his lips, his sharp, knowing eyes meeting Ford’s. For a split second, there was a flicker of understanding between them—Ford’s anticipation, Fiddleford’s quiet acknowledgment. But before Ford could say a word, Fidds lifted a finger, silently gesturing for him to wait. He pressed the joint against his lips, licking the edge of the paper to seal it as he turned his attention back to the phone, balancing the conversation and the ritual with the same ease Ford had always admired.

Yeah, I know it’s been a long week,” Fiddleford continued, eyes still trained on the joint as he ran his thumb along the seam, perfecting the seal with his practiced, unhurried motions. His voice had taken on that easy, teasing cadence Ford knew so well. “You think I haven’t had a long week too? C’mon, Ford never gives me a break.” He glanced up, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked at Ford, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He’s staring at me right now, holding something in his hands. The guy’s a damn machine… Say hi, Ford.”

With a quick flick of his wrist, Fidds angled the phone toward him, already shifting his attention to sparking the joint, the tiny flame from his lighter flaring for a brief moment. Ford felt his jaw tighten. The weight of the papers he’d been so eager to share suddenly felt cumbersome, like an afterthought.

“H-Hello, Emma Mae,” Ford muttered, the words forced from his mouth. His voice, usually confident when it came to his work, held a strained reluctance. The syllables felt foreign, awkward on his tongue—a reminder of the world outside their bubble, one that always seemed just out of sync with his relentless focus.

“Hello, Ford!” came Emma Mae’s voice through the crackling line, warm and full of a sincerity that clashed against the tension still simmering under Ford’s skin. He forced a tight-lipped smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t annoyed with her, not really—it was more the interruption, the way it felt like someone had yanked him out of the current just when things were flowing.

Fiddleford, catching the shift in Ford’s demeanor, turned slightly, his back now angled toward him as he cradled the phone again between his ear and shoulder, the joint hanging loosely from his lips. With a slow, deliberate breath, he took a drag, the smoke curling lazily in the air, hazy tendrils rising and mingling with the soft hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the kitchen clock. The scene felt like something out of a dream—calm, ordinary, even—but beneath it all, Ford’s excitement still bubbled, restrained, waiting to break through.

“Yeah… yeah, he’s been down in the lab all day,” Fiddleford continued, his voice dropping into that same half-distracted tone he often used on the phone, giving Ford just the barest acknowledgment with a sideways glance. The smoke drifted between them, thick and earthy, a backdrop to the ongoing conversation Ford wasn’t part of—at least, not in the way he wanted to be.

Ford shifted his weight, his fingers tapping the edge of the printouts in time with the seconds slipping by, the eagerness bubbling just beneath his skin. He leaned in a little closer, giving Fiddleford’s shoulder a light tap, trying to pull him back from the phone, even for just a moment.

Fiddleford didn’t turn right away, his attention still hooked by the soft murmur of his wife’s voice through the receiver. “Just a second, Em,” he said, his voice gentle, but his eyes a little wider as he glanced back at Ford. His shoulders lifted in a familiar, exasperated shrug, his palm turning up to the ceiling. What? The question hung there, unspoken.

Ford bit his lip, holding up the papers, tapping them faster, a quiet insistence. But Fiddleford just blinked, his gaze sweeping over the pages for all of two seconds before turning back to the phone, still distracted.

“Emma, baby— j-just hold on,” he murmured, pressing the phone to his chest, his voice dropping as he gave Ford another look. “Ford, please, just one minute, alright? One minute.”

But Ford could feel his excitement slipping into frustration, the urgency in his voice sharpening as he leaned in. “You need to see this now. It’s about the waveform patterns. We’re onto something—”

“Ford,” Fiddleford snapped, still keeping his voice low, but the irritation was there, clear as day. “I’m on the phone!” His lips moved more than his voice, each word a sharp hiss as he pressed the phone harder against his chest. It was clear he wanted Ford to back off, but Ford’s jaw tightened in response, his fingers tightening on the stack of papers.

“Yeah, well, it’s important,” Ford shot back, his whisper now edged with impatience. He crossed his arms, the weight of the printouts digging into his palm, the excitement from earlier now simmering with irritation.

Fiddleford’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing as he spat back, “I’ve been cooped up in that lab all day, Stanford! It’s nine o’clock!”

“Oh, alright you can roll a joint while chat on the phone?” Ford fired, the sarcasm dripping, biting, and completely unfiltered. “But reading a few numbers is just too much, huh?”

Fiddleford’s face flushed red, his irritation spiking. “You bast—” He stopped himself, gritting his teeth, lowering his voice to a sharp whisper. “We’re supposed to be off the clock, Ford! I’m talkin’ to my wife, you maniac!”

Their voices dropped further, the space between them tight with frustration, each of them trying to outdo the other, whispering fiercely, as if whispering would somehow make it less ridiculous. Ford’s heart was pounding now, the sharpness of their exchange cutting through the earlier high, until—

“Daddy?”

The soft voice filtered through the phone, cutting straight through the tension between them.

Fiddleford’s entire demeanor shifted, the frustration that had been so palpable just a moment ago melting away in an instant. He shot Ford a look—sharp, full of warning—before turning his back and brightening his voice for the call. “Hey, hey, kiddo! How’s my little tater tot?”

Ford stood there, fuming, the printouts still clutched tightly in his hand. Fiddleford waved him off, mouthing a sharp fuck off before slipping into the next room, the phone cord dragging behind him, leaving Ford standing in the dim light of the kitchen, his heart still racing, the papers in his hand crinkling under the pressure.

Ford threw his hands up in exasperation, his breath escaping in a groan that echoed through the stairwell. “Fine! I’ll be in the lab…” His voice dripped with annoyance as he stomped down the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last—a physical manifestation of his growing frustration. When he finally plopped into his chair with a thud, it was less of a seat and more of a battle ground. Crossing his arms defiantly, he stared blankly at the cluttered desk, the jumble of papers and scattered printouts morphing into a chaotic mess that felt more suffocating than inspiring.

After a moment of silent contemplation, he redirected that simmering energy into his notebook, grabbing a pen with a renewed sense of purpose. Scribbling furiously, he tried to capture his thoughts on the waveform patterns that had consumed him all week, pouring out equations and sketches with the ink scratching against the paper in a rhythm that echoed the quickening pace of his thoughts. It was a frantic release, a way to organize the chaos swirling in his mind.

“So… how’d the ‘legitimate source of ongoing review’ like your work, smart guy?” Bill’s voice bubbled through the air, playful sarcasm lacing his words, a hint of amusement threading through his tone.

Ford let out a frustrated breath through his nose, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms tightly over his chest again, as if to shield himself from the impending disappointment. “He’s got other priorities at the moment,” he replied, the irritation evident in his voice, a biting edge that spoke volumes. Biting the inside of his cheek, he felt the familiar sting of disappointment welling up within him, a nagging sensation that wouldn’t quite fade.

Swiveling in his chair, he cast a glance at the scattered papers on his desk—the fruits of his labor laid out like a chaotic testament to his relentless pursuit. “It’s just frustrating,” he admitted, the hardness in his voice softening slightly as he opened up. “I finally made some headway, and he’s too wrapped up in…whatever domestic crisis is going on.” The words tumbled out, laced with an undercurrent of longing for understanding, as if sharing his burden could lighten it just a little.

“Who are you talking to?” Fiddleford’s voice drifted in from behind him, echoing softly off the lab’s walls as he descended the stairs. There was a skepticism laced in his tone, a gentle probing that felt familiar.

Ford glanced back, his frown deepening as frustration tightened the corners of his mouth. “No one… just myself,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice. The heaviness of the evening pressed down on him, and he felt that familiar surge of annoyance rising, making his shoulders tense and his posture rigid.

Fiddleford stepped into the lab, arms crossed, resting his weight on one leg, his eyes searching Ford’s face for something—understanding, perhaps, or a glimpse of the easy camaraderie they usually shared. “Well?” he prompted, a simple word that hung in the air, charged with expectation.

Ford grumbled in response, rising abruptly from his chair as if the air in the room had become too stifling. He thrust the stack of papers toward Fiddleford, his frustration bubbling over, spilling out like an overboiled pot. As he brushed past, he avoided Fiddleford’s gaze, not wanting to confront the energy he sensed crackling between them. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

Fiddleford accepted the papers into his hands, flipping through them with a practiced eye. His brow furrowed as he absorbed the data, and his expression softened as he scanned the findings, the weight of the moment pulling at the lines on his face. He let out a long sigh, a sound of resignation mingled with relief. Turning to Ford, he found him with his back turned, fiddling with the dials of one of the machines, lost in thought yet vibrantly aware of the unsteady pulse between them.

Fiddleford bit his lip, tapping the paper against his palm, weighing the implications of what he held. “The sequence… you cracked it?” he asked, his voice tentative, like stepping onto thin ice. There was a cautious hope in his words, an attempt to draw Ford back into the warmth of their collaboration.

Ford turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Fiddleford, irritation mingling with a flicker of pride in his gaze. “Yeah… the one I’ve been working on all week,” he replied, his tone heavy, each word laden with the burden of sleepless nights and relentless focus. It was a small victory, a fragile moment of connection, but it felt overshadowed by the swirling emotions between them, the air thick with a need for understanding that neither of them seemed ready to articulate.

Fiddleford blinked, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as he recognized his earlier inattentiveness. “Jeez, Ford, I—” he began, fumbling for an explanation, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture betraying his discomfort. “Look, Emma Mae had this thing at work, and she really needed to talk about it…”

Ford frowned, narrowing his eyes, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Yeah, well, I’ve had something too—right here,” he muttered, gesturing to the papers sprawled across the desk. “But I suppose a groundbreaking advancement in our work isn’t as pressing as… what does she do again? Clerk? Or… something?”

The jab landed with the weight of a stone thrown into a still pond, and Fiddleford sighed, visibly torn. “W—Ford… c’mon,” he began, his voice laced with exasperation. “I still have a life, you know. There’s gotta be some kind of balance, right? I mean… I have a wife… and a son.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken responsibilities that lingered between them, the desire to connect battling the reality of their fractured focus.

Ford’s shoulders tensed, the muscles coiling tight as he dropped his gaze to the floor, biting back a wave of emotions. He appreciated Fidds’ support, but this moment felt like being cast aside, the flicker of resentment igniting in his chest. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve got a whole world outside this place…” he trailed off, bitterness creeping into his tone, each word like a slow drip of poison.

Fiddleford, catching the undertone, shook his head. “Ford, don’t do that. Don’t twist this into me not caring,” he said softly, the tenderness in his voice contrasting sharply with the tension that filled the room. “I do care. You know that.”

“Do I?” Ford’s voice was quieter now, tinged with defensiveness, the walls around him thickening as he spoke. “Because sometimes it feels like I’m the only one trying to keep the momentum going here.”

Fiddleford stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking, an plea for understanding hanging in the air. “You’re not alone,” he insisted, his voice earnest, each syllable weighted with sincerity. “I’m here. I want to be here. But I can’t just neglect everything else. It’s not sustainable. It doesn’t mean I care any less about what we’re doing. You just let me catch up sometimes.”

Ford’s gaze flickered back to the papers, the equations now feeling like a weight. “It just feels like you’re losing sight of what matters,” he murmured.

“L-Losing sight of what matters…?” Fiddleford let out a laugh of disbelief, a sound that hung in the air between them like a challenge. “I’m—I’m losing sight of—” he caught himself, biting back the rush of frustration that threatened to spill over. He set the papers aside, turning to face Ford fully, grounding himself in the moment. “Ford, you’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s not healthy,” he said, his voice firm now, the kind of steadiness that made the ground feel solid beneath them. His hands pressed against his hips, a posture of determination. “You don’t sleep, you barely eat, and you’re blowing through almost a pack a day—” He paused, watching Ford glance away, the moment heavy with unspoken truths. “You’re always muttering to yourself under your breath,” he added, his voice softer but no less pointed.

Ford raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms defensively. “I’m just… focused,” he shrugged, as if the word could shield him from the weight of Fiddleford’s concern. “It helps me think.”

Fiddleford’s eyes softened, but he held his ground, unwilling to back down. “It’s more than that, Ford. You’re burning out. I mean, just a little while ago you almost died trying to get those damn readings, and you barely gave yourself time to heal before running down here to run a whole panel… even now, you’re acting like there aren’t still bruises and scabs on your ribs.” His voice rose slightly, an urgency creeping in. “But ya got a little limp when you walk, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Fiddleford emphasized, the concern weaving through his words like a thread binding them together. “You can’t keep running on fumes like this. It’s making you irritable.”

“I’m irritable?” Ford questioned, his voice clipped, defensive. He seized on that last part as if it were a lifeline, desperate to redirect the conversation. “I’m not irritable, I’m just… just dedicated—like you said.”

Fiddleford met his gaze, giving him a hard look that spoke volumes. “Dedicated, yes. But at what cost?” The words lingered between them, heavy with implications. “I know you’re passionate about this, but you’ve gotta pace yourself or it’ll chew you up.”

Ford sighed, brushing off the concern with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not a child, Fid. I can manage myself.” The defiance in his voice was a thin veneer over the underlying unease, a need for control that felt increasingly tenuous.

“Managing yourself doesn’t mean ignoring your limits,” Fiddleford countered gently, the tone of his voice shifting, softening like the light filtering through the lab’s dusty windows. “I get it—this work is everything to you. But it’s also okay to step back, to breathe. You’re still human, Ford, and you don’t have to shoulder this alone.”

The warmth in Fiddleford’s words cut through the cool air of the lab, wrapping around Ford like a warm shroud, but it only stirred the tempest within him. “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand,” he snapped, though the fire behind his words felt more like a flicker, as if he were trying to convince himself just as much as Fiddleford. “I can handle it.”

“Sure, but I’m telling you, you’re not managing as well as you think,” Fiddleford pressed. “I mean… I’m dedicated too, but I can’t live in the lab 24/7. And, Ford, you need to take some time away from this, too.”

Ford frowned, his gaze shifting to the cluttered desk, the swirling thoughts in his mind reflecting in the chaos around him. “I appreciate the concern, but this is bigger than some 9-to-5. I need to be here. This is my life…”

Fiddleford softened his tone, stepping closer, the warmth of his presence grounding. “I get it, I really do. But you gotta listen to me here—you’re not invincible, Ford. This work won’t mean much if it breaks you down before you can even finish it.”

For a fleeting moment, Ford’s expression wavered, and he exhaled, his eyes flicking toward the machines that buzzed softly around them. He didn’t want to admit that Fiddleford was right, that the sleepless nights and long hours were starting to seep into his bones. But stubbornness held him silent, as if voicing the truth would shatter the thin thread keeping him upright.

Fiddleford sensed the shift, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice lowering to something more intimate. “You could use a shave, my friend,” he teased, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes, an attempt to bridge the growing distance.

Ford felt a smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “You first,” he shot back, the deflection bringing a hint of levity.

Fiddleford faked a dramatic gasp, curling the tips of his mustache with exaggerated flair. “What? This is a work of art… a culmination of years of precision and effort! Yours, on the other hand, looks like you’ve been locked in a basement for a week—oh wait.”

Ford huffed a short but hearty laugh, the tension uncoiling slightly. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, shaking his head. “Actually, I was going for the ‘tortured genius’ look,” he replied dryly, a smirk creeping onto his face. “No good?”

Their shared laughter floated in the air, lightening the atmosphere, allowing a moment of connection amid the whirlwind of worry. Fiddleford reached out, placing a hand on Ford’s back, giving it a firm, encouraging pat. “Stanford, go to bed… please?” he asked, his tone a mixture of concern and genuine affection, like a brother urging another to take care.

Ford exhaled slowly, the weight of the day crashing over him like a tide, as if the mere mention of sleep had unraveled the careful facade he had maintained. A yawn crept up on him, his body betraying its exhaustion with an inevitable insistence. He blinked a couple of times, suddenly aware of the heaviness weighing down his eyelids, like lead anchors pulling him into the depths. “Okay… you win,” he mumbled, the words softening as they left his lips, a reluctant concession that felt less like defeat and more like surrender. But truthfully, he didn’t mind. There was always something waiting for him in his dreams, something more than mere rest. Something exciting.

As he made his way to the stairs, anticipation stirred beneath his weariness, a flicker of light in the darkness. The lab, the endless equations, the chaos of papers and data—they were never really left behind. The sheets were a welcome relief against his tired skin. He rolled onto his side, seeking a position that eased the persistent ache threading through his ribcage. The mattress sank beneath him, cradling his body as he settled in, the pain subsiding just enough for him to breathe.

In the depths of slumber, the boundary between reality and dreams melted away. Ford would find himself back in a vast forest, the trees towering above like ancient sentinels; or sometimes it was a living room, atop a bear pelt next to the roaring fireplace; or another time, a strange yet comfortable bed, the silk sheets cool against their skin. There were endless places Bill could take him—places that felt both familiar and disorienting. And Bill would be there; maybe this time he was shorter, or more human, his eyes softer, his features sharper, or his voice quieter. Maybe his form shifted in ways that defied explanation—sometimes more like a shadow, other times something tangible, solid. But it was always unmistakable. Always Bill.

[Previous Chapter][Next Chapter]

[sweetbrier2908]

nighttime routine

(gn!mc x simeon)

nights with simeon are usually like this.

you change into your pajamas and jump on the softest and most comfortable mattress in the whole three realms. it's always so soft to the point sometimes it completely swallows you. you wonder if the softness of it may be bad for your back, but not every night is like this and you will willingly tolerate the mattress.

you then curl yourself in the thick planet, scroll through your d.d.d, and attend asmo's party on stories. or you will read a book, usually "tales of the seven lords". sometimes you pick the first edition ever, sometimes you settle for a picture book. sometimes, instead of lying, you sit and spread the whole series on your bed (just for simeon to collect them after you fall asleep halfway through the book in front of you). the truth is you're still awake and simeon knows that. but he always enjoys taking care of people, he enjoys watching you reading the books he wrote on your bed, he enjoys putting them away for you to sleep comfortably, he enjoys your small smile every time he covers you with the blanket (and you enjoy his soft giggle which makes you fall asleep soundly).

you two never talk too much. while you're doing literally everything that you're in the mood for, he sits down by his desk and plays a vinyl record. always the songs that you don't know. he picks up his pen (sometimes his quill) and enters his inner world. sometimes he works until you pass out. sometimes he finishes before you fall asleep. it's not important. you know all too well that when the morning comes, you will be in his arms. and that's enough.

some nights you both go to bed early. just an hour after dinner. solomon will do the dishes and luke will help. luke is a good child, and he knows today is not a day you come to watch a cooking tv show in the living room. he wishes you a good night, and watches you sneakily slip through simeon's bedroom door (from the dining room, of course, luke knows better than to follow you and make sure you remember where the guest room is).

simeon will curl up and put his head on your chest. you are sure that he can hear and count every beat of your heart. loud and clear. you wrap your arms around his body, tightly. sometimes you're scared that your hug is a little bit too tight (so tight), but simeon said it never hurt him (your hug is always so tight, it reminds him that he's still alive).

you and simeon will keep holding each other like that. you both will not sleep, you rarely move your eyes from the wall, and his breath is not so stable. those are the restless nights.

sometimes you run your hand through his soft velvet hair, and make a mess before it turns back to being soft and unruffled. sometimes your finger keeps drawing circles on his trembling back. is he crying? you're not sure. but you won't ask. you will be patient. simeon will tell you eventually.

he will tell you when he's ready, or you're ready. or when the morning comes (to be honest you never know when the morning comes here in devildom, simeon will tell you when it's time, simeon knows everything), you kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his lip. simeon's lip is as soft as your blanket, his hair, the celestial realm's clouds. you kiss every part of his face and simeon will do the same to you. "morning ritual" he said, and you suddenly want everything you two do to become some sort of ritual. so simeon can never give up on this, on you. simeon never tolerate you, ever. so it has to be a ritual and not a punishment or a rule.

maybe the moon is a little bit clearer, and the sky has shifted from pitch black to charcoal color. simeon gets up first, wears his slippers puts on his nightgown which is on the floor. he turns his head to look at you, who is still on the bed, and gives you a sad smile, "i promise this will be the last time".

his smile recently is always sad.

simeon knows everything but simeon never knows himself better than you do.

[whenyoucallmelover]

everything i read this month! ✷

august flew by as it seemingly always does, but i still managed to read a decent amount! no smut recs this month…sorry to all of you naughty lil readers hehe, i just didn’t really read much smut this month for once.

(just a lil heads up~ i read a few fics this month that contained some scenes/discussions that may be upsetting to some. i find a lot of catharsis in writing + reading stories that i can see myself in, but i know it’s more triggering than therapeutic for some people! so please, as always, read the author’s tags & warnings!)

✷ under 10k words.

🍎 Ice, Ice, Baby, @beelou (1.1k) tags; tooth-rotting fluff, figure skater harry, pining, no smut

🍎 Hold On Tighter, @hellolovers13 (1.4k) tags; no romantic relationship, coming out, trans harry, angst and feels

🍎 A Beacon of Hope, @justanotherghostblr (2k) tags; girl direction, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, insecurity, nesting, alpha/alpha

🍎 The Elf Who Saved Christmas, @ladyaj-13 (2k) tags; meet cute, christmas, mall elf harry, sweet big brother louis, fluff

🍎 listen to me, butterfly, wherewestood (2k) tags; a/b/o, alpha louis, omega harry, nesting, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship

🍎 Take the Moment and Taste It, @hellolovers13 (4k) tags; strangers to lovers, first date, footballer louis, singer harry, fluff and smut, cheeky harry

🍎 Running Over Thoughts That Make My Feet Hurt, @enchantedlandcoffee (5k) tags; a/b/o, baker harry, little league coach louis, dad harry, omega drop, confessions, kid fic

🍎 The Scent Of Grapefruit, @red-pandaaa (5k) tags; fluff, no smut, demisexuality, coming out, established relationship, lots of cuddles

🍎 Sex Drunk Suckerpunch, @thinlinez/@gaygodlou (7k) tags; reverse sugar baby, sugar daddy harry, sugar baby louis, but! harry is louis’ baby, escort louis, fluff and smut, stubbornness, banter and humor, tw: brief mentions of death, age gap (25 & 39)

🍎 Your Secret's Safe With Me, @lightwoodsmagic (7k) tags; online friendship, secret identity, prince harry, friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff

🍎 In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers, @ladyaj-13 (9k) tags; bad dates, strangers to lovers, famous louis/non famous harry, fan harry, protective louis, tw: non-con elements (read end notes for more info!)

✷ over 10k words.

🍎 Been Here All Along, @bravetemptation (10k) tags; college/university, american football, mascot harry, first kisses, mutual pining, quiet harry, jock louis, secret identity (...? kinda?), tw: panic attacks *absolutely adored this one! i found this to be a great representation of what social anxiety feels like to me and i really appreciated it! x

🍎 It's A Start, Anonymous (10k) tags; neighbors, angst and fluff, first meetings, hate to love (ok, hate is a strong word…annoyed neighbor-to-lovers?), protective louis, hurt/comfort, tw: past abuse

🍎 tread lightly on my ground, @lookslikefairytale (20k) tags; a/b/o, mpreg, miscommunication and misunderstandings, touch deprivation, omega drop, angst with a happy ending, mutual pining

🍎 (Gimme a Solution and) Watch Me Run With It, @lululawrence (21k) tags; famous harry/non famous louis, friends to lovers, sharing a bed, assistant louis, emotional hurt/comfort, lovely sweet caring louis, harry styles needs a hug, touring, tw: panic attacks

✷ multi-part.

🍎 Take me, Take Mine, @likelarryfics (54k, 5/5) tags; a/b/o, boudoir photoshoots, photographer louis, slow burn, healing and recovery, angst with a hopeful ending, tw: discussions of past abuse *favorite of the month <3 

🍎 Just a Flower Boy, Larryruinedme (70k, 15/15) tags; highschool au, popular louis, openly gay harry, jealous louis, secret admirer, first time, discovering sexuality, tw: mentions of homophobia *a classic fic that i just read for the first time…a lil late to the party; love a cheesy old fic tho!

don’t forget to leave a comment and kudos for the authors & reblog their fic posts! ･ﾟ*｡･

[jerzwriter]

When Husbands Become Prey 2: They Know What's Coming

Sometimes you write a fic and think, nah, this can't be! That was entirely too much fun to write! And this fic here is a perfect example of that!

This was all born out of this funny mistake. The lovely @lilyoffandoms took that and turned it into When Husbands Become Prey, and I thought it was just begging for a follow-up. Olivia belongs to the amazing @storyofmychoices, and Merida is Lily's, and these three pairs together always spark joy! I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Open Heart

Pairings: Bryce Lahela x Olivia, Ethan Ramsey x Merida Tobias Carrick x Casey

Rating/Warning: Teen + - it's risque but not explicit.

Words: 1,699

Additional A/N: Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge - May Prompt - Lust

The men could practically feel their wives approaching; that kind of energy isn’t easily contained. Tobias’s eyes locked on Casey’s, a delighted smirk on his lips as he emptied the contents of his drink. He knew exactly what was coming. Bryce playfully chuckled at Olivia, looking so innocent yet alluring, as she sauntered his way. Smiling broadly, he leaned back on his barstool. Yeah, he knew exactly what was coming. Ethan was the last to take notice, doing a double take as his gaze met Merida’s. With a raised eyebrow, he flagged the bartender and ordered another drink. He, too, knew exactly what was coming.

Casey was the first to reach the bar and wasted no time. Pressed close against her man as she looped her arms around his neck. Taking that point system quite seriously, she pulled him into a kiss, easily adding two points to her tally and quickly approaching another three.  

“Well, well,” Tobias droned, the look on his face leaving little wonder of where his thoughts were going. “To what do I owe this pleasure.”

“You looked bored,” Casey simpered. “And I’m here to save you.”

“You know... I have a little fantasy that starts out like this... if you’re up for some role play...”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Ethan grumbled just a seat away.

“What!” Tobias protested. “She’s my wife! I’m not proposing anything illegal!”

“Yeah, that’s a shame,” Casey sighed as the other women giggled.

“That you’re his wife?” Ethan chortled. “I couldn’t agree more. That is a shame.”

“No, wiseass,” Merida giggled. “She was hoping for something illegal.”

Ethan ran a hand down his face with a weary sigh. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Bryce grinned as he happily welcomed Olivia on his lap. “But I’m sure as hell curious.”

“Oh, you should be,” the beautiful redhead purred, her teeth capturing his earlobe and tugging ever so slightly, leaving her husband forgetting his name.

Casey leaned closer to Olivia, placing an approving tap on her knee.

“Great work,” she whispered. “I’ll easily give you two points for that move!”

Ethan held up his freshly delivered drink and turned to an all too pleased Merida, his face devoid of emotion.

“Tell me,” he asked. “Do I need to down this drink to be prepared for what I’m about to endure?”

“Oh, honey,” she chuckled. “Call the bartender over and just tell him to leave the bottle. Because I’ve got plans for you.”

“Nice!” Tobias sang. “I’m telling you, Ramsey, you should thank all that’s holy for that woman every day... two times on Sunday.”

Ethan began to reply, but it was clear Tobias had little interest in his friend’s answer. He already had Casey by the hand, and they were rushing toward the door.

“Gee, that’ didn’t take long,” Olivia observed while snuggling closer to Bryce.

“Did you expect it would?” Merida asked.

“Nope, not at all.”  She turned to Bryce with a seductive little grin, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What do you say, shall we follow their lead?”

Bryce’s jaw fell, and the look in his eye left no question of how pleased he was with the evening's developments.

“You know, I knew I was happy when you three ladies hit it off... but I never had any idea just how happy their corruption... I mean their friendship... would mean.”

“Shut up,” Olivia giggled as she hopped to her feet; she didn’t have to say a word, and Bryce was at her heels.

“Thanks for picking up the tab, Ramsey!” he yelled as they scurried away.

Merida was beaming with pride as she watched her charge step out of the bar. But she hadn’t forgotten her own mission. Shifting closer to Ethan, she seductively mounted the stool to his right. Her stilettoed heel running up and down the length of his calf. Ethan was trying to play it cool, but Merida felt her ego rise as she watched the man shudder.

“So what do you say, Dr. Ramsey,” she hummed. “We’re not going to let them have all the fun now, are we?”

Ethan took another sip of his drink and turned to his beauty, never losing an ounce of composure.

“What are you three up to?”

“Us,” she feigned insult. “Whatever do you mean. We’re sweet little lambs, never an impure thought between us.”

Ethan couldn’t hold back his amusement at that comment. “If you were talking about Olivia alone, I might believe you... but you and Casey... sorry, my love, not a chance.”

“At least you know me,” she grinned. “Now, let’s get out of here and...”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted.

“What?” Merida gasped. “Ethan, do you understand what I’m offering?”

“I do. I’m also confident that there’s some sort of a sophomoric wager involved, one that you’re eager to win. Well. I’m not about to partake in childish games.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m serious as a heart attack. I think you need to be taught a lesson, dear.”

“Heh,” she chuckled. “Depending on how you intend to teach me that... lesson... we could win this thing easily, so....”

“I’m not joking, Merida. I’m not leaving the bar.”

“Ethan! For heaven’s sake! Why?”

“I’ve already told you.”

Merida sat next to him, a smug look on his face as the scowl on hers intensified. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she picked it up to see “the girls” group chat lit up.

Olivia: You are so going down.

Casey: If you were spending less time texting and more time actually going down, you might win this thing, Liv.

Olivia: Oh, yeah? What are you doing?

With that, a picture of what appeared to be Casey’s strappy black sandals wrapped provocatively around Tobias’s neck arrived. Merida viscerally threw her phone onto the bar.

“I’ll take it that was Casey’s reply,” Ethan smirked.  

Merida glared at him out of the corner of her eye. “Yes! And color me jealous!”

Ethan didn’t know it, but Merida took his turning away as a declaration of war. There was no way she was coming in third! No way!

Jumping to her feet, she stood directly behind Ethan, her lips planting a trail of kisses from his temple, along his face, down the side of his neck.

“What are you doing...”

“Shhhh...” she ordered as her hands got in on the action; pleased with herself as the slightest groan escaped him as she kneaded his shoulders. “You know what I’m doing, Ethan. When have you known me to take no for an answer.”

Her hands were all over him now, gliding over the muscles of his arms, the contours of his chest, and she could feel him starting to surrender despite himself.

“Mer...” he started, but he was quickly silenced with a kiss. 

Ethan had to accept it. His wife could play him like a fiddle, and when it came to her, he was weak. His strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her perilously close as his searing kisses moved from her lips to her neck, settling on her collarbone. Overcome with desire, he seemed to forget where he was, lifting her with ease, he pressed her against the bar. 

While Merida remained well aware of their surroundings, she also didn't have a care to give. Her fingers ran through his thick,  wavy hair, pulling him back up where she greeted him with another fiery kiss. It was going delightfully well when the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat pulled them out of their lustful haze.

Merida playfully smiled at the security guard standing behind Ethan as he slowly turned around, wishing the earth would swallow him whole.

“Yes,” he asked.

“What are you doing?” The stone-faced guard asked.

“I think that’s rather evident,” Merida replied.

“Well,” the guard grumbled with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid you’ll need to come with me.”

“Relax,” Ethan insisted. “We’ll take it to our room...”

“No, you don’t understand... I said you have to come with me.”

“Why?” Merida demanded. “Our clothes aren’t even disheveled, for heaven’s sake!”

“Maybe not, but there is an ordinance in this town, and you can’t cavort like this in areas considered family-friendly.”

“FAMILY FRIENDLY!” Ethan yelled far too loudly. “It’s a bar, not a playground! You have to be 21 to get in here! How is this family-friendly.”

“It abuts the lobby, sir.”

“It abut... abuts... There is a goddamned door between us and the lobby! You must be joking!”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Now, come with me before I have to call back up.”

Ethan was seething, and Merida looked at him with a nervous, apologetic smile.

“I mean, it’ll make a great story one day,” she whispered.

Unamused, Ethan barked back. “That day is not today!”

The guard led them to a small, grey room off the main corridor and instructed them to take a seat. 

“What happens now?” Merida asked. “Are we under arrest?”

“I’ll be right back to explain,” the guard scoffed, closing the door behind him as he left the two alone, and Merida grabbed her phone from her purse at once.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked.

“Texting Casey. Tobias has a get-out-of-jail fund... you know... in case they ever get caught... you know... in public.”

“He has a fund?” Ethan cringed.

“Hey! Don’t be so judgemental! It looks like it will come in handy right now!”

Casey instantly replied to Merida’s text, letting her know she and Tobias would be right down.

As Merida breathed a sigh of relief, Casey rolled on top of Tobias, breaking into a fit of giggles.

“So, how much did you pay the guard to do that?” She asked.

“I plead the fifth,” Tobias smirked. “But it was worth every penny.”

“Let’s get dressed. We should go tell them it was a prank.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Tobias scolded, tugging Casey back on top of him and lavishing her shoulder with kisses. “Of course, we will, but... we can let them sweat a little first.”

“Tobias,” she laughed, offering the weakest of protests. “Our friends are probably pretty stressed out.”

“I know, and we’ll save them...  but not before adding a few more points.”

~~~

OK, so in my head, Bryce and Olivia come in first. After all, while the other four were up to this fuckery, they were paying attention to what mattered most. 😏 Tobias insisted he and Casey came in second - and would have come in first if they considered the entire trip - but he conceded to buying dinner the next time they all went out to make things up to Ethan and Merida. However, he will always maintain the prank was worth every cent!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[hed-romancer]

The use of motifs and irony in Mountains and Badgermolehills by Glass_Onion (Avatar the Last Airbender)

reminder to click!

Mountains and Badgermolehills by Glass_Onion (@glass-0nion on tumblr) is one of the most popular Avatar: the Last Airbender fics out there, for good reason, as it's FANTASTIC. let's talk about it for day 3 of fanfic appreciation month! SPOILERS FOR THE FIC AHEAD

If you haven't read it, which you should, the plot is basically: Zuko gets captured after the events of the episode The Blue Spirit; Sokka also gets captured, and they don't know who eachother are from their cells. they work together to escape imprisonment, and then sokka convinces zuko to tag along with the gaang for a while on the pretense of him convincing aang to join the firelord. the whole story is told from zuko's point of view.

I've read this fic maybe three times, and I've thought a lot about how it's this good, and i think i've finally put my finger on it. a lot of the enjoyability of this fic comes from how consistent the characters act and how it all ties together to not only make a believable story with believable characters, but one with an extremely satisfying ending. (that these characters are also extremely likable and funny is a different matter.)

so, i'm going to break it down into two things this fic uses really well.

Recurring motifs demonstrate who the characters are as people, keep the characterization consistent throughout the story, and highlight how the characters change throughout the story.

Dramatic irony hands the audience insight the POV character does not have, gives the story greater stakes, and hints the ending without spelling it out.

Recurring motifs!

The most prominent recurring motif in Mountains and Badgermolehills are plans. The word "plan" appears in the fic over 100 times, because there are a lot of plans. There's a plan to escape the cell, a plan to escape the outside compound, and only more plans after that.

With planning, a major difference between our two main characters presents itself: Sokka's plans are always (called) stupid, and always work, while Zuko never plans anything and also sucks at improvising. Sokka plans things both with Zuko and behind Zuko's back. Zuko jumps off a cliff without thinking and recites the same theater monologue both times he needs to improvise a threat.

When it is revealed to Zuko halfway through the story that Sokka's plan is actually to convince Zuko to join Aang's side, instead of the other way around, it works well because Sokka's been coming up with unlikely-to-succeed ("stupid") plans the whole time. When his plan works, that makes sense too, because Sokka's stupid plans always work.

At the end of the story, when Zuko jumps off a cliff with no plan to try to convince the ocean spirit to spare the lives of the fire nation fleet, it makes sense. He never comes up with a plan, and he's jumped off a cliff before.

Additionally, Zuko's kindness always works. He never plans to be kind, but he warms up Sokka's cell without expecting to get anything out of it, he hesitates when Sokka is scared of having his wound cauterized, he fights with Aang to protect an old man. And it always works. He can pretend to be cruel, say lines from a theater script, but that only works so long as no one recognizes it for what it is. Pretend cruelty fails him, genuine kindness succeeds.

2. Dramatic Irony

The dramatic irony in Mountains and Badgermolehills is delectable. Because the fic comes entirely from Zuko's point of view, Glass_Onion is fantastic in making sure the audience realizes Sokka's true plan without having Zuko become aware of it.

In chapters 2 and 3, Zuko tells Sokka that he is still planning on fighting for the nation that banished and imprisoned him, and in chapter 3 Sokka asks why, and says that he should stop risking his life for the nation that keeps sending him to die.

Sokka says this: “We’re just in this to escape together. But I’m not- I wasn’t trying to make you betray your nation for the Water Tribe. You aren’t the moon; you’re not about to change the tides of war. But, from an outsider’s perspective, you have to know how this looks.” This whole paragraph is straight irony.

The line about "just in this to escape together" is ironic because what they don't know is they're in it for the long haul now. The line about about not trying to make him betray his nation for the Water Tribes is ironic because Sokka is trying to make Lee betray his nation for his own sake. The line about "you aren't the moon; you're not about to change the tides of war" is ironic considering what eventually happens in the fic. And the line about "from an outsider's perspective, you have to know how this looks" is ironic, because as an outsider, Sokka doesn't know the half of it.

And, irony of all ironies, chapter 3 is titled The Plan. Now, why, after two whole chapters of planning, is specifically chapter 3 titled The Plan? The answer can be found in the other chapter titles. Chapter 8 and 9, after the gaang reunites and Zuko is trying to convince them to join the fire nation while they do the reverse, are titled The Plan Begins and The Plan Continues. Chapter 10, where Zuko discovers Sokka's real plan, is titled The Plan Hits a Snag. But Zuko doesn't get the plan to convince Aang to join the fire nation until chapter 6.

All of these chapter titles refer to the same plan- the one to get Zuko to defect from the fire nation. While the story is entirely from Zuko's POV, the chapter titles describe what is happening from Sokka's end. And from Sokka's end, it is chapter 3, wherein he both hears of Lee's plans to remain loyal to the nation continually hurting him, and also discovers that Lee is actually Zuko, that he comes up with The Plan.

There are a lot of little signals throughout the first half of the fic as to what Sokka's true plan is, and I won't go through all of them, but I want to talk about my favorite.

In Chapter 6, The Talk, Zuko messes around with a loose thread on his shirt, and this exchange happens.

“Keep pulling that thread, it’s going to unravel,” Sokka warns, noticing the movement. “And then you’ll be shirtless and cold and no one will give you any sympathy.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko replies flatly. “It’s already ruined.” 

“Well, you could always turn it into something else, then.”

Zuko frowns up. “Something else?” 

“Sure, no sense wasting good material. You could weave it into something new. Like... rope. Who doesn’t need rope? As long as, y’know, you’ve got the patience to make it into rope. Hm, is that silk?” He considers. “Probably better to just buy new rope, actually. And a new shirt. You’re rich, aren’t you?”

No longer listening, Zuko just stares at the unraveling thread. At the possibilities. 

This exchange shows Sokka as someone who plans ahead and has imagination for what damaged things can become and shows Zuko as someone who is starting to be won over to Sokka's way of thinking.

This constant, just above the surface irony that gets picked up on by the audience after flying straight over zuko's head, not only makes the story more suspenseful, as we wonder when zuko will catch onto what's really happening, but it also means that when the "twist" is revealed to zuko, the audience doesn't also feel blindsided.

it's just so well done. recurring motifs and dramatic irony go so hard in Mountains and Badgermolehills. It's perfect.

Fanfic appreciation month (December) will be me taking time to talk about (at least) one of my favorite fanfics everyday, and then cross-posting it to the ao3 comments section, because my comments have been lacking lately and i'm gonna fix it! i'll be trying to link to the author's tumblr page as well if i can find it, but if i don't find it and you know what it is, please let me know so i can credit them here as well!

[paintpaintpaintman]

Mims! A half-Jacob-half-Babydoll (or the equivalent of those) sheepfolk. She was a kind and loving creature in life, protecting her loved ones from a cruel world and doing her best to provide them with familial love until her very last breath.

Making little oc characters is fun and I want to do it more but also I say that about everything

Anyway!!

I've been planning to do Mims for a fat second. I need to do a proper one of Baa and Yaarjul, then one of another cultist from the Goat's universe named Petra, and a few from Narinder's past. Lamb spouses? I don't know, the list will only grow-

I also really want to make comics with these characters and give a bit of context because my god I have a whole universe in my ass that I haven't been able to properly share

[crossover-enthusiast]

I DID IT!!!!

didnt fully come out how i wanted but WHATEVER i like it and its for you! i have a headache so im gonna. lay down !!

AWWWWW

Oh my god I love this so much- Morthyyyy 🥺

Also

KJDSNKDGS PUMP- actually yeah he WOULD say that

This is so good you did great thank you!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖 /plantonic ofc

[eustassslut]

hi everyone,

this is a very important announcement so please read it.

as I'm sure most of you are aware that Pride Month began on Friday and will last until the end of June. during this Pride Month I will be raising money in the form of paid fanfiction commissions to support a good friend's GoFundMe so he can afford top surgery at the end of August.

for every £1 (around $1.25) you donate i will write you 100 words of commissioned fanfiction in exchange. so if you donate £5 (around $6) you will receive 500 words of commissioned fanfiction and if you donate £10 (around $12) you will receive 1000 words of commissioned fanfiction. if you do not use £s to donate please message me your currency so i can figure out the exchange rate and a organise suitable word count for the money you’ve paid!

if you're interested in commissioning me all you need to do is donate to his GoFundMe here and send me a message with proof (screenshot of your donation or screenshot of the transfer) that you donated to him so that we can privately organise an individual commission for you. you can message me to organise a commission before or after you donate, but i will not begin working on it until after you donate. also please refresh yourself with my rules before donated!

thank you for reading and i look forward to hopefully writing some commissions 💙

[poewriteslemon]

First time with Knives

Summary: You let your demons win and decide to ask Knives if you can sit on his lap, curiosity takes over Knives and some smut ensues

Content: no established relationship, both are virgins, Knives is pretty nice here but will be his usual self in the second part (if I finish that...), reader is female, reader is an overthinker, pet name (Knives calling you good girl & slut, reader calling him master) Only finguring, Like 1.5k words long?

A/N: first time writing smut! I'm sorry if it's not too great <'3 also this is super self indulgent, I only made this for myself but since there's so little Knives smut in here...I must share

NSFW warning!

You've been wondering for a while, how does it feel to be on master Knives lap? To feel his heartbeat, to feel his warmth- or lack of- to have his strong arms around your delicate body. This question has bugged you for weeks, and it was starting to become more of a need than a want. The more time passed, the more you couldn't ignore it and today you finally decided to figure out what would be his reaction. 

"Knives?" You quietly muttered in a room with nothing but the empty piano that you're so used to seeing be played by the man that has captivated your heart. It felt odd being here without Knives around, almost as invading his privacy, but curiosity got the better of you as you made your way to the piano, your fingers gently brushing over the tips of the keys, too scared to actually play any notes to alert the master.

"Y/N?" But there it was, the familiar voice that always made your body jump. You quickly turn around and place your arms behind your back. "Knives! I'm sorry I didn't mean to touch it..." You tried to explain yourself but he only walked towards you, his expression was hard to read under his coat, you could only hope he wasn't angry at you. "Why were you here?" He asks in a softer tone, genuinely confused which makes you sigh in relief, thankfuly this won't be your last day on this planet. “Um..I was actually looking for you.” You admitted, lowering your face to avoid eye contact at all cost.

“Did something happen?”

“No- actually,” You start, taking a moment to collect yourself, finally meeting his eye. “Can we go to your room?” You manage to blur out, a little more enthusiastically than you wanted to. He’s taken it back a little by your honesty, he scratches the back of his head questioning if he should even let you in, and what could be so important that it needs to be talked about privately, but seeing you anxiously wait for an answer makes him give in, he turns around and waves for you to follow him. You smile as you excitedly walk alongside him.

You enter the room, and suddenly all of your anxieties come crashing on you as soon as you realize what you truly wanted. You gulped as your hands fidgeted with each other, how do you tell Knives- basically your master- you want to sit on his lap? And so much more than that??  Your thinking gets interrupted when he points to the bed for you to sit, your heart suddenly begins to beat louder and louder as you feel your chest build a twisted knot. Is now a good time? I shouldn't do it- but when else should I?? Wouldn't he kill me if I even mention this? You tried to speak but words wouldn't come out- “I want to sit on your lap!” ...okay well maybe you just needed your lust to take over your rationality.

His eyes widen as he stares at you, lost entirely for words. “W-what? Why?” He manages to say through the confusion, you cover your mouth as your cheeks heat up- oh my god you dumbass- “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it like that! I’m just…curious” You wish god would just strike you down with lightning already. He takes a moment to think and the room goes uncomfortably quiet, until he sighs and removes his coat, showing his muscular build, has his arms always been that big? And his hands…your mind trails off, losing focus on anything else besides his body. Knives sits on the bed, reaching out his hand to you “Come here.” Your heart feels like it could leap outside of your body, it was almost paralyzing but you still manage to sit on top of his lap, feeling as though you were seconds away from melting away.

Your eyesight gets slightly blurry as your brain- no, your body tries to process any of this. “Is that what you wanted?” He asks, not seeing any point in this, you could only nod in response, thanking god he can't see your immensely flustered face. He scoffs in response and places his arms around you. “You humans are so odd- what's the point of something so…” He says, suddenly stopping as he stares at your tiny body compared to his, your gentle hands becoming a nervous mess, your knees slightly rubbing against each other, your breathing, and your heartbeat so close, how your body felt against his…why did it bring his attention now? “Master?” You question, making him focus again. “You’re the most confusing human I've met, I could never figure you out.” He states, never removing his eyesight from your body. You can’t bring yourself to say anything besides an awkward laugh.

The room goes silent, all you can hear is your own heartbeat. It feels awkward- or are you the only one seeing this awkward? No it most definitely isn’t just you- You continue to overthink everything about this situation but a sudden touch in your leg makes you gasp quietly, looking down to see his big hand caress you, drawing circles in your leg. Oh god oh god…. Your breathing becomes sharper, your eyes somehow losing all focus yet still stare intently to his hand. Knives didn’t know why, but your small body being so near to his…it made him curious. He moves his hands on your upper thighs to see your reaction, another gasp comes out of you, interesting. He pushes on, moving to your inner thigh, every slight touch would make your body quiver in response and beg for more, your legs spread wider as your breathing was no longer trying to hide your lust as it turned more into quiet panting.

"Knives…" you murmured under your breath, turning your head to face him but you can't bring yourself to see his eyes. He tilts his head to try and see your expression, he wants to see your cute face as you melt under his touches, he wants to see what makes you excited and what doesn't, he wants to see you, but you look away before giving him that chance. He grunts silently, moving his hand closer and closer to your sensitive area but he stops entirely, making you almost look at him- but you can't, it's too embarrassing. His other hand touches your belly over your clothes, you bite back a moan as his long finger gently makes his way to your chest, and then your nipple that was showing through your shirt. He begins rubbing circles again, this time a moan comes out, you want him to just hurry up and put his dick inside you, but gosh this felt so fucking good, you couldn't complain. He stops, now putting his hand behind the shirt and touching your warm body, making your whole body tremble, every small touch felt like heaven to you. His other hand still hasn't gotten there yet, and your hips became desperate as you started thrusting a little, hoping something would make your aching body feel something, but there's nothing there. "What do you want me to do?" He whispers into your ear, almost taking a bite but he resists his urges, you gulped and tried to speak but nothing but quiet moans came out, you could barely focus at all and he didn't like your silence at all, so he began to finally touch your aching are, but only slightly over your panties, it could barely be called a touch. "Knives…" you moaned trying to get him to touch you, to fuck you, but he doesn't do it. You couldn't take it anymore "Please…" you beg, but he still doesn't do anything. "Say what you want." You hesitated, but you knew you had to swallow your pride and just say it. "Touch me more..fuck me already please.." You blurred out in between your desperate panting, he smirks to himself, placing a quick kiss on your neck "Good girl."

He finally begins rubbing your pussy, it's slow and nowhere near enough for you, but you still exhale in relief. For someone who's never had sex before, he sure knew how to use his fingers. He used two fingers to rub your area, the rest to touch the surroundings, after a bit, he lifts up his hand and shows you his thick, yet delicate fingers. "You're already this wet, huh? You've been thinking about this for a while haven't you?" He teases, you shake your head no but we all know better than that. He removes your soaked panties to the side, taking a moment to himself. Fuck that's hot, he thinks before he begins to rub your clit with one finger, you loudly moan at the cold surface hitting your warm inside, grabbing his arm to calm down your pleasure, it didn't work. "Wait-" you tried to say more but the sudden thick finger pushing in made your head jolt back with a loud moan, your eyes started to get watery and your body wouldn't stop shaking. "Do you like that? Or would you prefer…" He inserts another finger in, they both push in and out of your wet pussy, making lewd noises that covered the room, it was embarrassing to hear but it made you so desperate to hear more, especially from him. Your hips moved accordingly with his fingers entering you, making loud noises as the two clashed between each other, your mouth drooled as tears began to fall, his hands never stopping from touching their respective areas. "Faster.." You commanded but he didn't obey, he stopped touching your nipple and turned your head to finally see him "I'm the master here, not you." Suddenly his lips meet yours, if you weren't already feeling dizzy then that definitely changed now. You wanted both his hand and tongue deeper and deeper, you wanted him to touch your g-spot, to make you see the stars from so much lust, you wanted the man you loved to turn you into a complete mess.

The kiss was sloppy but you never moved away, even when you needed to catch your breath. He pushes you away for a moment when he realizes so, you gasped loudly as a string of saliva connects the two of you. You could hear his breathing now become less controlled, his pacing becomes faster, you grab his arm tighter and your mix of moaning and panting echoes through the room. You begin to cry at how overwhelming it all feels. "I'm going to cum-" you groaned as you could feel it build up from inside you, he kisses you again, this time using more of his tongue, never once wanting to leave you as his fingers fuck you harsher and faster, he let's out a small groan at the sight of your quivering body, such an adorable human now looks like a total slut. "Knives!" You screamed, your back arching back as you could feel the inside of you get full with your orgasm, you kept gasping for air and your body gave in, he never removed his hand till you came down from your high. He kisses your neck once more, his other hand that has been touching your chest moves to remove your tears. You rest your head on him and your panting turns into breathing again. "Fuck…" you whispered, he stops kissing your neck and finally removes his now slimy hand from inside you, he let's out a quiet moan in between your neck, did this really just happened? 

You turned your body around and placed your hands on his chest, your breathing now becoming normal but your eyes were full of pure lust. He didn't fully show it, but fuck he was hard, who wouldn't be after their first time with someone as cute as you "Please..I want you inside of me" You beg, legs still trembling but needing more, and how could he ever deny such a beauty of her wishes.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER FOUR POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.

[wigster07]

Never Not Commenting Fic List: (my goal of 3-4/Day)

Today's fics read and commented on. If any of these strike your fancy, please check them out and maybe let the author know a favorite line or moment that happened! As with any fic rec, please not the tags and determine if the fic is for you before reading.

Forbidden Connections, Crossing the Boundary - Chapter 1 - Cailean - Willow (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

Rated E / Summary: Kit's easy-going time is coming to an end and she asks Jade for help to face that uncertain future while Jade is struggling with her own path ahead.

Only chapter one of two of this is posted so far and it's delightful. I would say chapter one is more T but sets up for an E rated second chapter.

show don't tell - Geek_and_Nina - Willow (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

Rated T / Summary: Kit is having a mental block with her writing, but it's a beautiful day outside. So Jade takes on a stupid walk for her stupid mental health.

The Show Don't Tell is a delightful series created by @geek-and-nina. There are 31 parts to the series where Nina (who did the crazy thing like I did) and touched a prompt for every day (sometimes more than just the one and weaving them all together). This is a deaf Kit AU that is just *chef's kiss*. I could do a tumblr post just on this series alone and highly recommend it. This is the start of the series and a wonderful starting look into their relationship. (Kit is a writer in this one and carries a little field notebook wherever she goes and that just calls out to me and my little field notebook.)

concert and candy apples - Geek_and_Nina - Willow (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

Rated G / Summary: Jade takes Kit to a concert (yes deaf people like music and concerts)

Another piece of the Show Don't Tell series by Nina. This one has some lovely mirror bits from Kit to Jade from the previous one. (It's about the hands and listen...it's peak lesbian iconic behavior). This one is all about a concert and it has some lovely moments in it.

Longing for the Perfect Kiss - sofys37 - Willow (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

Rated E / Summary: Kit has been searching for centuries, without ever giving up hope that one day she would find the one worthy to be by her side. Jade is just having a regular night out until she meets Kit.

It wouldn't be October prompts without a little horror. This one is a vampire Kit fic with some inspiration from Vampire Masquerade. I'm not familiar with the lore/universe but it shines through and it's easy to get what's going on. There is also a delightful bit of Jade/Elora in this one involving a strap. There is a follow up to this fic that I look forward to reading as I continue my commentfest.

I would love to tag the fic authors on Tumblr but I'm not sure I know them all. Please let me know Tumblr handles so I can tag them appropriately!

I hope you all join me on this Never Not Commenting event for the rest of the month. Kudos, a simple "I loved this", or quoting your favorite line/bit is a wonderful way to show some love back to the people who write amazing fics in their free time for you to get to tag along into the world and enjoy.