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phantasmaltrain · 1 year

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split tracks chapter two time !! i’m definitely trying to work out an update schedule and so far with my up and down motivation biweekly seems stable enough :]

check it out on ao3 if you prefer that!

or read below the cut!

general summary :

emmet goes home early; both in hopes of solving his headache, and solving the mystery behind the day’s happenings.

word count :

1,712.

he did, inevitably, check out early at the end of his break, as much as he hated the sentiment. nobody on staff seemed to dare ask why; both of the subway bosses hardly took off time, so any point in which they did take breaks for themselves was not to be questioned.

fumbling for his house keys, emmet slowly unlocked the front door, closing it behind him. hanging his coat and hat on the rack next to it, the man trudged himself straight to his room, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace.

putting away all his work things, he also made sure all the latches on his team’s pokeballs were open, so they could come and go as they pleased while he was fixated on what he needed to do, despite the still mounding headache.

quickly getting himself in an outfit more comfortable for around the house leisure, ( or as close to leisure as he could get, ) he picked up his laptop case from his nightstand, which was fondly covered in all sorts of gear station and bug-type stickers, before settling in a cross-legged position on his bed, the notes and fabric scraps carefully held in one hand.

archeops was one of the first to come trodding over out of intrigue, hoisting himself up onto the bed with his feathery claws and sticking his snout underneath emmet’s arm while staring up with wide, curious eyes.

emmet could not help but snort at that, briefly acknowledging the fossil pokemon with a scratch under the chin and a tilt of his head.

“ thank you for checking on me, archeops. i am doing something important right now. i ask you to keep your cab settled. ”

seeing as archeops’ response was to wriggle into a more comfortable position, still resting his head in place, emmet was quite sure the message got across.

opening his laptop with a hum, he unfolded the paper scraps, checking them both over a second time.

‘space-time distortions.’

so he had mixed up the name earlier. not too big of a sweat.

quickly entering the phrase into the search bar, idle hands made their way to scrolling, silver eyes skimming across the screen as emmet silently hoped something, just something , would shed more light on the subject than what paper scraps could.

clicking open one of the links, emmet leaned forward, squinting faintly at the screen. clearly copying the man’s behavior, archeops outstretched his neck, his snout resting on the corner of the keyboard.

something about “ultra wormholes,” now. how they were similar to.. whatever had torn up his and ingo’s offices.

..if this stranger just wanted to give him a worse migraine, goal achieved. at this point, even staring at the laptop screen had begun to hurt, firing off little pops and sparks behind his eyes. emmet pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep inhale, holding said breath, before letting out a sigh.

clicking on the screen reader with a scowl, emmet set the laptop on his nightstand, rolling over on his side and listening begrudgingly as a monotone voice began to drone the article out loud.

archeops snuggled his way up against emmet with a concerned chitter, and the silver-haired man simply responded with a hum.

“ ultra wormholes have been a recorded phenomenon in alola for centuries and still occur in modern time, unlike its ancient sinnohan counterpart, space-time distortions. distinct holes in space that lead to other dimensions entirely; through intensive research, it has been observed how pokemon manage to traverse them with ease, but have proven to have detrimental effects on the human body. ”

emmet could not help but tense at that, lips pressed shut in a thin line. even if it was a robotic, disembodied voice emitting from his laptop, and not something that could comprehend the bubbling stress and anticipation sitting in the back of his throat, there was still a silent indicator of a “ hurry up, ” practically spilling off the man in waves.

“ in recent influxes, people who have reportedly fallen through these aforementioned wormholes have suffered severe bouts of amnesia; that, at least, seems to have stayed universal between the two variants. in older times, it was rumored that one of ancient sinnoh’s wardens, and even the hero of hisui herself, had fallen from these spatial rifts, never to return to their home time. “

so if either of them had fallen in; emmet thought, with a mounding sort of dread in his throat, they would’ve been plunged to dragons knows where with no recollection. great to know. chills practically rolled down his spine as he shuffled to shut off the laptop; he had heard enough for now, and he was feeling no better

arm falling slack over the side of the bed, the silver-haired man lay still there for a few moments, eventually hoisting the stray limb back onto the bed and under the covers.

archeops had made himself cozy curled up on top of the blanket at emmet’s side, chittering and crooning with an occasional parroted “ safety checks! safety checks! “ in an attempt in echoing ingo’s voice.

oh.

right.

he had checked out early.

which meant he would be home alone for the next few hours.

drawing in an inhale, emmet buried his face in the pillow, with a long, exasperated sigh.

..it wouldn’t kill him to take a nap.

unfortunately for emmet, he apparently wasn’t allowed to have nice things anymore.

for one, his so-called ‘nap’ went on way longer than he would’ve preferred; there was no light coming through his bedroom window. considering the light switch was off as well, it was safe to say either ingo or one of his pokemon had shut it off.

two. his entire top half was freezing. and soaked. and there was a small weight on his chest; not a joltik, he would’ve been electrocuted by now. considering the tiny bits of something solid he was able to pick out in the dark, clinging to his hair, skin, shirt; it was snow.

another heap of half-melted snow.

balling his hands into fists, he shoved off the covers, grabbing whatever was rested on him with a loud string of half-coherent expressions of annoyance, storming across the room and flicking the switch on.

yep. more snow.

well, at least whatever distortion thing this time didn’t tear up his room.

now pausing to look at the object rather harshly grasped in his hand, he seemed to fumble with the thing for a few moments, squinting.

it resembled a pokeball, sure, but it seemed more…worn. old. weathered.

it was definitely empty; flicking open the latch, ( not a button, oddly enough, ) emmet was, in fact, able to confirm the thing was vacant. it didn’t have the same plastic and metal hand feel, though. the reddish half seemed slightly more weighted, as if carved from stone or rock, while what would’ve been the white half seemed almost wooden, indicated by texture, coloration, marbling; everything.

it was fascinating, quickly derailing his thoughts to examine such a thing in his hands, yet oh-so frustrating once his train of thought returned to the station. right. his bed was still soaked. so was he.

checking the time on his xtransciever, which was charging on his dresser, it read roughly 8:30.

alright. his head didn’t feel like there was a firework show setting off inside it anymore, so maybe it would be a good idea to report this whole…distortion situation to someone.

according to that article, there was a branch of the interpol that could handle that. the station in nimbasa wasn’t too far away; he considered it walking distance.

quickly changing out of his cold, drenched pajama shirt and bottoms into something more presentable, emmet grabbed his casual coat, pocketing the odd pokeball as well as archeops’ while walking and fitting his arms into the sleeves at the same time, leaving his room and making his way down the stairs.

the feathered pokemon in question, who had hopped his way to his little bed after the distortion had decided to drop a heap of snow into the room, quickly followed, returning to his pokeball once he had caught up with emmet.

( seeing as the kitchen light was on, ingo was likely in there, presumably having his evening tea. the tv was running in the background; some documentary, if he tuned in hard enough. ingo wasn’t much of a documentary person unless it was intriguing; he simply enjoyed the background noise. )

emmet never understood how he enjoyed that stuff.

the tea, that is.

ingo always liked his drinks sweet, so emmet only wrinkled his nose in contempt when he noticed the cup in his hurry down the stairs.

( the silver-haired man looked up from his mug, leaning against the counter with a hum. resting the cup down, he took a few steps in approach, raising a brow. )

“ emmet? where are you going at this hour? it is not exactly late, but i was told by cameron earlier that you were not feeling well, and you were asleep by the time i got home to ask how you were doing. ”

“ i am emmet. i am filing a report to interpol. i will be back in the next hour. i am verrry much fine. ”

emmet’s hand rested on the door handle, briefly, before quickly making his ‘escape’, leaving ingo very little room to question why.

( ingo was not stupid. the other’s rushed departure and lack of clarification was plenty of a clue. emmet did not lie often; he knew he hated doing such a thing, but withholding things masked behind vague words was something he apparently wasn’t opposed to. )

( plus, he had explained nothing about what had happened that morning. asking to check his office, slamming the door shut, and walking out like a hurricane had shredded through the room with bits of glass and debris digging into his skin like nails. )

( emmet was a bad liar, but he was worse at making what he was doing seem insignificant. grabbing his coat, keys, xtransciever, and chandelure’s pokeball, ingo turned to follow; in his pajamas and a trench coat, sure, but clearly not intent on being left in the dark. both literally and figuratively; it was dark outside. )

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marcusoseman99 · 6 months

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Songs of the isle pt. 12

*Vick is sitting at the edge of the forest with a book that has paper and post it notes hanging out of it, he flips through the book as he mutters to himself*

Vick: This is the day.....the day he won’t escape my questions I’ve got him now.

*Vick picks up a backpack throwing his book into it and the backpack has water, sandwiches, and other books the only one visible book title is, “survival guide for dummies” he throws the backpack around his shoulders and he heads into the forest.

He is wearing a green waterproof jacket that is far too big for him with brown cargo pants that are tucked into his boots he marches through the trees, and small hills of the forest like he was walking through his own home ignoring the fact he nearly killed him months early.

He comes to the lake his hands trembling as flashes of his encounter with the Kappa run circles around his mind, he quickly leaves back into the forest until he reaches a tree that has burn marks on it he places his hand onto the tree*

Vick: Still warm....Apollo will be onto whatever made these marks by now.

*Vick follows a trail of claw marks and burned trees and grass till he happens upon an old man in a clearing, he is dressed in a dirty white shirt the type that was seen hardens of years ago with equally or more dirty leather trousers, with bare feet as Vick gets closer he can see that the man was short about half of Vicks height.

Vick reaches the man he turns to face Vick his skin is black but unnatural black, like ink and to contrast his skin is his white hair that has strange affect, Vicks eyes have trouble seeing the induvial strands of hair*

Vick: his skin it looks like I could put my hand through it, like a void without end trippy.

Vick: Hi, I’m Vick....sorry but have you by chance seen a redish wolf wondering around he’s a friend.....kind of.

Short man: no I haven’t.... I’m sorry child.

*His voice is rough and aged but overall not threating, speaking in a strong Icelandic ascent *

Vick: Hmmm.....did you see what made those scorch marks.

Short man: Again I regret to say I didn’t..... also my name is Stefán.

Vick: Nice to meet you I'm Vick and can I ask why you are in the forest?

Stefán: I could ask the same thing, young man.

Vick: Yeah.....good point.

Stefán: *laughs* Well I am here..... for something to help me....I have an illness and I hope there is something here to help.

Vick: Why do you think that?

Stefán: I heard a rumour going around about something..... something that could help in this place and at this point *laughs* I am desperate.

Vick: Well good luck with your search...... I really hope you find what you are looking for.

*Vick starts walking away till Stefán voice calls out *

Stefán: Wait Vick the thing that made those marks is still out there is it ok if I travel with you......strength in numbers.

Vick: Sure that is a good idea.

*The pair walk through the forest together side by side*

Stefán: May I ask why you are traversing these woods?

Vick: Well.....that wolf is a friend of sorts I guess but more importantly he can lead me to answers.....I hope.

Stefán: Then my young friend I hope you find your elusive companion and fortune favours you.

Vick: Thank you, Stefán.

*The pair walk further till they reach a large opening in the forest*

Vick: I don’t remember seeing this on the map I have.

Stefán: This area isn’t natural; this space was made.

Vick: how do you know that?

Stefán: The area it isn’t uneven or jagged its almost symmetrical, couldn’t have happened naturally...... I was a crafts man I’ve worked on hundreds on things over the years simpler to these spaces.

Vick: Sounds like a nice Job.

Stefán: It was me and my brothers’ crafting special items from the caves and mines of our home they *inhales* brought the attention of man, elves, even the gods came to see.

Vick: I guess that answers the questions of if you are human then.

Stefán: but?

Vick: It raises another..... what are you then if that’s ok to ask I don’t know if that is rude or not.

Stefán: *chuckles* not at all, child.

*Stefán sits down on the grass then he looks to Vick, Vick sits next to him while they look at the expanse of the manmade space in the forest’s trees, like a scar from years ago that has healed but still remains regardless*

Stefán: I miss the days where I could craft.....yknow create something anything but those times feel so different like I have the memories of someone else......someone better.

Vick: why did you stop.

Stefán: I didn’t want to however my illness it made me hurt my family so they...... banished me to Midgard.

Vick: What did you do?

Stefán: Things that I wish I was able to forget that thing I am looking for can offer that..... a new life without these burdens.

Vick: That sounds like a real gift.

Stefán: Guessing there is something you wish to change.

Vick: I wish I could look in the mirror and see who I am on the inside or that I smelled right and people see what should be there..... I wish that my mind would stop attacking me.

Stefán: Gods all these things and it seems as though the world owns us both a new start in life, my friend.

Vick: I guess it does.

*Vick hands Stefán one of the sandwiches from his bag and they eat together*

*It turns to dusk as they pair are still sitting and talking, they both stand up*

Vick: ill need to go back.....my grandparents will freak if I am not home soon.

Stefán: Good they dont deserve that..... I am glad that you have someone to go back to I’ll be in the forest when you return and if you what I’ll still help you.

Vick: Thank you.

*Apollo runs out from the trees covered in ash with cuts and bruises*

Apollo: Vick back away from him.

#comics #gay #horror #lgbtqia #mythology and folklore #original character #script #webcomic

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nah-beee · 1 year

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"Metamorphosis: My Journey as a Butterfly"

Have you wondered what it feels like to go through the journey of transforming from a crawling caterpillar into an elegant butterfly? This is my adventure as I envision life from the perspective of a butterfly discovering the world in a new way.

The Cocoon: A Time, for Change

In the journey of life we all come across moments that resemble the phase of a butterflys metamorphosis. It's a time of change, where we discard our identity and embrace the unknown. Personally I view myself as an explorer traversing through this transformation navigating its paths. Similar, to a caterpillar I too have felt a yearning for change a longing for growth and an urge to break free, from my self. My life symbolizes a cocoon of self discovery and renewal—a space where I can delve into my potential and emerge as a vibrant and evolved version of myself.

During this phase, I found the courage to let go of the past, shedding the limitations that had held me back. I explored new areas of self-improvement, welcoming the challenges of change with a positive attitude. The cocoon became my sanctuary of self-reflection, a place where I could confront my fears and insecurities head-on. As I journeyed through this transformative period, I learned that change is not always easy, but it is undeniably beautiful. The process symbolized a metamorphosis of the soul, where I emerged as a butterfly, free to explore the boundless skies of possibility. I realized that growth requires a willingness to embrace the unknown and to trust in the wisdom of the universe.

Taking Flight: Freedom in the Skies

I imagine being a butterfly, breaking free from the same old routines and expectations. As I open my wings for the very first time, I'm met with a world full of amazing things. The endless sky above and below me becomes my personal canvas, and with each graceful glide, I paint my unique story.

In life, there are moments when we must spread our wings. It's a call to embrace change, to explore our potential, and to venture beyond the known horizons of our comfort zones. We should explore what we can do and go beyond what we're used to.

The world is like a big collection of experiences, and each experience asks us to be brave and try something new. So, I decide to be like that butterfly, enjoying the excitement of flying and the freedom of the open sky.

In my butterfly daydream, I would explore various cities and beaches, experiencing new things for the first time. This simple act would represent finding joy in my life. Sometimes, it's the little things that bring us the most happiness.

The Life Circle: Wisdom Gleaned from Nature.

In life, I've always been fascinated by the lessons nature teaches us. Nature has this amazing way of showing us how life works, kind of like a story.

Think of me like a caterpillar when I was younger, maybe when I was in my teens. I was really curious and eager to learn, just like how caterpillars eat a lot of leaves to grow. I was getting ready for what's next in life, being curious of being an adult and what is it feels like. As I grew up, I went through a time where I needed to figure out who I really was. It was a time for deep thinking and making changes, kind of like how a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. I had to let go of some old ways and beliefs to make room for new ones.

When I came out of that cocoon, it was like spreading my wings, just like when a butterfly takes its first flight. I felt more sure of who I was and where I was going or what I want. I have these kind of goals. And during this time, I realized that life is not just about getting somewhere but enjoying the journey because life is like a puzzle, with each piece representing the experiences and challenges that make up the whole picture of who I am. Every step makes me a better version of myself, and I'm learning to embrace it all with patience and grace.

The Fragility of Beauty: Appreciating the Present Moment

In life's colorful journey, it reminds me that beauty doesn't last forever. Butterflies are delicate creatures with pretty colors and patterns. They show me that the best moments in life are short and sweet, just like a butterfly's dance in the sunny meadows.

When I think about this, I see how our lives are a bit like butterflies. We go through life quickly, and there are special moments that are as delicate as a butterfly's wing. These moments can disappear in the blink of an eye. In a world where life moves so fast, it's easy to miss the beautiful things around us.

I want to be like someone who loves butterflies, always looking for moments of beauty. These moments can be simple, like a colorful sunrset, the sound of rain tapping on your window, the taste of your favorite homemade meal, the feeling of sand beneath your feet at the beach, or a smile from a stranger. Each of these moments is like a fragile work of art that should be treasured because they might not happen again. The fragility of beauty, like a butterfly's wings, reminds me to live in the here and now. It tells me to enjoy every moment, savor the good parts of life, and remember that time goes by quickly. Just as a butterfly accepts that its wings won't last, I accept that life is short, and I find peace in appreciating each moment, knowing that's where true beauty lies.Have you wondered what it feels like to go through the journey of transforming from a crawling caterpillar into an elegant butterfly? This is my adventure as I envision life from the perspective of a butterfly discovering the world in a new way.

The Cocoon: A Time, for Change

Taking Flight: Freedom in the Skies

The Life Circle: Wisdom Gleaned from Nature.

In life, I've always been fascinated by the lessons nature teaches us. Nature has this amazing way of showing us how life works, kind of like a story.

The Fragility of Beauty: Appreciating the Present Moment

Final Thoughts; Embracing Change

We humans often don't like changes. We get comfy doing the same things every day, like staying in our cozy cocoons. But, just like the caterpillar turns into a butterfly, we too should be okay with changes. Changes are just a part of life; they're what makes life interesting. So, what can we learn from butterflies?

Well, first, they show us that happiness can be found in small moments. Think of a butterfly moving from one flower to another, sipping nectar. It's a reminder that we don't need big, exciting things to be happy. There's joy in the little things, like a good laugh or the feeling of the sun on our skin. Butterflies also teach us to see the beauty around us. Their bright colors and graceful moves remind us that nature is amazing. Similarly, there's beauty everywhere if we take the time to see it – in the people we love, in the warmth of the sun, or in the kindness of strangers.

So, let's all imagine ourselves spreading our wings, even if it's just in our minds, and being open to change. Let's find happiness in the simple things, just like a butterfly does. Let's appreciate the beauty in the world, just like a butterfly does. And let's remember that when things change, it's a chance for us to grow, be happy, and have a more colorful life.

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read.

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

#writing advice #longform writing

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prof-peach · 4 years

Note

Hey Professor! I was wondering if there's a story behind your aversion to water and water type pokemon?

Well yeah kind of. But it is a bit of a long one, so buckle up buttercup.

When I was very young I lived on a farm, a stones throw from the ocean, you could leave the back door, and walk down about 30meters and be at a cliff face that dropped down to rocks and waves that would crashed against the stone cliff face no matter the weather, and though the view was beautiful, it held a lot of danger. I was free to wander, my family were very free-reign with my upbringing, and so I had a lot of time to myself. They had to run a farm, handle a herd of 300 strong Miltank, plus the 15-20 Tauros, numerous gogoat, torchic, some Rapidash, mareep, you know, the works. No time to watch the kid.

Our farm was so far away from other people, I never got to hang with other kids, but I liked that a lot, never was social. So my one friend was Valka, an angry little vulpix who had been entrusted to me, instead of being put down. She had broken into the torchic coop and got herself stuck, after killing many of them. So after fighting for her life and arguing her case to the adults, I was granted her to prove I could reform her, or be trusted? I’m not entierly sure, it was a very long time ago, all the same, we paired up, and eventually bonded through reading and working together. A silent partnership, I watched the chickens, she watched me, it worked for us.

Where I was got nothing but heat, all the time, winter was hot, spring was hot, summer, like the devils butthole, autumn, hot but rainy. The sweet relief from this was swimming in the ocean. Back then I was confident! I’d wade into tide pools, hang around all kinds of water Pokemon, loved it, you could hardly get me out, eventually I got a little older and was trusted to use a reasonably sharp metal stick to go spear hunting for stunfish to eat, and krabby to boil up. It was good, even Val would hop about the rocky ledges to the tide pools, and accompany me far out, almost to the edge of the reef during low tide.

Little did I know the dangers I was right next to, as a child you don’t focus on that, you deal with what’s directly in front of you for the most part. So one day I’m out with Val, fishing as per usual, one of the farm staff was on the beach keeping an eye on me half heartedly, but we wandered round the coast’s harsh corner, into new territory, and out of sight. The rocky ledges were harder to traverse but I was determined, I had plenty of time to check out the new location and get back before the tide changed, so why not right?

One misplaced footing, that’s all it took, I slipped into a pool that was 4-5 meters across, scratched my leg on some dead coral, and sunk, way deeper than any rock pool I was use to wading into. This under water cavern opened up into a space that could possibly hold a Wailord. It was dark, and cold, and the tide seemed to pull me further down. Val being a fire type was adverse to get in, and I am to this day glad she didn’t jump in. With the water dragging me further down, I felt my whole body go cold as the light above got dimmer, and the pressure of being under that far began to hurt my chest, ears feeling like they’d explode under the depth.

The scratch I’d acquired on my way into this watery space led Pokemon to me, first small, a school of chinchou, they seemed passive and quickly left me to sink further. Then a great cluster of Staryu, one even tried to pull me back up to the surface, but they again fled, something moved behind me, made my blood run cold. I swivelled and clocked eyes with a Carvanha, one, then two, no three. I heard the area was riddled with them, but because I stayed in shallow water I never got too close, and seemed to consider myself safe. One got a little closer, but they all fled, something far bigger and way meaner was close by.

I heard water above me shift, something disturbed it, looking up all I could see was a figure, big but coming towards me, and below, another form shifted, the far meaner Pokemon everything had been afraid of. A Sharpedo, white tip on its fins, rows of teeth as it’s mouth hung open, coming at me with unnervingly slow speed. I’m usually pretty chill with Pokemon but this one just didn’t take its eyes off of me, seemed to look through, I was snack sized compared to this thing, and it was very aware of that.

As the air began to run low, and fear set in I struggled and kicked, and squirmed, and did just about everything I could to look bigger and meaner than the Sharpedo, who just kept slowly swimming forward, so calm yet completely focused. It took a bite at me, enough to nick my leg, but I was pulled to one side, by a familiar family Pokemon. My mother had a particularly kind Azumarill, who had noticed torrents of fire being spewed from Val as she sent an alarm to my disappearance above the water I had sunk beneath. The big water mouse Pokemon had dove in from the cliffs at the end of the garden and come to the rescue, just in time too.

We all jetted our the ocean at such speed, landing hard on the coral rocks, scrapes and scratches, covered in cuts from impact, the shadow of that Pokemon that stayed in the deep rock pool vanishing into tunnels. I never ran so fast to get to land, it was far too close for my liking. I did not volenterily get in the water again after that.

In the years ahead while I stayed on the land, occasionally fishermen would be pulled to shore, missing limbs, some not surviving the waters. There was sightings of that same Pokemon, out far in the deeps, past the reef, but occasionally its white tipped fin would be seen in the odd deep pool, waiting for something to fall in.

I couldn’t get back in the water after that, not confidently. It’s not that I don’t like water Pokemon, I love them, most are very kind, well rounded and certainly fun Little dudes, I just can’t give them the care and time I would like, I don’t like to be in the environment they prefer, and getting into a man-made pool with them is about as far as I can go. I use to not even manage that, it’s taken me years to get ahold of my fears, and now I will happily don waders and get into fresh water ponds and lakes if they’re small enough and trustworthy. I do all the pond care on the island, but rivers and the ocean are still a no go for me. I don’t mind a boat ride, I can stomach a wade into water up to my knees, but any further and I lose my cool.

Over the years I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been fully submerged, and none of them have been pleasant. The only time I willing have gone into water is to get Val, who had been thrown in herself. She was afraid, I had to go get her out.

Now days Professor Grey handles mostly all of the ocean based work, and I get a lot of time with his water Pokemon when they come on land, so it’s been easier being around the ocean as a whole, and coming to terms with my weaknesses. Don’t think I’ll rush to get in anytime soon but it’s not something I’d never do at any cost. I know it’s beautiful down there, and it holds some special memories for me, so there will always be a quiet respect for it all, and the things that live in it.

Despite fears I would never condemn Sharpedo as a Pokemon, I have had the joy of working with some lovely individuals, and despite my personal aversion, I know they have a huge part to play in the eco system, and hold great importance to many other species and the way the environment manages itself. They are good, I just got a bit of bad luck with the one I had a close encounter with.

#pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks

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keltonwrites · 3 years

Text

Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends? When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now. My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open. Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me. Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with. I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend. “Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?” No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”

“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”

“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters. The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town. It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story. But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.

New friend who is moving away.

New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.

Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy. A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving. Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway. “Hey, are you a smokejumper?” We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance. But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.) So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better. The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself. But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults. In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down. “Did you just move here?” “I did!” “I served your family last week,” she said. “Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.” “Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.” “We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this. “You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.) “Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.” “It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.” “Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing. “It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her. “No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.” “K, good luck making it to the lake." Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again. But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore. Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad. In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

#amwriting #newsletter #making friends #how to make new friends #adulthood #small town life

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

A week passes, and her interaction with Agent Mulder fades into the recesses of her memory. She files it away under “times a cute guy hit on me,” alongside overly friendly waiters and optimistic students.

She and Ethan’s anniversary is coming up next week and she’s been grappling with the best gift to get him; something practical or indulgent? He is a prolifically thoughtful gift-giver and she feels pressure on each special occasion to select the perfect thing to give him, though the pressure comes only from herself. She’s contemplating this as she finishes up an autopsy, replacing the organs in the chest cavity and suturing up the Y-incision.

“Dana,” the pathologist about to come on shift calls out to her, “someone is asking for you.”

“I’ll just be about ten minutes, Trudy. Who is it?” she returns, gently settling the young woman’s liver back into her body.

Trudy shrugs. “Tall guy in a suit, cute, dark hair.”

She feels a flutter in her belly and then immediately chastises herself.

“Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

She apologizes internally to the decedent as she rushes through the final steps, not taking quite as much care as she typically does.

After scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair, she steps into the hallway to find Agent Mulder sitting on a bench. His back is against the wall, his long legs crossed casually as he studies the art hung opposite him. He looks so composed and confident it unnerves her.

“Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?” she asks, forcing confidence she does not feel into her own voice.

The smile that lights up his face when he turns to look at her makes her flush, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Being unable to hide her emotional response behind her fair complexion has always been something she resents.

“Scully, good to see you. I wanted to follow up on the Dugan case, you said you were interested in understanding the motivation behind your autopsy findings,” he says as he stands and walks towards her, his tall frame looming above her such that she has to look up at his face. He stands close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the stubble coming in on his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I was curious about that,” she replies, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why does this man make her so nervous?

“If you’d like, you can meet with the lead behavioral analyst on the case. They can tell you how they drew parallels between the wound pattern you observed and the perpetrator profile,” he offers, a slight tilt to his head as his green eyes jump around her face as though he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“That would be great, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies self-consciously, feeling as though she asked for something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d never requested this.

“Do you have time today?” he asks, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. She knows it’s just past 4 pm.

“Um, yes, actually, I’m done with classes for the day and that was my last autopsy. I was just going to do paperwork for a bit, but I can defer it until tomorrow.”

A small smirk flashes on his mouth, but quickly disappears.

“Alright, why don’t you meet them at that cafe you mentioned in, say, thirty minutes?” he asks.

“Okay, that should work,” she replies, “what’s their name, so I can find them?” She should have just about enough time to change and get there by 4:30.

His eyebrows lift as though he just realized he forgot something, and he pauses before continuing.

“Uh, Fox. His name is Fox. I’ll describe you to him, he’ll find you.”

“Fox?” she asks dubiously, “is that a real name?”

He purses his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“Alright, well, thank you, Agent Mulder. It was, um...it was good to see you again.” She extends her hand with her chin held high, trying to portray an air of professionalism and not one of a girl with a crush, which is how he makes her feel.

He takes her hand and smiles at her warmly, a little something coy behind his eyes.

“Likewise. I hope to see you again very soon,” he says confidently, and she feels her belly tumble yet again.

——————————————————————————

He stands in the hallway until Scully disappears into the staff locker room, then books it over to Cafe Adamo to get a quiet table in the corner. He’s not sure exactly what he’s after here; she has a boyfriend after all. He just hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week. When the lead analyst on the Dugan case had a family emergency and needed to take leave, he jumped at the opportunity to take over the case, getting a little thrill from reading over her report and incorporating it into his profile. It felt as though they were creating something together.

He watches the clock, a pit in his belly as he wonders how she’ll react to learning that he tricked her into having coffee with him. He barely knows her, but gets the sense that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. That is, in fact, what draws him to her. Well, that and those plush pink lips. He hasn’t been this affected by anyone since he and Valerie split.

When the door swings open and she steps through in fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, he feels a wave of nausea. She’s even more beautiful in street clothes than she was in scrubs, her tiny waist curving up into a modest bustline. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on him, she quirks her head to the side and her eyebrows knit in confusion. His heart starts to pound and he stays glued to his seat, watching her traverse the room until she reaches him and gives him an expectant look.

He holds out his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he says with a guilty smile, and she lifts her chin before tucking it to her chest, taking his hand with a pensive expression.

“I see,” she says, her tone skeptical. It’s clear that she is unsure of his intentions.

“I am the lead behavioral analyst on this case, for the record. I am now, anyway,” he offers, and watches her doubt deepen. What the hell did he think was going to happen, catfishing an unavailable woman into a date? “Will you sit?” he asks hopefully, and she does, though he can tell by her posture that she is one wrong move away from fleeing the scene.

Someone comes by and takes their coffee order, and he sets his profile on the table, getting right to the reason he asked her here lest she think he’s completely full of shit.

“You noted that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the exact same location, giving the appearance of one wound,” he explains, “we’ve seen something similar with the other victims, and at this time my theory is that the perp lost someone close to them in this manner, perhaps a family member or parent. I believe they’re re-creating the injury that killed their loved one, though because these crimes are so rage-fueled they feel compelled to injure the victim more extensively than just the one wound. The repeated stabbing in the same location provides an outlet for that rage while preserving the one-wound injury that is the cause of death.”

She reads over his profile with interest, nodding along as he speaks. “That’s very interesting,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, and he feels a swell of pride at her praise. “You had to trick me into getting coffee with you to tell me that?” she adds flatly, and now it’s him who is blushing.

She smiles victoriously at having made him uncomfortable, a bright, dazzling, toothy smile, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted he is to her. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and just shrugs.

Their coffee is delivered and he watches intently as she licks at the foam on her cappuccino. Her blue irises dart up to meet his and he startles at having been caught, picking up his own cup and taking a big gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.

“Your name sounds very familiar,” she begins, “why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Uh, I had a bit of a reputation at one time,” he says with a regretful tone. “Are you familiar with the X files?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Spooky Mulder,” she says with realization, “that’s where I’ve heard your name.”

He grimaces. “Not my favorite nickname, but yes, guilty as charged.”

“But you’re in the BSU now? Not on the X files anymore? I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around Quantico,” she remarks, and he can see her relaxing a bit.

“No, the X files division was shut down a couple years ago. I was in the BSU before I reopened the X files, and transferred back after I was reassigned. I’m part of a small BSU team that works out of the Hoover building, so I’m not down here all that often these days.”

“Why was the X files division shut down?” she asks before licking more foam from the rim of her mug, and he shifts in his seat.

“Well, how much time do you have?” he asks with a shy smile, “it’s a long story.”

She returns his smile. “Not that much time. So you’re into aliens and all that paranormal stuff?”

“Well, let me ask you this, Scully,” he says, leaning in, “do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but answers. “Logically, I’d have to say no.” He nods and sits back, but she continues. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities…”

“Conventional wisdom,” he interrupts, “I just happen to disagree with it.”

“On what basis?” she asks, curious but not derisive, which is what he’s used to getting in response to his theories.

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Scully, you’d understand why I believe in such extreme possibilities.”

She tilts her head expectantly. “Do tell, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you Fox?” she asks with a haughty tone, though a playful one, and he blushes again.

“Please, it’s just Mulder. I even make my parents call me Mulder. I’m sure you can understand why with a first name like Fox.” She makes a face that says she can’t argue with that, and he continues. “I’ve seen things, Scully, things that defy all logic and can’t be explained by the laws of science. Repeat abductees, men who can stretch their bodies and travel through the slats of a heater vent, prehistoric monsters dwelling in the woods.” She’s giving him a doubtful expression, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. He laughs a little. “I know I sound crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be true. When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She screws up her mouth, politely suppressing the “you are certifiably nuts” expression that wants to present on her face. He’s used to it, and takes no offense.

“What I find fantastic, Mulder, is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look,” she says in a tone that is both playful and sincere.

He smiles at her, sure he looks like a total dope. This conversation is more intellectually stimulating than any he’s had in months.

“You should come see the X files sometime, Scully. Tell me how you make scientific sense of what you see.”

“You have them?” she asks with wide eyes.

He shrugs guiltily. “I may have acquired a few on my way out.”

Her head dips lower in disbelief. “Is that allowed?”

“No, definitely not,” he answers with a chuckle. If only she knew the extent of his flaunting of bureau policy during his time on the X files.

She smiles at him in a way that he can only interpret as openly flirtatious, an acknowledgement that she finds his insubordinate behavior a little bit enticing. As suddenly as the smile appears, it vanishes and she checks her watch.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says as she stands.

“Right, you’ve got somebody waiting for you,” he says with a regretful tone.

She looks at him guiltily, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves. He sits there for a long while, staring at the door she exited through.

“Shit,” he says aloud to no one.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #alternate universe #fanfiction

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Text

30 FAVE BOOKMARKS of 2020

Happy New Year’s Eve-Eve, everyone!!

And welcome to the Last Fic Rec Wednesday of 2020! No one asked for this at all, but I enjoy making unprompted lists for everyone, and I’ve been doing this list since January 2020 :P

I’ve read some FANTASTIC fics this year, and now seems like a good time as any to share with y’all some of those amazing fics I’ve added to List of Love! I had to even whittle it down today to get it to 25 – the number I like as a “top xx” thing, so I am very disheartened that a lot of my bookmarks this year didn’t make the list :( It’s been a long time since I’ve done a “last XX bookmarked fics” list, maybe I’ll do one of those soon.

First off let’s start with 5 honourable mentions of Other Fandom fics, because I spent a lot of my summer indulging in my renewed Rimmster ship so I have a few amazing RD fics y’all should read LOL

FIVE OTHER-FANDOM HONOURABLE MENTIONS

Réveillon by Big_Edies_Sun_Hat (T, 6,431 w., 3 Ch. || GOOD OMENS || Christmas Eve, Angst, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Established Relationship, International Travel, Moments in Time, Historical / Biblical Interpretation) – After a gloomy history with Christmas, Aziraphale shows Crowley how he has learned to seek out the good in it by traveling around the world on Christmas Eve. Highlights include: the Annunciation; potholes; international teleportation; peace and hope; arson; Lupe gets a doll of her very own.

Out With It by Clipped_Ionian_Vowels (T, 10,255 w., 1 Ch. || RED DWARF || Post-Ace, Reclaimed Slurs, Getting Together, Sexuality, Coming Out) – Rimmer finally comes home, hangs up the wig and decides to set the crew 'straight' about one thing; he's not. And neither, it transpires, is Lister.

Standards by Kahvi & Roadsterguy (E, 11,725 w., 2 Ch. || RED DWARF || Hard Light Rimmer, Bickering, Humour, First Time, Over-Protective Kryten, Cranky Rimmer, Exploring Derelicts, Arguing Leads to Awkward Flirting, Showering Together, Intense Orgasms) – Yet another supply raid on a derelict leads Rimmer and Lister to an argument, which in turn leads to... something that's still fairly close to an argument. You get lonely in space, but you do have standards.

speed limits (and how to break them) by darcylindbergh (E, 13,750 w., 4 Ch. || GOOD OMENS || POV Crowley, UST/URT, Mutual Pining, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Crowley’s Anxiety, Gift Giving, Humour, Touching, Awkwardness, Love Confessions, Sussex, Fantasies Become Real, Marriage Proposal, Sensuality, Bottom Crowley) – There is a trick people do with a mint candy and a bottle of cola which results in a small eruption, and something very like it, for much higher stakes than a laugh in a car park, is about to take place in Aziraphale’s back room. Or: what happens when you finally unscrew the cap on a six thousand years of repression, and drop in Valentine’s Day.

Hand in Glove by lizardkid (T, 14,223 w., 1 Ch. || RED DWARF || Post-S9, Internalized Homophobia, Repression, Hurt/Comfort, Lister Whump, Worried Rimmer, Ableist Language, Cuddling) – Lister is mortally wounded in an accident. Rimmer is forced to reassess everything.

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

AND NOW: The reason y’all are here! Please know I love EVERYTHING I’ve read and bookmarked, just these ones have really stuck with me and I’ve already re-read a few of these, so yeah, please do enjoy.

Please note that these fics aren’t all necessarily NEW fics for 2020, more like they were new to ME, and ergo, I bookmarked and started reccing them this year! There are a few newer fics, though, so yeah, apologies if you were expecting only new things.

Hope you all have a good New Year’s Day, and I hope this list makes the long weekend a great one until my FIRST Fic Rec Sunday of 2021! I might do two on Sunday just to celebrate the new year, hahah. <3 Love you all!

TOP 25 JOHNLOCK BOOKMARKS OF 2020

SEE ALSO:

Top 20 Bookmarks of 2018

Top 25 Bookmarks of 2019

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John's favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#johnlock fic recs #long post #my fic recs #fic rec wednesday #fave fics #red dwarf fic recs #good omens fic recs

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lesdemonium · 4 years

Text

romtober day 1: fake dating

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2421 Summary: Jaskier is invited to his parent's annual banquet, and to keep the nobles (and his parents) off his back, he asks Geralt to pose as his husband. Geralt completes this task a little too well.

read on ao3

The banquet was the picture of opulence. Not a single expense was spared, and Jaskier could read the envy in the partygoers eyes as he passed them. His mother really had outdone herself this time; even Jaskier had to admit he was impressed. It was difficult for him to admit that, considering his family was as close to the heart--and hurt feelings--as they were.

Even the music was amazing. Now that took some effort to admit to. It would have been better, of course, if he’d had the opportunity to play for the banquet, but Jaskier knew that was a far-fetched idea at best. His mother and father still liked to tell the other “respectable” company that he was off studying, taking his time and exploring the world, before he came back to accept his title and lands. Truly, it was giving him a good head on his shoulders, allowing him to be worldly and lead the people of Lettenhove with grace and wisdom. It helped that they only referred to their wayward son as Julian; even in these circles, Jaskier was proud to say his stage name carried.

Despite the beauty, despite the fine wine and food, despite the beautiful lords and ladies around him, Jaskier was having a terrible night. It was his own fault, he knew. When he had received his invitation--really a summons, as Jaskier knew he had little choice but to accept--he had panicked. Another event in which his parents tried to court him into staying and taking over as Count, and tried to get him to court a lady or two of agreeable upbringing. Jaskier couldn’t stomach the dread. So he had asked Geralt for a favor.

Geralt was delivering.

“Darling,” Geralt started, drawing Jaskier’s attention back to the task at hand--a conversation with the Duke of some township or other. The hand Geralt had on the small of Jaskier’s back sent shocks of heat through Jaskier’s body, every time it moved ever-so-slightly. “There was a vineyard in Dorian, wasn’t there? The one where the owner gave you five bottles?”

That was an interesting retelling. Much more polite than saying that Jaskier stole the bottles after the owner had insulted Witchers and tried to cheat Geralt out of his pay for dispatching a pack of drowners tainting the water supply. Jaskier was learning a lot about just how talented Geralt could be at traversing a crowd of nobles--when he wanted to.

“Ah, there’s some controversy over that. Technically, when the borders changed, that vineyard moved to Maribor. Ask any of the workers, though, and it’s still in Dorian,” Jaskier answered, just barely remembering to add a smile at the end.

The duke guffawed and wagged his finger at Geralt; apparently Jaskier had managed to settle something for them, but Jaskier hadn’t been listening to the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t listening now, even, as Geralt continued on with the Duke as if this was something he just did on a regular basis.

Geralt was baffling. Jaskier had expected him to say no to Jaskier’s favor. Why would he want to pretend to be Jaskier’s husband at the party Jaskier’s parents threw every year? Even Jaskier didn’t want to go, which might have been partly why he even asked Geralt in the first place. Part of him was holding out hope that Geralt would give him an out.

Instead, Geralt had not only agreed, but had listened to every bit of advice and every pointer Jaskier had given him. All night he had been impressive--he had even managed to charm Jaskier’s mother. Jaskier did not often find himself at a loss for words, but apparently watching Geralt entertain a noble with stories of monster slaying with an unfortunately well-behaved hand on the small of Jaskier’s back was enough to render Jaskier speechless for hours. He had been the disappointing one all night.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said, bowing a little as he shrugged himself out of Geralt’s grasp. It was rude, Jaskier knew, and if Geralt had done it he would have… well, he would have expected it, and maybe would have silently thanked him for the out, while outwardly complaining about his lack of decorum. But Geralt had been the picture of grace all night. Jaskier was the one that had been disheveled and thrown off guard and, at times, downright rude.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, however. Let the nobles talk. He knew they all would as soon as they left no matter what happened tonight, so Jaskier might as well underperform rather than living up to the lies his parents were no doubt telling the other people of the court.

The night air was crisp and cool against his face as Jaskier pushed the doors open onto the balcony. Technically, this area was off limits. No guest was allowed here and the servants had gone to great lengths to make sure that no one made it out here. But what were they to do when the Viscount of Lettenhove was the one trying to escape to his parent’s balcony?

Finally, Jaskier felt as if he could breathe. It should have been a relief to have Geralt so willing and helpful, and really he had been completely wonderful all night. Far better than Jaskier would have ever expected. And yet, he was so thrown off and upset by it. It would have been so easy to just lean into this, to accept Geralt’s exemplary behavior and pretend, just for a night, that Geralt regularly called him things like “darling” and “love.” That Geralt kept a hand on him at all times. That Geralt checked up on him when Jaskier left abruptly. As he did now.

“I must ask you to return--” a servant started, but Jaskier cut her off.

“It’s alright, Orla. He’s my husband,” Jaskier said, and even he winced at how bitter his voice sounded. He didn’t turn to see if anyone else noticed, though. Instead, Jaskier leaned against the railing, his forearms resting on the cold stone as he stared out over the grounds.

He heard rustling behind him and a door closing, but it was still a moment longer before Geralt joined him against the stone wall. There was still a space between them and Geralt, bless him, seemed almost hesitant to step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, finally leaning against the stone beside Jaskier.

Jaskier huffed an extremely forced laugh. “Wrong? What could be wrong? You’ve only been perfect all night. Everyone loves you. Even my mother, who could find fault in a saint.”

“And… that’s a problem?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier could almost picture the way his eyebrows must have been knitted in confusion.

Jaskier sighed, then buried his face in his hands. “No, darling, of course not. You’re doing exactly what I asked. You’ve made a wonderful impression and have made everything far easier for me.”

Geralt stood silent beside Jaskier, probably trying to decipher what, exactly, Jaskier was going on about. Jaskier wished he could do more to help, but Jaskier was just as flummoxed. This should have been perfect; a night Jaskier would tease Geralt about for years to come. Jaskier should have been preening under the attention and prideful over how much the other partygoers enjoyed Geralt. Instead, he felt empty and cold and as if he was missing something.

“You don’t seem like you in there,” Jaskier finally settled on.

The truth was far too big for him to speak just yet, so he settled for a half truth. The man inside wasn’t the Geralt Jaskier knew and loved, and neither the man inside nor the man outside was a Geralt that belonged to Jaskier.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be me. I thought you wanted me to be your husband,” Geralt said, and his voice was just a touch too serious for his teasing to be believable.

Jaskier straightened up and met Geralt’s eye, finally. Geralt looked lost, like a little boy who was just trying so desperately to be good, and coming up short. Or, perhaps Jaskier was projecting, since that was the way he often felt, especially when he was in Lettenhove. Geralt had a hand on the stone wall, and Jaskier covered it with his own.

“I always want you to be you. I’m sorry I made it seem as if I would ever want someone else,” Jaskier mumbled. He took a moment to stare at their hands, before finding Geralt’s eyes again. “This is all just a bit… much.”

Geralt hesitated a moment, then took a step forward. His hand turned beneath Jaskier’s and he took Jaskier’s fingers, his thumb running absently over Jaskier’s knuckles. Jaskier waited, but Geralt didn’t say anything, and Jaskier found he wasn’t surprised. The silence hung between them as they both waited for Jaskier--of course it would be Jaskier--to break it.

“I don’t think I knew what I was asking for when I asked you to do this,” Jaskier whispered, and he took a step closer to Geralt. The tips of their shoes just barely brushed together and if Jaskier wanted to, it would only take a quick sway to bring their lips together. “I don’t think I asked for the right thing.”

Geralt hummed. “What would you ask for now?”

“For you to accompany me. As yourself. Rather than as a puppet or novelty for the court,” Jaskier started. He wanted to say more, opened his mouth again to do so, but the words died in his throat.

Geralt’s eyebrow raised. “I doubt your mother would approve of me as I am for your husband. Didn’t you want to avoid her appeals to court suitable ladies?”

Jaskier looked away. Back over at the gardens. Geralt’s fingers tightened around his, as if Geralt was afraid Jaskier would pull away. This felt different than the hand at Jaskier’s back, but had Jaskier’s heart beating faster nonetheless. “I shouldn’t have had you pose as my husband at all.”

There was a long silence, and it wasn’t until Geralt tapped Jaskier’s hand with his thumb that Jaskier realized Geralt was waiting for Jaskier to continue. To explain. Jaskier sighed.

“You’ve been amazing in there. I didn’t expect you to… be so wonderfully physically affectionate, or use pet names, or talk me up and be otherwise… casually affectionate. Truly, you are a master at your craft, and if this whole witchering business goes to the wayside, you should consider a future on the stage.” Jaskier huffed and bit the inside of his cheek. He would keep himself together. “It’s easy to believe it’s all real. You play the part so well. There’s not a single person in there that doesn’t believe us as a couple, and sometimes even I forget.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. His voice was low, firm. Get to the point, Jaskier heard.

“I don’t want to spend a night pretending. I don’t want to enjoy myself too much, only to wake up to reality come morning.” He pulled his hand back from Geralt’s grasp and swiped it over his face. “I’m sorry, I thought I had a better handle on myself than this. I thought I could separate reality from fiction, but apparently I have fooled myself too thoroughly.”

The embarrassment rose through his body to paint his cheeks a vibrant, hot shade of red, and Jaskier could not bring himself to look at Geralt again as he turned toward the doorway.

“We should go back inside. I’ll get it together, and we can continue on as if--”

“We could start smaller,” Geralt interrupted, taking Jaskier’s hand again and using it as leverage to pull him back. Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled, and faced Geralt again, his eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. “Make reality. Different.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried, very carefully, to find the words he was looking for. Nothing sounded right. “You’re not proposing--”

“I’m proposing we change tomorrow, rather than tonight,” Geralt answered. He took a step closer to Jaskier, his free hand cupping Jaskier’s hip. “Build up to tonight.”

Geralt dropped Jaskier’s hand in favor of trailing his fingertips along Jaskier’s cheekbones, his jawline, his lips. Jaskier found himself breathless, almost dizzy, and he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that this was real. It seemed far more likely that he had managed to stumble, hit his head on one of the many heavy, solid, and jagged rocks, and was now having a very imaginative, blunt-force-trauma-induced dream.

“Geralt, I’m afraid I might have been struck with delirium. It feels rather like if I asked you to kiss me, you would,” Jaskier whispered. Surely his imagination wasn’t good enough to create the feeling of Geralt’s thumb shifting as Jaskier’s lips moved. Jaskier may have to come to the conclusion that this was real.

“Why don’t you try it, bard?”

Jaskier let out the breath he had been holding, and rested his hands on Geralt’s hips. He opened his eyes again to find Geralt staring at him with probably the softed, most fond smile Jaskier had ever seen on his face. It was that smile, that barely-there tick of the corners of his lips that gave Jaskier his courage. Jaskier smiled back, just as small and soft, and Geralt stopped tracing Jaskier’s lips and held his face instead.

“Please kiss me,” Jaskier breathed.

The words were barely out of Jaskier’s mouth before they were swallowed into Geralt’s. Jaskier’s arms wove themselves around Geralt’s back, pulling him closer, and Geralt’s hand crept up Jaskier’s back as well. Geralt still held his face, cradling Jaskier’s cheek carefully, no matter how they moved together.

The air was just as cool as it had been when Jaskier stepped outside, but now Jaskier found himself warmed by the heat of Geralt’s lips. He put every ounce of longing into the kiss, and was almost surprised to find just as much wanting in Geralt. They had wasted time, so much time, but Jaskier was already quite fond of their methods for making up for that.

Finally, they had to part. Neither strayed far, though. Their foreheads pressed together, their breaths intertwined as Jaskier’s heart settled. Geralt’s thumb stroked Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier could hardly hear the din of the banquet hall over his own disjointed, trailing, endlessly giddy thoughts.

“If I ask you again tomorrow, will your answer be the same?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hummed. “And every day after that,” he answered.

#my writing #octoberfest #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #i'm so bad at tagging things #put me out of my misery and just read this fluff #lmao #romtober

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showyoumyfavoriteobsession · 2 years

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I saw this image on Twitter and since I am completely incapable of having normal feelings about video game music, I went into a fugue state and wrote nearly 2000 words about my favorite tracks.

The image has Spotify codes if the song is on Spotify, and QR codes to the songs on YouTube if not.

I also remixed the prompts a little because I didn't have stuff for all the original ones and I didn't have the patience to space it out over 30 days lol. I very much did not do hard mode because I love Darren Korb's music too much. Template, rambles, and honorable mentions under the cut.

Title screen music - Katamari on the Rocks - Katamari Damacy

Is it possible for a song to go harder, to bang more severely in the seconds after a game loads than in this game? I think not. Katamari Damacy is a wild fever dream, and this title screen song launches you straight into it.

Opening level music - First Steps - Celeste

All of Lena Raine’s music for Celeste is wonderful, but the first level holds this amazing tone of eagerness, hopefulness, and accomplishment all at once. Honorable mention to “Timber Hearth” from Outer Wilds and “Instrument of Surrender” from Disco Elysium.

8-bit or 16-bit music - Overworld Theme 1 - Super Mario Bros. 3

I’m very much a new-school gamer, so some of these categories were tough for me. But one of my earliest gaming memories was playing SMB 3 on my friend's Gameboy Advance SP, and this track takes me right back there.

Music from a console exclusive - FitBeat - Beat Saber

Is VR an exclusive console? I’m counting it. Honestly I’m pretty ‘meh’ about most of the original Beat Saber tracks, but this one gets you moving.

Hub/overworld music - In Case of Trouble - Bastion

Bastion’s music is extremely special to me, and this song is both the title theme and the music you hear whenever you return to the Bastion itself. It’s soothing and restful while also being cheery; it’s the perfect background to upgrade your weapons, drink some potions, and listen to the dulcet tones of Logan Cunningham’s voice before setting out again.

Relaxing music - St. Eriksplan - Death Stranding

All of Death Stranding’s soundtrack (mostly by Low Roar) is incredibly relaxing; Low Roar is one of the few bands whose music I can listen to while working even though it has lyrics. The songs usually played in-game when you were on a final approach to your destination, often after sneaking tensely through a field of BTs or traversing rough terrain, and they were a breath out in the forbidding, empty landscape of the game. Honorable mention to ”Florence” from Florence, “Time for Stocktake” from Wilmot’s Warehouse, and “Camp Approach” from Firewatch.

Music from an indie game - INFRA BRAD - Extreme Meatpunks Forever: Bound by Ash

Most of the music I listen to is from indie games, so I opted for a very obscure one. I got the first Extreme Meatpunks Forever game in an itch.io bundle, and although the combat was clunky and the art was a little rough, the story and world-building were so compelling that I bought the sequel Bound By Ash. The sequel improves on the original in every way, and the music absolutely slaps. I almost went with “On Our Way”, an acoustic song that’s part of a wonderful emotional beat in the middle of the story, but decided on “INFRA BRAD”. This game is all about punching fascists, and this music sure gets you to that headspace!

Music from a shooter (1st or 3rd person) - Clip Joint Calamity - Cuphead

Cuphead is a shooter don’t @ me. All of Cuphead’s music is ‘30s-’40s style big band, and the aesthetic is impeccable. This one is from a very satisfying fight in the first part of the game, and I think it captures the environment really well.

Music from a licensed game - Milk Chocolate (End) - M&Ms The Lost Formulas

I don’t know how this game ended up in our house - probably an old Scholastic sale - but it was a staple of our childhood. It’s a surprisingly decent Crash Bandicoot clone with blatant M&Ms branding splashed all over it, and even as kids my sister and I were impressed by the soundtrack. We only finished the game once or twice, so we played the first few levels over and over a lot - this is the theme from the final section of the second level, and it’s always been one of my favorites.

RPG battle music - Take Control - Control

Again, playing fast and loose with the definition of RPG here. (It has RPG elements!) This isn’t quite a music-based boss battle - it’s arguably not even a boss battle - but it’s one of the coolest sequences in this game chock-full of cool sequences.

Puzzle game music - Reconstructing More Science - Portal 2

The Portal games were some of the most personally influential games I’ve ever played, and to me this track really captures the perfect balance of chaotic action and pensive puzzle-solving in Portal 2. Honorable mention to the “Puzzle Solved” tune from OneShot and “Customer Service” from Wilmot’s Warehouse.

Music that makes you sad - 14.3 Billion Years - Outer Wilds

Outer Wilds is one of the most emotionally affecting games I’ve ever played, and suffice to say this is one of the last songs you hear in your playthrough. This song truly makes me have to stop and catch my breath every time I hear it. Honorable mention to "Turn Back" from The Beginner's Guide.

Music you like from a game you don’t like - Light of Nibel - Ori and the Blind Forest

Ori is a peak “just because I don’t like this game doesn’t mean it’s bad” game. It's objectively a great game! I am simply not a metroidvania person, and my struggle to enjoy the gameplay dampened my reaction to the story. But the music is absolutely outstanding, and I listen to it regularly.

Music with vocals - Good Riddance - Hades

There are lots of songs in Supergiant Games’ repertoire with vocals; honestly, I don’t even think this is the best one. But the gameplay experience of battling through the Underworld over and over, relentlessly and brutally punished, and then emerging cautiously into a room to hear this song floating to you… it was pretty incomparable. (This is the duet version, but the solo versions are also beautiful.) Honorable mention to “Mourning Song” from Pyre and “In Circles”, “Paper Boats”, and “We All Become” from Transistor.

Boss battle music - Leshy’s Theme - Inscryption

Inscryption was another game I had complicated feelings about, but what I didn’t have complicated feelings about was that the aesthetic was on point. The art, sound design, and music are all incredible. This is the theme of the Act 1 final boss battle, and it feels like it picks you up and drops you right back into Leshy’s cabin.

Music that makes you laugh - A Terrible Fate - Outer Wilds

When you get certain non-canon endings to Outer Wilds, you get rewarded by this “oops all kazoos” rendition of the title theme! Honorable mention to “wavedash.ppt” from Celeste.

Music you never get tired of - Spike in a Rail - Bastion

There’s a lot of Bastion on this list. It’s been over a decade since I first played Bastion, but this is another song that I sometimes just play on a loop two or three times so I can appreciate it fully. Honorable mention to “A Proper Story”, also from Bastion, and “Timber Hearth” from Outer Wilds.

Music in a game released the year you were born - Time Continuum - Putt-Putt Travels Through Time

I'm flexing the rules again - this game came out a few years after I was born, but it's truly the only game anywhere close to that timeframe I have any kind of connection to. This gets stuck in my head embarassingly often.

Cover of music by a different artist - Reflection - Center of the Earth Mix - Celeste

Heeeyyyyyy…YA! The Celeste B-Sides music are all remixes of the A-side tracks by various artists. I never got past the third B-side myself, but I now watch a fair amount of Celeste speedrunning and this is my favorite B-Side track.

Music from a racing game - Still Alive - Mirror’s Edge

Again, Mirror’s Edge counts as a racing game don’t @ me I needed to include this track somehow. This is not the “Still Alive” you’re expecting! This track also gets me a little misty - it’s the end credits song of the first Mirror’s Edge, and it really gets the nostalgia going.

Music you associate with frustration - Always Been But Never Dreamed - Tetris Effect

This is the song in the last level of Journey mode in Tetris Effect, which is over twice as long as any other level. I am not very good at Tetris. It’s a fine song, although I prefer most of the rest of the soundtrack - “Connected (Yours Forever)” is less associated with frustration for me. Honorable mention to “Floral Fury” from Cuphead.

Town/village music - 11 AM - Animal Crossing New Horizons

I mean… that's village music, baby! When I was logging onto ACNH every day, 10-11AM was usually my time.

Underrated music - Burn, Baby, Burn - Disco Elysium

There are so many praise-worthy parts of Disco Elysium that I think the music often gets overlooked. But it's wonderful, moody and ethereal, a perfect bed for the substantial weight of the rest of the game. This song plays just before the final section of the game, and provides a welcome respite between emotionally intense sequences. Honorable mention to “In the Flame” from Pyre.

Music constantly stuck in my head - Bosun Bill - Sea of Thieves

I never even played Sea of Thieves, but I've watched enough of it that this is now my go-to humming tune. I don't usually get much of anything stuck in my head, but this one sticks.

Music that pumps you up - Knights of the Sea - Pyre

Pyre is probably the least loved/most underrated of Supergiant Games’ oeuvre, but (controversial opinion) I liked it more than Transistor, and (uncontroversial opinion) the music still fuckin' slams. A lot of the individual Triumvirates' themes from this game pump you up (I also recommend “Thrash Pack”), but this one has that unmistakable nautical/pirate theme with just a touch of absurdity - deeply befitting the wyrm-knights it represents. Honorable mention to “The River” from Outer Wilds and “The Painful Way” from Hades.

Music you like from a game you haven’t played - Wooded Kingdom - Super Mario Odyssey

Again, slight bending of the category - I have played some of SMO, but I've watched much more of it than I've played, and at this rate it's pretty unlikely that I'll ever finish it. I tend to not listen to music from games I haven't played, since for me a lot of the emotional punch is lost if I'm already familiar with the soundtrack. But in any case, this is such a unique theme for a Mario game. It's so funky!

Music that makes you go “whoa! how did they do that?” - Scattered and Lost - Celeste

This isn’t the only Celeste track that builds on old themes as it goes on - “Reach for the Summit” is another amazing one - but this song brings in new instruments and new elements as you complete each section of the level, and does it so dynamically and smoothly. Honorable mention to “Bound Together” from Pyre, which changes dynamically to thousands of different combinations depending on the choices you made throughout your playthrough.

Music that makes you nostalgic - Ground Scape - RuneScape

To me this is the iconic RuneScape music, and I would put this track on loop all the time while playing. Honorable mention to “Far Horizons” from Skyrim.

Final boss music - God of the Dead - Hades

This 9-minute monster of a track is just non-stop adrenaline. You've come so far to face the final boss, and every phase of the boss is signaled by a new, faster, more intense portion of the song.

Credits music - Setting Sail, Coming Home - Bastion

One more Bastion song - this was the one everyone talked about when talking about this soundtrack. Apparently it was recorded by Darren Korb and Ashley Barrett in Darren's closet; as the studio's first game, they barely had a setup at all. Wild to think about after the scope of Hades. Honorable mention to “I’ll Keep Coming” and “Death Stranding” from Death Stranding, and “Want You Gone” from Portal 2.

Here's the template I created in case anyone wants to use it!

#j rambles #video games #music #Come Talk To Me I Am Normal About Video Games :)#i truly went feral when i saw this prompt lol #feel free to use the template to make your own!

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 3 years

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Stars

Dannymay, 12,021 Human Era

Danny floated lazily on his back, a bag full of white and grey rocks orbiting him while he admired the lunar surface. It was going to be hard for anything short of crafting the rocks into something to top Wulf’s teachings letting him portal up to the moon whenever he wanted, barely tethered by its weak gravity and able to traverse it without disturbing the dust unless he picked up a rock. From his vantage point, the stars above and about were uncountable, and if he didn’t know better he’d say there was no end to them. His appearance had changed, even, from the silk-lined, spike studded, leather jacket that Sam and Tuck all but shoved onto him when it became clear that he’d be fighting ghosts regularly to a suit resembling the uniforms of NASA astronauts, black, white, green, and covered in silver stars.

Grinning to himself, Danny took off toward the Oceanus Procellarum, a camera he and Tuck had built recording the longest video he’d ever taken when a chill that dwarfed the cold of space ran down his spine and rose from his lungs and throat to his lips, blue vapor drifting in front of his face. There was a ghost, on the moon, and the idea of a hostile ghost following him up to space was so beyond aggravating that Danny’s hair ignited, his fangs sharp, the knuckles of his gloves sharpening into hardpoints, and his aura flaring up like a beacon of green and blue. Opening a portal to deposit his bag of moon rocks in his closet, Danny launched himself where he felt the other ghost’s presence, the logic that a ghost whose aura he couldn’t see but still feel on the moon’s surface, in one of her craters even, abandoned at the moment. That thought process is, of course, slammed into him the moment Danny sees exactly what it is that he’s sensed.

Their body was a slowly slithering mass of the purest darkness that could not be called something so bright as black, with violets and blues and colors that could not be seen, only experienced, dancing within them like ink within water, blue and red and green stars twinkling between the stretches of void, moving fast enough for Danny to know there even was movement of them, but slow enough to be mesmerized by the sight of it. Their face was a theatrical mask, bone white with red behind the eyes and a curve of a smile to mark the mouth, and from the void behind the mask curled horns of dark and beautiful amethyst and sapphire and onyx, somehow occupying the same space and curving in every which way. It was, frankly, impossible to make out all the details or to measure quite how massive the form of Nocturne was as he relaxed upon the surface of the moon’s ocean of storms. In all his conflicts, no ghost had ever made him feel quite so small simply by laying back, impossibly huge.

“My, my, ” he said, voice coming from the back of Danny’s head rather than the lack of air around him, even if their lips still moved to shape the words. “ Is that Danny Phantom in the flesh, not simply dreaming so big that you’ve learned to astral project without my guidance? Have you decided to make your fantasy reality and join me here?” They lifted part of their body and when Danny focused he saw the silhouette of a hand.

Danny had many questions, but the first one that came out of his gawking mouth as he rose to meet the giant’s face was, ”How did you get so big? Been munching on the muses of artists? Oh stars, are artistic muses actual spirits? Can you eat them?” While Danny usually appreciated a good laugh, that was when he said something as a joke, not asked a very good question. Nocturne’s laughter swept over him like a tidal wave of endearment and amusement.

“Ah, that’s right, you met me through a smaller emanation, didn’t you? I assure you, child, I’ve been this size for ages. Also, I do not consume muses, though whether that is because they do not exist in such a form that I could or because that would be an unsustainable form of sustenance, I shall leave you to consider. While the dreams of artists like you are rather vivid, the occasional idealist and average joe is good for diversity in palette. After all, each mind has such capacity for imaginative dreams.”

“Emanation?”

“A thin slice of myself sent down to help you sleep at my brother’s request. ” Danny scratched his head at that and Nocturne laughed again. “ The little game of hero and villain was delightful fun, though… you didn’t think that the ghost Master of Dreams needed helmets and machinery to harvest the energy of good dreams, did you?” Danny folded his arms with a pout that Nocturne couldn’t possibly have been able to make out when he was so small comparatively, and yet they chuckled anyway, shifting into what Danny was going to call a sitting position.

“So you aren’t going to leave everyone asleep forever?”

They frowned. “Of course not, you can’t dream forever. It isn’t healthy and leads to stagnation and, eugh, nightmares. Those the Fright Knight can have, whensoever he gets himself free from his imprisonment. ” Danny sighed, relaxing all over, and did his best not to flinch when Nocturne scooped him up in a claw talon tendril wing fin hand. “ Come to listen?”

Danny looked around and spread his arms slowly. “In the silent vacuum of space? To what?”

“My dear boy, can you not hear the star song? ” Nocturne tilted his head and their eyes locked for a long, headache inducing minute. “ No one has taught you how to percieve the spaces that layer upon themselves to form the world you know, have they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I do have a headcahe now, so that’s great. What, the world is like origami and everything is singing underneath the top layer?”

“An apt comparison, yes, ” Nocturne said. “ Your liminal state of being considered, perhaps it would be simpler to show you, than to make you work your way through new senses. After all, what’s a dream without a bit of fantastical ease?”

Danny flew back a few paces, though he was still in Nocturne’s palm. “Is it safe for you to do that? I don’t wanna go forgetting how to be a living human being just to hear a song.” Nocturne huffed, puffing up like a bird in mild offense.

“Child, the mind is my domain, I know perfectly well what I am doing. You are not the first liminal whose mind I have touched, nor I imagine shall you be the last. But, if you do not care to hear the song that the earth, the moon and the stars sing…”

“I never said I don’t! I just, wanted to be sure.” Danny rubbed the back of his head before floating a bit higher. “Alright, alright what do I do?”

“Relax, little one. Imagine a door, it can be any door you like, between your mind and those minds around you. ” Danny closed his eyes, taking a superfluous breath that came up empty, his body relaxing slowly with each breath. He pictured a door, a hexagonal door to a space station. “ Very good, ” Nocturne said, and Danny felt his chest puff up with something like pride before he felt and heard a knock knock on the door in his mind. “ Now all you have to do is let me in.”

There was a moment where in Danny considered simply not letting Nocturne into his mind. After all, Danny would probably figure this out himself if he tried. It was a tempting idea, probably even the smartest idea when dealing with a being who had attacked him, even if they claimed it was a game. Still, the opportunity to experience space in a way that no one else could was a far bigger temptation, and so Danny turned the knob on the door to his mind and opened it up slowly.

There is the brush of Nocturne against the door and Danny both has himself drawn out and the universe slipped in and when he opens his eyes and his ears he cannot help but to let his mouth fall open as well. He can hear the voices of the endless universe singing under his feet. The hearts of stars singing deep beneath the lunar soil. Lost to the blooming nebulas staining the dark sky with color, miles upon miles of light and rivers of fire and the promise of something new. Danny can almost hear the words and language they speak; something so close, so distant, something he has never known -- but they ring with such magnificent, terrible truth that he thinks, maybe he has always known them. Maybe they have always lived inside him, alongside the bones. These melodies, these words, that burn with such ferocious clarity that if he just spoke them aloud then the far would become near and he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky and cradle them in his hands or be cradled in their stellar flares.

The heavy elements known to those dull terrestrial creatures he began life as could only enter the universe with the death of a star, a fact that Danny knew very well, but it was one thing to know something on an academic level, and another to see and hear the voices of the ghosts left behind by those ancient stars, their magnificent fire shining from within every atom of the earth and the moon and the planets around him, harmonizing and rising into something yet more in the song of the Earth and her seas and forests and sky. Danny listens to the moon, and he knows that if he were to sing that song he could reach out to any body of water on Earth and pull it to him and him to it, and his call would be answered. That if he simply moved his lips and sang the words of the stars, he could call upon their fire, their gravity, could reach out to them and leave the chains of gravity rooting him to the Earth. It would be so easy to explore the universe, to leave and join the chorus of the stars and see all that one with an eternity at their hands could see.

Yet there was another song, this one smaller, softer, but no less wonderful song that wove around and within him, and listening to it brought to his mind yet more little songs, faint as the step of an ant against the dirt but still beautiful in all their own ways. He couldn’t go, not yet. Not without them. And so, Danny turned back to Nocturne and beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, child. We may stop whenever you wish.” Danny nodded and rose up to circle around Nocturne, drinking in the sight of the universe, so that he could attempt - and fail and attempt again and again - to show his friends what he now experienced with paint and brush and pen. He had to return to Earth, but for now, he had the stars.

#Danny Phantom #Dannymay 2021 #Danny Fenton #Nocturne #Stars #Rexy Writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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bittydragon · 4 years

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The Problems Arising (The Spy)

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Notes: Here’s chapter 2 of The Problems Arising! (Finally, I took way too long on getting this out y’all) Hope y’all enjoy!

Being with Schlatt was a nightmare. Everything about Tubbo’s new life with the president was terrible. He was even forced to change out of the clothes that Tommy had sewn for him, back when they had first met.

He was now forced to wear a small hand made suit, much like the one Schlatt wore, only poorly sewn.

He missed his old outfit. Tommy had made it for him because when he had first seen the borrower, Tubbo was wearing a small piece of cloth over his shoulders in a bad attempt at a poncho.

He never really did get the hang of making clothes for himself, but the poncho worked well enough. Though he never realized how comfortable a proper set of clothes would be until Tommy made him some.

And now Tubbo was forced to wear the shoddily made suit that was too big in some places and tight on others. It even made him wish for his old poncho. But Schlatt insisted and practically forced him to wear the ensemble, despite him being a secret from the rest of the cabinet, minus Quackity.

Quackity was tolerable. He was pretty funny and came by frequently to talk with Tubbo. But he never made any attempt to free the borrower and in the presence of Schlatt, any kindness he held disappeared.

Tubbo wasn’t too sure how he felt about him.

Schlatt on the other hand was horrible, through and through. At the beginning of Tubbo’s capture, he’d made many attempts to escape.

He had nearly made it to the walls at one point. But every time his luck seemed to fade out and he was met with a boot slammed down in front of him or a hand roughly pinning him down.

Schlatt wasn’t at all merciful towards Tubbo either. If he did anything the man didn’t like, he received some sort of punishment. He felt like a dog being trained to be a good pet for its owner.

Though, that analogy wasn’t too far off from how he was treated.

About a month into Tubbo’s capture, he had stopped trying to escape knowing it would be a fruitless endeavor. Schlatt had quickly picked up on that piece of information and was pleased enough to know that he could now use this tiny boy to his advantage without him attempting to run away again.

So now Tubbo was on one of his little spy trips for Schlatt. Schlatt realized fairly quickly that he was small and knew how to get into hidden spaces and stay undetected.

So every so often, Schlatt would send Tubbo out just before the sun rose to go out into Manburg and gather any inside intelligence he could and report back to Schlatt at the end of the day.

Schlatt was kind enough to drop him off at different locations in the mornings, but after that, he was left to traverse the area on his own, a difficult task for a borrower.

Tubbo was forced to make do with the situation, he didn’t want to try his luck at gaining more favors from Schlatt.

However, Tubbo was not completely under Schlatt’s thumb. While he did have to go out and retrieve information for the man, he always found a way to leave out the details that would mark people as traitors.

He had overheard a few people in Manburg state something about a place called ‘Pogtopia’ and how Tommy and Wilbur now resided there.

Because of his spying for Schlatt, he had managed to gather the fact that Wilbur and Tommy were working together in order to find a way to overthrow Schlatt.

With that in mind, Tubbo decided he would only need to bide his time until Schlatt was overthrown and Wilbur took back his rightful place as president of this country.

But now, it was time to report back to Schlatt. Today was a boring day, nobody really said anything that they all didn’t know.

There was the one lady who owned the bakery that Tubbo had overheard complaining about her high taxes and thinking about becoming a spy for Pogtopia, but Schlatt didn’t need to know that.

Looking up at the white house, he took a deep breath and walked towards the building. He had only made it a few steps before the door was practically slammed open and in the doorway stood Schlatt, who looked a bit too pissed off for Tubbo’s liking.

Schlatt spotted Tubbo almost instantly and marched over towards the borrower, who took an instinctual step back at the sudden movement. Before he could say anything else, Schlatt bent down and picked him up in a tight fist before marching right back towards the door.

“You better have some fucking good news for me, little pest. I don’t need another shit piece of news right now, so you better have something good.”

Tubbo stared wide-eyed up at the president. What bad news had he received that got Schlatt all worked up like this?

It didn’t bode well for Tubbo though, Schlatt was not against taking his anger out on the tiny boy. He needed to make sure he calmed the man down before anything especially bad could happen.

Far too quickly, they arrived at Schlatt’s desk and Tubbo was unceremoniously dropped onto the wood. He watched as Schlatt sat down and levelled him with a hard stare.

“Well? What’ve you got for me, kid?”

Tubbo cleared his throat, he had to word everything carefully as not to further anger Schlatt, even if he had barely any information to give the man.

“I did not find much out that we didn’t already know, sir. The most interesting thing I saw was that a demon and a strange person made of diamonds were walking through the country today. I have not seen them here before, so I was unsure as to whether or not this was vital information for you or not. Other than that, it was a very normal day and nothing incriminating was found.”

Schlatt almost seemed to measure him up for a minute. Tubbo nervously stared back at him, nervous at what his reaction could be. Schlatt eventually sighed and leaned back into his chair.

“Bad and Skeppy. They shouldn’t be a threat, but they aren’t exactly a friendly party with us either. The Badlands, their faction, is a very neutral faction. I don’t trust them but no issues have arisen with them, so we shall continue with them peacefully.” He paused for a second before addressing Tubbo directly.

“You did well enough, I suppose. I can’t really blame you when nobody says anything around you sometimes.”

Tubbo did his best not to allow the relief to cross his face. If Schlatt knew of just how much Tubbo was panicking then he would use that to his advantage to gain more power over him. He didn’t need anything else making his life harder.

“I am glad you are happy with the information I have found today. I apologize for not finding anything else for you.”

Schlatt actually smiled at him. Tubbo didn’t know what to think, the smile seemed genuine but the president was a master of deception so he couldn’t be too sure.

“Y’know, you’re a good kid. If you continue working this hard at your job, I may have to upgrade your enclosure again.”

Tubbo wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. It seemed more of a backhanded compliment. Schlatt may have applauded him for his work and how well he did it, but he also made sure to remind him that he was still nothing more than a pet. An obedient little pet who deserved a treat when they did a good job.

“I have an idea, kid.” Tubbo looked up to the ram. He felt a small bout of nerves build up inside of him, but he shoved the bad feeling away.

He nodded towards Schlatt to indicate he was listening, too scared that his voice would relay the slight fear he had. However, the president didn’t seem to notice as he continued on.

“Manburg is thriving right now, there’ve been very few amounts of potential betrayal and Wilbur and Tommy can do absolutely nothing against me with nobody else on their side.” Tubbo flinched at that, but if Schlatt noticed he said nothing as he continued talking.

“So I’ve decided that I should hold a festival, one to acknowledge the success of this country under my rule. There will be games and activities for everyone and I will give a speech to the people as well. This should be the perfect way to show everyone how great the country has become, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, Schlatt! I think that’s a perfect idea! A festival would be a good way to celebrate how far your country has come.” Tubbo’s voice shook a little as he spoke.

He hoped the president didn’t notice how he was struggling to lie in order to appease the man. He didn’t want to call the country Schlatt’s, but if he didn’t he would be labelled a traitor on the spot.

“Exactly! You get it, kid. I knew you were a good asset for my cabinet.” He reached a finger out to ruffle Tubbo’s hair. The borrower resisted the urge to flinch away and only faked a smile up at Schlatt.

“I’m glad you think so, sir!” Schlatt sent another small smile towards the boy, finger still on his head. Tubbo let out a mental sigh of relief when he seemed to buy his lie. He felt like he was getting a whole lot better at this whole faking thing.

Schlatt began to shift his hand to grab Tubbo, the finger slipping out of his hair. The borrower found himself restricted in Schlatt’s fist once more, but in a noticeably looser grip than earlier.

He didn’t appreciate being grabbed like this, but there was nothing he could do against Schlatt. If he attempted any form of rebellion then he would lose all the privileges he had managed to gain, and he liked the small amount of freedom he currently had.

It didn’t take long for Schlatt to reach Tubbo’s enclosure. He pat his head once more before lowering him down into the small glass enclosure.

Tubbo only stared up helplessly as the top was placed over the enclosure, trapping him inside once more. Schlatt sent one last glance towards the small boy before making his way to the kitchen.

Tubbo didn’t move, just sitting there allowing his thoughts to run wild. This festival did actually seem like a good idea, but something about the whole plan made him feel queasy... like there was a part he was missing.

And why had Schlatt conferred in him about the idea? The whole thing just sent Tubbo for a loop and he couldn’t explain why something just felt off about the idea of the festival.

A minute later, Schlatt returned with a small container containing bread, some pieces of strawberry and a bottlecap of water. He moved the lid off of Tubbo’s enclosure, putting the food and water into the glass box before closing it and leaving once more, this time towards his office.

Tubbo instantly made his way towards the food, the sight of it reminding him of his hunger that had built up throughout the day. He was glad that Schlatt felt the need to feed him, even if he knew it was probably because the ram didn’t need his pet to be dying on him any time soon.

He picked up a small chunk of strawberry and began to nibble on it while staring blankly out at the room he was kept in.

His mind wandered back towards the festival idea. Something inside of him screamed that something was wrong but he didn’t know what.

He decided it was just nerves and he chose to brush off the rising anxiety. The feeling remained but Tubbo decided to just ignore it.

What could possibly go wrong anyways?

#mcyt #mcyt gt #tiny!tubbo #giant!schlatt #giant!tommy #giant!wilbur #giant!quackity #tubbo #schlatt #bitty writes #part 2 #no direct interaction with wilbur or tommy or quackity #but tubbo has a fun time with schlatt :)#what could possibly go wrong y'all?#bringing you more angst #borrower tubbo saga

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years

Note

for the one word prompt— butterflies

Title: through murky waters and twisted paths

Summary: Only fools with a death wish enter the Forgotten Forest. Everyone knows trickster spirits lived there that would love nothing more than to make a quick meal or gain amusement out of a human. Virgil knows all the stories–he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters to him any longer.

Pairings: platonic intruxiety

Word-Count: 1.5k

Warnings: G/T, morally grey Remus, fantasy racism, body horror, ostracization, self-hatred & deprecation, suicidal ideations, hunger, death mention, blood mention, non-graphic references to violence, angst with a happy ending

hi I spent way more research on this fic than intended. I also forgot about this for like two months, opps. pls enjoy :)

As the sun sinks low into its’ grave Virgil ventures deeper into the Forgotten Forest, where the trees grow as tall as giants and the moss grows thick. Spirits live in the forest. Trickster spirits, ones that view humans as nothing more than amusement or an easy meal. He’s heard all the stories, he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters now.

(First came the cravings. He devoured everything in sight–his stomach never satisfied. At night he’d clutch his stomach as it growled. Always growling, wanting more, more, more)

With each step, he fights against the fear building with each heartbeat. It is quiet in the woods. Too quiet. Where are the bustling of the squirrels and chirping of the birds? Have they been eaten? Will that be his fate as well? As if to answer him, the earth trembles beneath his feet. Virgil stumbles, grasping a tree trunk for support. A choked cry escapes his lips.

(Then, as quickly as the cravings came, they stopped. He had little time to ponder this as exhaustion seeped into his bones. Sleep, he needed sleep. He pulled a blanket over his head, enclosing himself into a husk of darkness.)

“Whoa! You okay, little fella?”

Virgil’s breath seizes. The voice. It’s big and booming like thunder during a fierce storm. Quivering, he tilts his head up, up, up to a figure as tall as the trees themselves. A figure with pale-green skin and dressed in earthy colors. A crown of leaves rests atop their head. A spirit–a giant to be exact.

Virgil tries screaming. All that comes out is a pitiful squeaky click of his teeth.

(He awoke thrashing, constrained in an impossibly tight space. His first immediate thought was that he’d been buried alive. He needed to break out of the coffin. Out, out, out! He scratched and clawed to no avail. Fluid oozed out of him–blood? It had to be blood.)

“Whoa! Aggressive, I like it! Hiya, my name’s Remus, what’s yours?” The giant crouches down, his movements shaking the forest floor. Virgil barely manages to keep a hold on the tree trunk.

“V-virgil.” He tells the giant. He really shouldn’t give his name away just like that. Everybody knows you don’t give spirits that type of power. But he can hardly bring himself to care.

“Virgil? Ooh what a juicy name,” Remus smacks his lips, “You know I could totally squash you with one finger!”

“Do it.”

“What?” The giant blinks, mouth agape.

“Did I stutter?” Virgil asks, jaw clenching, “Do it–kill me, put me out my misery. I’m a monstrosity–I shouldn’t exist anyways.”

(His coffin cracked open. Except dirt didn’t come pouring in–sunlight did. He clung to the edge of it and froze. Something was wrong. His breathing–he couldn’t breathe! At least not in the way he was most intimately familiar with. Oxygen seeped through passageways. Not his nose or mouth but elsewhere. He looked down at not one, but two pairs of hands. He screamed. His skin no longer a pale complexion but an unnatural shade of purple. A pair of hands frantically clutched his face. He felt two normal ears, two normal eyes and two long strands of…hair?)

The giant’s grin vanishes as anger seeps onto his very large face. Virgil shudders, his instincts urging him to flee. He can feel air rushing behind him, his feet leaving the forest ground. Nothing happens because the giant snatches him up faster than he can blink.

(It wasn’t hair. It twitched out of its own volition, smelling his very sweaty palms. With a shriek, he leapt backwards as the spot between his shoulder blades burned. Two brightly-colored appendages flare out from the corner of his eye–surely something horrid like another set of arms. He kept scrambling backwards, as if he could run away from himself. He never stood a chance against that rock. His foot caught the edge of it and Virgil went tumbling down.)

“Hey! Who says you shouldn’t exist?” Remus demands, lips curling backwards to reveal sharp teeth. He holds Virgil in a grip much looser than he expects. It still doesn’t stop Virgil’s heart rate from accelerating.

“I–I do.”

“Well, I’ll mash up their insides and feed it to the–wait, you do?” Remus blinks, “why?”

(He woke up to voices. Angry voices. Voices that once familiar and warm now bent with vitriol and disgust. Voices of people he’d called friends and neighbors. Voices of people that called him a demon and a monster. Voices that welcomed him in, gave him food and a honest living. Voices that drove him out, casting charms and wards against him.)

“Just–just look at me!” Virgil says, swallowing nervously, “I’m a demon, I’ll–I’ll possess your soul if you don’t kill me.”

“A demon?” Remus asks, before bellowing with laughter, “I’ve seen plenty of demons before. Best friends with one, lemme tell ya. I know them when I see ‘em and you ain’t a demon.”

“Then…what do you think I am?”

(He found himself on the edge of the Forgotten Woods. Forgotten because it was so ancient. Forgotten because it was best to forget about it. Long before he was born, spirits took hold of the forest. Killing or thralling any humans who dared enter their domain. But he wasn’t quite human now, was he?)

Remus doesn’t directly answer Virgil. He summons something with his other hand. An oval-shaped object, with wooden trim and vines growing around it. A mirror. One that looms enormous over Virgil, but scaled to the giant is a hand-mirror. Remus’ grip on Virgil releases, causing him to fall back onto the giant’s palm. Virgil’s teeth click again as he stands on shaky legs. His eyes trail upwards, into the face of his reflection.

(Black horns. Glowing eyes. A long forked tongue. These were the details he could make out in the murky puddle he came across)

Black antennas poking out of plum-colored locks. Watery, lilac-tinged spotted eyes. A thin long curled tongue between fangs. Violet skin smooth and hardened. Four arms entangle together in a tight embrace. His shoulder blades twinges as slightly crumpled wings emerge from behind his back. Dark velvet wings reminiscent of butterflies.

“See!” Remus asks, almost bouncing in place, “You’re a bruise-colored nightmare of a changeling! Why shouldn’t you exist?”

“Changeling?”

“Yeah changeling–” Remus’ eyes widen, “Ooohhh. You didn’t know, did ya? What was it like? The hunger, I mean? What weird shit did you eat to satiate it? Or the chrysalis! Did you retain any memory inside of it while you turned into a gooey liquid? I bet it was cool–”

“I can’t be a changeling,” Virgil interrupts, a hand gripping at his hair, “I wasn’t super smart, or–or sickly. I was–”

“–a child,” Remus says, his voice suddenly calm and serious, “just a child no different than a human’s young no matter what those hypocritical bastards believe.”

(A few months ago he stood in the middle of the village, Mable’s and Urtha’s children swarming him. ‘Please Virgil,’ they chanted, ‘one more story! One more story!’ ‘Alright,’ he said laughing, ‘alright but just one more okay? I got work to do.

‘One day a mother checked on her child’s crib and cried out in anguish. For her child sported a beard and had long thin teeth. Sharp and spindly, good at tearing through flesh. The child’s grey eyes held a spark too wise. Its head was too small, disproportionate from its body. For it was not her child in the crib. It was a changeling.’)

“I don’t want this, please.” Virgil begs, slumping his head downwards.

The giant’s eyes, more than twice the size of him, regard him. With a flick, the mirror disappears. He reaches out with his other hand. Virgil tenses, waiting for the spirit to crush him. A single finger raises his chin up gently.

“I won’t kill you,” Remus says and with it Virgil’s heart plummets, “I mean, killing is fun. But this wouldn’t be fun for me or you, I promise. Ya know what’d be fun?”

“What?” Virgil asks. He wonders if he’s about to become Remus’ servant. Or worse, a plaything. Something for the giant to screw around with until he played too rough. There’s nothing Virgil could do to stop him. He’s too small to fight back even if he wanted to.

“If we became friends.”

“Friends? What? Why?!”

“Why not?” The giant grins crookedly, “does there have to be a reason?”

“…I guess not.”

“Sooo?”

“Okay, fine, it’s whatever.” Virgil concedes, body drooping with exhaustion. He hasn’t eaten since he woke up changed and disoriented. He yelps, a jolt of adrenaline pumping through his veins as the giant presses him against his chest in a hug of some sort.

“Great! You won’t regret this!”

“I think I do.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remus cheers, oddly unfazed as he still holds Virgil close to his chest, “now woulda like to meet my demon friend? Half his face is a snake!”

“Sure,” Virgil yawns. He can’t help it–Remus is warm and for the moment, doesn’t seem interested in maiming him. He falls asleep to the rhythmic stomps of Remus as he traverses through the woods, rambling all the way.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #kat writes #dammit i keep ending fics with Virgil falling unconscious #i just noticed #anyways i did a lot of research about butterflies #i know too much now

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Gratitude

A/N When we last saw Jamie and Claire, they’d crashed, burned (somewhat literally) and declared their mutual interest in each other in their individual ways. Whither now, our pair?

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Big Red Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

June 1, 2018, Costa Coffee, Whitechapel, London, England

“It feels like ye might be avoiding me, Sassenach.”

It occurred to her that Jamie knew her schedule and habits to an uncomfortable degree for him to be at her favourite coffee shop at exactly the point in her shift when she could no longer resist the siren call of caffeine.

Since the fire in their building and Jamie’s subsequent profession of love, they’d been living under separate roofs. Claire was sleeping on the couch at the home of one of her fellow medical students, and Jamie was bunking down with his uncle. Their flat had escaped the flames, suffering only smoke damage, but it would be at least eight weeks before the building was declared structurally sound and they could move back in.

Heading to the counter, Claire purchased her usual extra-large oat milk cortado with a fruited teacake, then added a flat black with raw sugar for Jamie. Settling across from him, she slid his coffee across the tiny table before splitting her teacake and balancing half on his saucer. He nodded his thanks, but was otherwise silent, waiting her out.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she began, surprising them both with the frankness of her opening salvo. It helped, she found, to be paying undue attention to stirring her coffee as she spoke.

“That doesna sound like ye, mo nighean donn. Why don’t ye tell me what part is vexin’ ye, an’ we can see if we canna bash our brains t’gether til we come up wi’ a plan, aye?”

She knew what he was doing. Cleverly depersonalizing their situation so that she could approach it like any other problem. Part of her resented his easy manipulation, grounded as it was in how well he knew her. But there was a secret part of her that thrilled at the emotional intimacy. To be seen, truly seen, in all her messy complexity, was a novel experience. Jamie knew the architecture of her heart, all its dark corners and blind hallways. He must have recognized something worthy, to be willing to so patiently coax her away from her solitude.

Plus, she’d spent the last year training him to leave the toilet seat down. That wasn’t the sort of work you just walked away from.

“It’s... god, where do I start? It’s having no idea what it means to be in a healthy adult relationship. And the crippling fear that if I fuck this up, it’ll ruin our friendship, which is so important to me, Jamie. I don’t think you have any idea... Plus our living situation...”

“We arenna livin’ t’gether for the moment, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. He had leaned forward across the table as she stammered through her recitation, and his curls had flopped across his brow in that boyish way they had. Her chest tightened, torn between affection and blind terror.

“No. That’s true.”

“With yer permission, I’d like tae make a suggestion.” At her cautious nod, Jamie continued. “For the next two months, we willna be roommates. I’d like tae... court ye...”

“Court me?!” Claire blurted out. “What, like in a Jane Austen novel?” She couldn’t help but smile at Jamie as he blushed, but he continued undeterred.

“Aye, like that. Ye’re used tae havin’ all the answers, Sassenach, but this isna one of yer wee tests tha’ ye can study for. We’re gonna have tae wing it, and see where it takes us. But I promise ye, I willna play ye false and I willna walk away. Will ye at least give this thing between us a chance? If it doesna work, we can go back tae livin’ t’gether as friends, no questions asked.”

At some point during his speech, their hands had met across the table. She could feel Jamie’s trembling through his fingertips. He was scared too, but he was being brave because he felt it was worth the risk. How could she dare to do otherwise?

“Alright,” she conceded, and his smile warmed her face like sunshine. “What do you propose, then? Shall I don my best parlour gown and set out the petit fours, Master Fraser?”

“Och, I dinna mean tae be makin’ me call me master quite yet, Sassenach,” he teased, delighting in her blush. “I’ll be at yer door t’morrow. Three sharp. Wear somethin’ comfortable an’ bring a jumper for after dark.”

Finishing his teacake in three large bites, Jamie hopped up from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his jeans. With a mischievous grin and a cock-eyed wink, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Until tomorrow then, milady.”

Jesus Christ, what had she just done?

***

To her relief, Jamie showed up at Joe’s front door in his usual jeans and Henley, not a frock coat and jodhpurs He wasn’t even carrying flowers. Joe tried to buttonhole him with talk of the previous night’s football match, but after a few minutes of polite chitchat Jamie ushered Claire out the door, joking that he’d have her home before curfew.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his behaviour. The Jamie she knew had always been charming, when he wasn’t busy putting his foot in his mouth. Now she marveled at his apparent ease as they descended the steps into the Tube.

Heading west on the District Line, thoughts continued to assail her. Was he always this self-confident on a date? How often did he go out with other women, anyway? She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about Jamie, but maybe she was wrong. Before Frank, her last date had been back in nursing school, and a VHS player and copious cheap beer had been involved. Despite the over-zealous air conditioning in their train, her palms began to sweat.

“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie’s soft burr interrupted her quiet panic attack. “I’m no’ going tae suddenly turn into some man ye dinna recognize, just because I’m tryin’ tae romance ye a wee bit.”

Once again, with only a few words Jamie had peeled away her layers of confusion and doubt to strike at the core of what was bothering her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and immediately recognized Jamie’s scent; a blend of laundry detergent, his vetiver bar soap, and a touch of chlorine left over from the morning’s swim. It set her at ease. He hadn’t worn cologne. His left boot had a frayed lace that had needed changing since March. His cuticles were as inexplicably perfectly formed as always. He was her Jamie, and she could trust him to behave in accordance with what she already knew of him, even in this uncharted territory.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked after the crackling announcement for St. James Park had died away.

“Would it ease yer mind a wee bit, tae ken?”

“Maybe a wee bit,” she confessed.

“Well, then, how can I refuse? Have ye e’er been tae the Chelsea Physic Garden, Sassenach?”

***

As it turned out, by some grievous oversight she hadn’t. Wedged between a high brick wall and the Thames was a three hundred and fifty year old urban oasis, filled with plants that could either treat your ailments or kill you. Naturally, she was enchanted. Jamie followed her between the beds and down the shaded lanes of pea gravel, a soft smile held between his lips.

When the garden closed, they walked along the Embankment and over the Thames at Chelsea Bridge, stopping to watch the sun set over the murky water. A food truck beckoned with its aroma of chips and burgers, which they ate on a nearby bench, going back for extra napkins when their choice in toppings proved especially messy.

It was the least romantic meal she’d ever eaten, and she was soothed and smitten in equal measure.

Washing grease from his hands in a drinking fountain, Jamie turned to her in the half-light.

“Now, I have a verra important question of ye, Sassenach, and how ye answer will determine the future course of our evening t’gether.”

Here it was, she balked. The hook at the end of the line. The sour amongst so much sweetness. She shouldn’t have expected...

“Are ye,” Jamie continued, unaware of her inner monologue, “afraid of heights?”

... no different than any other man, with his...

“Am I what?” she blurted, once her brain caught up with her ears.

“Afraid of heights? An’ a bit of a scamper up some scaffolding?”

Jamie was pointing over her shoulder. She peered into the night, but all she could make out was the hulking shadow of the derelict Battersea Power Station.

***

It was a convoluted story, but the outline went something like this: the massive coal-fired station, with its four spire-like chimneys, was slated for redevelopment. Jamie had taken part in an onsite review of the location by the London Fire Service, and had befriended a representative of the developer. Somehow, this friend had granted Jamie access to the site, which is how Claire now found herself over fifty metres above the ground, climbing a seemingly endless series of metal steps, with her curls trying to escape the confines of a workman’s hard hat.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Jamie Fraser,” she grumbled as they came to a landing made out of scaffolding. Above them, a white chimney ascended into the dome of the sky.

“Ye canna say I dinna take yer breath away, Sassenach,” he teased.

She was about to retort when they stepped around the base of the chimney tower, and all words failed her.

Rolled out far below their feet, the Thames was a black carpet reflecting millions of pinpoint gems skyward, broken by belts of light where it was traversed by a bridge. Beyond the eastern bend in the river, the City glowed with its eternal hum. The colossal space taken up by the station was a palpable presence behind their backs.

“It reminds me of yer Uncle Lamb’s saying, about makin’ our present out of the bones of our past. Twasn’t the original plan, but here she stands, still vital and strong, being remade anew. An’ a beautiful vision fer all tha’.”

She wasn’t convinced that Jamie was talking about the power station.

A cool breeze blew off the river, and she shivered. A jacket still warm with body heat immediately covered her shoulders. They stood side by side in silence, just taking in the view.

When their hands bumped, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to thread her fingers with his own.

“You’ve set the bar impossibly high for any future dates, you know,” she commented eventually.

“Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye dinna ken what I have planned next.” His grin was impossibly smug, and she fought the urge to kiss it right off his beautiful mouth. He must have read the impulse in her eyes, because his face was slowly approaching her own, eyes a volatile mix of hope and trepidation.

Her own eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. Just as their lips should have been meeting, their was a ductile crunch, and their heads bounced apart with comedic timing. Their hard helmets had collided. Jamie swore softly beneath his breath, but Claire couldn’t stop giggling.

“Oh, thank god. It is you. I was beginning to wonder.”

***

It was late when they finally exited the Tube, but Jamie insisted on accompanying Claire all the way to the Abernathy’s front door. She handed him back his leather jacket, feeling suddenly awkward in the brightly lit hall. The date had been magical, far beyond her wildest expectations, and it felt strange to return to the prosaic reality of their lives.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Jamie.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach. I’ve missed ye, these past few weeks. And I really hope... well, you’ll tell me if you want to do somethin’ like this again, aye?” His hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture she knew well. Bless the man, he had no idea the effect he had on her. It was well past time to let him know.

“I’d love that. Truly. I’ve got final exams to study for, but maybe sometime next week?”

"Well then,” he replied, clearly delighted with her response. “I should let ye get some sleep. Good luck on yer exams, Sassenach. And thank ye, fer bein’ willing tae give this a chance. Twas a day I’ll ne’er forget.”

He began to walk away.

“Jamie!” He turned around.

“Aye?”

Walking forward to the beat of her pounding heart, she halted when their bellies were practically touching. Lifting up on tiptoe, she pressed into his mouth. Time slowed to a syrupy drip as their lips met for the first time. His rough exhale was the only sound in the cocoon of sensation that enveloped them. It felt like she was falling through an endless cloud. Too soon, she had to pull away to capture her breath, and the spell was broken. Judging by his moonstruck expression, Jamie had been equally affected. She smiled when she realized his arms were still held aloft, like he was trying to hold on to the memory of their kiss.

“Goodnight, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” she purred before she disappeared from his sight.

#my writing #outlander

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

What in the World? (Akaashi Keiji x Reader) pt.17

a/n: aye. please read the authors note at the end :)

Akaashi’s lineup: @alluring-akaashi @oikawalmart-hq @extrasugafree @bbykiyoomi @apricotjihyo @awings @simpformiya @sayakaaaaaa @colorseeingchick @demursv1ogs @chrisrue15 @beanst0ck @parttime-simp @kit-kat428 @ntimacy @something-that-idk (i have no idea why i can’t tag some of you :( huhu )

links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 18

The last thing you saw, before being eaten by whatever Deku projected, were Akaashi’s wide opened eyes. After that, it was nothing but darkness. If it weren’t for Bakugo gripping tightly onto your uniform, you swore you would have experienced a heart attack despite such a young age.

Yet, the sensation of opening your eyes to bland white walls and beeping machines was foreign.

“(y/n)? Darling?” A familiar voice caught your attention. “Are you alright?”

Attempting to sit up, you were assisted with a pair of warm hands. Looking at the owner, your breath hitched upon seeing the face you had been trying to communicate many months back. Scanning the room, you accounted your parents, all your classmates, Bakugo, and Deku. The latter two being assisted by two nurses.

“(y/n)...? Drink this.” Shoto said as he handed a glass of water. Holding the glass to your mouth, he watched as you gulped down the liquid.

“Wh-why am I here?” You muttered. Looking at Bakugo and Deku, seeking answers from them would be useless. Both boys were still groggy and coming to their senses. Only to be met with silence, your eyes tried to meet whoever would dare answer your question. “Why isn’t anyone answering me?”

With the heart monitor picking up your increasing pulse, Shoto carefully placed his arm around your shoulder. Instincts came in as you immediately held on to his hand for support.

“Calm down.” He whispered. “If you want to cry then it’s alright. Giving yourself more stress isn’t good for you.”

Knowing he was right, you leaned on his arm and stared at your palm. Activating your quirk, a small gasp escaped your lips when you felt its power once more. The usual effort of having to use it seemingly vanished. With the glow brighter than ever, you quickly clenched your fist and let out a sigh.

“Shoto?”

“What is it? Are you in pain?” He leaned in closer and held your hand.

“I don’t wanna be here.” It was barely audible but he heard it enough.

“(y/n)-chan?” It wasn’t new for you to hear people calling you by that name but it felt different. Used to hearing Bokuto or even Konoha, your lips twitched upon recalling that you were not in the same world as them. Glancing at the source, Recover Girl had prepared a syringe with some sort of glowing liquid. “This’ll help calm your nerves and prevent your quirk from going haywire.”

Extending your arm, you barely winced as the needle pierced your skin.

“Would you like some privacy?” Recovery Girl asked. Though she knew that there was no need to question, it was only out of respect towards the visitors. Once she received a nod of confirmation, she began to shoo the people out of the room. Save for Shoto, Bakugo, and Deku. “Now that they’re out of the way, how’re you feeling?”

“I feel…” How did you feel? It was bad enough that you were forcibly taken back to where you belonged. If she was talking about your quirk then you were definitely sure how you felt. However, if she meant about the gaping hole developing in your heart then it was something you’d rather not dive into. “I’m not really sure how I feel.”

“Would you like to know why you came back here?”

“If it doesn’t bother you, then yes please.”

“Initially, you were supposed to be back after 4 days. At least that’s what we had initially agreed on.” She began. “But, the machine carrying Bakugo and Midoriya over to your location malfunctioned. Instead of your quirk going haywire, it was Midoriya’s that did. However, it would be better for you to take into consideration.”

“That what?”

“Midoriya and Bakugo were supposedly, in theory at least, to be transported and thereby encapsulated to those tanks over there.” Using her syringe cane, she pointed to the rather large mechanism. “That IV hose on your chest targets your arteries. Because of the nature of your quirk, it was a gamble on our part to see if that was the core of your power.”

“This medical talk is only confusing me.” You let go of Shoto’s hand and massaged your temple. “What is the point of all that?”

“It means that everything that happened, everything you felt and experienced, was nothing but a product of your mind’s unconscious effort to create a paradise.”

“P-pardon?”

“Because we were using your quirk as a means of bringing you back, it was expected that once the both of things were good to go, they would become as little as atoms and be enclosed in those capsules. Once they were stabilized, they would then take a small trip inside that IV hose connected to your chest. Merging them with your quirk, it would open the path to your neocortex and thalamus.”

“I wasn’t asking about the procedure.” You were more than aware you sounded rude but that was beyond you. “Did you say everything was a product of my i-imagination?”

“The effort of saving you could have gone two ways. The hypothesis was that if these two boys shrunk and turned into the size of atoms, then the possibility of another universe was very high. Yet they never did. Their bodies were not affected yet the green light indicated they had safely traversed to where they needed to be.”

“So... “ Feeling your fingers grow numb, you held on to your blanket and relayed all the events that happened. From having to adjust and get to know your surroundings, learning more about whatever life you had before you woke up in that version of Tokyo, to growing closer with the people there, and to eventually finding solace in the skilled hands of a setter… was nothing but a product of your imagination. “None of it was real?”

With no answer coming from the small nurse, you let out a silent cry towards Bakugo and Deku.

“You guys were there right? You saw how each person had their own train of thought? How big that area was?” Blinking the stinging sensation away, you felt tears rolling down your cheek. The heart monitor gradually beeping faster.

“I get that you’re panicking but what Recovery Girl stated, we were informed about it.” Deku explained. “In all honesty, Kacchan and I were putting it into consideration that something was off and that all of that was real. But the more we thought about it, the more it dawned to us that nothing really made sense.”

“Think about it, extra. You told us you’d be reaching 8 months there. I bet your mother there doesn’t even have a damn clue as to who you really are. Don’t even think about foul mouthing me cause I spend a handful of my time debating whether or not that's true or not.”

“Maybe it was a side effect of that villain’s quirk.” Shoto finally spoke up. He had a ton of questions but he knew it would all be left unanswered. “It happened right after, did it not? Perhaps it wasn’t water but something else and that the records were wrong.”

“We rechecked the criminal’s records and can confirm that his quirk was just water.” Recovery Girl added. Standing up, she fixed her coat and walked closer to you. “I know your thoughts are rampant and in a mess but don’t strain yourself. You just woke up and are still in an unstable position. Let me know if you want some Temazepam. Sleep would help.”

Watching her leave, you stared at the large window.

“Akaashi Keiji. Bokuto Kotarou. Konoha. Fukurodani Gakuen. Other Mother. Asami. Akiko.” You began to roll call each person you knew. At least the very important ones.

“Are those names?” Shoto asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“I have a lot of questions but I know you deserve to rest.” He carefully placed his index finger on your cheek to make you stare at him. Seeing how pale and spaced out you were, he motioned for you to scoot over and give him space. Giving him enough room to lay down, you allowed him to pull you into his arms. “I’m all ears if you want to vent it out.”

“I…” Making yourself comfortable, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The warmth his body gave was as comforting as ever. Closing your eyes, you began to absentmindedly play with his shirt. “Am I going crazy, Shoto? Everything felt real. There’s no way I’m capable of creating something that vast in my head.”

“Were those the names of the people you encountered?”

“Yeah. A few of them. Shoto?”

“Hm?”

“What did my mom and dad do?”

“Well…” Blinking his thoughts he wasn’t sure whether he should share it or not. “They were planning to get you back forcefully after 3 days. Whether Bakugo or Midoriya were fine with it or not.”

“Hm… I guess nothing’s changed. Truth be told I was kinda expecting something like this to happen.” Wrapping your arm around his body, you allowed your mind to wander what was happening on the other side. Did they remember you? Now that you weren’t there, did the you from the pictures emerge?

“Don’t overthink. Nothing good comes from that.” Turning to face you, he began to pat the back of your head. Despite the countless times he’s done that gesture, he had to admit he was still stiff as a board when it came to affectionate cuddles. “Go to sleep. I’ll see what I can do to help when you wake up.”

“I’m sorry for bringing more drama into your life.” You chuckled as you savored the safety Todoroki Shoto offered. “You have more than enough on your plate.”

“I don’t mind. Just don’t go on by thinking you don’t belong here.” Resting his lips on the crown of your head, he took a moment and blinked his thought process. The slight increase of his heartbeat was a bit off. Thinking it was due to the coffee he had a few hours ago, he shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’ll always be here. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“I know~”

You weren’t sure how many hours you slept but it still hadn’t sunken in that you woke up next to a sleeping Todoroki. Still in the nurse’s office, you sat up and examined your body. It was only now how you saw the amount of tubes and hoses that pierced your rather weak torso.

Looking across your bed, the machine that had transported Bakugo and Deku stood out like a sore thumb. You could tell it wasn’t the handy work of any of the support students. Staring at the capsules, your eyes followed the connected hose till your vision rested on your chest. It did occur to you that perhaps your heart was the center of your quirk, you just never took it seriously.

“How ironic.” You commented.

Feeling the bed shifting, you glanced over your shoulder and admired how fast asleep your friend was. Remembering that BakuDeku were still in the room, the hospital curtain prevented you from searching for them. Recovery Girl must have given you privacy when you two fell asleep.

Focusing on your palms, you activated your quirk. It truly felt amazing to know your powers were back to the way they were. Yet, being used to not having to rely on it was a whole different story. It may have been 2 months on this side of the world but it would probably be much easier to be relying on your quirk than not.

Slowly laying back down, you rested on your side and stared at the sleeping Shoto. Fixing his bangs, an image of Akaashi sleeping flashed in your mind. Compared to Shoto’s soft features, Akaashi was gifted with rather sharp ones.

What was he doing now? Were his thoughts or memories wiped clean? The last words you said before waking up was his name to add to your growing list of problems.

“Don’t cry.” Drowned in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized that Shoto had woken up. Meeting his eyes, there was nothing but sadness and sincerity.

Wiping the tears with his sleeve, he kept his right palm open. Using his quirk, he began to form little snowflakes.

“You’ve gotten better~” You sniffled. A small smile resting on your tear stained face. If there was one thing you two kept a secret, it was how Shoto couldn’t create detailed snowflakes. On a good day, he could form a few lumps of soft snow but this time, he had managed to create intricate patterns large enough for the eyes to see.

“Found some spare time to practice. It took a while but I realized that I had to incorporate a bit of heat into the mix. It’s pretty, is it not?”

“It is.”

“I won’t ask why you stopped trying to communicate with us here.” He began. “Bakugo and Midoriya managed to send a message about what was happening to them. I was honestly relieved that you were doing fine. But it annoyed how I couldn’t do anything.”

“You did what you could, Tododorky~” You poked his cheek. “Just give me a few days and I’ll answer your questions alright?”

“Alright.”

- - - - -

a/n:

I’m back :D

I posted much later than anticipated and I’m really sorry to keep all of you waiting :( My schedule was just so jam packed and I just couldn’t insert the time to write. If I did, I only managed to squeeze in a few sentences before I gave up due to stress and hatred of whatever the fuck is happening to the company I’m working in -_-

I’ve been feeling quite low these past few days and it’s really making me question whether or not the stories I make are worth reading :( I’m still tired as it is but it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t try to make things better than they are :]

that being said, the next upload date is a bit blurry but I will do my very best to upload back to my original schedule! :)

i hope all of you enjoy your day and this chapter! :) it ain’t much but i tried T.T

#akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi haikyuu #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu x reader #bnha x haikyuu

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