#i am very weak for that language ugh

[moonlight-alexia]

Hcs for lil mac comforting Katie after receiving backlash and abuse online? Por favor..

katie always tries to put up a tough front but lil mac always can see right through her sister, since she's always been there for katie many different times growing up she knows how to read her sister. lil mac isn't chronically online but sees a lot more than most

'I thought you don't normally read that stuff,' sitting next to Katie after having watched her doom scrolling on her phone the last half hour almost without noticing lil mac was standing in the doorway.

It took Katie a minute to fully look up from her phone and process that her sister was standing there, 'read what?' lil mac raises her eyebrow, Katie sighs knowing she can't hide much from her younger sister.

'How about we just switch off for a bit?' lil mac sits next to Katie, grabbing the phone from her sisters hand before turning it off and sitting it on the table in front of them. leaning back a little, she wraps her arm around her older sister and pulls Katie into her side, 'give it a bit and they'll stop-'

'It doesn't stop though,' Katie sighed dejectedly, leaning herself more into the comfort of her sister.

'I know, but you're strong and you've got me, you've got all of us and the real fans are the ones that stick by you as well. They see you Katie, they know the kind of player and person you are. More importantly you know the kind of player and person you are and that matters most,'

'You always know what to say,'

Lil mac would definitely get Katie up and doing something, like baking or cooking so her mind can focus on something other than what she's read online. A group trip with their closer friends in the team to like something fun like top golf, laser tag and maybe like a little lunch or dinner.

Lil mac would also try and organise for like Ella and Lauryn to come visit knowing that would help cheer Katie up.

[hellvcifer]

CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles┆part 2

ft. pairings :: charlie, lucifer, adam, angel dust, vox // gn!reader wc :: 3k note :: i am sick (◞‸◟;) so i wanted to bring a little comfort to others in the meantime. enjoy !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, sweetie, love, babe, sweetheart)

꒰ CHARLIE ꒱

The door to your bedroom slammed open, “Okay!” hurried shuffling and fumbled footsteps accompanied a strained voice. “Oh, no! Wait, wait, wait! Ugh.” Charlie was able to grab the glass of water before it fell off her tray. “Got it!” Her arms were filled with extra blankets, a thermometer, a tray topped with a bowl of hot soup and water, about three bottles of pills, and one with liquid medicine. “Phew! Okay!” She scrambled over to the bed you laid in.

You groaned, the throbbing in your head getting worse every time there was a loud noise. The bed dipped with new weight. You slowly turned over, shifting the blankets around you to do so, feeling them drenched in sweat. “Charlie?” You rasped, seeing her blonde hair swish as she turned to look at you. Her eyes creased in a nervous worry.

“Hi! Okay, look.” She turned back to her things. “I cooked up some soup, I read that the clear broth is supposed to be really good for you! Oh! Also.” She grabbed a few of the pill bottles, held them up. “One of these helps with headaches and muscles aches! And the other will help with your stomach… I think.” She pouted while reading. “Or! I can give you this,” She held up the liquid medicine. “And it should help with… Everything?”

“Charlie…” You tried sitting up, feeling the aching throughout your muscles. You groaned but fully sat up. 

“Oh! And we can take your temperature. I’m not sure how that will work though… Hellborne temps are way higher than Sinners but Sinners temps change when they get here and run higher. Do you think there’s a conversion?” 

“Charlie!” You sputtered, sending yourself into a long coughing fit feeling a sharp pain throughout your head with each one. 

Her brows furrowed, “Here, drink!” She held up the glass of water to your lips, her hand rubbing your back as you did. A few drops of water leaked past the brim before she pulled it away. She moved her palm up your shoulder, then your neck, before coming to your chin. Her thumb brushed away the trail of water that was left.

You looked up at her, bleary-eyed and clammy. Her features brought a weak smile to your face. “Don’t worry, this happened to us before we got here. We get through it… Eventually.” You explained through your raspy voice. 

“I just wish I could make you feel better.” Charlie spoke, head tilting to look at you softly. 

“Having you here is enough.” You giggled. “You’re lucky you can’t get sick or I’d be kicking your worried butt out.” She laughed in response. You turned to look at the liquid medicine and pointed. “That one will work.” 

“Hey.” Charlie spoke, both her hands squishing your cheeks. “Anything you need, and I am right here. Okay?” Her glistening eyes were accompanied with a caring smile. 

You melted. “Thanks Char.”

꒰ LUCIFER ꒱

It may not have been the best idea to try and hide the fact that you were sick from everyone at the hotel. After the battle with Heaven, and rebuilding the hotel, you really didn’t want to be the one caught slacking off. The grand re-opening was soon and everything needed to be perfect.

Which brought you to the present, standing atop of a ladder as you helped hang the very sign that stated what you were prepping for. Lucifer stood at the base to make sure it didn’t tip in the process.

“Okay, a little to the left!” Vaggie called out, standing some feet away and eyeing the placement. “Up a little!” You stood on your toes to make the adjustment, legs straightened to their max as you did so. You began feeling your head fill with pressure, vision slowly overcoming with weird splotches of black and purples. “A little higher on the right.” Vaggie was addressing you, but it seemed muffled the more you tried to shake the increasing feeling of dizziness. 

“Hey, you alright, darling?” Lucifer called up to you, seeing you sway ever so slightly, hand dropping the banner before your body completely leaned backwards and fell off the ladder. He was quick to catch you, calling out your name as you landed in his arms. He cradled your figure, worried eyes staring down at you before being directed to take you to a room by Charlie.

“Dad, don’t worry!” She tried to reason with him, seeing how he watched you with concern. “Angel Dust said that Sinners get sick like this all the time! Some rest and things will be back to normal!” Her dad didn’t budge, brows still creased with worry as he held your hand, seeing your chest rise and sink with raspy breaths. His daughter sighed, “I’ll go get some water.” She took her leave.

Lucifer had no idea Sinners dealt with things like this, even after their deaths. He wished he could take away any discomfort you were feeling. If only he had the power to do so, he would in a heartbeat. 

A groan from your lips brought his focus back to you, he watched your chapped lips become slick with your saliva as you licked them. “Luci?” You felt his hand squeeze, your eyes sliding to see your partner. His hat was missing, hair tousled and wrung as if he couldn’t keep himself from threading his fingers through it, troubled at the thought of somehow losing you. 

“Hey, Sweetie.” He did his best to smile but nothing could prevent the worry from leaking through. “You uh, you gave me quite a scare! Ha-Ha!” He tried to push a smile though it was obviously strained. “H-How are you feeling?”

You glanced around, seeing that you were in one of the newly refurbished hotel rooms. Your eyes squinted, trying to recall the events that led you to waking up here. You had been feeling all but ill for the past few days and did nothing but try and push through it. “I, uh… I’m fine.” You tried to sit up but Lucifer pushed you to lay back down gently. 

“You’re anything but fine.” You met eyes with him once more. “If I hadn’t been there to catch you, it could have been worse.” His voice was shaky as he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling well?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I fell.” You tried to scoff out a laugh but seeing his expression you quickly stopped. You sighed, reaching for his hand again, searching for any comfort. He met you with his own, fingers intertwining tightly. “I just… Wanted to help out as much as possible.” You felt his thumb begin to rub along the edge of yours. “I wasn’t feeling well but… I didn’t want to let anyone down.” You saw him melt, now understanding. He felt his heart swell with even more adoration for you.

“Oh, my love.” His other hand caressed your cheek. “There is no way you’d ever let anyone down. Especially with me.” You leaned into his hand a bit more at his words. “If anything is wrong, please promise you’ll come talk with me?” 

You smiled softly before nodding your head. “I guess I should thank you for being there to catch me.” You yanked him towards you, arms wrapping around him tightly into your chest. “My gaurdian angel.” That nearly made his wings pop.

꒰ ADAM ꒱

“Hey Babe!” The door to your bedroom opened, a familiar voice announcing his entrance. “Saw you weren’t at the high council meeting and Danger Tits said you’d be here.” He strutted closer, seeing that the only thing on your bed was a weird lump of blankets. “Uh…” He poked it, “The fuck is this?” He did it a few more times. 

“Sto~op.” You groaned out, muffled through the layers of fabric.

“Uh, ew.” He took a step back, the disgust was ever present in his response. “Sounding a little gross there, babes.”

“Oh screw you.” You threw the blankets off you, narrowed eyes squinting at the intruder. “Why am I sick in Heaven! I thought Angels couldn’t get sick.”

Adam stared for a moment before he bursted into an obnoxious laughter, “Ain’t no way you caught the Angel Allergies!” His cackle continued, clutching his stomach.

“The what?” You spoke flatley, watching him walk around the bedroom and into the on-suite bathroom.

“Every Angel gets them after being in Heaven for a while. It's a side-effect for human angels.” He explained shuffling in the cabinet. “Can’t believe you actually caught them, that’s so lame!”

“Oh, like you’ve never been sick before!” You tried to challenge but your stuffed sinuses made you sound like a little kid throwing a tantrum. 

It only caused Adam to laugh even more. “Fuck no. The first man doesn’t get sick.” The water ran for a second before he walked back out, throwing a white bottle that rattled familiar to pills. “You’re welcome.”

You caught them, all but ungraciously. “What are these?” You glanced at them before having a glass of water shoved into your other hand.

“I can’t have my arm candy looking like a wreck, okay?” He sat down next to you on his side of the bed. Arms crossed behind his head. “Take two of those and you’ll be fine.” Your tired gaze slid over to see him resting, his mask now gone and eyes closed. “You’re stuck in bed until they go away.”

You huffed before quickly taking the pills with a few gulps of water. You drank the liquid entirely and set the empty glass on the bedside table. You immediately turned towards your man and tackled him. Your body cushioned by his and the impact was followed by a breathless grunt from him. “What the–”

“Thanks, babe.” You hummed, and squished your face into his chest. His hand hovered your form before settling around you, pulling you closer into him. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He glanced down at you, seeing your eyes close with a peaceful sigh. “Just get better, okay?” 

꒰ ANGEL DUST ꒱

“See ya whores later!” Angel threw his right hands into the air as he walked through the lobby. “This body doesn't get paid the big bucks for nothing.” He pushed his fluff up, eyes catching a peek at your hunched over form at the bar. He immediately stopped walking. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He took a few steps closer. “Hey,” He poked your arm, causing you to finally sit up straight and wearily turn your head towards him. “Oh, you look like shit.” His lip curled at the sight. Dark eye bags, bleary eyes, dull complexion.

“Thanks, Ange.” Your tone had no inflection of appreciation as you rolled your eyes. “You’re a real confidence booster, you know that?”

“No seriously, what’s going on?” His voice deepened, brows creasing as he sat down on the bar stool next to you, scooting closer. 

You waved a hand in the air, shooing him away. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“More like anything but fine.” Husk spoke as he walked behind the bar. “Spends most nights sitting here rather than sleeping.”

“Shut. up. Husk.” You snapped at the bartender. 

“Insomnia, huh?” Angel sighed, hand hovering your shoulder. He hesitated. “Listen, I gotta go but… Take care of yourself, okay?” You glanced at him before holding your hand out. He grabbed yours and felt you squeeze.

“Don’t worry about me.” You tilted your head and smiled, though unconvincingly. “I’m okay… You should go before you’re late.” Your brows creased knowingly. 

“Right…” He stood,  nervously looking over your figure before letting go and turning to leave. As much as he wanted to stay, to take care of you, he couldn’t do anything to upset Val when he was needed at the studio. 

The next time he saw you was when he had finished shooting. Finally making his way back to the hotel and seeing you in the same spot where he had left you. Except now, you were passed out.

“The fuck, Husk?” He stomped over, “You can’t just pour out the drinks without regard to someone’s health!” He angrily glared at the bartender. 

“I didn’t pour anything.” He huffed, tone blunt as ever. “Started snoozing the minute you left. Figured I’d let them catch some sleep for once.” He shrugged. 

“You– but– Ugh! Nevermind!” Angel came closer, arms wrapping around you softly before lifting you up. He made his way to your hotel room, kicking the door shut with his foot and walking in to lay you on your bed. The jumble finally brought you out of your sleep with a hummed groan. 

“Ange?” You asked, eyes squinting to see his dual colored eyes, a sense of relief flooding your body. You sighed. “You’re back.” You reached out for his hand, searching for his. He returned quickly, though confused. “I’m glad.” The comfy bed now felt like a warm cloud, pulling you back to your slumber once more.

“Wait a minute,” His eyes widened, falling to his knees next to your bed. “Is that why you’ve been staying up?” He whispered in shock.

“Well someone’s gotta make sure you get back safely.” You mumbled into your pillow, feeling your eyelids becoming heavy. He let out a long sigh, overwhelmingly filled with a sense of warmth, hand coming to your head and resting there. 

“Thank you.” He laid his head in his other set of arms next to you. “For everything.”

꒰ VOX ꒱

The man released an exasperated sigh after reading his most recent text from Val. He had to do everything around here, didn’t he? All to keep up appearances with the public and uphold their reputation. Because if it wasn’t his dear Val running up a storm, then it was Velvette. 

Vel’s on a rampage~ ♡

He pushed open the doors to said woman’s studio, seeing her shouting at her workers and her assistant cowering behind one of the trash cans. Taking cover from the throne spools of fabric and occasional scissors. 

“Velvette.” Vox cascaded in a calming tone, walking closer to her and dodging an incoming hairbrush. 

“The fuck do you want, flat face?” She snarled through heavy breaths, “Can’t you see, I’m busy!”

“Yes, of course, so busy.” He rolled his eyes. “And why are you destroying your department this time?” He leaned forward, eyes intent for an answer.

“My star pupil decided to show up late today!” She shouted, “Do you know how much money was spent for this show! And out of nowhere, cough cough, the bitch is sick!” She swiped at her phone, dialing a number. “If that dumbshit doesn’t show, I will kill every last one of you!”

Vox’s brow raised instantly, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure things out.”

“You don’t think I know that!?” She turned towards him. “Go get me my lead!” He huffed and with a zap, he disappeared through one of the many security cameras and into your apartment within the building.

He took a few steps, searching for any sign of you. It was eerily quiet until a symphony of coughs could be heard from the kitchen. They became louder the closer he got, seeing you hunched over the sink. “Oh, No…” He walked over, placing a hand on your back and rubbing to ease your discomfort.

You finished out your fit, “Don’t mind me.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue and wiping your mouth clean. “Just hacking up a lung.” You stood up, turning to fully see Vox. “Let me guess… Vel told you.” You spoke flatly, knowing his appearance wasn’t a coincidence.

“You should have called me.” He frowned.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the hot tea you were brewing until you were rudely interrupted by your weak immune system. “I knew your schedule was busy…” You poured in some more honey. “Not to mention, Vel went off before I could even finish telling her I couldn’t make it today.” You raised the mug to your lips, letting the warm liquid relieve your scratchy throat.

“Velvette’s show is the least of your problems.” He spoke and watched your turn to him. “She can find a new lead. You need to rest.” 

“Yeah, but you’re all about saving face.” You poked the corner of his screen, flashing a small smile before walking past him. “Faking it on that runway for an hour won’t be hard.” His steel claws grabbed your wrist and stopped you. 

“You’re not doing her show.” His eyes glared down at you. Screen flashing a few times before revealing his face once more. “I’ve canceled my appointments for the day.”

“What?” your eyes widened. He grabbed your mug, hand falling to your back and guiding you towards your bedroom. “And you expect Vel to just be okay with that?” 

“Let me handle it.” He brought you to your bed, setting your tea on your bedside table before pulling back your blankets. “You’re on bedrest until this thing has flushed itself out of your system.” 

You propped your hand on your hip, “If I didn’t know any better, Vox. I'd think you cared about me.” You watched his face glitch, blue-screening for a moment. 

“sħᵾⱦ ᵾp ⱥnđ lie down!” His filtered static appeared for a moment with his flustered order.

“Oh, kinky! I love when you get all dominant on me.” You smirked, seeing his face continue to malfunction. “Cool your hard drives.” A soft giggle escaped your lungs before you started coughing again. You slid under the comforter, getting situated as he flicked the blankets over. He passed you your tea and watched you take a sip to relieve your coughing. 

“Stay.” He pointed and glared down at you before turning away. Your fingers swiftly caught the tail of his suit, stopping him. He swiveled his head, brows raised.

You turned away, “Thank you.”

A gentle smile graced his mouth. He stepped closer, hand on your head to lean you towards him ever so slightly. His warm screen grazed your forehead as he softly kissed it. “Anything for you, my love.”

likes and reblogs appreciated ༊*·˚

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I have voluntarily thrown myself into the horny jail. Therefore I am here to request for a severely hurt villain who shows up at the hero's doorstep nearly passed out. Then villain wakes up a few hours later with hero flirting with them but the villain just does not care because they've been wanting this since forever. And then they have a big ol' make out scene-

“What are you doing?” The villain’s eyes were closed but the smell of hot coffee and cooked bacon wasn’t something they could ignore.

“I made you breakfast,” the hero answered softly and the villain opened their eyes laboriously to find a sleepy hero sitting and yawning on the bed.

“Hotel service?” The villain smiled and closed their eyes again, already exhausted from opening them. Everything hurt, not as bad as yesterday, but every muscle, every bone, every tendon tugged them apart.

God, it was like their whole body wanted to tear at them until there was nothing left.

“Pff, dream on.” The villain looked at them again and to their surprise, the hero laid down next to them, head on their pillows. As their messy hair fell over the bedding, the villain was almost certain an angel was getting comfortable next to them. Something, the villain didn’t know what but something about the hero killed their anxiety. The villain was an anxious person, always had been. Restless and a stranger to peace. However, the hero made them believe in something very close to serenity. “How are you feeling?”

“Drained,” the villain said. They studied the hero’s face as so often. Why them? Always them.

As if the hero was the only language the villain could speak. As if the hero was the answer to everything. As if the hero was the only thing that kept them alive.

Somehow, that was the truth.

“Ugh, poor villain. Thank god I know how to take care of you.” The hero stretched out their arm and let their fingers go over the villain’s cheek. It was impossibly soft. “Always getting in trouble.”

“You’re always there to take care of me, so I’m not worried.” Sometimes, the villain would lose themselves in their anger and anxiousness, smashing things and freaking out like a child. It made them feel weak and they were ashamed of it. But sometimes, they’d think of their hero, would think about how simple they made their life look. That worked. That made everything easier.

“I could take care of you in many different ways,” the hero said suddenly and grinned.

Christ. The villain wanted to forget about the pain. They wanted to forget about last night. But that wasn’t easy when just existing was enough to hurt. When everything had to be considered, when everything was a threat, an attack, a possible enemy.

“Could you?” they asked, sitting up in bed. Apparently, the hero hadn’t quite realised what they’d said. Their eyes widened and just like the villain, they sat up in bed.

“Oh my god, sorry, that was so inappropriate.” All the villain could focus on was the blush and the gentle cracking of the hero’s voice. They were embarrassed and the villain couldn’t help but find it intriguing. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” the villain whispered, much too distracted by the hero’s lips. It astonished them how sweet the hero was. How they had stitched the villain’s wounds, made them breakfast. Their soft touches and their kind words…the villain certainly didn’t deserve it and yet, the hero gave it to them.

“What?”

“I don’t care. Get on top.” And then, softly. “Please. Please, sit on my hips.”

For a moment, the hero didn’t move and the villain was truly afraid they’d asked for too much, had demanded without thinking about it. But in the next moment, the hero got up and sat down, looking at their stomach and doing their best not to touch any wounds.

“Are you alright?” the hero asked. They were clearly worried but the villain couldn’t give them a satisfying answer. All they could feel was their heart pumping in their chest as the hero’s hand slipped under their shirt.

“Yes, I’m…actually, I don’t know. I’ve never been this close to dying. I feel like all I do is waste my life.” And I’m trying to ignore the only good thing in it. I’m trying to distance myself from you because that is easier, because it hurts but it hurts more to lose you.

The villain didn’t say that, they were too much of a coward.

“Hey, it’s alright.” The hero put a hand on the villain’s chest, right where their heart was, and the many thoughts liquified, became unimportant and made the villain calm down. “You survived. We can take it easy. Nothing needs to be rushed. All we have to focus on is healing right now, understood?”

The villain nodded.

What if this was it?

What if the hero was their person? What if they were made for each other? And what if the villain continued to avoid them? Would they grow resentful? Would they continue to treat them kindly? Would they turn against each other again?

The villain swallowed. Why on earth did the hero make it so easy to feel loved?

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” The villain looked at them, more than a little shocked.

“You look stressed and every time I touch you, your muscles relax. So, can I please kiss you? I feel like you need to stop thinking for a second.”

“Yes.” The villain didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please do that.”

Please save me from myself.

And the hero did exactly that. They saved them very softly, every day a little more.

[bygonesigh]

20 Questions for Fanfiction Writers

Thank you for the tag, @songofamazon!! ^_^ I really enjoyed reading through your detailed answers!

Tagging: @biowaredisasterbisexual , @hyperions-light , @ofcrowsanddragons , @basedonconjecture , and @thepalehorsevictoria but really @ anyone!! If you do it, I will read it!

(tried to think of those with multiple published works, if I missed you, I'm sorry!!)

1). How many works do you have on AO3?

At this moment, I have five. Soon to be six since I'll be uploading my Taash drabbles/short fics for Taash week :)

2). What's your total AO3 word count?

263,219!

3). What are your top five fics by kudos?

Since I only have five fics, I'll be listing the first one only.

An Examination, of Sorts — Rated E; Female Rook/Emmrich Volkarin; 148 kudos; 16,848 words.

Honestly, it's just smut, haha. If anyone clicks, please heed the tags (dubious consent).

4). What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, just Dragon Age. There are several fandoms I'd like to write for, though! I just haven't gotten around to those ideas in my mind, yet.

5). Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Of course!! :) I value all comments I get! I know how sometimes it can be nerve wracking to make one.

6). What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

In my only longfic, Var Abelas, I gave it two endings (good or bad). The 'bad' ending involves Lavellan dying and Solas tearing the Veil.

7). What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'd probably say An Examination, of Sorts. Lich Emmrich and Rook are together, YAY!

8). Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I know of? And I hope it stays that way...haha ^^;;

9). Do you write smut?

Yes! Though it took me a bit to get there. I'm naturally a very nervous person, and just the thought of writing smut made me, well, nervous lol. But I pushed through! And now..*glances at AO3 page*...I may have opened the flood gates. Now, if I write it well? That's another question, lmao.

10). Do you write crossovers?

Not at this moment, but I would be open to writing a few, sure. Though only in adjacent genres, like a Dragon Age and Baldur's Gate 3 crossover.

11). Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12). Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, haha.

13). Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I would be open to it!

14). What’s your all-time favorite ship?

This is an evil question! I have so, so, so many ships that I love to read though I haven't written for them. UGH, I can't choose one!!!!! (lol it's been like ten minutes and I'm still thinking)

Okay, though I haven't written for it at all—

V/Johnny SIlverhand from Cyberpunk 2077. It's not 'official', but I absolutely love this pairing. I'm a huge sucker for major angst and tragedy, and V/Johnny SIlverhand is the perfect tragedy :')

15). What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If it is published, I will finish it. It may take months or years, but I'll finish it (I am very stubborn).

16). What are your writing strengths?

Hmm... I'm not really sure? I think I can write banter/dialogue well.

17). What are your writing weaknesses?

I make a lot of typos when writing, and I do not easily catch them. I often skip words when writing and my brain will fill them in, making it harder for me to see (text to speech helps a little).

18). Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Do it, wooo!! I personally italicize the other language if I use it, conlang or not. Though in my opinion, there should be a balance between the other language and the primary one you're writing in.

19). First fandom you wrote for?

This is going into the childhood trenches, here. Hmm...as a child I wrote Sailor Moon fanfic but didn't really "publish" it. It was more a series of drabbles, as I was very young and didn't know how to write a story.

20). Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Hmm... This is difficult. I don't think I can choose a fic, as with all of them I have conflicting emotions. I have more favorite moments in each, if that makes sense. For example, I'm ambivalent to chapters 1/2 in An Examination, of Sorts, but I absolutely love chapter 3!

[theteasetwrites]

Begin Again

Chapter 1: Aux Portes de la Mort

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood & gore, scary situations, mentions of death ❧ Word Count: 7.6k

❧ In This Chapter: When you and Daryl awaken in an unknown land, far away from home, the world becomes twice as dangerous as it once was, with a whole new breed of dangers lurking around every corner. You have no choice but to begin again on a new mission: Get. Back. Home.

❧ A/N: IT'S HERE. I'm so excited to be writing for them again ugh it's been too long. I love this reader because she has all that history with Daryl from the first series so it's a real treat to keep all that in mind when I'm writing their scenes together. Also I am posting this before the premiere of the show. This chapter is based on the events of the sneak peek that was released on AMC+! So here ya go, the first chapter! Shoutout to Dahlia (@simpbyday) for helping me with the French translation for the title. She will be my official French language correspondent throughout this process. And if anyone else also knows French, I would love to get feedback on my usage of French throughout the series as well! <3

“Near death” did not mean much to you anymore.

You were either dead or alive, nothing in between. That’s how you felt about it now. There were few areas in life that were black and white to you, and that was one of them. If you were alive, you were alive. Maybe you’d be a little worse for wear, but you were alive. That was the important thing.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. As a way to condition yourself, to be stronger. For Daryl. For Robin. For Wes. You had to be strong for them. Maybe that’s what got you into this mess. 

No, Daryl did. Daryl got you into this: tied loosely to the back of a lifeboat, one foot missing a boot and hanging off the edge, dangling pitifully in the ocean as the small vessel drew you closer to the shore. 

You might’ve stayed asleep if it weren’t for the splashing sound, followed by the familiar grunts and wheezes of gasping breath. You felt the rope across your hips pull in the other direction, where Daryl fought with the current to come back to the air. Through heavy eyes, crusted by a long sleep and sensitive to the bright light of what must’ve been mid-afternoon, you saw him struggle to lift the rope from his body as a wave pummeled him back down below the water. 

Your throat burning, rendering you unable to so much as cry out his name, you freed yourself from the rope, sliding into the water. What happened next would fade into the obscurity of rumbling waves carrying your weak bodies closer to shore, until the feeling of ground underfoot welcomed you. 

But that feeling was short-lived. As soon as your feet felt the sand, you were knocked down by another wave. Now you could only crawl, with what little strength you had left. Even Daryl, so very hearty and always physically stronger and more durable than yourself, began to stagger, falling less than gracefully to his knees just a few feet from you. There was no need for verbal recognition or even touch—you felt him there, crawling beside you, alive. 

Now with only your feet still clinging to the sea, your arms gave out underneath you, like two pieces of boiled spaghetti, limp and sprawled out not far from Daryl, who lied with his face pressed against the sand, his wet hair shrouding any semblance of his visage. 

Though you could hear his sharp breaths, his heavy pants that withdrew with high-pitched whimpers that sent a shiver down your spine, you could hardly tell if he was moving. 

Momentarily frozen, you gathered all your strength to extend your arm across the sand. Your fingers stretched out to the fullest extent, crawling like a spider until finally you gripped his hand, entwining your fingers with his and shaking it roughly, urging him to move.

You had been near death enough to know that the worst thing to do was to stop moving. That was like accepting death, and wherever you were now, you weren’t going to face it without him.

Your movement brought him to life as he lifted his head, his sight first taking in his surroundings—a beach.

And not far in the distance, a small blue bucket. 

You followed his gaze, which seemed transfixed on the object, partly buried by the wet sand that must’ve remained untouched for God only knows how long. 

Having a near encyclopedic understanding of Daryl’s mind, you knew what he was thinking of—survival. There was water in that bucket. Sandy ocean water, but water nevertheless.

All you could think of, though, was how familiar that little bucket was. Robin had one just like it. Last time you’d taken her and Wes to Oceanside, they played on the beach for hours, making sandcastles with her little bucket and shovel that she’d gotten for her seventh birthday last May. Somehow she’d convinced Daryl to let her bury him under the sand. You had the Polaroids to prove it somewhere in one of the pockets of your vest, if they hadn’t been lost to sea.

The memory faded quickly, as he pulled you up, still holding your hand. At least now he was moving, dragging you and himself towards the bucket.

He’d let go of your hand to pick it up, digging out as much sand as he could before handing it to you. Without a word, you brought the rim of the bucket to your lips, taking just a few sips, despite the painful drought in your throat.

Daryl took the rest, downing the sandy saltwater like it was the nectar of life, and here, at the gates of death, it was. 

When the water was gone, he let the pail fall back to its final resting place. You couldn’t bring yourself to even raise your head. You could only watch it fall, the bright blue plastic taking you back to a time that seemed so far away now, to a world you wished you’d never left. 

But Daryl, ever the pragmatist, always planning the next move, was already narrowing his eyes, looking around for the answer to that burning question that lingered between the two of you—where the hell are we? 

You could’ve looked at that little bucket forever, if he hadn’t tugged on your hand, not unlike how you’d done so to his just minutes ago. 

“C’mon.”

The further the two of you walked, slowly, limping, the more you began to take note of your surroundings, without too much thought of the complete and utter shit you two were both in. For all the differences between you, you both knew one thing was true—there was no point in dwelling on how you got here, the only thing that mattered was getting back home. That was the unspoken truth. 

As you walked further, the sand beneath your feet turned into concrete. Some kind of parking structure, or what once was. You passed the rotting, rusted shells of cars, their windows smashed and their hoods lifted, no doubt due to survivors looking for parts to salvage. A clump of neglected bicycles leaned against a graffitied pole. Like most graffiti, you couldn’t make out what it said. 

Passing a small overgrown boat, you spotted a signpost not too far away. You walked ahead of Daryl, all too eager to see what it said. The letters were faded, but you could make out the arrows, meaning it would point you in whatever direction you needed to go in. That was all you needed now: direction. Some delusionally hopeful part of you, deep down, wanted to believe the sign would display the word “HOME” with an arrow accompanying it, leading the way without confusion or ambiguity. 

But of course, you knew that was impossible. Still, you did not anticipate what you saw.

Squinting your tired eyes, your weakened legs slowed to a halt as the sign’s lettering came into view. Your heart sank as you stepped back, almost terrified of what you read. But you backed against Daryl’s chest, which caught you before you could lose your balance from the shock of the realization. 

You could not read the sign. 

Pla… place de… ste?

Port de… Martegues?

… Cimetiere?

Shit.

Some kind of port city, somewhere in France.

That’s what you decided upon, in the silence of your heavy thoughts as you walked together aimlessly, still not speaking. How could you speak to him? What was there to say? You had no hope now. It was gone, and usually, that was the only thing that kept you talking in times like these. 

And Daryl, he could go hours without speaking, if he had nothing to say. 

He, too, was at a loss for words. After all, he knew he’d gotten you into this. He knew none of this would’ve happened if he’d just… It didn’t matter now, though. What mattered was getting home.

But you weren’t safe here. 

You always knew that the whole world must’ve fallen, of course. When everything happened, the world went dark. France was no exception. The state of the place was proof enough. In this old city, with cobblestone streets littered in the abandoned remnants of a once prosperous civilization, every corner you turned was the same—empty, ruined, overgrown.

By some instinct, you both walked along a path just on the edge of a canal that seemed to run through the city. Perhaps it was just a gut feeling, or perhaps the both of you knew to stay close to the water, on the off chance that you’d find some kind of seafaring vessel. Though you still couldn’t shake the taste of saltwater, you knew that the only way you could get back home was to get back on the water. That was your priority.

Sure enough, you came upon a boat, moored at the edge of the path, floating upon the water, and looking as though it had been there for centuries.

Just outside the boat on the cobblestone path, it looked as though someone had set up camp, once upon a time. Whoever had been there, though, they were long gone. As you passed a desiccated corpse, completely barren of flesh with a long fisherman’s spear skewered through its head, you wondered if this body had once held the poor soul of the boat’s former occupant. You didn’t wonder for long, though, as these days, you’d seen enough dead bodies to almost completely desensitize you from any human curiosity. Now, it was just a bag of bones. 

Approaching the stern of the vessel, Daryl went into the cabin first, his sights set on the wine bottles perched on a wooden shelf, in the hopes that maybe they’d contain some water. He picked them up one by one, shaking them. Nothing at all. 

You busied yourself, rummaging through a bag you found hanging from a nail near the door. Your hand gripped on some long, cylindrical plastic, ribbed and seemingly filled with liquid. 

“Daryl.”

You held the water bottle out towards him as he turned around. You hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face yet, until now. 

The skin of his face and neck were reddened terribly by the sun, but that didn’t worry you as much. It was the scarlet red cut stretching diagonally over his forehead, and the paleness of his lips, dry and dehydrated. The saltwater you both drank earlier only made the thirst more potent. 

Deciding he needed the water more than you, you pressed the bottle to his chest, despite his brief protest that he gave with only a knowing look on his face, as if to say: You drink first. 

You returned the look, but with more conviction as you shoved the bottle harder now, as if to say: No. Drink. 

Reluctantly, he did, drinking less than half before handing it back to you, with the same force you applied when giving it to him, and the same stern, protective look: Drink. 

You took the rest of the water, wincing at the aged taste. But you drank it down slowly, steadily, the cooling liquid coating your barren throat. 

Lost in the brief relief it gave you, you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s continued russling as he pillaged the tiny boat cabin, looking for anything and everything that could somehow be useful. 

As you used your long, torn sleeve to wipe away the dripping water from your chin, you were startled by the sudden sound of a man’s voice, not Daryl’s. 

With a flinch, you turned around to see Daryl, sitting at the small dining table, holding a tape recorder. 

“Nineteen months at sea,” said the man’s garbled voice, with an accent you deemed to be Irish. “Hoping to stay ahead of this thing.”

On the table before him was a map of Europe, and a photo of a family. There was a man that must’ve been the owner of the voice you listened to now. Beside him was a woman, his wife, Daryl assumed, because on her lap was a little girl, holding a large stuffed penguin, about half the size of her. She couldn’t have been older than Robin, he thought. 

They looked happy, all smiles. Somewhere in one of his pockets, he was sure he had a picture that looked almost exactly the same, only with his family—Robin, Wes, Dog, you. He quickly willed the thought away, though. If he kept thinking about it, he was sure he’d break down, when at this point, what he needed to be the most was strong. 

“Circled Spain,” the voice continued. “Nowhere safe… We’ll try Marseille next. Maybe the south of France is good… There’s got to be a safe place somewhere.”

You were sure you’d uttered that phrase once. Maybe around the same time he did. Just goes to show how much this world changes you, which was saying something—you always believed the world hadn’t changed you nearly as much as it changed everyone else. But you knew now that there was no safe place in this world, except in the arms of the ones you loved. And even then, that was only a metaphor. But you had to believe it, to convince yourself it was true. Otherwise, you were no different than the dead.

Night was closing in. There was no more time to waste. 

Still without hardly more than a one-word sentence exchanged between you, you got to work setting up a night’s worth of camp, while Daryl speared a fish in the canal. Just one was all the energy he had, but it was more than enough for the both of you. A white fish of decent size, which Daryl cooked over the makeshift barbecue near the boat. 

Sitting on the boat, you got a lantern working, providing just enough light to see what you were doing as you tried to filter the muddy canal water through the mesh lining of a jacket you’d found inside the boat. Across the way, you’d glimpse at Daryl, now draped in a tarp he’d fashioned into a poncho, in only the way Daryl could even think of doing. 

His tired face was illuminated by the fire over which he cooked the fish, turning it over with a small knife until it was cooked through. You wondered what on Earth was going on in his head, if he was as frightened as you were, if he had any hope left. 

You didn’t have much hope anymore. Not now. 

In this world, you’d found that your hope had been tested constantly, but only a handful of times did it try you like this. When the farm fell, when you lost the prison, when the Saviors took Daryl… 

But you always got it back. You always found your strength again. 

You weren’t sure if you could get it back this time.

Still, you had Daryl. If you were alone, in a strange place, thousands of miles from home, you were sure you would’ve given up by now. But he was here. 

The silence between you persisted into the night, as you sat across from each other, under the dark blanket of the night sky, eating the charred fish straight off the bone, with only the dim flickering light of the lantern just barely lighting your faces. 

When the silence became unbearable, Daryl had pulled the tape recorder from his pocket, playing it again, as if he found comfort in the man’s voice, despite the ultimate tragedy that must’ve occurred. 

“Sue had a heart attack.” You could only assume that was the name of his wife, the woman in the photograph. “I had to… take care of it.”

You’d heard stories like that before, of someone having to put down their loved one before or, God forbid, after they turned, but it would never cease to send a shiver down your spine. The thought of having to do that to Daryl… It was a nightmare you’d had more than once.

“Our tenth anniversary would’ve been in June… Holly keeps crying. She wants her mum back.”

That was when you stopped eating, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“She wants things the way they were.”

You swallowed hard in an attempt to suck down the lump forming in your throat. 

“She wants to go home.”

“Turn it off.”

The sudden sternness in your voice nearly surprised him, or maybe it was just how many words you spoke at once. 

He grabbed the recorder and turned it off with a sharp click, restoring the heavy silence that lingered like a thick fog between you. 

Daryl watched intently as you hugged your legs against your chest, your eyes downcast and glued to the worn and torn stuffed penguin, buried underneath some ropes and an empty old fuel tank. You recognized it from the photo. 

He could read the look on your face, and the thoughts that he knew were flying through your head at a thousand miles an hour. He knew that you were thinking about home, about your family. Still, he couldn’t shake this discomfort. This quiet. 

For all the years he’d known you, he’d never gone this long with such silence between the two of you. Of course, he’d been separated from you before for much longer, but together? You were hardly ever at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time you were like this, but he didn’t like it. Funny, Daryl was always the quieter one, the one who more often than not needed to be coaxed into talking. He always preferred the quiet, but this was unbearable. 

He needed to hear your voice, now more than ever. He needed your hope.

“You haven’t said more than three words since we got here.”

Washed up here, your mind corrected. 

He leaned forward stiffly, still eying you, despite your gaze still transfixed on the once pristine stuffed animal. 

Several painful moments passed. Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. He’d beg for you to speak, to say anything to him. All he wanted was to hear you. 

“Please.” His voice was low, soft. It was always like that with you, but something about it now seemed more desperate. “Please say somethin’.”

Finally, you raised your head slowly, meeting his silvery blue eyes, visible through several loose strands of hair that framed his face. If you were in better spirits, you might’ve smiled, just seeing his face, despite how badly he was in need of a good shower. You were sure you looked rather filthy yourself.

But you couldn’t smile. You couldn’t even imagine such a thing. The last time you smiled seemed so far away, you could hardly even remember it. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice was shaky, hoarse, tired. He’d been with you through Hell and back, and back again, and yet he’d never heard your voice so defeated, so… lost.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply, still holding your gaze. Now, you both stared intently, as if battling to see who could dare to look away first. “I just…” As he trailed off, his eyes sank in defeat. He’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry.”

With a sniffle, you replied. “What are you sorry for?”

It took him several moments to speak, as he tried to compose himself. If he opened his mouth too soon, he might start crying, and despite how much you encouraged him to be vulnerable, to not neglect his emotions around you, he could never fully let himself cry in front of you without feeling that ingrained sense of failure and inadequacy, like he wasn’t the strong man you needed, no matter how many times you reminded him of how strong he was. 

“For gettin’ you into this.”

Your lip quivered, your eyes softened. 

He continued, “If I hadn’t asked you to go with me—”

“Then you’d be sitting here, across the world, alone, and I’d be in Alexandria worried sick about you.”

“But you’d be safe,” he said, an almost imperceptible shake in his voice as he was reminded of the danger you were now mired in, all thanks to him.

“How many times have I told you… I’m safest when I’m with you.”

That thought was nice, but it still could never completely alleviate Daryl’s worries. 

And there was another reason he wished he hadn’t asked you to come along. 

“But you’d be with the kids.”

Your eyes sank as though they were anchored to the floor of this decrepit old boat. He knew that would get you, you were sure. He knew that, besides him, you loved your children more than anything else, and being so far away from them, lost with no immediate hope of seeing them again, was crushing you.

A silence befell you, and Daryl felt like he lost you again. God, all he wanted was to hear you. Your voice was the most comfort he could have right now, just to know you were near.

Now Daryl looked down, focused on the mud caked around his brown boots. He raised his hands to his face as he huffed. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. Just sad.

With a sniffle, you looked back up. He still sat with his head in his hands, until he lifted his eyes above his fingers just enough to see you. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice a cracking whisper.

“Nah,” he said abruptly. “Nothin’s okay.”

Daryl always had that bad habit of blaming everything on himself. You knew it well. It frustrated you—his inability to give himself any credit and his tendency to dwell on his flaws instead of celebrating his accomplishments. Granted, one of the many traits you admired about your husband was his humility, but sometimes, you wished he would consider the things he’d done right instead of all the things he did wrong.

You raised yourself to your feet, crossing the boat to sit beside him. He did not look your way or pay you much attention, still lost in his thoughts. Still, you carefully, slowly, wrapped your arm around his waist and his shoulders, holding him. 

He was stiff, but under your touch, he slowly began to soften, as he always did. It was then he had realized how long it seemed he’d gone without your touch like this. You’d been with him the whole time, but survival did not allow for many moments of pure, gentle intimacy between two lovers.

“We’re alive,” you whispered. As you leaned against him, you pressed a small, but firm, kiss to his cheek. “We’re together.”

Without a word, he gave you a knowing glance. He narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, while he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

You smiled. “One of us has to be the positive one. We can’t get anything done if we’re both sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“It’s shitty,” you said. “This is a shitty situation… Maybe the worst situation we’ve been in, but we’re going to get back home.” 

Though you spoke with conviction, you weren’t entirely sure that you really believed the words you spoke. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe you were here in the first place. Nevertheless, you’d die trying to get back home, to see your children again, to watch them grow.

There was no way in Hell you were going to sit back and do nothing. 

To your relief, Daryl’s hand found yours, curling around it and squeezing it tight. He nodded, then raised your hand to his lips.

“Yeah. We will.”

You smiled as you roamed his face, finding comfort in the familiarity. In this world of uncertainty, this new world where neither of you belonged, you found safety in each other—you saw Alexandria in his face. All the memories. It was like a photo album, everything flashed before your eyes. You saw Robin, Wes, Aaron, Lydia, Maggie, Michonne, Rick… everyone. Everyone you loved, alive or dead, all in him. 

And in you, he felt the same, but not only that. He saw everything beautiful and pure in this world, everything worth protecting and keeping alive. As you held him, he held your face, his thumbs moving gently over the apples of your cheeks. 

Your face was worn, tired, with a few knicks and scratches scattered about over your usually smooth and unblemished skin, but nothing could distract from the perfection of your features that he knew and adored so well.

And you, you couldn’t help but eye that nasty cut on his forehead. You swept away the stray pieces of hair that obscured the cut, then huffed. Though you had already washed the cut with water, you were itching to find a real first aid kit to prevent infection. The one on the boat was cleaned out, and whatever first aid kit you had brought with you was in a bag lost at sea.

“S’fine,” he said, knowing full well what you were thinking. “M’fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“We’ll find something to help it. If I could get my hands on some calendula or even some marshmallow…” 

That thought prompted you to look around, the darkness of the empty waterway in the desolate, ruined city. Even if you could find some herbs with healing properties here, you wouldn’t know where to start looking. 

The south of France wasn’t exactly the same as Virginia in terms of flora and fauna. 

“First thing we gotta find is a way back,” he replied.

“We could fix up this boat.” Daryl’s mechanic expertise started and stopped with cars and motorcycles, but you figured a boat couldn’t be much different. 

“Nah. Engine’s shot, and I dunno the first thing ‘bout how boats work, anyway.”

“Well… We’ll just have to find another way. There have to be people somewhere.” 

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow as he chewed the last of his fish. “You remember what happened the last time we asked a bunch of strangers for help?”

Ah, yes—the Commonwealth. 

At least that turned out in your favor, eventually. It took almost a year of turmoil, but in the end, it was worth it.

“Daryl, I don’t see any way out of this without some help. Besides, we haven’t seen any walkers yet… Maybe France is faring better?”

“Or maybe they’re all dead.”

“Stop it. That’s not true.” You held his cheek and turned his face towards you. “You know it’s not true… It can’t be.”

The rest of that night passed slowly, quietly. Maybe it was out of habit, or just his need to be aware of his and your surroundings at all times, but Daryl spent a good fifteen minutes checking out the general vicinity, scanning the perimeter around the little boat on which you busied yourself by fashioning a bed of sorts out of pieces of seats and blankets. 

Daryl returned not long after he left, with a curious trinket in his hands: a Barbie doll. 

You looked up at him from the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of posing the little blonde doll, sitting her atop the small dining table with her arm raised as if she were waving. Her hair was only slightly mangled, but you knew many tricks when it came to freshening up Barbie dolls and making them good as new for Robin, and sometimes Wes, to play with.  

“Only you could find a Barbie doll in France,” you said.

“It’s not just any Barbie doll,” he said, sitting himself down beside you with a huff. Gravity forced his body to the bed. Well, bed was a generous term for the dismantled chair covered with blankets. “It’s a veterinarian.”

You studied the doll closer from a distance. Indeed, she had a little white doctor’s coat and a pink stethoscope. You would’ve thought she was actually a doctor Barbie, but only a trained, professional eye like Daryl’s would spy the light pink paw print pattern on her lab coat. Thus, she was distinctly a veterinarian, to be sure. 

A smile spread across your face as you laid back, snuggling close to his side. He smelled faintly like fish, but you were certain that you didn’t smell so great either. 

“She’ll love it,” you whispered. There was no question who you could possibly be talking about. “I’ll keep it in my bag until we get home.”

Daryl couldn’t respond verbally. He could only chew his bottom lip as his arm snaked underneath your side and wrapped around to stroke your shoulder with his hand. Perhaps that was the ultimate reason he took the doll—as a way to further motivate both of you to live long enough to see your family again. And you would. He’d make sure of it. He knew it. He had to.

At length, you spoke again. 

“It’s clear?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No walkers, no people… No nothin’.”

That was good. If Daryl felt it was safe enough for the both of you to sleep tonight, that was a victory in your book. 

“Tomorrow,” you began, “we should start heading north, towards Paris.”

Daryl’s lip twitched into a slight smile as he began to close his eyes, still holding you. Sometimes, you hardly noticed he was holding you. A long time ago, it had become second nature, so habitual that him holding you in bed at night was a feeling you couldn’t quite sleep without. 

“Paris?”

“Yeah… There could be people there. Biggest city, biggest population.”

“Yeah, biggest population of walkers.”

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know then. You got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you, with only one eye open, the other squeezed shut as his nose scrunched up and he made a faux scowl. It was almost enough to make you laugh. 

He chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. “How about west?” he asked. “Least we can head that way first, see if we find anyone or anything. Best to stay as far away from the city as possible.”

“You're right,” you replied, resting your head upon his chest. Somehow, it was always much more comfortable than a pillow, despite its relative firmness. “You're always right.”

“Not always,” he said lowly, his fingers finding the ends of your hair and twirling around them as if by instinct.

“Yeah… Not always.”

“Pfft…”

“What?”

“Jus’... Can’t believe where we are right now.”

You nodded in agreement, but you could tell where this line of thinking was going—this negativity that sometimes clouded Daryl’s almost unwavering hope. That was where you came in, though your hope was in serious question, too.

“Well, you did promise you’d take me on a vacation.”

He scoffed again, but it was almost a laugh. Almost.

“France wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” you said. A few beats of silence, then you added, “I would’ve preferred Italy.”

Three days had passed, all of which were spent hiking through ruins and desolate hills. Daryl used the long fishing spear from the boat as a kind of walking stick, and a weapon, along with whatever else he scavenged from Marseille. You’d found a few good knives, but nothing to quite balance out the slight limp you’d woken up with when you washed ashore. 

No encounters with walkers, you’d noted, though you’d seen some wandering in the distance, ambling aimlessly through deserted stretches of wilderness. At certain points, you feared you might’ve been walking at the same pace as the rotting corpses, but they were far enough, and none of them seemed as fast as some of the climbers you’d seen. 

Wilderness eventually faded into a somewhat industrialized town, much further away from the coast you’d started from. 

It was small, but a good place to stop off for the night, you’d hoped.

Wandering through the small alleyways, littered with debris and overgrown vegetation, you came upon a large building, something like a warehouse turned into what appeared to be a supermarket. At least, that’s what you gathered from the signage, despite its unknown language. 

Oh, how you wished you’d taken French instead of Spanish in high school now. 

Daryl entered first, quietly opening the creaking door. The general protocol when entering new, unknown buildings had always been the same: be quiet (silent if possible). Although, if there were any walkers in there, odds are, they could smell you before you’d even say a word.

Still, you felt Daryl’s hand tap your shoulder lightly. He signaled to you, signing the phrase, “Me left, you right,” as he mouthed the words. 

You always hated splitting up, but you signed back, “Be careful.”

Connie and Kelly would’ve been proud, you were sure. 

The two of you split up, Daryl searching the leftmost side of the building, you the right. 

As you examined the place, you took note of its state. It was abandoned, of course, but it was one of those places that had been left alone since the very beginning. It looked as though there had been a farmer’s market here, with long tables and booths with once meticulously laid out displays of crafts and homemade wares. Surely, whatever fresh produce had been here had long since deteriorated into nothingness, but there was always the chance of coming across dry foods. Grains and legumes and the like. Those were the ideals.

If fortune favored you, you could even find some dried herbs or medicinal plants to use on Daryl’s cut, but that was a longshot. 

Still, you kept a lookout, your mind, and your stomach, much more focused on finding food than on scoping the place out for walkers. From across the way, you heard a small thud that made you flinch. Your eyes followed the sound—Daryl had set down his bag rather carelessly. 

Eyes wide, you looked at him. He seemed entranced by a jar he was in the process of opening, only to smell its contents and put it back. Feeling your gaze on him, he looked up at you. 

“You OK?” he signed, mouthing the words.

You sighed quietly, recovering from the startle. “Yeah.” With much more emphasis, exacerbated by the firmness with which you moved your hands, you once again signed, “BE CAREFUL.”

“OK,” he signed back, his face bordering on slightly annoyed with your protectiveness.

But another thud quickly drew your attention, though this one was not from Daryl, who also turned to locate the source of the ruckus. 

You could only see a faint movement that was rather close to the ground, as though an animal was stirring, but as the familiar groans and wheezes started, you knew what it was. 

Much to your surprise, Daryl seemed stunned for a moment, standing rather still as he simply watched the walker crawl out from underneath a pile of rubbish. As for you, you gripped the handle of your knife, removing it from its holder on your belt. But you were much further from him, and where there was one walker, there were, more often not, much more.

Suddenly, more walkers seemed to awaken from their slumber. Sleepers, you’d grown to call them. In your fascination with the habits of walkers, you’d begun taking note of how they seemed to have their own mode of hibernation during times of inactivity. 

From what you could see, about eight or so of them had emerged from the far left, somewhere behind the produce stands, and were heading towards Daryl. You had the luckier draw, with only three or four setting their sights, and their gnashing, rotten teeth, on you. 

No need for signing anymore. Dinner was officially served, and tonight, fresh American meat was on the menu. 

“You got it?!” you called out to Daryl, raising your knife as the nearest walker limped towards you, its skull just barely clinging to the remainder of petrified flesh that hung loosely from its face. 

He hesitated for a moment, worrying you. Daryl seemed off his game when it came to fighting walkers. Perhaps it was because he was still frazzled by the strangeness of your situation, or perhaps, God forbid, he was more worse for wear than he wanted you to know. After all, Daryl did have a tendency to downplay his injuries or his illnesses, a habit which frustrated you perhaps beyond any other quirk he had, because this was the most dangerous to his health.

But you couldn’t think of that now. Not when there were walkers snapping at you, and even more at your husband.

“Yeah!” he finally called back as he got a grip on his spear. 

He set his focus on the first walker that had risen, which began slowly limping towards him. From behind him, though, was another walker, making quicker progress. He turned briefly, skewering the walker’s head with the sharpened point of the spear. He followed that with a kick to the walker’s abdomen, removing it quickly from the weapon.

On the other side of the place, you drove your knife into the nearest walker’s skull, but not without the usual splash of blood that came spurting out afterwards. 

This spurt, though, was no ordinary one. 

As you tugged the blade from its skull, you noticed a stinging sound, like that of a singe. It came as the blood spattered over the floor, and continued as it poured from the walker’s head. You stepped back, brows furrowed as you watched the trail of blood seem to evaporate, but it left behind a cloud of… smoke. 

In a way, it reminded you of a branding, how the hot iron had been embedded into your skin and eaten away at the flesh with a horrendous burn until an X was forever scarred into your back. Whatever was going on with that walker, if its blood had gotten anywhere near your skin, you were sure it would have a similar effect—an agonizing, flesh dissolving burn.

But you hadn’t any more time to think about the strange walker, as there was another one coming behind you. 

Meanwhile, had just skewered another walker through the face, then pulled the spear out to fling the walker backwards and tumbling back against another one.

Stepping backwards, just about to turn around and face another batch of walkers, one lunged forward, reaching its hand out to grip Daryl’s forearm, but this was not any ordinary death grip.

Most walkers’ touches were cold, lifeless, but this? This… searing, stinging, agonizing sharpness that made him scream.

With one last kill, you turned towards him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape with the fear of the most profound variety. Daryl never screamed like that. At least, not when you were around. Suddenly, every nightmare and intrusive thought of Daryl being bitten assaulted your mind all at once. 

All you could see was him struggling against a walker, whose grip on his forearm must’ve been so strong that even Daryl couldn’t immediately pry himself away. 

But the walker’s grip really wasn’t that strong. No, its hand was simply stuck, with Daryl’s burning, melting flesh acting as a kind of glue. 

As he tugged and yelled in frustrated pain, you quickly bounded across the room, taking down another walker on the way. 

The closer you got, the more you saw it—the small swirl of smoke emerging from Daryl’s flesh as the walker’s hand seared the flesh of his arm. 

Just before you could get to it, Daryl managed to rip himself free, stepping back a moment to briefly scowl at the strange burn. 

Immediately, you came forward, plunging your knife into the walker’s head. 

Daryl’s eyes flashed to meet yours, a simple exchange of breathless nods between you enough to suffice until the rest of the walkers were taken care of.

You looked around swiftly, and Daryl did the same. Six more walkers. Between the two of you, it would be light work. That is, if there were no more SNAFUs.

Daryl took the high ground, situating himself on a large wooden table to better approach the threat. 

You kept on the floor, using one hand to pull the walkers toward you, the other to strike with your knife. 

Once again, Daryl found himself with the unlucky situation. Underneath the table he’d taken defense at was another walker. 

Plunging the end of his spear through the wood, he successfully impaled the walker’s head, but not without his spear getting stuck.

He tugged on the spear with all his strength, but the thing wouldn’t budge—the spear was lodged too deep in the walker’s skull, causing it to bang on the underside of the table with each attempt to tug it back up. In perhaps a less serious setting, the image might’ve been quite comical. 

Daryl’s grunts combined with the repeated banging sound alerted you to the situation, and to the other walker coming closest to him. 

You quickly charged the walker, finally taking it out with a swift but jagged movement. Meanwhile, Daryl had just freed his spear, and now moved to kill two more walkers in his path. 

He was fast this time, killing them within hardly a second between each other. It was just enough time for him to turn around and see the very last walker coming towards you.

Without another second to even hesitate, you raised your knife, only for another one to fly into the side of the walker’s head, sending it falling to the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes, Daryl’s flying knives startled you more than the walkers. 

With a huff, you reached down, pulling the knife from the walker’s head. Just as you’d seen from the other one—a splash of burning, corrosive blood, a hissing sound as it hit the floor, and a small plume of smoke.

What the hell are you? you asked the corpse in your head. 

But that wasn’t important now. You quickly turned your attention to Daryl, who pulled up the sleeve of his poncho to reveal the raw flesh of his burn. 

Within a moment’s time, you were at his side, holding his arm as your eyes frantically took in the wound. In your confusion, and your fear, you looked up at him, all the color drained from your face. From what you knew of burns, this looked to be second degree, oozing redness and blisters already starting to form. 

“We’ll bandage it up,” you said, nodding to yourself, as if to reassure both him and you. “We’ll clean it first… Some water and—and if I find some aloe…”

He caught your gaze, holding it for a good several moments of heavy silence.

“You ever seen a walker do that?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was no.

You turned to investigate the last walker you’d killed—on the surface, not unlike any other walker you’d seen before, except you supposed he had a certain… je ne sais quoi, if you will. 

“Maybe… it’s a French thing,” you replied. “I have no idea.”

Daryl let out a deep huff as he sat, still wincing at the unsightly burn on his arm.

You sat beside him, reaching into your satchel to procure a crinkly plastic bottle of water. 

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “You need to drink that.”

Ignoring him, you dabbed several drops of water onto the clean rag you’d taken from the boat in Marseille. With Daryl always getting hurt somehow, you knew it was a good find.

He hissed between his teeth as you lightly cleaned the wound as best you could, but it still seemed to ooze.

It worried you, to say the least. 

And Daryl… he only worried about what might happen to you if this thing was even more sinister than it looked.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly. If you knew what he was going to say, you weren’t even going to let him speak the possibility into existence. “It’s not like a bite.”

“But what if it is.”

After all, what you knew of walkers was that their bites were deadly. What if their… burns were too? 

But you refused to believe that. 

“It’s not,” you said back. “We’ll patch it up. It’ll be fine.”

From the look on his face, he appeared not to believe that, his eyes clouded with fear and uncertainty the likes of which you’d almost never seen in him. Daryl didn’t fear death, though. He feared the thought of you being alone, in a world where the two of you needed each other more than anything. 

Again, here you were, trying to lift his spirits despite the possibility of death lingering all around you, in this French supermarket that reeked of death and rotten flesh. But you weren’t just reassuring him, you were reassuring yourself.

“Hey.” Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to face yours. Your eyes were soft, but firm enough to remind him that, just as he would never let anything happen to you, you would never let anything happen to him. Your voice barely above a whisper, you spoke to him with the gentleness he knew and loved so well. The gentleness he’d needed all his life, and would need until the day he died, and after that, too. “Sweetheart… We’re alive.”

That was enough. It would have to be enough. Enough to begin again.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @sephirthoughts. Had fun answering these, or what I could of them.

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

5 works. I only upload multipart fics there. Save for a Hojo one shot there and an Angeal x Reader x Sephiroth that desperately needs to finish being rewritten and expanded.

2) what's your total ao3 word count?

33,204

3) what are your top five fics by kudos?

seeing as I only have 5 on ao3, I'll do top 3

Why Don't You Join Me- Angeal x Reader x Sephiroth

Misconduct- Genesis x Reader x Tseng

Made for You- Sephiroth x Reader

4) what fandoms do you write for?

Final Fantasy 7 and that will probably be the only thing I ever write for. Maybe will sprinkle in some more ff8 really just for Laguna and Seifer.

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I respond to everyone and if I didn't respond to you it's only due to it being lost in my notifications.

6) what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Misconduct is not finished but the ending is certainly not a happy one.

7) what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't really do happy endings, most of my other writings are plotless. OH- well, the happiest thing I wrote was probably that cat thing with Tseng when he turns into the best cat dad after you snuck a little feller in.

8) do you get hate on fics?

If I do, they do not say it to me ever.

9) do you write smut?

Lmao. Bro I only started writing because I wanted some freaky Hojo shit and some Sephiroth foot fetish material. Someone's gotta write about riding his boots dude. Hell yes I do.

10) do you write crossovers?

Ahhh...no but does a Silent Hill AU for Tseng count (another wip smh.)

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

Boy if you out here stealing this donkey cheek ass shit you're diabolical as hell

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of, but I feel like the answer may be no.

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no but with the grammatical fixes and inspiration from that alone from @ghost-analogy to take Misconduct more seriously it just about feels like it lmao.

14) what's your all time favorite ship?

Ugh I do not have a favorite ship. I desperately want everyone to love and fuck each other.

15) what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Made for You often feels like I will not be finishing it. I do not want to leave anything unfinished, especially this because I love where it was going. I also have this Tseng x Rufus thing where of course Tseng can't stand that man and is only in a "relationship" with him because it became, seemingly, mandatory.

16) what are your writing strengths?

None. I'm just dragging ya'll along for the ride. I might be funny or some shit I dunno lmao.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

I can't focus most of the time, my ideas are too big for my brain, my grammar is absolutely ass and I have to actually learn, I am not good at adding emotions into my writing (I'm trying)

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have 2 braincells that fight each other until one is out for a few days. If I was capable of doing this I'd absolutely would. I imagine it's a very cool concept.

20) favourite fic you've ever written?

To be honest it was Sapphire x Sephiroth for @sapphirothcrescent for some reason it is the most proud I have been of a writing. Misconduct would be runner up.

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 10]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Mentions of Death, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Body Horror, Monsters be destroying shit, Lots of Gore, Fires, Major Character Injury CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 4.9K

(10/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: HA I FINISHED IT Bi-annual update fr fr

Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

Taking heavy breaths, you took your time to steady yourself. Your hands were beginning to cramp from how long you’d been holding your rapier, and your uniform had been singed and torn at the edges. You stood your ground, but barely, and before you the daemons were twice your size, maybe even more, but they were mutated so heavily that you couldn’t even tell what they used to be. If one thing was certain, it was that you’d never seen a monster like them before. The casualty count, although you didn’t know it specifically, was immense. Today, regardless of whether or not you made it out alive, is a huge loss for the Guard. 

“Captain! The S squadron has arrived!” You heard a voice shout. Reinforcements have just arrived at the nick of time, whilst more beasts wandered out of the woods and towards the ravaged town.

“You see the situation, if you find any living civilians they are your first priority to get to safety, we’ve determined the daemons’ weak points to be their underbellies, aim for that area first! The skin is loosest there,” you commanded. “This place is already razed down, I don’t understand why they keep coming,” you mumbled. An axe lodges on the ground next to you, just barely missing your side. “Nixon! Now’s not the time to get lazy!” You pulled the axe with one hand and flung it back towards him, something he easily caught while blocking off the daemon’s claws.

“Thanks, Cap!” You couldn’t respond, too busy dodging the swings from the daemon in front of you. Its movements were slow and heavy, but they hit hard. You could barely get in a good attack with the equipment you had. Turns out, and maybe you should’ve expected this, rapiers aren’t the best for large opponents. 

“Ugh, this is getting nowhere,” you mumbled just as you ducked below the beast’s arms. You jogged back, keeping your eyes on the monster, and you switched out your rapier for the rifle strapped to your back. You aimed quickly, precisely, and with a deep breath you fired. The bullet pierced the daemon’s skin, but, if anything, you just pissed it off more. “Fuck, well, we’re screwed. Is it just me or are these things getting taller?”

“Not just you, Captain! Not just you!” Evangeline scrambles up from the floor, casting a spell to knock away the hoard. The blonde runs next to her Captain, shaking slightly. Instinctively, you took a defensive stance in front of her while reloading your rifle. “Where are they all coming from?” Hints of French laced her panicked tone.

“No clue, but we’re going to be here for a very long time,” you grimaced. “Take deep breaths, Eve, if you can’t handle it we’ll switch to base-tactics,” you said

“There’s just so many of them,” Eve huffs. “Almost like… like they were waiting for us to get here,” she coughs. That struck a cord, you turned to her for a moment, but hearing the monsters roar, you refocused back on the situation, doing your best to push the daemons back. Could all of this have been an elaborate trap? Who was pulling the strings? Now that you had thought about it, it would make sense for this to be a trap. All of the Guard were here, high ranking military officials, Starspire was even a village well known for their exports, getting rid of this area would disrupt many industries. But the village was also far enough for it to still be somewhat controlled. Everything happening here, surely, had to be part of some elaborate plan.

‘Take a deep breath, (Y/N),’ Alex’s words echoed in your head. You looked around the field.

‘Where the hell did you go, asshole?’

‘Calling for backup. I don’t think we’re dealing with the natural world anymore, there must be some sort of magic involved.’ Despite your efforts, you couldn’t find Alex anywhere. ‘Don’t worry, I’m still as much a part of the fray as everyone else. But if my theory is correct then I know someone who could help us.’

‘Call them in, I’ll take anyone at this point, anyone who can get rid of these monsters,’ you replied.

‘Certainly, Captain, remain vigilant.’ Then, his side went silent while you pushed forward. Two magic circles appeared under Eve’s hands as the field became encased in a bright light. Half of the daemons, that had already been hacked away at, fell at the attack, while others trudged on.

“Gah, Eve, warn us before doing that!” Carter rubs his eyes harshly.

“Ay, if it’s getting more than half of these fuckers, hell, do it again, Eve,” Nixon shouts back.

“I’m sorry!” Eve apologizes despite it.

“Are there any more coming in?” You spoke after tapping your earpiece.

“All clear in the North, Captain,” one voice says.

“None coming in from the West either.”

“The East is clear.” You looked forward.

“The South is clear,” you said. “Focus on the remaining daemons, we’ll reconvene once they’ve all been killed,” you flicked the blood off your rapier. “And someone get me an actual sword.”

“Captain,” Carter addressed you curtly while offering his own sword. Regal in all rights, Carter’s sword, much like yours, was a gift from the Royal family. As was every weapon belonging to the Brigade, granted. However, Carter’s was a marvel to look at. A silver broadsword upon first glance, but to its wielder it becomes their greatest protection. You made the trade quickly and just in time, too, for what happened next was something you would have never expected and something you would’ve never wanted to happen.

The sounds of despair and destruction had been drowned out by an all too familiar cry. Cries, when you first ran into the burning village you heard them everywhere. Men, women, and children alike were screaming for help all around you. That was hours ago. To hear shouts that weren’t from your squadron only spelt trouble. You turned your head towards the voice, and saw a sight that was some sick twist of what you’d grown up fearing. Without any care for yourself, granted you had other things to worry about, you sprinted towards the young boy with the silver of the broadsword reflecting the flames. In a delicately crafted move, you felled the already wounded beast. You held your stance, your left arm blocking the one behind you, and your right arm holding the sword parallel to the ground. Then the beast slumped to the burnt earth, making no attempt at any further attacks, but your split decision move wasn’t without consequence. The sharp pain across your front side was enough to tell you that next time you should think more carefully before doing.

“Captain!” Eve was running towards you in seconds, but her actions were a second thought to you. No, you were more concerned about the boy behind you. The boy wearing a ripped uniform, mask half hanging from his face and half tied around his head, and with slight cuts and bruises to his face and hands. True, this was the least of the wounds you’d see him have, but the knowledge that he’d been here long enough to get those was what scared you the most. Once you were certain the beast was dead, you were quick to turn, pull your gloves off, and cradle your hands around Damian’s face.

“How… How did you get here,” you huffed, wavering slightly. You moved his face around to see if there were any bad cuts, and your thumb traced under a fresh, but shallow, one under his eye.

“(Y/N)…” Damian’s eyes widened. His eyes fall to the three large gashes that stretched across your hips and abdomen. “You’re hurt…”

“We don’t have time to worry about that, how did you get here?” You repeated despite the good many number of daemons on the field. You brushed off the sparks on his shoulders and offered to help him up.

“I was looking for you,” Damian took your hand and stood up slowly, you didn’t yet know if it was from shock or if he was hurt.

“Is that the whole story?” People don’t just drop out of the sky. And to enter this universe is something that should be incredibly hard, if not impossible.

“A man in a lab coat brought me here,” his voice was shaken. You didn’t fault him for that, the young boy was just dropped in the middle of a blazing battlefield with heaps of dead bodies sprawled across the ground. It was a sensory overload with the blinding flames and the heavy stench of iron. Not to mention the fact that you were covered in blood, your own, your comrades, and the monsters’ alike. Now wasn’t the time for answers, and you’d be damned if anything happened to Damian here, so, instead you strengthened your grip around his hand.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let go of my hand,” you said firmly, holding your conjoined hands up so he could see, if he didn’t already feel it, the tight hold you had around him. Damian nods, what else could he do in this situation? With your left hand holding Damian and the right brandishing the sword you charged across the battle field. It might be better to carry him at this rate, but then you’d be more susceptible to attacks. Hard to dodge when there’s more weight on your back or on your front. This would be best, if worse comes to worse, you’re sure Damian would forgive you for throwing him to safety. But if he kept lagging behind, then there might be a problem. “Keep up!”

“I’m trying!” Damian barks. It was now you noticed the way he moved his gaze from you to the ground in rapid succession, no doubt trying to keep his steps in align with yours. “If you want to go faster then just let—”

“No, Damian, if I let go of you it would only be seconds before one of those monsters picks you up and kills you, do you understand?” You stopped only for a brief moment before taking off again, seeing one of the daemons take notice of your little brother. “Shit, they’re everywhere,” you said with grit teeth.

“Is that a kid?!” Nixon shouts. He pulls his axe from the broken ground. Damian first noticed the red stains on his white uniform before the disgust directed at him. “Lose him, Cap! He’s slowing you down! He’s going to get us all killed!” You pulled Damian along before he could shout an argument back. One, you just need one building that’s at least a little intact to stash Damian in for the time being.

“Just stay focused, Nixon!” You deflected a piece of charred wood. Damian’s hand slips for a moment and you react with a vice grip. “Don’t let go, Damian!” You shouldn't have been upset, it wasn’t his fault, it was the blood between your hands that made it all the more slippery.

“Sorry!” Damian is taken aback for a moment before regaining his senses. You looked to the woods and watches more of the monsters emerge. Luckily, if there was any in this situation, they seemed to be smaller monsters compared to the daemons. If anything, they were probably scavenger beasts, the lot of them will turn tail and run once they see the daemons, while the braver ones will venture more inward. Though you had to be realistic. A monster is a monster, and that’s an added problem on your plate.

“Oh fuck me…” You shook your head. Then a small ray of light. Sure, the roof was on the verge of caving in, but a house is a house. “Eve!” You turned back for a second to make sure the blonde was still in ear shot and when she notices you running towards the house, she opened a warp portal next to her and slipped in, immediately appearing at the front door to open it, and allowing for you to run into a building and push Damian inside. You knelt to his level, and with a stern expression, instructed him. “Do not leave this building, I’m going to have Evangeline place a protection charm up, alright? I’ll come pick you up once I resolve this mess, then you have to tell me every single thing that happened to you before you came here.” Though you spoke clearly, you knew when words go through one ear and out the other. You’d have to trust Eve to explain the situation to him, but you didn’t know if Damian would trust her.

“I can help.” That’s definitely the last thing you wanted to hear. Typical of Damian, though, he was still young, and he still thinks he can do anything, still thinks that he has to. But not here, and not now. 

“No. You can’t.” You kept your words curt enough for him to not misinterpret them. “This world is very different than our old one. You’re not in Gotham anymore. Those things out there can crush your skull in less than a second, and I don’t need anymore deaths on my mind right now, let alone the death of my little brother. Got it?”

“Yeah…” Damian looks back to your abdomen. It was still bloody but the wound was gone. “What happened to—” That might be the hardest one to explain to him.

“No questions right now. I have to get back out there before any of my teammates die. You can trust Eve, she’s a good friend of mine. Now, please, stay here.” With that, you ran out, slamming the door behind you. Not a moment later, Evangeline ran in, her white and silver uniform singed around the edges. She closes the door and places her hand on it, a magic circle appearing between the two with words of an ancient language inside of it. She waves her hand in the air and the building is surrounded in a veil of blue. She eyes the singed hole in the roof, but pays no mind to it, instead looking to Damian.

“So you must be Damian Wayne, right?” She smiles through the tired breaths. Damian nods and looks out the window. Eve seats him on the ground and hands him a thermos. “The Captain has told me so much about you. I’m Evangeline Chandler, your sister and I are good friends,” Damian suspiciously eyes the thermos, but takes it anyways.

“Yeah?” He unscrews the top, seeing some kind of soup inside of it. Eve takes the thermos from him, placing the cup in his hands and pouring the soup into it.

“Yes! I owe her a great deal. She asked me to give this to you, it’s actually Nixon’s, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing with you,” Eve grins. “You can trust it, Nixon is actually our resident healer. This soup should fix you right up,” she insists. “If you don’t believe me, I can drink it first,” she continues.

“That wouldn’t matter if you’d grown a tolerance to poison,” he gives her a pointed glance.

“Are you saying that the son of a vigilante and an assassin doesn’t have a well built tolerance?” She fires back.

“… touché,” he takes a tested sip of the soup, the immediate taste of a hearty vegetable broth greeting him. He could feel the warmth circle around his face, his chest, and his stomach.

“You don’t have to mind it, Nixon’s vegetarian too,” she chuckles, kneeling down next to him and dusting off her uniform.

“You know a lot about me,” was Damian’s next statement.

“That Captain tells me a lot about you,” she smiles. “Let’s see… you have a dog named Titus, your best friend’s name is Jon, for your tenth birthday you and the Captain went out to an arcade and ended up staying there for hours so you missed your celebration,” she counts the events on her hands, “oh! And how could I forget my favorite story? Whenever you had nightmares, the first place you’d go is to her—”

“I get it, woman,” Damian clears his throat and, again, Eve could only smile.

“And that is exactly how the Captain described you. She doesn’t talk about her family often, but her expression is always so kind when she does, especially when it comes to her siblings. Of course, this is only after a good number of drinks. Goodness, though, once she starts, she won’t stop, it’s a bit cute,” she rests her cheek on her hand. “I’m glad to see that you match her stories.” Damian could only look out the window as the screams got closer.

“What is going on out there?”

“There are quite a few of you correct?” Eve changes the subject and, with the wave of her hand, the voices deemed to dampen out into mumbles. “Two older brothers and two younger brothers, an older sister and two younger ones as well, if what she told me was right.”

“Yeah,” Damian caught on. She’s trying to distract him from the hell outside.

“Let’s see,” her eyes drift up in thought. “Barbara Gordon, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, (Y/N) Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Timothy Drake, and then there’s you,” Eve says.

“That’s all of us, but recently father brought in a new one, Duke Thomas,” Damian explains.

“Ah, yes, the Captain has explained that her father loved to take in children,” Eve crosses her arms. “But, and perhaps I’m biased, I must say that his biological children are just so adorable,” Eve coddles. “Are you still hungry? I always have something on me.” As much as her efforts to divert his attention were somewhat appreciated, she’s wasting her time on him.

“What exactly is your role?” Damian presses. Eve takes a deep breath in before sighing and shaking her head.

“I should’ve known that it would be a lost cause to try to distract you, you’re very much like your sister in that regard, but I’m keen on at least trying to follow orders. Allow me to introduce myself properly then. I’m Evangeline, Evangeline Chandler, and I am from Earth-78, born and raised in Versailles, France. I’m the magic dealer of this team, you can tell because of these silver linings here, see? However, I specialize in support, which is why my uniform is white,” she claps her hands. “Ah, the Captain, your sister, is a damage dealer, she specializes in up-close combat with blade-type weapons. She truly is amazing.”

“I see… I assume this is normal for you.”

“Not in the slightest, no. Oh, well, battle yes, but not these beasts. These monsters just started coming out of nowhere, actually,” Eve scooted away from Damian slightly and, with a few waves of her hand, an image constructed of light appeared between them, “come take a look. These are the variants we’ve been fighting for quite some time,” she invites him to move the image around. The base animal was a kind of wolf, that much was certain, but the creature had mutated the ability to support itself on its hind legs whilst also gaining articulate hands. It was as if it was some gruesome mix of human and wolf, a terror of nature, and a horror of nightmares.

“What are those?” Was all Damian could say.

“In truth… We have no idea.”

~

Alex stumbled behind a building, holding his phone close to his ear.

“Come on… connect, connect…” he plead. Finally, an answer.

“Alexander.”

“Remember when I told you to come tomorrow? Scratch that. We need you now.”

“What in the blazes is going on? Why do I hear fire?”

“Get over here and I’ll still be alive to tell you.”

“You really don’t take no for an answer, alright, hold out for a few more minutes.”

“Will do. I’ll take care of the stragglers, everyone else move inward!” Alex hangs up the phone, waits until everyone was out of earshot, and pivots on his heel, both hands flying out and several magic circles appearing in the ground in front of him. “Sanguis voragine.” In the slight wave of his hands, the circles began to rotate in on themselves before ultimately converging into a larger one. Spilled puddles and splatters of blood began to move in toward the centers of the circle.

‘Alex, don’t do anything you can’t handle,’ your voice had a warning tone.

‘No need to worry, I'd been saving my stamina for this moment,’ he reassures you before walking into the middle of the vortex. 

You, meanwhile, glanced behind you at the fortified safe house. You’d instructed Eve to keep your brother busy, but you didn’t know how long he’d sit still. You’d have to wrap this up quickly now, somehow, at least.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath yourself, steadying the sword in front of you such that you were facing the blade. “Infallible guard,” a magic circle surrounded the sword and, in moments, a clear barrier surrounded you.

‘Perhaps I should’ve said that to you.’

‘See you on the other side.’ You readied your blade for what you hoped to be the final time that night, and charged forth.

~

Eve looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Eyes wide and jaw tensed.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked quietly, a now empty thermos in his hands. Eve, wordlessly, stumbled to the window and peered outside.

“They’re using artifacts,” she mumbles, she looks back at Damian. Your orders conflicted with her morals.

“What are those? Something bad?”

“Call it a last resort. It should be fine since it’s (Y/N) and Alex but…” her scarred fingertips rose to her mouth habitually and, before she could begin to lightly bite down on them, she answered, “they take a lot of stamina to use, some that I doubt those two still have,” she mutters. She takes a seat with Damian once more.

“Then leave me here, I can fend for myself well enough,” Damian insists.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, young sir,” she replies. “Even if I wanted to, the Captain benched me,” she shakes her head. “I’m unfit for battle at this moment,” she stretches her hands out, the cuts and tears on them, fresh and weeping, were enough to tell Damian all he needed to know. “What good’s an archmage with anxiety?” She laughs pathetically. “Plus, I do enjoy talking with you,” she nudges him softly. “You must be so confused, aren’t you? Scared, maybe, but too stubborn to admit it. I don’t blame you, we all were like that before as well,” Eve clasps her hands together. “You know, I had a brother around your age as well, Felix, I haven’t seen him in so long, he’s back home where he belongs though,” she rests her cheek on her hand.

Curse his sister, it wasn’t Eve on babysitter duty, it was him also.

Damian couldn’t help but glance out the window again, the flames had begun to die down, he could tell from the way the room slowly darkened.

“Your family must be worried,” Eve tries to strike a conversation yet again.

“They don’t care.”

“Or so you think,” she shoots back. Then, when someone bangs on the door, both people stood up in guarded stances. “Being unfit for battle means nothing in war,” she sighs. She picks up her gloves from their spot on the rugged table. Despite the state of herself and her uniform, the gloves were pristine. She slips them on.

“Could be one of your teammates.” The door started to strain against its hinges.

“They would’ve been able to open the door,” a magic circle appears in her palm, “your sister told me to keep you safe at all costs, please respect her wishes.”

“If she’s really my sister then she knows I won’t,” Damian stood next to her, ready.

“She told me that you’d say that too,” the door bursts down, one of the few remaining beasts stood tall at the doorframe. “Divina vocatio,” she chants. Veils of light surround the both of them. “Have faith, Damian, that I will keep you safe,” she says. The beast roars in a way neither of them had heard before. The magic circles in either of Eve’s palms begin to rotate counter to each other as she crosses her wrists in front of her. As soon as she broke the formation, multiple circles appeared in a cross pattern over the beast’s chest, effectively pushing the beast back, but not doing much to detain it, rather, it charged despite it.

What could he do in this situation? Think, Damian. He scanned the shack for anything he could use. The image that Eve showed him, something stood out to him, but he couldn’t quite put where he’d seen it from. Then, kicked under the bed, something gleamed against the dying flames. He dove toward it, holding it up and the beast stopped. Eve chanced a glance back.

“Crucifix…” she holds her hand out and Damian tosses it toward her. “Made of silver,” she weighs it in her palm. The beast takes a step back. It could only work as a repellant, but as a weapon it was hard pressed. Damian looked around again, something made of silver, anything. The cross in Eve’s hand was a likely choice, but he’d rather not chance the karma. Surely there’d be something else?

Well, fuck it. He ran toward Eve, hand outstretched to grab the one silver item in his sight. Then, blood, lots of it. He and Eve turned to the beast, who’d been cut clean in half. Its torso slid to the ground in front of them, while its legs fell backward. Nixon stood at the door, if anyone had never seen him before, they’d think his uniform to be naturally red. Without a word, he falls back, completely passed out.

“This fool,” Eve clicks her tongue. “Help me pull him in here, would you?” She asks.

“Sure,” they both grab one leg each and pull him in, Eve slamming the door shut and placing another charm on it.

“His axe is made of silver,” she says. “And his artifact is an imperial one of strength,” she explains it well enough but Damian still stared blankly at her. “Meaning he’ll be out for a while,” she shakes her head.

~

“Where’s that help you were talking about, Alex?” You shout, stumbling backward and just barely keeping your balance.

“On his way… hopefully,” Alex bumps into you, the magic circle under him flickering weakly.

“After all the damage has been done,” Carter backs against the two of you.

“Well… the good news is that there’s one left,” you handed the sword back to Carter and held your rifle instead.

“And the bad news is that it’s the biggest one,” Carter sighs. You spot your rapier sticking out of it’s shoulder blade.

“Well… your effort is appreciated, Carter,” you nudged him and Carter stumbled further from you. “We’ll need a miracle.” The beast groaned.

“We are called the miraculous trio,” Alex takes a step back, distancing himself from the beast to ready an attack. “Let’s live up to that title,” Alex bends down slowly, tapping the blood puddle beneath him.

“You think we’ll get a raise?” Carter asks.

“Nah,” you aimed your rifle. “Dead Shot,” you said under your breath. A magic circle appeared on the daemon’s body. “There,” you pulled the trigger and Alex focused a ring of magic circles on it. “Carter!” Carter slid in front of you and launched the sword forth, the tip barreling toward the beast before the sword impaled it. The beast staggered back, but it did not fall. Instead, it looked to you, directly at you, in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“W… W… Wayne,” the beast growled out. You held your hand up, stopping Alex from dealing the last hit. “I… know… you,” it fell forward, but still it’s gaze never wavered. “Do… know… me…?” It asked. You took a step forward.

“Hey,” Carter spoke up.

“It’s fine,” you reloaded your rifle. Soon, you were an arm’s length away from the beast. You spotted a hint of silver on it’s neck and, as if it were calling you, you pulled it out of it’s loose and tattered skin. It was an ID tag, one that every Knight received, hell, yours was around your neck right now. The name was almost entirely worn through, but you could still just barely read it.

Then… realization. You staggered back, suddenly feeling weak in every limb.

“Captain?” Carter’s voice behind you again.

“Oh my god…” You shook your head. You looked around the battlefield, corpses of knights and beasts all around, and then to the one in front of you. You fell onto your knees and you placed your hand on the beast’s head. “You served well, Major Syke,” you said the name on the ID.

“Thank you,” the beast breathed it’s last before stilling. The field was quiet, quiet except for the sound of you pulling your rapier out of the Major’s shoulder. You turned your earpiece on and waited for it to connect.

“The field is clear, report the total number of casualties and damages to me whenever you can, we will regroup in the North delta base,” you turned the comm off and turned around to Carter and Alexander. “Don’t tell anyone this,” you whispered, “but… we’ve been killing people.”

Not Your Classic Vigilante Tag List : @gabytodd @peachydokii @marshmallow12435 @f0leysgurl @luminaaz @lolsnack @akuri-shinsou @pansinspace @time-shardz @lovely-maryj @urminebutidontwantyou

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

[dootznbootz]

Iliad anon here! Oh my God thank you so much for your elaborate answer!! You’re the best. Thank you for providing several different translations of that passage, it really gives a new perspective. I’m not reading the Iliad in English but even in my native language it still seems ambiguous enough.

Anyways, I’m LIVING for your aspec headcanons! I’m a woman who identifies pretty strongly with demisexuality (though I’ve never really cared for labels but I guess I fit this one) so I relate so much to the frustration you talk about. I suppose this is why I’m so weak for Odypen? The notion of homophrosyne is just… everything to me. Finding your true equal, the one person who thinks and acts and perceives the world the same way you do? Even 20 years apart cannot change the permanent effect of something so strong. It’s a bond on another level. Everything else is just… pls leave me alone. Like yeah you’re cool you’re handsome but if we ain’t clicking I couldn’t care less. Ugh save me Odypen pls save me…

You're welcome! :D It was a super fun ask for me too!

I'm kind of the same with demisexuality also as I don't necessarily know exactly where I am but Demi feels the closest lol xD

And to quote you with "The notion of homophrosyne is just… everything to me. Finding your true equal, the one person who thinks and acts and perceives the world the same way you do? Even 20 years apart cannot change the permanent effect of something so strong. It’s a bond on another level."

That's EXACTLY how I see OdyPen 🥹 They are basically "mirrors" of one another and are just so intuned with each other in just how they ARE. Sharing a mind, soul, life, etc, and practically everything in every way except physically (in which yeah, demisexual lol. aka how they do share it physically)

They're stubborn and a bit prideful so in a way, they wouldn't stand for anything else. I even often write them in a way that is very "all or nothing" in how they react to things.

Like Odysseus just does not have a bride prize/concubine as why? Sex isn't on his mind unless you match his mind. (which yeah...Only Penny can do lol). Even Circe in my fics literally illusions shit up to look like Penelope as he wasn't "showing his true colors in an act of lust" as she realizes that he can't even feel it otherwise. (complicated but not explaining that now)

Both Penelope and Odysseus where they're unaffected/not needing/wanting sex unless they're with their person. As a "Why share a body when we don't even share the same mind?" for them. It's almost heightened by the fact that this part of relationships belongs only to them and is special between them. Nothing is minimized by the fact that they're demisexual and wouldn't experience a draw to anyone else.

For Penelope, Love and lust only exist in Odysseus. For Odysseus, love and lust only exist in Penelope. It is why everything with the goddesses was especially awful for my Odysseus and also why neither of them couldn't just "start anew".

[thanx-files]

Gethsemane Review and Season 4 Wrap-Up

Listen. Listen. These get longer every season, but I can’t help myself. I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to put my thoughts into comprehensible language after Gethsemane. So please, indulge me, agree with me, start a fight with me in the replies, but whatever you do, just join me in being unwell about season 4 of The X-Files. Spoilers, of course.

Gethsemane

I, a child of the 21st century, am watching this show on a streaming platform. It has long since wrapped, and I know for damn sure that David Duchovny will return as Fox Mulder for many of the seasons to follow. Even so, I am choking on this ending. What the exact and entire fuck do you mean HE DIED?

I cannot imagine watching this, then waiting MONTHS to know what happened. I know those message boards were buzzing. Not only that, but the viewers would not have had the benefit of the Dean Winchester trope thanks to which every time a main character dies you think, “it’s fine honestly don’t even worry about it, they’ll be back in two weeks.” (Even if you’re wrong.)

UGH okay now that I’ve talked about that, it’s time to be a broken record: I love to see Mulder and Scully at odds. The scene as they’re leaving the Smithsonian is ART to me. They’re no longer fighting the same war; they’re on the same battlefield, arguing about who the fuck is shooting at them in the first place.

He doesn’t see that she needs him because of how desperately she doesn’t want to need him. She says she’s out of the game while sliding all her chips into the center of the table. They’re impossible. I’m obsessed with them.

Also we got more Catholic Scully in this ep, and we know I love that, too. I love that no one can touch whatever God is to her — not a priest and not Mulder either. I love that she is unthreatened by the truth, whatever it happens to be.

Also, the dialogue this ep goes hard in general, but Mulder hearing the phrase, “They invented you” is so fucked up. He’s a cog in the very machine he hopes to dismantle. Or is he? Or was he?

This ep had me, who jumped onboard with MSR the second Mulder turned on that slide projector in the pilot, wondering if I had been wrong the whole time. Then they pulled that ending. The last seven seconds of the ep had me so fucked up. Scully getting choked up — the FBI official she’s been explaining it all to trying to keep her from saying the thing out loud. It’s overwhelming.

This has all been a lot of summary and not a lot of reviewing, but what else is new? TL;DR: This ep fucks. Favorite season finale so far, followed by Anasazi.

Season 4

One of the strengths of season 4 is how connected it all feels. With a few notable exceptions, we start up on this rollercoaster hill of autonomy, mortality, power, and the self. I know those are major themes of the whole series, but when you look at them through the lens of the cancer arc, they look kinda different. Suddenly we have foreshadowing. We have the specter of death looking in on us for more than just an episode, a moment. We start to feel like maybe something bad could actually happen to Mulder and Scully —something permanent and paradigm-shifting.

The weakness, for me, of season 4 is that it has no sense of humor. No Clyde Bruckman. No Coprophages. No Jose Chung. The episodes are good, of course, but none of them are fun! I don’t need another sitcom ep, but I do need a breath, for the love of God.

5 favorite eps:

Musings of a Cigarette-Smoking Man: Yes! I am as surprised as you are, seeing as I made a comment last season about how little patience I have for the CSM and his musings, specifically. But I find I did actually want to know who this guy is. And the fact that he’s watching the Gunmen the whole time — that’s the power thing I was talking about before. He says it himself: He could kill them anytime. But not today.

Tunguska & Terma: The first time a 2-part mytharc sequence has made it to my favorites list! I fucking love it when Alex Krycek shows his face around Mulder and Scully because he WILL stab them in the back and it WILL be dramatic as fuck. (I wrote down the phrase “just kiss already” something like 7 times in my notes during these eps, basically any time Mulder and Krycek were on screen.)

Demons: I know we all love to see a pathetic shell of a man abandoning all reason. We also love to see Scully as the deranged, protective one, stopping at nothing to save her partner. Even if said partner made some truly terrible decisions.

Gethsemane: See above.

5 least favorite eps:

The Field Where I Died: Not only was this slow and boring, but by the end, I was ready to crawl into the TV and slap Fox Mulder my own self. This case could’ve been solved and no one had to die. But he wasted their time. (Please feel free to correct me in the replies; I would actually love to be wrong.) Also, the southern accent for the big field monologue made my Carolina girl heart wither.

El Mundo Gira: That’s not even remotely what a chupacabra is. I feel like this was supposed to be our Jose Chung this season. It let me down.

Tempus Fugit & Max: Back to our regularly scheduled programming where I get lost in these two-parters because who is that? Where are they going? Who is chasing them? What? Huh?

Zero Sum: I am confused and I miss Scully. Skinner and Mulder will just do circles around each other and growl at people without her. I know this is a glimpse of the stakes of the cancer arc, but it’s not very good TV, is it?

[kale-theteaqueen]

20 Questions for Writers Tag Game!

Shout-out to @c-e-d-dreamer and @jsmelodies for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3? 21 fics and counting!

What’s your total AO3 word count? 858,895 (a problem fr... someone stop me)

What fandoms do you write for? I've only published for ACOTAR so far!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? To Pay A Debt is my top by far, but then my next are The Whole Truth, Burning From the Inside Out, Lady Death and her Kingdom, and Of Death and Resurrection

Do you respond to comments? I used to be really good at it and now I'm really bad at it... I try!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I may be an angst specialist but I always have a HEA. I think my angstiest ending is Like Fire, She Raged?

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Hmmmm I think my happiest ending /will/ be Debt, but for what's already published probably Burning?

Do you get hate on fics? I've gotten a few hate comments from anti Nesta people but overall my interactions have been very positive!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I write smut if it's incorporated into a larger story. I have yet to delve fully into smut-only fics but... that isn't to say there aren't ideas in my brain.

Do you write crossovers? I do not!

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of? Thankfully.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No but this is a dream of mine.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I haven't but am open!

What is your all-time favorite ship? Nessian has me firmly in their grasp and I'm okay with that. But beyond them Royai from Fullmetal Alchemist, always.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I promised bonus chapters for Of Death and Resurrection but I keep getting new ideas for other fics and they keep getting pushed off.

What are your writing strengths? Emotions and dialogue. I love delving into feelings and inner turmoil and how that is presented in interactions between characters.

What are your writing weaknesses? Action scenes 100%. I'm a big emotion/dialogue writer, and scenes with a lot of movement are hard for me.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I am a polyglot and love doing this!

First fandom you wrote for? Lol... I think as a Youth i wrote Hetalia fanfiction but it never saw the light of day.

Favorite fic you’ve written? Ugh this is like picking a favorite child. I'm really really vibing with And Now She Becomes Death. Burning will always have my heart because it is so self-indulgent, and Debt means so so much to me (Finishing it has me in my EMOTIONS). I also really love The Hike, Alternatively. I will say... there is a WIP coming for Nessian week that I think is going to be my favorite.

No pressure tags: I think many people have been tagged but?? @wishcamper @acourtofladydeath no pressure!

[aaronstveit]

20 questions for 20 writers!

tagged by the bestie @afaramir abby thank you so much for giving me an excuse to avoid writing tonight <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 45!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 492,078 and literally a solid quarter of that is from c&b oh i'm laughing.

3. What fandoms do you write for? right now only for les mis but most of my works are trc and in 2019/2020 i wrote a bit for soc and aftg.....

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? oh i'm laughing these aren't even GOOD.... 1. [redacted soc fic] 2. makes me feel a little bit closer to you - pynch clothes sharing fic 3. c&b (my most beloved this is the only valid entry on this list) 4. i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows) - pynch ithk songfic 5. all the time, all the time (i think of you all the time) - pynch fic where ronan is tutoring adam in art

5. Do you respond to comments? mostly yes! for like a solid 2 years i didn't but now i do again <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ummm i think the only actually angsty ending i have is all too well adansey fic? i'm such a happy ending girlie that's the only one i can think of that doesn't end happily. for obvious reasons.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i like to think pretty much everything i write ends happily but c&b proposal fic is what comes to mind since i finally finished it THREE ENTIRE YEARS LATER very recently

8. Do you get hate on fics? no i have been very lucky so far actually!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? no because i am afraid

10. Do you write crossovers? i do not!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope not yet!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? only the theoretical AUs that coco and i like to talk about but never commit to writing <3 although really you could consider coco my cowriter on most of my fics (especially c&b) like so much of them comes from her fr. love you coco <3333

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? oh i can't pick. that's like asking a mother to pick her favorite child. right now those dead gay french revolutionaries have my heart but tomorrow, who knows?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? ugh i hate admitting defeat but. but. i am aware that beloved beloved pynch band fic will probably never be finished. which is a SHAME because i have soooooooo much of it planned out i mean like. i've got full albums designed. most of the beats are mapped out. i've got fake tweets written up, i've got chapter titles and scene drafts. like the entire concept is there and i'm so obsessed with it. but i just. after all these years it is extremely unlikely that i am going to actually, you know. write it.

16. What are your writing strengths? beginnings. i am so good at beginnings. that's why i have so many wips. also i like to think i'm good at dialogue. i try to write conversationally even when it's not actually a conversation and i think that translates well to actual dialogue it's fun.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? endings. i can't end anything to save my LIFE. also just plots in general escape me. and i always end up writing 10k more words than i meant to.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? um other people who can do it definitely should! i however cannot do that. i did however use my extremely limited knowledge of the french language for the section headings in my most recent fic and i like the effect it produced i think.

19. First fandom you wrote for? all evidence of their existence has been wiped from the face of the earth but my very first fics were one star wars fic and one agents of shield fic circa like. 2015.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? legally i'm obligated to say c&b but right now actually i'm still very very happy with how exr rooftop fic turned out. literally the entire time i was writing it i was just having a blast. i love writing angst and stuff it's like chewing on a polly pocket toy. now that i'm evil i never wanna write fluff again. i'm torturing those fictional guys fr.

tagging besties @television-bodies @gingerpeachtea and anyone else who wants to do it! ♡

[marionluth]

Thanks for the tag @snowivyimconfusi ❤️ This looks fun!

Fanfic Writer Interview

1.How many fics do you currently have on AO3?

27 works on my main account and 13 on my second, so 40 works cumulatively.

2. Top 5 fics by Kudos:

1 It's just a phase

2 It's all about the headlines

3 Of Sex Ed and Bat Brothers

4 Words Left Unspoken

5 Ink & Vengeance

3. Do you respond to your comments? Why or why not.

Yes, I do! That being said sometimes I fall so far behind my anxiety-driven procrastination kicks in and I might avoid answering the comments for ages. But I do get to them eventually!

4. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

That would be: Haunted by the lies I have loved

5. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I think that would be: Breakup Loot!

6. Do you write crossovers?

Only one so far (Jessica Jones & Batman) but I have 3 more of them in my unpublished (yet) WIPs:

✨MCU(irondad) + Suits

✨MCU(Irondad)+ Supernatural, ✨MCU(Irondad) + Batmam

7.Do you write smut? If yes what kind of?

I've never written smut and I rarely read it (though I do read some). That being said I do plan to incorporate some and try my hand at it for the first time for my Jessica Jones/Jason Todd pairing in my crossover series.

8.Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge 🙌

9.Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

10. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes! A monster of 560k words, co-written with a wonderful friend (we started as simply co-writers and now she's one of my closest friends/chosen family!). It's in my niche account tho 😁 I love writing solo, but the co-writing experience was awesome, too!

11. What's your all time favorite ship?

My favourite is my rare pair (Jessica Jones/Jason Todd). I love Pepperony (Pepper Potts/Tony Stark) and Peter Parker/Michelle Jones.

12. What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you'll ever will?

None, if I'm being honest. All my Wips will eventually be finished (some taster than others!)

13. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good at immersive cinematic descriptions and making the reader “feel” the characters’ feelings. I also think I'm fairly good at dialogue 😁

14. What are your writing weaknesses?

Prose I think. English is not my first language so that's always a struggle. Also plotting stories. Like… if the whole story doesn't come to me in one go and I only have a vague idea to start with and need to actively make my brain plot the rest of the story… I suck at that!

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

I don't mind it if it's meaningful to the story. If there's a reason for the use of the other language, then cool.

16. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for but want to?

Suits & Arcane!

17. What's your favorite fic you've written?

Ugh this is so hard if not impossible to answer. I adore all of my babies for different reasons and I love different elements in each one of them. Now, If I had to choose one… I'd go with Happy Birthday Jason Todd (Happy Deathday To You). Because it's my absolute favorite character and it's a piece with very experimental prose and structuring and a ton of symbolism that actually turned out really really good.

I am tagging (no pressure, obvs): @softwarecorruption-exe-art @pennyblossom-meta @flagsfiend

[moku-and-his-madness]

First few pages of Ghost Stories (by me) is Out!!! Enjoy!!!

!heads-up! i put any other language in red for it to be easier to read, the story basically self explains the sentence and translates it for you so need to worry about language!!!

Languages Contained: Spanish, Portuguese. (more but we'll have to see how the story progresses)

GHOST STORIES

                                               By  Unt1t3d

                    Position for Hire: “J”

I don't like offices. I don’t know if it's because they mean that something uncomfortable is being discussed or that I didn’t organize anything myself, knowing that contents are probably where they don’t belong. This tossed here, That cast aside there. But this office I hated the most. Not only was I uncomfortable, I was being pestered about “How I felt” and, “What I should do to get on a healthier path in life”. I’ve never liked the ‘this is a safe space’ shit they rant. 

I didn’t need to get healthier mentally, I needed to get better physically. I needed money. “Justice, are you alright?” The Therapist was nagging me, I noticed. “Huh? Oh, Yeah. I agree.” I spaced off a lot so I just pretended I knew what anyone was saying in a conversation. “ I was just saying that you should get your work papers in order. I think a job might be just what you need to get yourself in the right headspace.” She said like she was talking to a toddler, writing notes on her notepad. Wow, I’m touched, she’s concerned. Aren't they all? I’ve had enough of the sympathetic 'Are you alright?’s Honestly, a ‘you're a crazy mother fucker’ once in a while is perfectly fine to balance out the chaos.

“So is your medication working? Do you still see…them?” She's talking about the shadowy friends of mine! Yeah, I still fucking see them even though you have me on enough meds to call me a drugaddict! In fact, I saw one on Tuesday, SUSAN. I’ve always been able to see them, even when I was younger, and they blamed it on a very rare, very young case of dementia. But these…things, aren't just figments of my imagination. They have minds of their own, taunting me all the time. It's the reason he’s gone. 

“Yeah, I haven’t seen them in a while.” I say with a smile, so that she won’t prescribe me another pill. “Don’t we end in a few?” I say to hurry her along. She taps her skull, as if she’s just now remembering I have a life. “Oh, you’re right! Then we’ll pick this up next week.” Ew, I didn’t want to pick this up again next week. “Um, I’m going to get my papers organized, remember? I’m getting that job. So, if I just notify you, I don’t think meetings will be necessary as of right now.” I say impatiently with a weak smile, tapping my foot at godspeed. Man, she’s slow on the update. Maybe if She's smart enough she’ll realize what I’m trying to say. 

She gathers her things, clearly not in her right headspace as she throws it all recklessly in a tote bag. My OCD impulses twitch. “Oh, wow. Yeah, that is right! You have a way better memory than me!” she said over-enthusiastically. No wonder she was alway re-scheduling. “I suppose that’s alright, but if you're ever stressed, or need someone to talk to, call my number.” She said with a deeply concerned look. To be truthful, I lost her Number, but that’s just between you and me. “Yep. In fact, I’ll have you on speed-dial, just in case.” I tell her, my enthusiasm weak and my social battery draining fast. “Okay! You have a good rest of your day then!” She says with a cheery smile. Right, like hell I will.

  Yup. Sure will. Time to go home to Mamá and step-daddy and scrub the house clean, and cower away from David’s leather belt. I hate to be brutally honest like I always am, but they’re half the reason I’m in debt for these damn medical bills. I walk down the long flight of stairs and out of the building. Ugh, finally, I’m free.

                                                -X-

I hung my keys and walked into the kitchen and shouted, “I’M HOME!”.  No response, of course. I opened the door to my room and took a deep breath. Now I’m home. I closed the door because, privacy ya’ know? I hung my messenger bag on a decorative rung I had 3-d printed in sophomore year of Computer Design. I glanced at my neat wall of vinyl records with bands like “Nirvana” and “Los Campesinos”, right next to the picture of me smiling with my father. On my desk was a stack of books, things I was borrowing but now belong to me, a cup of pencils, and my PC setup I made myself, stickers plastering the frame.

I flopped on my bed, tired as hell. I pulled out my phone and selected a playlist, closing my eyes and drifting in and out of sleep. I dream of the shadows and VHS tapes changing and a loud static in my head. Everything is so unilluminated, and I’m scared, frightened out of my wit at whatever could come out of the wispy darkness. “Jay '' someone says. I look in the darkness, trying to detect where the voice is ringing from. “Jay” I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jolt awake and rub my eyes. When my vision focuses, my mom is standing in the middle of my room, cigarette in hand. “You were screamin’ again. Did you take your damn pills?” No, I hadn’t. I was supposed to take them even if I took a two minute nap. Or else I screamed like a madman.

“David isn’t coming home tonight.” She said, taking a drag of the cancer creator. “ ‘Work’?” I say, not looking at her. She breathes out. “Yeah, ‘work’. I figured you could use the stove tonight then.” She takes one last look at my room and walks out, her shirt askew across her small curved shoulders. She’s not the same anymore. After my dad died in that plane crash, she’s been doing all the wrong things with all the wrong people. I don’t understand why she would want to be in a relationship with that abusive fuck ‘David’ or whatever anyway. 

But she still does little things like this, letting me know if and when David’s going to be home, and letting me use the stove to make my empanadas and arroz Rojo or ‘foreign food’ as David calls it. He doesn’t let me cook because it’s too ‘spicy’ for him. 

I pull out all my spices and ingredients, ‘Summerland’ by Half Alive still playing in my ears. I’m in the zone, everything how I want it. Cooking the arroz and frying the meat and sauce for empanadas, carefully avoiding the paper cuts on my hands when dicing the jalapeno and cilantro. In the midst of cooking, I decide to make dessert, having a hard time picking either Tres Leches or Concha Bread. I would ask Mamá, but she was half asleep on the tattered La-Z-Boy in the parlor. So I just decide based on what we have the most.  A few hours later, mom wakes up, the smell of authentic Mexican food calling her. “Gracias por la comida hijo.” She says, eyes only half open. “De nada mami.” Spanish is another thing David doesn’t like. He can’t understand ‘taco bell’ as he calls it. “Pronto conseguiré un trabajo.” I’m getting a job, I tell Mamá. “¿un trabajo?” she says with no surprise. “¿Sabes cuál?” Do I know which one?  I was so focused on getting out of my meetings for a bit,that I hadn’t actually thought of what I would do. “Quizás algo en informática. Se paga bien.” I told her about my computer science classes and how the area of work paid well. Well enough to finish paying the debt to the bills I owed. 

“¿Cuándo te convertiste en un hombre tan adulto?”  When did I become such a grown man? She looks at me. “uh, el mes pasado mamá.” I had just turned 18 last month on November 7th. I was already an adult, technically. Mamá just looked at me and shook her head. “Ya sabes a qué me refiero, joven.” She said sassily. I laughed, enjoying our little corner of the universe, where we were safe. I brought out the Concha Bread and Mamá’s eyes lit up. “Mi Favorita! ” I smiled at her happiness, “¡Solo para ti! “. Just for you! “Hijo, ¡me estropeas!” You spoil me, She says with a laugh.

We finished dinner, and I tucked Mamá into bed. I piled up the dishes, planning to do them tomorrow, and pulled out my phone to look at available jobs in my area. I pulled up Yelp and look for an IT job. No such luck. I tried Indeed next, again, nada. The hours passed, websites were searched, and still, no IT or Cyber Security jobs in my area. 

I give up and try to find a decent paying job not too far from home.There are some alright ones and then there's the ones that look a little shady. I filter out my results so I don’t wish myself an early funeral. And then I found it, THE GOLDEN JOB!!! The golden job is this thing me and my computer friends would do when we were job hunting. You search for a job, filter it, and whoever had the best job at the end could dare anyone to do anything (within reason of course). One time, my friend Alex won and he got everybody to buy him something from DQ.

But this job seemed too good to be true. Just down town in the suburbs, away from the city, is a fancy estate house. The owners died a few years ago and this little old lady is looking for someone to clean it up for resale, as she is getting on in her years. The pay is good enough to pay for my bills though. All that's left now is to make the call…

  Question Everything: “Wil”

Do you ever get that feeling that you’re constantly being watched? Like eyes are constantly trained on you? As if existing is a cause for concern. “Hey Wil,can you pass me the arroz?” I snap out of my daze, “Huh? Oh sure, Tio.” The house is hectic today, cousins running around and Aunts and Uncles drinking and talking. Nobody in the family liked to be around me and Tio Hector felt bad about that, so he sat with me at all the family meets.

“Ei, você está bem?” Tio says, I smile dancing on his lips. I play along, “Sim, só pensando... e você?” I’m just thinking, what about you? I say this with the same smile playing on my lips. Tio just laughs, “You silly, I’m always fine! Como foi a terapia hoje?” He asks about therapy. He cares but I don’t need therapy. We’re just wasting money we don’t have. “Ah, o mesmo de sempre. Ela apenas traz à tona as mesmas coisas…” Same old, Same old. The lady doesn’t even have a plan for me to get ‘better’. Tio just smiles and says, “Talvez ela esteja louca!”. He bursts out with laughter, making the house feel a little more homely.

Some more family members enter the kitchen, filing up on more drinks and food. I feel so uncomfortable around them, as they do around me. A hate/hate relationship, I guess. Tio sensed my unease and acted as necessary. “Ignore-os, eles estão aqui apenas para ficar bêbados e conseguir babá de graça.” He said they’re alone at the event to get drunk and get free babysitting. He knew this would make me smile, because not only was it funny, it was true. 

I stand and push in my chair. “Vejo você mais tarde, tio. Tenho que ir para casa. Trabalho ocupado para ser feito.” Tio stands, “Trabalhar? OK, te vejo mais tarde. But don’t stress yourself! Or else you’ll end up like Aunt Maria!” He laughs. We hug and I leave, off to drive to my small apartment.

                                                  -X-

I got in and locked the doors and tossed my keys anywhere, I didn’t care at this point, my stuff was already everywhere. Boxes were still piled up from a month or two ago, from when I left the family house and moved out on my own. I toe my way on my cold floors, slowly inching my way to my room. LED lights are strung up, drawings and sketches hung up from AP Art classes. A picture of me and Tio sits on my nightstand. We were at a fair, eating bad funnel cakes and playing games. He won me the very avocado plushie that rests on my bed right now that day.

My laptop rests on my desk, covered in stickers I had designed myself, still open on my DAW program with a music track in queue. I slam it shut, too tired to even think about any actual work. I collapse to the bed. I don’t fall asleep, but just lay there. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with more scars. I lay horizontally, drinking in the late afternoon sunlight, absorbing all the details of my room. It’s kinda like when you’re waiting for something but can only leave at a certain time, so you wait and actually notice all the little things in your life.

A boom rings from upstairs. Ugh, the neighbors. I finally decided that I had rested long enough and had to do something productive. The therapist said something about getting a job or whatever, so that I could ‘get myself in the right headspace’. I already had a job, but it was one my family didn't approve of, and if I mentioned that to the therapist we would have a WHOLE discussion about ‘how that made me feel’ or, ‘what I could do to change their perspective’.

I didn’t have the time for that, and hell, I needed a buck. So, restlessly, I snatch my laptop and open Yelp and Indeed and other numerous job websites and applications. Hours later, you would think I would discover a decent art job! Even a graphics designer looking for an assistant in the heart of New York! But Nada. I gave up a half hour later, deciding to just filter my results for easy, high paying jobs in a calm area (so that way I wasn’t lost in Time Square).

What comes up is some crack-head craigslist kinda shit but some of the jobs are promising. I filter again to get rid of the cuckoo's and 9-5 jobs, settling for something more temp style. This narrows down my search even more, drastically not giving a fuck about my opinion, and only showing one or two results. Eenie Minie Moe later and I found the thing to shut Susan up about the job. A cleaning job, high pay, pick my own hours, AND! When the estate sells I get 2% of the profit sold. It’s this little old lady, selling the home and land of her dead son and daughter-in-law, just wanting to get it in shape before resale. 

I applied for the application and got it sent. I go to the kitchen to eat some trashy dried ramen in a bowl I haven’t washed in a week, and decide what time my body wants to deal with sleep and pain.

                                            -X-

I woke up late that morning, my knees bloodied. Fuck. I tip-toe to the bathroom and get out my huge first aid kit. I disinfect and clean, avoid infection and patch it all up with a huge band aid. I've learned the art of self-aid with my eyes closed and hands tied by now. Fixed, for now.

I checked my phone, surprised to see a notification from the lady with the estate this early. She says my application checks out and that the latest I can start today is 11:30 am. Well, at least I can choose when I leave. I glance at the clock, gauging how much time I get to blow before leaving to find the property. 10:29…okay. Shower, skip breakfast today, and attempt to clean. Like hell I'm gonna clean. It’s just not in my nature anymore.

Flashforward and I’m running to my car to get there on time because my sense of time is horrible. I showered and barely had time to get my boxers on. So, looking like a lunatic, brandishing my disheveled hair and soggy bandaids barely hanging on by a thread, I booked it to my car.

more to come soon!!

tagging:@thinkingaboutctommy @paldeanbooper (my writer buddy:@wiblursaystuff) @vibestillaxxx @gay-mooshrooms @colleenispunk @wormsinsdirt (another writer buddy:@teagica)

[chicgeekgirl89]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to @saybiwithme, @sznofthesticks, @bonheur-cafe, and @strandnreyes for the tags!

How many works do you have on ao3?

107 Works

What's your total ao3 word count?

414,110

What fandoms do you write for?

911 Lone Star right now. But I have also written NCIS LA, SEAL Team, Heartstopper, 911, NCIS, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Teen Wolf, Numb3rs, Power Rangers, Sea Patrol, and I think one random Chicago Fire fic lol.

Top five fics by kudos:

The House in the Pines Where the Road Ends

The Good, the Bad, and the Very Ugly

Shiner

Hold Onto Me

The Austin Chronicle Hot Sauce Festival

Do you respond to comments?

Almost always on new fics and I try to remember to respond when people comment on old fics because I am SUPER grateful to anyone who ever says anything nice to me about my work!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I Could Have Loved You- It's a SEAL Team fic where Sonny and Lisa spend six weeks together before she heads off to Officer training. It's a divergence from what ended up happening on the show and the ending is super sad because they basically say that if they'd had more time they could have really fallen in love and built a life together, but their careers are taking them in different directions.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?'

Oh, basically all the rest? I prefer a happy ending.

Do you get hate on fics?

When I posted on ff.net I got some really nasty stuff. Most people on AO3 have been lovely!

Do you write smut?

No...not like SMUT smut. Like...heavy sexiness verging on smut I guess...It's not explicit.

Craziest crossover:

I wrote a Lone Star/Rookie crossover for @bluenet13 that I posted on Tumblr but I don't think I ever added to my AO3. Maybe I should...

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet!

All time favorite ship:

Ah! I don't know! Probably Tarlos and Nick/Charlie.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a fic about T.K. wanting to have sex everywhere and Carlos being like, "ABSOLUTELY NOT" but it is barely more than an idea and I don't know if I'll ever really get it off the ground.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue!! Banter!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Ugh freaking world building. Scenic description. Yikes.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I do my best if it's needed for the fic!

First fandom you wrote in:

I hand wrote Star Wars FanFiction in notebooks when I was like twelve years old.

Favorite fic you've written:

I'm very proud of my one little Heartstopper fic Rugby King because I think it turned out very cute and Nick and Charlie are super in character. But I also really love You Have the Right to Remain Silent (But I Know You Won't) because it's super silly and I think I got everyone's voices just right!

Tagging @lemonlyman-dotcom, @ladytessa74, @liminalmemories21, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut.

[acewithapaintbrush]

20 Questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @captaincravatthecapricious

How many works do you have on Ao3?

33

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

282,261 (woah...)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly One Piece, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Encanto, Owl House and some others occasionally

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A Place for Crows (to rest their feet) - Encanto (

I'll brick by brick rebuilt us - Encanto

A Perfect Storm - One Piece

There were Rats in the Palace - Encanto

To the dark I said pour (and forgot to say when) - Rise of the TMNT

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I appreciate getting comments so so much and I wanna show that by responding

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is a hard one cause four come to mind that are super angsty but ultimately I think it is Let the world come at you (Rottmnt). That one's just bleak

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I guess The devil throws stones at us (One Piece). That one was just a lot of fun and I got lots of comments about how funny the ending is so I'll take my readers word for it

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I did once but that was mostly funny. A single sentence, something like "This story is horse shit" for the second to last chapter of a 19 chapter fic which was like... Well, you read pretty far for it all to be horse shit, didn't you??

9. Do you write smut?

I haven't yet, but I really want to... 👀

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

I do occasionally and the craziest one is definitely by far my Rottmnt/Ghost Files crossover. Man, that was a real trip but also so much fun. I had a lot of fun writing the Ghoul Boys and their shenanigans!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have been asked a few times but no one ever actually did it I think? Or they just never told me about it

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

No but I am certainly very open to the idea 👀

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Well ZoLu (One Piece) will probably always be number 1! I just love their dynamic so much, but not just romantic, also platonic. I'm actually much much more interested in platonic relationships! The team as family stuff. The straw hat pirates come to mind. Or the TMNT brothers being the best brothers. Platonic is my one true love!

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There is a Donatello angst fic that I have been writing on and off for what feels like an eternity. I have written myself into a corner somehow and I really hope I get myself out of that but I doubt I will any time soon...

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write emotions and internal stuff a character is going through quite well. I have also been told quite a few times that my characterizations are spot on which is always nice to hear cause that's the most important thing for me

17. What are you writing weaknesses?

Ugh don't get me started on fight scenes omg. When a lot of action is going on I have a hard time putting that stuff into words... I'm better at dialogue and feelings and stuff

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

Well, if it's done well??? Sure why not. I have been guilty of using some Japanese (One Piece) or Spanish (Encanto) words in my works, never full sentences though

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

First published fic was Stargate Atlantis. First fic written in a notepad for my eyes only? xxxHolic.

20. Favorite fic you have written?

For Encanto obviously A Place for Crows, it's so special to me. For Rise of the TMNT I'd say Casey Jones' Gambit

For One Piece it's probably the latest one Til Salvation Breaks Through. I had a blast writing this one because it challenged me quite a bit and I could let loose a little bit

******************

Not gonna tag anyone, everyone who wants to take a trip down memory lane, be my guest!

[riverxsong-ao3]

20 Questions (for fanfic writers)

Thank you @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts for the tag! I don't know who else has been tagged/answered, but if you see this, this is your prompt to answer (if you want)!

how many works do you have on ao3 7

what’s your total ao3 word count? 366,485

what fandoms do you write for? Harry Potter and Phantom of the Opera

top five fics by kudos: Horcruxes, Death Eaters, Treasure, The Knights of Walpurgis, A Woman Out of Time

do you respond to comments? I… try. I was very particular about responding when I first started posting regularly, but fell out of the habit. I’m trying to pick that back up again now and am actually going back to some older comments to engage!

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm… I don’t really write angsty endings, but I have a feeling Pity the Living is going in that direction. It’s either “Harry goes mad due to Voldemort living in his head,” or “Voldemort comes fully back to life and takes Harry away against his will,” so. Not great outcomes on either front.

what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Well, these are the endings I go for, but… I think the Vitae Redux series is leading towards the happiest — I mean, uh, spoilers?

do you get hate on fics? Nothing bad so far. A bit of constructive criticism, but overall it’s mostly positive.

do you write smut? Sometimes! Treasure definitely started out as a PWP oneshot, but I tend to focus more on the emotional side of relationships, with some added smut as an occasional treat.

craziest crossover? I haven’t really written any crossovers, though I do sneak in references to other works. The closest would be in the final instalment of Vitae Redux, not yet posted, when Tom and Harry end up hiding out for a bit on a cluster of magically hidden islands which are a direct element taken from the Sevenwaters Trilogy by Juliet Marillier

have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I’m aware of. I did however once find someone trying to sell a short story I wrote on Amazon as an ebook, and that pissed me off to no end.

have you ever had a fic translated? Someone went through and translated a few instalments of Vitae Redux, and that was very cool!

have you ever co-written a fic before? Not precisely, but I do bounce story ideas off my friends and rework things based on their suggestions!

all-time favorite ship? Tomarrymort, hands down <3

what’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ugh, if I’m being honest, probably Treasure. That’s subject to change, though, at the moment I don’t know exactly where it’s going but who knoooows?

what are your writing strengths? Dialogue for sure, particularly in weaving in what’s happening in the story around the dialogue. I tend to play out scenes in my mind ad nauseam until I know exactly what, where, and why the characters are doing and saying things long before I ever put digital pen to paper.

what are your writing weaknesses? Worldbuilding? I’m actually pretty thorough with this, it’s weaving it into the narrative seamlessly where I struggle. Aaaand endings. Fuck endings lol

thoughts on dialogue in another language? Love it. Try to add it in as much as I can when I know enough of the language in question. I think it can go overboard, though, and have found it most effective when it’s short, to the point, and easily translated by another character so as not to leave the reader floundering.

favorite fic you’ve written? Vitae Redux, hands down. This story keeps me up at night. OTOH, I have a backlog of writing of favourite fics I can’t wait to get back to once I’ve finished up with this one!