#fic: like an old enemy

[anosrepasi]

“You could never shut up in life and now, now when we both need you to say something, you find yourself falling fucking short?” She laughs, leaning her head against the tree, knees shaky under her. The bark is rough and the pinpricks of pain are blessingly grounding as she finds herself listening for even a whisper of a reply. She will go mad, in actuality, if she is going to live like this. -- After Sciropescire, Eivor is haunted by the shade of Ivarr.

[frownyalfred]

fic idea: Bruce and Clark get hit with a certain type of sex pollen on a JL mission that makes them have to fuck each other every few hours or they’ll die. they’re literally addicted to each other, but before that mission they were only friends by the loosest of definitions.

somehow, they manage to keep this from the League and their respective families. until…

[justsomecouscous]

'in my relationship I only want a guy who's 6ft and has muscles' this 'I want a girl who has a big ass and boobs' that

Nah FUCK that

I want someone to lovingly hold my face in their hands and look adoringly at me then kiss me while the fans scream and cry from happiness after waiting for 5 seasons and the old bitter white men to sit seething in their arm chairs

[girl-drink-drunk]

okay, i have had a moment to process this and honestly if sal was gonna die (i figured he would but i dreamt), then yes, i like that he just had a heart attack. considering he's been going through a lot of stress, and this was a brutal fight, it makes sense. but also, in that way, no one really killed sal, and oz knows it, that's why he got so pissed. he just lasted longer than sal, and that's no real victory, not like killing him would've been

[ispyspookymansion]

i dont care much about kudos and hits and stuff but when the omegaverse fic in the tag has more kudos than you do its a little like ohhhhhh right i dont respect any of you people

[mirrorofliterature]

kaysanova appeals to me as a ship because whilst it is romantic, they are fundamentally best friends, it's very domestic, and they are innately attuned to each other.

like it is two dudes who are highly competent and just like each other, so much!

[youngyoo-apologist]

OG!Choi Han they could never make me hate you(Screenshot from [In the Borderline] on ao3

No but the idea of Choi Han regressing, specifically all the way back to Korea is such an interesting concept. He doesn’t remember anything, no matter how much he wants to, it’s like the 17 years he lived in Korea were nothing but a ghost of the past. Especially in the context of TBoaH Choi Han regressing after losing everything for the third time.

He’s watched everyone die before him, he killed the white star, but it wasn’t a win. There is no such thing as winning, or peace, when there is no one else to sit there with you. There is no one else with him to carry the memories of decades that are now lost, Choi Han has nothing but his own memories which he’s afraid of forgetting too.

Choi Han and his family is something I think about so often. I’m sure, he was so loved. I’m sure that when he went missing, they would never stop looking for him. In fact, they never left.

Choi Han being a person who was raised and cared for by such loving people, only to have that taken away from him at such a young age because he was supposed to be a hero.

He was born to be a hero, but that was not a blessing, it was only a curse.

And like, Choi Jung-gun too. He was only fifteen when he went missing, only fifteen and yet he woke up all alone in a world where no body knew who he was.

God of Death when I catch you… when I finally catch you I’m gonna beat you up cause why the hell 😭😭 (I mean I’m sure he had his reasons but it don’t make what he did any better !!)

[narsh-poptarts]

NARSH YOU LU ART IS SO TASTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have copies saved on my computer to look at and use as inspo and AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! THEY ARE ALL SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!

YOU!!!!!!!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaa I LOVE THAT IM SO FLATTERED!!!!!!!! man I was out all day today and did not have service for most of it so then coming home and seeing all the love in the tags was a WONDERFUL surprise aaawwww thanks!!!!!!!!! Saved on your computer,,,, used as inspo,,,,,,, I'll sob and cry forever (LOVINGLY!!!) QuQ

I've been really kind of wanting to go back and redraw an lu thing or two because I have definitely grown SO MUCH as an artist since I made all those (like 4 years ago for some of them!!! CRAZY)

All y'all liking and sharing my stuff is a lot of fun, I see my notifications just tick up and up as one person just goes through liking my entire tag hahahah it's so fun I love it!!!! (Genuinely!!)

[isolabellz]

never not obsessed with them

[lulu2992]

Before things got better, they momentarily got worse…

(Although more violent things happen or have happened in Far Cry 5, I felt this needed a Mature Community Label, just to be safe)

Chronologically, this is the first time my Deputy Taylor’s story (you know, the one I’ll never fully write) really diverges from canon. This is also the least pleasant thing that happened between her and the Baptist.

Context and explanation under the cut:

While John is busy taking Hudson back to her “room”, Taylor manages to grab a knife in his toolbox (with her teeth) and to cut the ropes around her wrists. She considers leaving the Confession room to go look for her colleague, as we do in the game, but she quickly realizes that not only has she no idea where Hudson is, but that trying to find her way through an unknown, presumably huge bunker filled with cultists also isn’t the best idea. Instead, since the chair is still intact in this scenario, she decides to sit down, hold the ropes around her wrists to make it look like she’s still tied up, and wait for John to arrive so she can ask him where Hudson is… and maybe tie him up and steal his key, while she’s at it.

When he comes back, he seems relieved that she’s still here, and he politely (but not without a hint of irony) thanks her for her patience. She tenses when his eyes linger on the ropes for a few seconds, but he then simply smiles at her and asks if she’s ready to Confess her sins. She shrugs and replies that she doesn’t really have a choice.

“Very well,” he says. “But before we begin…”

He comes closer and leans over her, placing his hands on the ropes around her wrists.

“…did you really think that I wouldn’t notice?”

At this point, he’s not smiling anymore. Feeling suddenly cornered and in danger, Taylor pushes him over using her feet and a fight ensues, during which they mostly try to subdue (and not kill) each other. He’s a more powerful opponent than she expected him to be, partly because he’s absolutely furious that she “betrayed” him, and anger makes him stronger. At one point, he even manages to overpower her and, in pure rage, puts his hands around her neck.

A few seconds later, the Deputy’s survival instinct will cause her to deal a powerful blow to the Baptist’s left cheek, effectively knocking him out.

Taylor was wearing a t-shirt when she woke up in the bunker, but it was ripped open by John, as it is in the game, and she lost what was left of it in the fight. She even briefly used it as a “weapon” to try to make him lose his balance. That said, I want to stress that this scene isn’t supposed to look sexy, and they were too busy fighting to really pay attention to that anyway. John also lost his glasses that day, as you can see on the right of the picture.

I don’t know if you noticed the bruises on Taylor’s neck, on her knuckles, and on John’s cheek here, but if you did, that explains them.

Later in the story, when their Wrath has considerably subsided and their relationship has positively evolved, they will get to talk about this incident again so they can move forward together. Acknowledging your past helps you build a better future.

[anosrepasi]

1-4?

Yay <3

Tell us about your current project(s) So Prima Lingua has revived itself again and is probably my most current project. The thing that I love about PL in particular is that I've come to adore every chapter of it, which is unusual for a project, especially one as long as PL but with such a short number of chapters. I thought I would really struggle through the Booker and Nile chapters because at least the Nile chapter is a lot of rehashing scenes from Lingua Franca with additional context and my brain didn't want to do that for the longest time. Progress is actually really close, I have two chapter left, including the one I'm currently writing, and the fic is complete. Which is also crazy to think about cause that'll be my second long-fic completed. The other project that's been taking shape in my drafts is a ghost fic for Assassin's Creed: Valhalla because unfortunately when I replay games I tend to get weirdly attached to the characters I know are doomed. Ivarr was one of those characters, and I thought his death had way too much angst to not play around with the idea of him haunting Eivor afterwards. Progress on that is that it's almost completely written I just have to nail the epilogue/ending and some placeholder text spots. What I love about it is that it is a fic about conflict and guilt and I really really love the dialogue in the fic because I made one of the characters unwillingly mute for most of it, and that gets addressed.

Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing Honestly, I'm looking forward to Nolexi and where I finish off the Lingua Franca series. I have a couple of scenes I refer to in my head that I'm looking forward to writing that are coded in my brain as: Yusef in the dark, Booker in Chicago, Nicolo gets mad, Nile in the museum, and the family dinner. They're kind of acting at my waypoints for the fic and oooof I have lots of feelings about all of them and cannot wait to get into the strange messy world of estranged and grieving no longer but still dysfunctional immortals.

What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? If I had to pick a scene from an existing fic, I wish I could see and have a fleshed out version of Booker exploring the Chicago World's Fair in 1893 that I touch on in Prima Lingua. I know I wanted to have Booker end up in Chicago for a while back when I was writing Lingua Franca and having Nicolo experience the world fair as a second hand observer was one of the best unexpected plot points I created when writing chapter 4 of Prima Lingua but. I also hint that Booker was literally a victim of H.H. Holmes in the fic and it gets brushed off cause Booker and Nicolo are too busy being amazed by everything happening at the world fair. Which having been to just a Venice Biennale, I get it. If i was immortal and getting murdered got in the way of seeing everything i could, i would also minimize the whole murder thing. Alas. I don;t really want to write this but I wish i could watch an episode of Booker and by extension, Nicolo, wandering around the Chicago world fair. i think it'd be fun.

Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like) (I wrote more than a paragraph) From chapter 1 of Nolexi, I have an exchange that just I was like. Wow! This is fucking rough! And what a great way to set up how rough this is going to be for everyone! I had a bit of character conflict in Lingua Franca, but the first two fics in the series are mostly man vs. situation/setting conflict not interpersonal conflict and Nolexi is about all the character conflict. So yeah. Many a struggle ahead for the group.

“No, I understand you fine, it’s not your language skills," Booker motions to himself, “I haven’t spoken Provincial since I was a child.” Nicolo tilts his head at the statement, his confusion evident for a moment before something like understanding, though understanding for what Booker couldn’t begin to fathom, replaces it with a blank clarity. “It’s a lonely life, being so far removed from that which you consider home.” And that’s- that’s too close to something Sebastien doesn’t even want to acknowledge and like a fool his mouth is on the defense before his brain catches up. “You’d be the expert in that, I think.” Nicolo’s sad smile doesn’t waver and Booker is ready to shoot himself out of this conversation. Fuck. He just always has to get the last word in doesn’t he. Nicolo rises from the table and Sebastian flinches if expecting a blow. “Goodnight, younger brother. Rest well.” Great job, self.

Fun Meta Writer Asks

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Jak and Daxter Thursday Part 2

(As promised, the Less Angsty Part.)

The onlookers all seemed to think Jak had slipped out of the Precursor craft at the last moment. That was just fine with him: it meant no one had seen him teleport out, carrying Damas into the tower. Leaving him there had been terrifying -- even if the monks in the Convalescence Ward had believed him to be a Precursor himself, and vowed to care for Damas with a reverence that made him sick, it was hard to trust his father's care to others. But he had appearances to keep up, just as his other self had warned him. All he could do was focus on his next steps.

Sig had taken the throne as interim regent in Jak’s place, as while he was more than capable of satisfying the battle requirements of a Spargan king, he wasn't yet of age. That was a mercy, but Jak knew Sig loathed the role. Damas had been like an elder brother to him from the moment he staggered through the gates of Spargus seeking refuge. Sitting in his place felt as wrong for him as it did for Jak.

Jak turned a tired smile to Daxter, who met it with a knowing look. Tess raised her brows at Daxter, but he tiptoed to whisper in her ear that he'd explain later. Jak clapped a hand to Keira's shoulder in camaraderie as he passed, and she returned it in kind with a light squeeze.

There was a pain in her eyes Jak remembered too well. Everything had come out in bits and pieces from the moment Haven had traded Jak to Damas, and Keira almost regretted digging for answers. Learning that a beloved parent was capable of such thoughtless cruelty to someone else's child "for the greater good"- well. They'd had their fights, but Jak wouldn't have wished that feeling on her even if she'd joined the Krimzon Guard.

"J- sorry, Mar."

Jak managed a bittersweet smile. "For you, I can still be Jak."

Keira bit her lip and looked skyward for a moment, blinking rapidly until she had her facial expression under control.

"...okay. Jak, I'm...I'm going to denounce him. To think that all that time, he knew- I. I don't think I'll ever- it's like I woke up and someone replaced my dad with a complete stranger."

"We never blamed you for any of it," Jak answered earnestly. "Spargus won't hold it against you if you don't denounce him. We all answer for our own choices."

Keira blinked hard again, and nodded. "And this is my choice. I'm choosing you and Daxter this time. Like I wish I had before."

Jak reached up to squeeze her hand. "...thanks, Keira. We...I missed you."

"I missed you too, Jak." Keira let go to fold her arms across her middle. "Can we start over?"

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Jak nodded. "I- yeah- yeah we- that sounds good."

Keira offered a wan smile, then let him go. It felt like torture, climbing the last few platforms to the balcony. Sig was there, but so was Samos. And so was Onin. And while Jak knew they were only there because Sig wanted them within firing range if they tried something, it made him hesitant to continue forward. He didn't want to be anywhere near the people who had known about Veger's plot and blithely co-opted it for their own uses.

"Jak, m'boy! Well done!" Samos chortled merrily, wearing that grandfatherly air Jak had always fallen for before.

Not anymore.

"I'm not "your" anything." Jak stepped past him in a hurry. He didn't trust himself not to snap if he remained within arm's reach of the sage.

Sig rose from the throne and held an arm out to him with an understanding look.

"Mar," he said softly.

He clasped arms with Jak, and nodded solemnly.

"I'm proud of you, kid. Your- Your father would be proud."

"He is," Jak answered softly. Then he pulled Sig down to his level by the shoulder to whisper in his ear, "Dax is going to take over the diplomacy stuff down here. Meet me in the C-Ward upstairs."

Sig straightened and frowned down at him. "What'd you do, cherry?" he murmured.

The smirk Jak gave him in reply was so grim he could have sworn it was Damas who stood before him once more.

"I shaped my own fate, like my father taught me."

For a long time, Sig just looked at him. Then he shook his head. "Boy, if I didn't already know you did impossible things-"

The Convalescence Ward was a hive of activity the instant Jak stepped through the door. He frowned. The light eco should have rewound the crushed bones and organs almost perfectly! Doubtless his father would be sore a while, and Jak hadn't been able to fully repair the broken leg before running out of eco, but that wouldn't warrant this much fuss, would it? He opened his mouth to ask what the problem was, and a senior monk rushed to him.

"Young prince! Your father-! He- he-!"

Irrational thought it was, anxiety twisted in Jak’s stomach. "What about my father? What are you talking about?"

The old woman took him by the hand, a slightly disturbed awe wavering in her voice.

"He lives! Your father lives, Mar!"

Relief washed over him, and with it, the events of the last 48 hours that he'd been shoving to one side.

"Let me see him," he said urgently.

"I...must warn you first, Mar," the monk cautioned, and Jak's stomach flipped again.

"He is...changed. The Precursors returned him from the edge of death -- by hand! No mortal can experience such a thing and remain unaltered."

Ah. Just the normal "Mystical Whooo Crap", as Pecker called it.

"I've seen that kind of thing before. I'm not afraid," Jak assured the monk. "Please. Just take me to him, Ruma."

Damas was awake now -- he hadn't been when Jak had seen him last. One leg -- the still broken one -- lay propped up where monks could splint it. Dark blue shapes twisted and curled under the skin, as if lights were shooting through his veins. The rest of him looked strangely normal for having just been yanked back from the edge of death. The monks not splinting his leg quickly backed away from the bed as Jak approached.

It had worked. The timeline was closed now, and Damas lived.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Jak dropped to sit in a heap on the edge of the cot. He fumbled for Damas’s hand and held it to his chest as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're here," he croaked.

"I'm here," Damas repeated, almost confused. Then his face split into a wide smile. "I'm here."

Jak blinked. Something wasn't quite right about his father's face. Something about his eyes was a little brighter than he recalled. And the teeth...Too many? Too few? Too sharp? His mind couldn't decide for a few seconds before the bones in question seemed to settle into a fairly standard -- if unusually sharp -- set of human teeth.

A memory of his own face, saturated with both light and dark eco, rose to Jak’s mind, and an uncomfortable thought followed on its heels.

Had he altered his father's physical form by healing him in the Precursor craft?

Further speculation was cut short when Damas pulled his hand free to tap playfully against Jak’s cheek.

"You once pushed a chair in front of the door -- a toddler's chair, mind you now -- because you thought it would keep me from going to work without you. You never could stand being left behind, could you?"

He sounded like he wasn't certain whether he was more amused or annoyed.

So much pain, so much loss, and here they all were at the end of it all, still standing. So to speak. The exhilaration of not being the only one left to tell the tale filled him with a heady feeling he would later come to recognize as joy.

With a giddy laugh, Jak threw himself forward and into Damas’s chest.

"We did it!" he crowed, "We did it, we did it!"

Damas’s arms folded over his back, and his chest vibrated with a soft chuckle.

"So it would seem! Though how I'm to explain this, I'm not certain."

"So just don't explain," Jak snorted, "and let them come to their own conclusions."

He ducked away from the hand tweaking his ear with a laugh.

"And let someone start some crackpot theory about our already bizarre bloodline?" Damas feigned offense. "That sounds like a terrible idea!"

"Terribly clever, I agree."

Damas lightly thumped Jak over the head. "Impudent little- When I get out of this cast, I oughta-"

Finally seeing an opportunity, a monk gracefully interrupted. "My lord, your leg requires time and watchfulness to heal correctly. You must leave it immobile for at least two weeks until we know what the eco is doing in your bloodstream."

She turned and nodded respectfully to Jak. "I trust you will keep the injury well tended-to?"

Jak slid over to occupy the space between Damas and the small nightstand. He leaned back against the wall beside his father and nodded back.

"Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. I'll make sure of that."

"This is elder abuse," Damas complained, just as lighthearted and almost giddy as his son. "You can't make me stay in bed! That's mutiny!"

"No," Jak retorted with a broad grin, "That's what happens when Sig gets here and finds out you're alive!"

"Argh, you're right!" Damas slipped an arm around Jak’s neck in half a hug, half a headlock. "And then I'd have to contend with Daxter!"

Jak gently poked Damas in the side with a smug grin. "Daxter? No no, Tess is the one you should be afraid of."

Damas flung his other hand into the air in mock exasperation. "Rot me, it's a conspiracy! I'm outnumbered!"

When the monks had finally taken the hint to leave the pair alone to catch up, Damas sobered slightly. "You know we'll probably have to make a plan for if the Precursors choose to retaliate for this."

Jak's eyes danced with mischief. "What're they gonna do without their technology? They're as powerless as Veger!"

Damas raised a brow -- no, Jak hadn't imagined it, there was something weird about his eyes now. The pupils weren't supposed to have little points of light like stars, were they? Not for humans.

"Alright cub, what did you do?"

"What did Daxter do," Jak corrected, deciding to deal with the possibility of his father gaining a Light Form later. "He confiscated the old one's staff, and then made them drop the ship with the Precursor we hatched from the Stone last year. Because they weren't being responsible with time and space."

Considering the young Precursor had been sitting on the beach that would one day hold Sandover Village, happily building elaborate sandcastles in lieu of blueprints, Jak had a feeling the new owner of the time machine would have fewer agendas to push. And given how the glowing being had greeted them as "My friend Mar" and "little Scout-brother", perhaps subsequent timelines would be kinder to his family. The other ottsels' horror and chagrin boded well, anyway.

[heich0e]

you’re reblogging a lot of your older stuff and it’s really awesome to see your reactions to your works, especially ones that i love and enjoy and still come back to read <3 you’re really an amazing writer!!!

stop ur so cute :'( i always feel rly annoying when i reblog old fics but i have said a lot of shit on this website in the past 2.42 years and i am GENUINELY surprised sometimes when old fics/posts pop up in my notifs bc i have forgotten abt them!!

[13eyond13]

A surprise fun fact you might not know about me given what a lawlight head I am -I like "friends to lovers" way more than "enemies to lovers"

[sunfoxfic]

Anyway. Akumatization as traumatic. Losing your autonomy and sense of self. Hawk Moth taking advantage of you at your absolute worst. Knowing there's nothing you can do short of not feeling negative emotions, but that stress just causes you to feel more negative emotions--people bottling up everything until it explodes in an absolutely perfect storm for Hawk Moth himself. Seeing your friends and family turned into villains and there's nothing you can do about it--only two people can do anything about it, and they're barely surviving themselves. Not wanting to be the trigger of an akumatization. The guilt. The fear. The anger. The collective trauma. Everyone knows someone who's been akumatized, and more and more people are getting akumatized themselves. It doesn't matter how much it's no one's fault--it's everyone's fault. Everyone feels like they can do better, be better, and it's making the problem worse.

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

bridgerton WISHES it had the complexity of plot and conflict of even the simplest fanfic i have read in this month alone.