#i dipped my toes in back when i first joined tumblr but decided then to just continue consuming transformers content on my own

[hysterical-random-things]

Soundwave Superior Back when I decided I wanted to get back into drawing transformers and interacting with the fandom, I decided to start off with attempting Soundwave. Now that it's been a bit over a year since then, I figured i'd be fun to do a redraw of the piece and compare how I'd draw it now :> Comparison under the cut

[arcane-vagabond]

Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

[frictionandfluff]

Looking for prompts!

I am currently on house arrest for a couple of weeks while I recover from surgery and have decided to dip my toes back into the world of writing. I wanted to put out a few short fics prompted by my lovely Tumblr friends so send in your prompts with characters from ACOTAR and Crescent City! No ship will be denied! 

 I’m going to kick things off with my favorite crackship, Nessriel, because who wouldn’t want to see these three enjoy each other? This is one of the many scenarios involving them that have been living in my head rent free! This is the first thing I’ve written in years and I hope you like it!

A sore ankle had Nesta cooped up in the House of Wind while the Valkyries trained with Cassian and Azriel. She was sulking in the library, reading to distract herself from missing out and take her mind off the discomfort of her ankle. It seemed silly to skip training for a rolled ankle. While Az was wrapping it, he insisted that she stay in because it would only get worse, and with her fae healing, it would be better by the afternoon if she stayed off it.  

Now, she was remembering Az’s hands on her leg, ankle and foot while he ascertained the damage. She had tripped over the rug in the dining room, her fae grace seeming to have left her. In truth, she was distracted by the Shadowsinger reading at the table. His head was bent, and a few errant locks of his hair had drifted over his face begging to be pushed back and his long expanse of neck was just waiting to be nibbled on. Nesta was a happily mated female whose mate kept her completely satisfied but sometimes Az could just be so Godsdamned delicious her mind would wander. What would those scarred hands feel like all over her body?  

When she had entered the room, he was so focused he didn’t appear to notice her but when she tripped, he was instantly at her side, almost appearing annoyed he didn't get there before she hit the ground. Despite her protests he had scooped her up and carried her to the library, setting her gently on a sofa while he got supplies to wrap her ankle. He tenderly moved her ankle to see how badly she was hurt before he wrapped it, sliding his hand up her calf as he finished, sending a charge of lightning through her.  

She sighed and shook her head trying to physically shake the thoughts loose. Cassian had mentioned accounts of he and Az sharing females and had clearly noticed Nesta’s curiosity while recounting these memories. He would grin at her and tease her, threatening to invite Az to their bed when she was being extra demanding, telling her that Azriel had ways of shutting her smart mouth. That, of course, drove her wild.

“Is everything alright?” A low voice rumbled from the doorway.

Nesta snapped her head to Azriel’s, desperately hoping he couldn’t see the flush blooming on her cheeks or scent her arousal but from the tug at the corner of his mouth she knew he could. “Yes,” she replied with a confidence that betrayed her body.

“I was coming to check on you. Cass is wrapping up training. He’ll be here in bit. How’s the ankle?” He joined her on the sofa and gently pulled her foot into her lap.

She tensed a bit and he smiled at her, once again moving her foot. “Any pain?”

“No.” she whispered.

“Good.” His hand caressing her calf again.

“Getting started without me?” a playful voice asked.

Nesta looked up at her mate, blushing again, with a sheepish smile on her face. Azriel continued sliding his hand up her leg, watching her. She looked at him and then back at Cassian. The two males shared a conspiratorial grin and Nesta sighed in exasperation. “Seriously?” she asked.

“What?” Cass responded with mock innocence.  

“You knew?”  

Grinning at Az again as he bent over the back of the couch to run his nose along the column of her neck. “Knew what?” he murmured into her skin, his mouth following the trail his nose had made. “That you’d be disappointed about missing training and would require a private session with us?”

Nesta looked at Azriel again, his hand now on her thigh, squeezing teasingly. Her breathing shallowed and she turned her head to look at Cassian. “Seriously?” she repeated, this time it was more of a plea.

“Yes, sweetheart, however you want us.”

[storiesbyjes2g]

Shoutout to @therichantsim!

So like, I’ve gone through a few Simblr trials. I first joined way back in 2014 when the game first came out, loooong before I even knew what Tumblr was and how to use it. (I promise I’m going somewhere with this lol) I was a WordPress veteran and decided to try a new platform for this new form of storytelling I’d discovered. I had zero followers, but that was fine. That’s how it is when you first start out. But then that save blew up and I couldn’t continue the story. I started over on WordPress because I had fell in love with sims stories and wanted to get better at it and grow it, so I went with what I knew. 

Years later (maybe like 2018?) I decided I should figure out this Tumblr thing. It was foreign to me and made me feel old! I dipped my toe in every few months lol. I had a handful of followers that were people I already knew. But then, the next year, I decided I wanted to give Tumblr a fair shake so I could decide if I liked it and wanted to stick to it. If my memory serves me, you were one of the first strangers to follow me if not THE first! I had no idea how you found me and thought it was so cool that you did. I wasn’t good at tagging stuff, so even to this day I have zero idea lol. Shortly after you followed me, many of the people we know came along for the ride pretty quickly. So I guess that means you were my gateway to this Simblr world! Thanks for that. 💛

[angry-geese]

hello, how are you? so i don't remember very well how it went, but yesterday i found your tumblr and i was amazed and you write so well 🥺💗

but then i'm a bucciarati simp (i will never get over your end) and i would like to know if you can write a scenario where the reader is just an ordinary citizen who admires bucciarati (because he helped her a while ago) and wants to join the passione and he's just against it because he doesn't want to expose her to danger, he just wants to know her real reason, so he uses his ability to find out if she's lying, which is very helpful as there's a sexual tension there and well, everything ends up in sex.

ok that was very specific lmao maybe if you want to change or are not willing to write, that's fine with me.

anyway thanks, you are amazing 💗💗

aww thank you <3

don't ever worry about being too specific, I always love seeing what other people come up with :)

Tomorrow - Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. mutual pining, fluff. minor mention of violence. unprotected sex, quickie, fingering, hickeys, hair pulling, body worship (??? if you squint???). afab reader.

word count: 1.7k

It's hard to believe it's almost been a year.

Your shop had been open for barely a month. When you first moved to your neighborhood, it was made known to you it was a dangerous place. But rent was low, and the building was just too perfect to pass up on. Not many places had room for a bakery, and a space to live upstairs.

You were in over your head. But you were too stubborn to admit it.

It had caught his eye the moment he saw it. Maybe it was its cozy nature; a small shop tucked away, full of plants, a cat dozing off in the window. Or it could have been your inviting smile, the way you lit up as the door opened.

Every day he got the same order. By the end of the first week, you made sure to have it ready for him.

From the very beginning you faced issues. A business like yours attracted a lot of attention; good and bad. The local gangs knew you were bringing in money. They wanted a cut, and you weren't willing to give it to them.

You should have given it to them.

You were warned. They told you they'd come back. You were warned but didn't listen.

They trashed your shop. You swept broken glass from your floors for weeks before it finally came out. They were persistent; more than you ever thought. When you stood up to them, they threatened to kill you. They probably would have, had Bruno not stepped in. While you were willing to lay down your life for your business, he wasn't going to let you.

You're not quite sure what Bruno did, but you never saw those men again.

You never charged him for food again. If it meant he would keep coming back to your shop, you would do a lot of things. You said you owed him. At first, he was willing to accept. Weeks went on as you still refused his money. It got to the point where he felt bad. He hid money around your apartment hoping that you'd take the hint. But you never did.

You could never pay him back. Bruno claims you already have—with all the free food—but truly it's a debt that can't be repaid. Putting it lightly, you owe him your life.

The mess was cleaned up, but you'd never feel safe in your home again.

Over the past few months, Bruno had become one of your closest—if not your closest—friend. His little free time was spent at your shop. The two of you could talk for hours about nothing in particular. Business would come and go, but he was always there. If you called, he'd come running. You really didn't have to call. At the first sign of problems he was by your side.

Bruno's influence only works so much. He could only pay off those thugs for so long.

He was worried when you missed his call this morning.

His stomach sinks as he sees the broken glass.

You're not crying. You really don't look too upset. To you, this is the final nail in your coffin. You only notice him as he stops. You motion for him to sit next to you on the steps.

The people in this town are like vultures. They can sense any bit of fortune. Any money you have can't be kept for long. Stashing it away is never a good idea.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I didn't get my protection fees paid in time."

He takes a seat next to you. For the first time in his life, he feels speechless. As far as he knew, he'd taken care of this. Those thugs would have hell to pay.

"I want to join." You say.

"What?"

"I'm taking Polpo's test." You say. "I want to join Passione."

"Why?"

It's finally occurred to you how close your faces are.

You ball up your apron and toss it aside. You don't have a better answer for him. As much as you wish you did; you don't. You want to tell him anything but the truth. Really, he feels betrayed. Has he not done enough? Has this all gone to waste? He's tried all he can to keep you away from the gangs.

It seems it wasn't enough.

His grip on your arm tightens. You don’t dare look him in the eyes. As if you couldn't be more obvious. You nearly jump out of your skin as he licks a long stripe up your cheek. Instantly your face goes red. Your cheeks burn at the heat that sends right to your core. You're stammering out a few nonsensical sentence fragments.

"That's the taste of a liar, y/n."

You whip around to face him. "I want to be able to defend myself!"

The look in his eyes isn't what you expect. It's more a look of betrayal than anything. To be honest, you didn't expect him to have any reaction at all. He's rather adamant about keeping you away from Passione.

"I can protect you." His voice has gone oddly soft. "I'll take care of you."

Bruno's grip on your arms loosens.

He leans in for a kiss. It's soft, but his warmth lingers on your lips long after he's pulled away. He smells like fancy cologne, and almost like a restaurant, strangely enough. It's a weird, comforting mix of cooked food and expensive men's cologne.

He's wanted to do this since he first met you.

His hands move to cup your cheeks. They're so warm. It's hard to resist his touch. He looks at you with such longing that it makes your chest swell with affection. The heat in your face returns, but it's in less of a lewd manner. He admires every dip and curve of your clothed body; how your waist is cinched in whenever you wear your apron, how your strong hands work pastry dough into shape.

He leans in for another kiss. It's deeper this time, and leaves a longing ache in your chest. The rough muscle of his tongue presses past your lips. He tastes faintly of alcohol.

You're too impatient to get to your room. He'll settle on bending you over your apartment's kitchen counter. He wants to take his time with you, but for now, he's content with this. Maybe there'll be a second time.

His long fingers work to undo the buttons of your pants. You don't take a lot of prep work. You're already soaked. Two of his fingers press into you. They’re long, but fairly thin, and slide right into you. His fingers stroke against your g-spot as his thumb works circles around your clit. It doesn’t take him long to figure out just what makes you weak. Bruno has you a shaking, moaning mess in no time.

You lean against the counter, propping yourself up on your elbows. He wastes no time in freeing himself from his pants. His cock is built like the rest of him; long and dark. It’s girthy, but not intimidatingly big. The hairs towards the base are neatly trimmed, and the same color as the hair on his head. A vein runs up the bottom, only getting more prominent as he gets harder. He shoves your pants down to your knees.

Bruno groans as he sheathes himself in you. The feeling of your warm, wet cunt is intoxicating. Maybe he’s a bit more pent up than he thought. His hand buries in your hair. He leans forward to nip at your earlobe. Bruno coos words of praise into your ear, telling you how good you take him, how good you feel around him.

He rolls his hips against yours in desperate, quick motions. Bruno can't decide what to do with his hands. They're gripping your breasts, then your hips, then settling in your hair. He’ll have you like this again, he’s certain of it.

Heat pools in your stomach. His touch leaves you with an aching need for more.

"Fuck- I've wanted this for so long," he says, "you’re so beautiful.”

His fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He sucks a dark mark into your shoulder—one where you won’t be able to see it. It sends a whole new heat to your core. While his cock isn't the biggest, it curves in just a way that makes your toes curl.

He makes it known just what he thinks about you; babbling about how good you feel around him, about how long he’s wanted to do this.

The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room. If you had any neighbors, you'd certainly be getting noise complaints. Your moans are like music to his ears. You don't worry about being quiet. Let others hear you, what do you care?

"Harder Bruno!" You cry out.

He can't resist something as beautiful as you.

His free hand moves to your clit, tracing circles around the bundle of nerves. He works you up in a way you never knew possible. Your skin feels feverish, and sensitive to the touch. The heat in your stomach only gets more unbearable. You want to beg him to cum inside. You need him to cum inside. Your mind is too hazy to think of much else but him and the way he fucks into you. He leaves none of your sweet spots unstroked.

Something in you snaps. There’s not one specific thing that sends you over the edge; it's everything. You clench around him as you cum, crying out. The way you suck him back in is almost enough to send him over the edge.

His thrusts get sloppier as he nears his own orgasm. He scrambles against the counter for purchase, gripping the edge of it so tight his knuckles turn white. He doesn't want to risk cumming inside. He pulls out, giving himself a few pumps before cumming into his hand.

Bruno presses a kiss to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. Your skin is sticky with sweat. A tired, but pleased look spreads across your face. His hair tickles your neck. The sight of your shaky, sleepy form is almost enough to make him hard again.

You lean back into him, giggling. “We made a mess…”

“Want to make another?”

"Are you suggesting a round two?” It’s a joke, but you carry some seriousness behind it.

"Anything for you,"

[bothabeginningandanend]

I posted 132 times in 2021

4 posts created (3%)

128 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 32.0 posts.

I added 18 tags in 2021

#jily - 4 posts

#jily au - 3 posts

#moodboard - 3 posts

#jily moodboard - 2 posts

#blue ridge parkway - 1 posts

#angst please - 1 posts

#jily challenge - 1 posts

#writing - 1 posts

#lily especially! - 1 posts

#they deserve a break - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 62 characters

#it takes a while to get to the domestic fluff but when you do…

My Top Posts in 2021

#4

I’ve never taken this curve / drivin’ this fast before - The Avett Brothers

Blue Ridge Parkway, North Carolina | 24 June 2021

14 notes • Posted 2021-06-25 05:07:49 GMT

#3

“You drive a hard bargain, she reads. Even his handwriting looks smug. I'll have the contract written up and sent to your lovely office first thing in the morning.

Staring at the thin, careful slant of his penmanship, she knows she won't sleep until then. Really, she has to wonder if she'll ever spend another night of the next year sleeping soundly.”

Decided to dip my toes in the moodboard world for the newest piece Bought by @scriibble-fics featuring a very Dark!James and Scriibble’s customary beautiful world building.

27 notes • Posted 2021-08-31 04:31:44 GMT

#2

“I forgot how cheeky you can be. Damn if I don’t miss that.” Lily is not certain if he means it, light as his tone is, but she moves on from this thought at his next comment. “Well, I wanted to respond to your voicemail promptly, as you seemed very keen to get an answer if the number of times you angrily asked why I didn’t pick up your call is any indication. Was sleeping, by the way. But I wanted to say yes.”


If her stomach wasn’t already dancing irritably from nausea mixing with eggs, it would have somersaulted at these words. “Yes?”


“Yes. I’ll join you for your sister’s wedding.”


The Wedding Ring by @mppmaraudergirl

46 notes • Posted 2021-09-03 07:01:43 GMT

#1

He did his best to cherish each fucking second, as he had when they'd first started dating and everything about her still amazed and shocked and fascinated him, from every smile she sent his way to every touch, even those as seemingly unimportant as a hand on his arm. Really, he didn't need his best to cherish every moment. He'd become eighteen again, so mad about her that even the way she brushed her hair in the morning made him smile like an idiot. 

He might have felt stupid over that, but it very much helped that she smiled back.

Just some domestic Jily as inspired by @scriibble-fics’ stunning second chances fic Eighteen Again.

50 notes • Posted 2021-09-03 06:24:57 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[dapandapod]

Summer days

I have come to realize i never posted my last Bog fluff battle entry!! The horror! So here it is! The prompts I used for this ones are:

36. Massages 25. Playing with/braiding hair 23. Person A falls asleep on couch to be carried to bed by Person B

Oh, and it’s Geralt and Dandelion, because they are the softest boys and i love them.  On Ao3 here and here are my other 4 entries on Tumblr!

Words: 2051

Please enjoy <3

Lazy days are lovely. When nothing is urgent, the weather is nice and no one is hurt. Just, a chosen lazy day. Geralt likes them a lot, rare as they are. There is always a something to take care of, something to kill or some squabble to listen to. 

He recently returned from a haunted house, finding a godling in the basement putting up quite the ruckus. So the house wasn’t all that haunted, but he isn’t telling the shitty house owner that. Because sometimes humans are the beastly ones.

So yes, a bit of a break is what Geralt is enjoying right now. Between one village and the next, Dandelion and Geralt found a small hut at the edge of a shallow lake. Too shallow to be inviting to drowners, but really, they could thrive in a puddle. 

They decide to stay for a day or two. Just to take a breather.

Summer brings gentle nights with them, and Roach is roaming around the area and grazing. They spend some time laying in the grass, wiggling their toes and watching the clouds. Geralt can’t remember the last time he ran barefoot through a field, and Dandelion looks as outraged as if Geralt told him his new hat is a bit flat. 

Not that Dandelion himself has done any barefoot running other than scrabbling out from lovers bedrooms lately, but that isn’t very poetic.

Dandelion teaches Geralt to put a flat piece of grass between his thumbs, pressing his hands together and blowing, to make it sound like a bird. A hoarse, sad bird, but still a bird. Dandelion laughs, throwing his head back when Geralt's blade of grass breaks for a third time.

Something in Geralt loosens at that. Some kind of tension finally breaks, and he allows himself a smile. There still must be vengeance though, so he grabs a fistful of grass and throws it in the offending bard’s face.

They would have slept in the hut. They would have, had it not been moldy and a great deal colder than the night outside. Instead they throw out their bedrolls, enjoying the clucking of water against the beach nearby and a night sky filled with stars.

It is beautiful. Calm.

Geralt watches the big darkness up above, listening to Dandelion’s even breaths, the swish of Roach’s tail, the soft sounds of insects. They didn’t light a fire, but before they went to sleep Geralt found them a tree fungi and lit it with Igni to keep the worst of the bugs at bay. He can’t help Roach much with those, having run out of the ointment he uses for her when it’s especially bad. He will have to make it up to her tomorrow.

He turns his head and watches Dandelion's sleeping form, a dark silhouette against the starlit lake. No matter how much time they spend apart, they always find a way back to each other. Sometimes by accident, sometimes seeking each other out. It’s nice. To have someone happy to see him, someone he is happy to see every time.

Recently, Geralt has come to realize that he is feeling more than he thought. About his bard. About how much he wants to put emphasis on Dandelion being his bard. More than once, he’s found himself staring at Dandelion when he talks, admiring how he looks when he is passionate about something. How much he cares for silly things, and how completely and utterly in love with himself he is. Geralt thinks about how beautiful his hands are, and how his curls bounce when he runs.

Looking at Dandelion now, he feels is maybe more than before.

He falls asleep like that, watching Dandelion. His lids fall shut without him noticing, and the next thing he knows is darkness and dreams.

The early morning brings rain, a small downpour making the world smell sweet. Geralt gets the first drop on his eyelid, the next on his chin. It takes him a moment to remember they actually have shelter, so he sits up and looks around. It is still too early for the sun to be really out, the world a little grey still.

Dandelion hadn’t woken up yet, so Geralt does them both a kindness and carries him inside the hut, putting him down on his own bedroll as he fetches the other. 

Bards are terrible when they sleep poorly.

By the time all their things are safe from the rain, Geralt is wide awake. He knows Dandelion will be asleep for another few hours, so he sits down in the doorframe, listening to the rain. Meditating doesn’t give him the same kind of rest as sleeping does, but it settles him. Gives him a chance to collect himself. 

This morning, it’s him and the morning birds. As soon as the sun rises, Roach wanders close to them. She wants her morning grains, and she tells him so very clearly. Geralt has never had a cat, nor has he ever interacted with one. But he is fairly sure Roach shares a trait, or five, with them.

As she eats, Geralt looks her over. Checking her legs, untangling knots in her mane, looking for sores and scrapes. Nothing actually ever gets close enough to hurt her, but strain can be an enemy too.

The rain lets up, and a soft mist takes its place as the water evaporates. Geralt pushes his fingers over Roach’s muscles, feeling how tense she is. He really owes her some care.

He starts on her neck, following the lines of her muscles, kneading and soothing. She has stopped eating, but she keeps her head low, relaxing under his ministrations. Then over her shoulders and the big muscles over her elbow. When he gets to the back, Dandelion has woken up and joins them outside, leaning against the hut wall.

Geralt can feel Dandelion’s eyes on him, and he becomes very aware of himself. The tunic from last night is laced open, untucked from his trousers and his hair is untied. It is not in any way immodest, and Dandelion has certainly seen him in worse states than this, but there is something in the air that Geralt can’t put the finger on.

“She looks like she is enjoying herself.” Dandelion comments when Geralt puts more weight behind the kneading, making the entire horse tilt with the movement.

“She’s earned it.” Geralt says, and tries not to react when he notices Dandelion's eyes dip to his half open shirt. He, too, is in somewhat a state. His blond curls fall over his shoulders, just a little ruffled and his white lace shirt is unlaced as well, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms and wrists.

“She really has.” Dandelion agrees. He walks up to Roach, pats her neck, but she ignores him. “Can I help?”

Geralt smiles warmly. Dandelion never was a big fan of dirty work, but spoiling others is something he loves. Dandelions cheeks color prettily when Geralt nods and makes room for him on the other side of Roach. It does something to Geralt's insides, knowing that he put that blush there. Something warm and nice, and he very much wants to see it again.

Dandelion comes up to stand next to him, their shoulders bumping.

“What do I do?” Dandelion asks, putting a hand on Roach’s back. Geralt's eyes get stuck there for two seconds, admiring Dandelions long, nimble fingers. There are very few scars there, only barely-there freckles. He wants to reach out but-

“We follow the lines of her muscles.” Geralt begins to explain instead. “Put your hand here.”

Geralt indicates towards the withers. Dandelion reaches over, for some reason careful not to touch Geralt, and that simply won’t do. So Geralt places his hand over Dandelions, covering it and spreading their fingers. Then he guides them over Roach’s back and over her side, showing Dandelion where to put pressure.

They both jump when her tail whips Dandelion over the back, breaking the spell that came over them.

“She’s ticklish.” Geralt explains and reluctantly lets go of the other’s hand.

“So do I just…?” Dandelion asks, hand hesitantly hovering over Roach. Geralt smiles and takes pity on him, gently guiding his hand to where he wants it.

“Here. You massage the butt. Nothing can go wrong there.” Geralt says, and Dandelion snorts.

“Clearly, you have not been around butts enough.” Dandelion huffs and Geralt elbows him goodnaturedly.

“Roach can hear you.”

“Right you are. Do I just press…? Like this?”

Geralt watches Dandelion's awkward movements, letting him fret as he works over Roach’s side. He’s doing it too much like he would massage a human, trying to use the meat of his thumb as he rubs along her spine.

“No, flatten your hand and spread your fingers.” Geralt corrects him kindly. “Then put your other hand over it, putting your fingers between each other. That is the easiest grip.”

Dandelion follows his instructions. Kind of. It resembles more of what Geralt meant, but not entirely. And he is more patting her than massaging her, afraid to go against the fur. Affection, Geralt realizes. It is affection he feels surging up. And he thinks… hopes that Dandelion feels it too.

“Hang on.” Geralt murmurs, and then steps behind Dandelion, reaching around him and arranging his fingers to his liking. Roach is standing patiently and waiting, against all odds, now grazing on the grass around the little hut.

When Geralt has adjusted his grip, he places both hands over them and shows him how to rub up and down, putting some weight behind it.

Dandelion is curiously quiet, and Geralt is feeling his own nerves acting up. They don’t usually get this close on purpose. Not like this. Not with the crackling energy burning in the gap between their bodies. Not when Geralt's pulse is beating in his ears.

When he feels like Dandelion has gotten it, he lets him go slowly, letting his arms fall to his sides. But he doesn’t move away, he stays behind Dandelion and pretends like this morning is like any other. Despite the crackling, despite the nervous energy, despite everything he feels.

“You got it.” He murmurs, and then he moves back to where he stood and picks up his own massaging. He never finished this side after all.

They stand in silence, the morning birds and the lapping water of the beach creating a background to their work. Geralt sneaks a peak at Dandelion every now and then, watching him move about the muscles with more purpose than he expected. And the tip of his tongue peeking out, as it does when he is concentrating.

Eventually they finish, and it is Dandelion's turn to make instructions. He shows Geralt how to make an intricate braid in Roach’s mane, using as many as five parts at a time. It feels more like weaving, something that Geralt is a little familiar with at least, and he gets the hang of it fairly quick. Until Dandelion disappears, returning with some flowers plucked from the field.

“She is a beautiful girl. She deserves beautiful things.” He reasons, and fair. Geralt keeps working on his complicated braid, and Dandelion stands right next to him, shoulders bumping, and putting small flowers here and there into it.

When it is time to tie it off, they realize they didn’t plan that far. Dandelion rushes inside to their packs and they sacrifice a bit of torn fabric to act as a ribbon. It clashes wonderfully with the flowers and braid, but Dandelion insists that that is what art is all about.

Somewhere mid-rant about art, Roach scampers off and it’s time for a breakfast of their own. They settle on the pebbled beach, passing a piece of cheese back and forth while watching the sun play on the surface of the lake.

It’s peaceful. The clouds have cleared out and a blue sky is stretching out around them. Before lunch both of their hairs are braided, woven with flowers and tied off with an old piece of fabric.

Geralt thinks they can stay here for another night. And he hopes that before then, he will get to hold Dandelion's hand in his.

Lazy days are lovely indeed.

[thehaemanthus]

Our Savaged Souls

Trying out a new thing of posting the full chapter on tumblr. You can read from chapter one one AO3 (unless it’s not your thing, and in that case you can send me an ask and I’ll be like! sure! I love to be accomodating! I’ll post full chapters on tumblr :) )

Feyre Archeron is born under the new Wall separating human lands from the Spring Court- her home. She hunts in her forest, forms a friendship with the High Lord's third son, and is introduced to his friend. Then it all goes wrong.

Chapter 6

Tamlin soon forgets his ire about the Suriel. Or at least, he pushes it down far enough and eventually bounces back, dragging her out on more adventures. He manages to swing by for a few hours of her birthday party, and then is required at home for much of the spring. By the time the summer rolls around, Feyre can tell he’s eager to be away from family and make up for lost time.

The latest outing is a jaunt to a pool of liquid starlight, one that Feyre has visited only a handful of times. It’s one of Tamlin’s favorite places, she knows, and she felt the honor in the first invitation.

Her linen dress brushes just past her knees, only half of her hair pulled back in anticipation of a relaxing afternoon spent lounging in the shade and wading in the water. No boots or tight braid needed today. Her contribution to the picnic is a batch of scones, some ruby-red cherries, raspberry preserves, and roasted almonds. With her bounty and dress, Feyre decides to winnow rather than pick through the forest.

Feyre expects it to be a small party, but she does not know how small it actually is until she arrives.

There are two people there. Tamlin and Rhysand.

Of course. Rhysand. Of course he is here.

“You managed to make it on time!” Tamlin greets her with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and takes her basket from her hands, retreating to add it to their pile of food and blankets. The space already looks inviting, dappled in shade. Sweating bottles of lemonade and ice water peak out from a wicker basket full of white porcelain plates with painted primrose borders and crystal glasses. A partially wrapped loaf of bread and hard cheese rests on top, along with a sharp knife and a bounty of fresh fruits.

Feyre scowls. “I was late one time, Tam, it’s not funny anymore.” She glances at Rhysand. It would be impossible to pretend he’s not there. It’s just the three of them. It would be rude to not say anything. It should not be difficult at all to just greet him. She wrangles her expression into something pleasant. “Hello, Rhysand.”

“Feyre darling,” he smirks. “I thought you were calling me Rhys now?”

She actually turns a bit red and fumbles. Thankfully, Tamlin’s big mouth saves her. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago.” Rhysand reclines on one of the picnic blankets, lounging like a cat. He waves a hand. “Won’t you join us, Feyre?”

There’s really no way to refuse. She takes a seat, folding her legs under her. “It’s hard to break a habit. I’ve been calling you Rhysand for a long time now.”

“I’ll have to keep reminding you, then,” he says as he roots through a picnic basket, plucking out a tin of cookies. “Want one?”

“Thank you, Rhys,” she stresses his name, plucking one of the cookies from his hand.

He smiles at her, and the tension seems to melt away.

Has she always looked at him like this, or did the Suriel trigger something in her soul that flipped the world upside down? Feyre wonders how long this feeling, this awareness of him has been growing in her heart, encroaching so slowly and naturally that she has not noticed until someone drew her attention to the blossoming.

For a child of the Night Court, Rhys looks good in the sun. She has always known he is beautiful, but something has changed. As they chat and nibble on the picnic, Feyre observes him. There is something fuller in his laughs, more playful in his smirks today. It would be impossible to forget that he is an Heir— powerful radiates from his body and he approaches every conversation and confrontation with arrogance. He is still guarded. But if his true soul is an impenetrable fortress, Feyre thinks they’ve passed through the gates of one or two battlements.

The sun beats down on them, stronger now that the world has moved and positioned itself in summer. The Day Court is absolutely sweltering, Rhys informs them, and there’s been some problems with heat sickness in Summer. In Spring, Feyre keeps an extra canteen of water and takes frequent breaks when romping about.

Sweat gathers at her brow and pools on her upper lip. Eventually, sipping cool drinks and relaxing in the shade is paltry comfort.

“I’m going for a dip,” she stands. “Anyone want to join?”

The males scramble up after her. It’s some work to unlace her stays, so they end up shucking their clothes and splashing into the pond before her. Feyre finds herself sighing in relief when they don’t look twice or offer to help. It would be well meaning from them, her friends, if not a little playful and flirty. But if Rhys offered…

Mother above. Surely it should take her longer to fall?

“Are you coming?” Tamlin calls from the water, flicking some water in her direction. It glitters like diamonds where it lands on the grass and dirt. It might not actually be water, but Feyre has never known what else to call it.

She scowls. “It takes a little longer for me.” She toes off her slippers, wiggling her feet in the cool grass. In the past, Feyre hasn’t had trouble with stripping down to almost nothing and jumping into lakes and rivers. Now, she keeps her chemise on and tries not to think too hard about it. After tossing her hair pins on the blanket, she wades in.

The pond is cool and refreshing. Sunlight almost blinds her as it bounces off the surface. Feyre glides through the water, slowly acclimating herself. When she dunks her head under and emerges, the liquid starlight clings to her lashes and makes the world look brighter and chaotic. She swipes a hand at her eyes and blinks to clear her vision.

Tamlin floats on his back, golden hair floating around his head like a halo. Rhys lazily swims a circuit around the pond, much like she was. Feyre treads in place for a moment before floating a bit closer to Rhys.

Sensing her presence, he surfaces. Feyre’s breath catches. She’s sure he reads something incriminating on her face, but before he can speak she opens her mouth. “This pond suits you.”

“Oh?” he questions. His feet must reach the bottom, because while Feyre is working to stay afloat at the edge, he is merely holding out his arms to keep himself steady.

“The starlight.” Her eyes roam over his face and dip down to his neck before shooting back up. If she looks too far down she won’t be able to return her gaze to his face. “Son of the Night Court. It all works.” She waves a hand in his face, and he laughs. The starlight clinging to his hair and shoulders and dripping from his chin bring out the constellations in his eyes.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, darling,” Rhys nods at her.

She wishes she had a mirror, if only to try and memorize her own look for a painting later. “Do I?” she asks, leaning back a bit in the water and pretending like his words do not send her heart racing.

Her eyes are on the sky, but when Rhys is silent for too long she propels herself upright. He’s frowning a bit, looking more unsure of himself than she’s ever known him to be. “Rhys?”

“I can show you,” he says, expression much too serious for an afternoon swim.

Feyre laughs softly. “You have a mirror? Where are you hiding that?”

Rhys’s smirk lacks some of its swagger. He brings up a hand and, from nowhere, conjures a hand mirror. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” As quick as it appeared, it's gone.

Feyre cocks her head. Rhys wants to show her what she looks like, but without a mirror or any reflective surface...and it’s not like he’s an artist…

She gapes a little, swimming closer. Tamlin is still floating on his back, hearing muffled from the water, but she lowers her voice anyway. “You’re daemati?”

It’s the only thing that makes sense. And she would expect no less from Rhys. In addition to being obscenely powerful, to have this as well...he won’t just be a powerful High Lord, he’ll be unquestionably dominant.

His brows lift a little in surprise before his expression settles. “Clever girl. I shouldn’t be surprised that you guessed.”

Feyre bites her lip, torn between being pleased and being concerned. She does not think that Rhys has ever used his power against her. But how would she know? She has heard plenty of stories, has been given plenty of reasons to be wary of the Night Court. Feyre is not so arrogant as to think that she is a worthy target, but just the thought of her thoughts being combed through or someone getting information from her mind is disconcerting.

Rhys— whether by looking at her mind or her face— knows where her thoughts lead her. He moves a little closer as well. “I have never looked in your mind, or Tamlin’s for that matter. I’m not that kind of male.”

“I know.” The words are said without thinking, but they ring true.

He does not look convinced. “If I wanted to use you, I would have hovered in your mind as you hunted the Suriel and asked them a question myself. I would have probed your mind to see what you asked.”

She nods. Part of her knows it to be true, but another part, an animal, instinctual part, shies away from him.

But the Suriel told her to trust Rhysand.

It’s not effortless, but she stays. “You keep it a secret?”

“We keep it quiet,” Rhys admits. “We” probably means his family, his Court.

What does it mean that there is a secret daemati ready to inherit one of the mightier Courts of Prythian?

If she was a good person, she thinks, she would tell someone. But being a good citizen and a good friend are directly opposed at the moment. It does not take Feyre very long to decide which title is more important to her.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She values her friendship with Rhys, trusts him more than she maybe should. Even considering what the Suriel said, she would be a fool to throw herself into his arms blindly.

“Thank you.” Under the water, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I know you still aren’t comfortable with this.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so she looks down. Right at the curves of his shoulder, where brown skin and black ink peek from beneath the surface. Her mouth goes dry, but she manages to force words out. “It is...strange. To realize how vulnerable I’ve been.”

There are dangers in Feyre’s life, but she has always known them. She has rules, has trained and armed herself against threats. Don’t stay out too late after night falls in the forest, don’t stray too close to creatures who have young ones to protect. Keep your eyes averted when speaking with the High Lord and try to not attract too much attention, bite your tongue in front of certain people and laugh and gossip in secret circles only.

There is no such defense against Rhys. At least, she assumes so until he speaks. “I can train you to shield your mind.”

Feyre blinks, shocked. “You can?” It’s possible? And he would offer that to her?

A deluge of cool water drenches her. Feyre cries out in shock, whirling to scowl at a laughing Tamlin.

“You two are much too serious,” he says, slapping the surface of the water again to send another splash their way. “What were you talking about anyway?”

“We had a run-in with a daemati in the Night Court a while back,” Rhys says smoothly. In an instant, his cool confidence is back. He swims away from Feyre, closer to Tamlin. She is sure there is a good reason he turns his back and tells herself it does not sting. “I was telling Feyre that I wouldn’t mind offering some lessons on how to shield her mind.”

“Why would you need to shield your mind?” Tamlin asks her.

She scowls. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to keep your thoughts private?”

“Sure,” Tamlin shrugs. “But it’s not like any daemati would target you.” He is lackadaisical and inattentive, paddling around the pond like a slippery otter. The mere word “daemati” was enough to alter Feyre’s mood, but Tamlin is barely affected.

“She’s been spending time with two sons of High Lords,” Rhys points out, flicking some water into Tamlin’s face. “I’d say that makes her plenty vulnerable. You should learn to shield, too.”

Tamlin nods, finally starting to take it seriously. “You were taught?” He propels himself upright, staring intently at Rhys. It is not hard to see how Tamlin esteems their older friend. Anyone who spends five minutes with the two of them can see how Tamlin might look at Rhys for approval, how he weighs Rhys’s words and commits them to memory. Sometimes, Feyre worries about how reliant Tamlin is, how he has replaced his own older brothers with the Heir to the Night Court. But she hardly has room to talk.

“Almost as soon as I could grasp the concept,” Rhys says. “I’ll give both of you lessons. It’ll be hard to test without an actual daemati, but it’s worth trying.”

You’ll have a bit of an advantage over Tamlin. Feyre gasps as Rhys’s voice echoes in her head. Her limbs freeze. She sinks a little in the water before propelling herself back up, sputtering.

Tamlin glides closer. “Feyre?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, pointedly not looking at Rhys. “I thought something brushed my leg. What lives in this water anyway?”

“Nothing natural,” Tamlin scowls at the opaque surface as if his ire can be translated to whatever dwells below. “Come on, let’s leave before we find out.”

Feyre wades out of the pond, chemise sticking to her skin and hair dripping down her back. She squeezes her hair to dry it as best she can, then moves to gather a fistful of her chemise and wring out the water.

It’s silent for a moment. When Feyre looks up, she sees two males looking at her instead of getting out of the pond.

Emboldened by their attention, Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Tamlin coughs, looking away and stepping out of the water. He passes her without a comment, even as Rhys continues to look. Her challenge is answered as his eyes rove over her body, from long bare legs to the wet material clinging to her hips and chest. She half expects something flirty to spill from his mouth, but he just keeps the smirk on, looks his fill, and emerges from the water.

It takes a lot of effort not to pay him back in kind, though Feyre does sneak a look at those tattoos and well-muscled chest.

The light breeze chills their damp skin, and the once sweltering heat becomes a comforting embrace. The trio sprawl out. Between bouts of dozing off, they have a contest to see which pair is best at tossing grapes into someone’s mouth. When Feyre’s hair is mostly dry and her fingers get caught in tangles, Rhys slips behind her and braids it back.

She is half awake as his fingers comb through her hair, catching every other word of his explanation that his little sister has now grown old enough to demand all sorts of hairstyles and pampering from her devoted older brother. Feyre hums with a smile, picturing the scene.

There’s a knock on the edge of her mind. One she is better prepared for this time. Rhys slips a memory into her mind, one that is not hers, but his. Through his eyes he sees a head of black hair, a young girl’s bedroom, a reflection of him and a little girl, the former wrestling with a hair brush and the latter rifling through a basket of ribbons. There is a love infused in that memory, a feeling so pure that it nearly brings a tear to Feyre’s eye.

I almost neglected my promise earlier. Rhys’s voice is low and smoky in her mind. A moment later, a different memory. Her grinning face, covered in droplets of starlight.

There is emotion in this memory too, though not the all-consuming devotion Rhys feels for his sister. But it is something, and it makes Feyre smile anyway.

It is the perfect day. Feyre is not naive enough to think that this dynamic, with her two dear friends, can last forever. Rhysand will one day become High Lord, and Tamlin’s own role will likely change when his father passes. But fae are immortal, and she is untouched by death, and the thought of painful change is so far away in that perfect summer afternoon.

She cannot be blamed for thinking peace will last for a good, long while.

--

Being the Lady of the Spring Court is good for little else besides ordering the servants around the house.

Alis can grumble and protest and toss every veiled hint that she can think of, but in the end she cannot prevent Feyre from leaving her bed. Sleep came and went in the night. When the discomfort impeded her peace, Feyre tossed back healing tonics and pain remedies and whatever cocktail of drugs that the healer left on her nightstand.

Her smaller cuts are healed, but her ribs are still tender. The worst bruises are black and blue and impossible to look at. Feyre chooses a boring corner of the room to stare at as Alis dresses her in light fabrics and a dress that laces loosely. Alis picks a gown in an opaque green with a yellow underskirt, as if that will lend color to her pale skin or brighten her gaunt face.

Feyre tells the staff that she and the High Lord will not be entertaining any guests and to send away anyone that might drop by. Not that anyone comes for Feyre unless she specifically invites them.

The only other person in her home besides the servants is Lucien. He clearly did not expect her to leave bed and nearly leaps from his seat when she slips into the dining room. “You should be resting.”

She probably should. There is an exhaustion that has settled in her, infused in her bones and powdered on her skin. Her tongue is weighed down. Feyre has no words for her friend, only enough energy to squeeze his shoulder as she walks past to take her seat. She sees the way his eyes scan her, the way his jaw clenches when he notes how she sits gingerly.

Tamlin’s chair at the head of the table is empty. The space feels like a chasm.

When Tamlin is home, the table usually is weighed down with food. Today, Lucien just has one plate sent up from the kitchen. Feyre gets the same toast, fried eggs, and sausage. No platters of sliced fruit or tureens of gravy or plates of sugary pastries. Lucien pours her a cup of tea wordlessly.

Feyre eats in peace, but Lucien has a stack of papers by him that he leafs through in between bites. With Tamlin gone, his work will be all the more difficult. Lucien cannot make certain decisions, cannot sign off on projects, cannot approve a budget. But there are some things that must get done and emergencies to deal with.

“Anything I can help with?” Feyre speaks her first words of the day.

Lucien’s eyes flick up briefly. “I’ll let you know.” He’s gone a few minutes later, only a squeeze of her shoulder as a goodbye.

There are things Feyre can do, even some things that Tamlin might expect her to accomplish. Ferye thinks of the piles of letters she can respond to and the parties she might plan. The next holiday is never more than a few months away, and Tamlin likes to take any opportunity to celebrate and fill their home with his friends.

She does not do any of that.

The servants push back on some of Feyre’s whims, but they can never outright refuse her. A few months ago, it was a battle to get them to relinquish their gardening tools. Another battle to ask one of the gardeners to teach her, show her, and not do anything beyond that.

But a few months ago she was also a bit more fragile, and so they followed her directions with less protesting than she usually was in for.

Now, Feyre knows where to find the tools she needs. She slips on the gardening gloves that Alis procured and forced on her. While it might be seemly for the Lady of Spring to prune a few roses, cuts and calluses were utterly unacceptable. Feyre can stroll in the gardens, can even kneel in the grass, as long as she has a wide-brimmed hat to shield the delicate skin on her face.

How she longs to rip off the hat, unpin her hair, and sprint through the fields once more.

No one disturbs her as Feyre weaves through the perfectly manicured gardens. She passes tall hedges, venturing deeper until she crosses into a little hidden nook. It is cordoned off by nothing more than a charming wooden gate, but symbolism is strong. No one has ever entered without the express permission of the Lady of Spring.

Feyre let the little space go unattended for years, not caring much for gardening or pretty flowers. Now, the hidden nook is ringed with blooming jasmine. She might add a stone bench in the middle, but for now she is happy to sit on the grass.

A proper gardener might prune and use sophisticated techniques to care for the jasmine, but Feyre likes to see it grow wild. She removes weeds and brushes away dead leaves. In Spring the bushes are almost always flowering, clogging the space with their intoxicating scent. She would have kept blooms in her room, if not for what they symbolized.

Jasmine is a Night Court flower.

Tamlin does not come to her jasmine garden. He either does not know or was informed and has not confronted her directly. Now that she is in the garden, Feyre wonders if this is, in part, what set him off.

The flowers are not for Rhys. Not really. True, they remind her of him, in a way. But she mostly likes the scent, likes that when she smells it she immediately feels at peace. Jasmine is not the most beautiful flower in the world, but it is still pretty. A flower alone cannot make her happy, but it settles something in her soul anyway.

White jasmine is crisp and clean. Pure.

For a while, Feyre had no closure after the loss of her child. These things happened, so the healer ensured she was physically healthy and then sent away. There was no goodbye, no body, no ceremony to send the child off. They were there one moment and gone the next, not having made any mark on the world besides a scar on Feyre’s heart. She does not know if they were male or female, if they had Tamlin’s blond hair or her own darker shade, if they would have had freckles or their father’s straight nose. After they were gone, the child seemed to exist for Feyre and no one else.

So she planted the jasmine.

Now, as she lays on her back in the grass, she can imagine it. A giggling toddler, running circles around her. But not here, not in Spring. The flowers perfume the air and make it all too easy to pretend she’s in another place.

Maybe the jasmine is selfish. Maybe Feyre did have another motive in creating this secret space.

While she is here, she can mourn her child. While she is here, she can pretend that she is someplace else.

[arofili]

how’d u get into writing? like, writing fic and being part of the silm community, being Known, that stuff? i’m really new to being a silm cc and i’d love to know ur advice! also: how’d u build up the confidence to start posting meta/hcs? bc i have a Lot of hcs and meta ideas but also i’m really anxious abt posting them bc yknow anxiety is like that

these are some great questions, anon! I’m gonna go through them one by one :)

how’d u get into writing?

not to be like, super cliche, but I’ve...kind of always been a writer? as long as I can remember I’ve been telling stories, and when I was too young to read or write I would dictate them to my mom, who would type them up for me and help me choose clipart illustrations to accompany them. when I got old enough I would always be writing; I attempted my first novel at age 9, and while that never really went anywhere I did finish the darn thing and it had some pretty sophisticated plot twists for a 9-year-old!

like, writing fic

around the same time I got into fandom! I was deep into Warrior cats (like. really deep) and I believe I started writing my first fics when I was like? 10 or 11? my memory is kind of fuzzy on the order of things, but I know I got an account on the Warriors forums when I was 9, and that I was already posting my fic there when I made my FFN account. I believe I was 12 when that happened, but who knows. I haven’t the faintest idea of what happened with those forums, but uhhh pretty much all of my Warriors fic is still up on FFN lmao. you could probably find that if you want to but um...maybe don’t?

my first Big Fic was a self-insert of...my entire 5th/6th grade class into the then-current timeline of the Warriors books...well. I honestly think that might still be my most popular fic of all time l m a o though I try not to think about it because Hashtag Cringe. though as much as I look back on that time with a “yikes,” I am very grateful for the Warriors fandom in a way? that place was so accepting and encouraging of OCs, of AUs, of completely disregarding canon, of worldbuilding that is completely alien from canon - it was a fantastic sandbox to begin with, there were so many ways to write stories and practically all of them were accepted and had fellow fans invested in them!

and being part of the silm community, 

soooo I wrote Warriors fic until my freshman year of high school (wow sdjfhkdsjfh), which was when BOTFA came out, and I was absolutely wrecked by the ending and immediately started writing my own fixit fic. I was also super hooked on Kiliel! so that was my intro to the Tolkien fandom; and simultaneously, I joined tumblr, and, well, the rest is history tbh.

I honestly do not remember when I first read the Silm, but I kind of got into the more obscure parts of the Tolkien fandom through fandom osmosis, and I do have a vague memory of doodling the Finwean family tree in geometry class so it might have been later on in freshman year? that was also the same time I was having my Queer Awakening, and Russingon definitely contributed to me unlearning my internalized queerphobia, so probably around then.

anyway - queer awakening, tumblr, Tolkien, transitioning from FFN to AO3 - all of that was happening around the same time. I know I dipped my toes in the Silm fandom then, but I was still primarily a Hobbit fic writer focusing on Kiliel. toward the end of high school I kind of shifted to LOTR and (qp) Gigolas...but somehow the Silm fandom is the most active of the Big Three within the Tolkien fandom, and I was getting dragged further and further in.

it wasn’t until @backtomiddleearthmonth 2019, my freshman year of college, that I really dove into writing Silm fic! I picked some Silm-specific bingo cards and never looked back :D that was really not all that long ago but I am obsessed in a way I don’t really remember being even with TH/LOTR, I obviously cannot see the future but I anticipate hanging out here for a long time. the Silm fandom is great overall and there’s just so much material to work with!! <3

being Known, that stuff?

so I don’t really have a whole lot of context on how “well known” I am in the fandom?? definitely within the past year and a half or so I’ve noticed that I like, get asks like this, and get a significant amount of notes on my posts, and I’ve made a lot of fandom friends especially since I joined some Silm servers on Discord (hmu if you want invites; I’m on the SWG server and 2 general Silm servers and the Russingon server) this past year. and I have 3,000 followers as of this month - and while ever since I hit 1k I don’t particularly pay attention to my follower count I can definitely say that I have more engagement now than I used to! but it took me a long time to build this “audience,” I suppose; I’ve been around the Tolkien fandom since late 2014, so nearly 6 years of this, lol.

really the best way to build a following, in my experience, is to just post a lot of stuff. when I started making edits I got a lot more engagement, because for a long time I would post one every day! (I made them in batches and queued them; I didn’t actually make one every day lol...and now I’m too busy to do that, so I just make edits for events and whenever I feel like it) And I have [checks ao3] 145 works in the Silm fandom as of today - I’m fairly prolific! I’ve come to generally expect 3-10 comments on most of my oneshots, which is a lot more than I used to have back in the day. consistency and quantity are more likely to attract people to your work - and quality, of course.

also: how’d u build up the confidence to start posting meta/hcs?

I’ve been writing since I was very young, and I’ve been writing fic for like...11 years? I think? in that time I’ve produced a lot of garbage, but imo most of that was in my Warrior cats phase, so I came into the Tolkien fandom with confidence in myself and my writing. I’m also working on original fiction on the side (I hope to eventually become a published fantasy author, but right now school takes up most of my time that I don’t devote to fandom, which gives me more immediate gratification and also is just Very Fun) and I know I’m a good writer.

basically, I’ve been doing this for like...half my life, and I’m still fairly young, so I’ve had time to build up my skill and confidence and I know I’m only going to get better with time. you will get better with practice. like I said, I’ve written a lot of terrible stuff, and it’s only through sucking for a long time that I’ve gotten to the point I am now. and I am far from perfect; I know I still have lots of room to grow!

for meta and headcanons specifically, I started with writing fic, and then when I didn’t think I could stretch something into an entire fic I would just make a hc post. I have a vivid memory of writing my first meta in a notebook during driver’s ed because it was so goddamn boring and I had Thoughts about Tauriel and Thranduil!

in my experience, meta comes from having Opinions and wanting to share them and most importantly to back them up - you need to have sources! you need to have reasons! you need to have justification! otherwise it’s not meta, it’s a headcanon or an AU. which is fine!! I love hc/AU!!! but they are not the same as meta, and I’m a stickler for being accurate when it comes to meta. if you have sources and shit to back you up, that will help you build the confidence to share your meta.

sharing disinformation and passing it off as meta instead of just coming out and saying this is a headcanon/baseless theory/AU or whatever is such a fandom pet peeve of mine; it’s not bad for something to not be Accurate! you just have to have that disclaimer - and even when you’re writing meta, you’re offering an interpretation of the text, and you need to acknowledge that other interpretations also exist and are valid.

um. I hope this answers your questions? and sorry for basically word-vomiting my entire life story, lol. this post got long; the main reason I’ve written so much fic is because I really just cannot shut up for the life of me. sooo if you can tear of that filter of being shy and just. say shit. you can go so far~!

OH and one more thing - I can’t believe I almost forgot this - but part of being a writer is participating in the community. this is code for LEAVE A DAMN COMMENT IF YOU LIKE A FIC. that’s how I made most of my fandom friends before Discord! I follow @ao3feed-silmarillion and stalk that blog for new Silm fics; I read the ones that interest me and comment on them.

I know this is not really the most common way for folks to find fic but it’s so rewarding to interact with new fic, new writers, new commentors, new stories - you can find gems that don’t rise to the top of the kudos/bookmark lists; you become friends with your fellow writers; you can watch people grow and change; you support smaller content creators. yeah, you might not be getting Just The Best Stuff, but it’s so so so worth it!!

and if you make friends in the comment section of other people’s fic - I guarantee you some of them will go to your AO3 profile and check out your fic, too! and they’ll leave comments! this is a fic community, and that’s what I cherish about fandom most of all, tbh.

anyway - again - sorry for rambling so much, but I hoped this helped! feel free to send in another ask, or to come talk to me off anon if you’d like! and definitely send me your stuff if/when you decide to share it; I would love to support you!!! <3

[elliestormfound]

Nimble fingers

Part 4 of the series ‘Jaskier has unexpected talents (and it is probably not what you are thinking)’ Link to ao3

1. Fire on tumblr/ on ao3

2. Wood on tumblr / on ao3

3. Pancakes  on tumblr / on ao3

4. Nimble Fingers on ao3

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

Jaskier had been waiting in the inn for Geralt’s return for hours now. They arrived at the village in the morning and were quickly approached by the elderman. There was a monster in the woods that had already killed a horse, its rider and an elderly woman gathering herbs. From their descriptions Geralt assumed it to be a kikimora and set out to hunt for it immediately.

About a year ago Jaskier had spotted the White Wolf sitting in a gloomy tavern in Posada and followed him ever since. With breaks in between, but the bard always managed to run into the witcher again. In this time he had already witnessed him kill a kikimora. So not to strain Geralt’s patience too much with his constant insistence on following him into danger Jaskier decided to stay at the local inn.

He got a room for Geralt and himself and spend the day with ordinary tasks, like allure the old washerwoman with an extra coin to clean their clothes till the next morning, to stock up on provisions and spoil Roach with a shiny red apple.

As the evening drew nearer and the barroom of the inn began to fill, Jaskier convinced the innkeeper, an older woman, to let him perform in exchange for a hot meal. Jaskier had expected Geralt to return around the time of his performance and paid the innkeeper to bring up the wooden tub to their room and to fill it with hot water upon his return. Jaskier had learned by now that a witcher’s business was a dirty one and that after a fight Geralt was at best sweaty and at worst covered in guts and blood, but always in need of a bath.

He was not really worried when the witcher had not returned when he finished his performance with a roaring applause. But he started to get restless and made his way to the stables, just to visit Roach and making sure she had everything she needed.

As he was approaching the stables he heard someone talking softly. Jaskier stopped but when he did not hear any reply, he stepped in. A plump blond woman was stroking the velvety nose of a grey sturdy horse, whispering to it. A smile spread over Jaskier’s face at this lovely picture. The cheeks of the woman were rosy and strands of her golden hair had escaped the long plaid and framed her beautiful face.

Jaskier coughed to notify his arrival and was gifted with a warm smile.

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

Geralt was drenched in stinking kikimora guts. He would never admit it aloud but he was glad that the bard waited for him at the inn. It was not just that he did not have to worry for Jaskier’s safety during the fight but the bard had made it a habit to order a hot bath for the witcher when he returned after a fight.

Geralt was so filthy that he would have to dumb a few buckets of water over him outside before even entering the inn, but the hot bath after that would not only clean away the rest of the filth clinging to his body and hair but would also relax his tense muscles and ease the painful bruises.

With his silver sword strapped again to his back and the stinking severed head of the monster in hand he made his way back to the village. It had gotten dark when he arrived at its outskirts. The long walk back from the woods had not helped the odour of the gooey mixture of monster blood and guts covering him from head to toe and he could hardly smell anything else.

Someone must have spotted his arrival because the elderman and a few others came out of the tavern with an expression of relief and disgust on their faces. Geralt threw the stinking kikimora head at their feet and grunted, “job done.” He held out his hand and was rewarded with a heavy coin purse. Not interested in what they would do with the severed head he made his way around the inn to the back where he rightly assumed the well to be.

The gate to the stable was open and he could hear horses neighing and nickering. And after a moment he could hear a soft moan. He rolled his eyes as he heard the bard’s melodic voice ask, “does this feel good, love?” answered by another moan and “oh gods, yes, don’t stop.”

Over the months they travelled together Geralt had learned about the bard’s indulgence in the carnal pleasures. Not that the bard was shy about boasting of his sexual adventures to Geralt, but even without Jaskier’s colorful and dreamy reports of his latest hookup, Geralt’s heightened hearing and sense of smell made him an unwilling spectator even with one or two walls between them.

A beam of moonlight fell into the stable and Geralt could see the clear outline of a young woman bend over a barrel and Jaskier standing behind her, hands gripping her hips. Geralt grunted, irritated that the bard had not even the decency to close the gate. That made Jaskier look up.

Geralt could see a smile spread over the familiar face as Jaskier said, “Geralt, you are back,” without the slightest bit of embarrassment. Geralt furrowed his brow in confusion as he noted that the skirt of the woman was not pushed up, but hanging down to her ankles and Jaskier’s trousers were up and tied shut. The woman turned her head to the witcher and he was even more confused when he saw pain in her eyes.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “I drew up a few buckets of water for you, just dump them over your head and I will be with you in a moment.” But the witcher did not move, he was still staring at the pair. He saw Jaskier’s hands move, thumbs digging into the lower back of the woman, tracing circles.

After a moment the bard stepped back and asked the woman, “is it better now?” She stood up, turned to him, putting her hands to her lower back and with a content groan said, “much better, thank you.” She smiled, squeezed his arm affectionately and said, “there is a piece of chocolate cake waiting for you in the kitchen.”

She made her way to the front of the inn and smiled at Geralt as she passed him.

“What was that?” Geralt asked the bard as he joined him next to the well, watching after the woman with a warm smile.

“Oh, that was Lily, the daughter of the innkeeper,” the bard said and as he registered the confusion on Geralt’s face he continued with a small laugh, “it is not what you think.”

“It usually is when people say that,” the witcher replied.

“If you want to know it so badly, the poor Lily has back pain from her monthly cycle. I ran into her in the stable when I checked up on Roach and after we talked for a minute she clutched at her back and one thing led to another, I massaged her aching lower back to help ease the pain.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. At moments like these the bard was an enigma to him. On first glance one could assume the bard to be nothing but arrogant, narcissistic and spoiled. But Geralt had learned that under that facade he was also kind and considerate. And often the bard went out of his way to help someone.

Geralt shook his head, not able to imagine a conversation between strangers leading to something like this.

He was shook out of his thoughts as a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head. He grunted and heard the bard say, “lean forward, so I can wash out your hair.” After three more buckets were emptied over him and the worst of the goo was washed off, the bard and the witcher made their way to their room, where indeed a wooden bathtub with steaming hot water waited. Unceremoniously the witcher stripped off his leather armor, boots and the rest of his clothes and with a relieved groan slight into the warm water.

Jaskier rummage through his bags, certainly looking for his silly bath salts and oils. “Since when do you give massages?” Geralt asked. He was sitting in the tub, head leaned back, eyes nearly shut as he felt his muscles begin to relax.

“Oh, my nimble fingers are not just good with a lute, you know,” the bard answered, turning around and with a step towards the tub he dramatically threw in a handful of spicy smelling bath salts. Geralt just raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me again, how you convinced a total stranger to tell you about their monthly cycle and let you massage their back?” Geralt asked.

“Oh you know me, it is easy to trust me and my handsome face,” Jaskier said, dreamy look on his handsome face, “and I love to help people.”

“Especially pretty ladies,” Geralt said with a wicked grin.

Jaskier huffed indignantly, “I let you know that I have no ulterior motives! There was a fellow human in pain and with little effort I could help out. Why wouldn’t I?”

Geralt stayed silent but kept on smirking.

“You could just ask me if you want a massage, you know,” Jaskier said after a moment.

Geralt opened his eyes fully again and grunted noncommittedly. Jaskier helped the witcher to wash his hair and when he was clean, Geralt climbed out of the tub and started to dry of.

“Before you put your clothes on,” Jaskier said, “lay on the bed for me.” Geralt turned around, one eyebrow raised. Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Do you want a massage or not?”

He was not sure what made him comply, but some of his muscles were still tense and he was not someone to back down from a challenge. So he did what he was told and laid down on his stomach.

He felt Jaskier lay a cloth over his butt. Geralt smirked, as if they had not seen each other naked enough times. It was inevitable when traveling together, especially when they so often shared a room to save coin. The soothing scent of lavender reached his nose before he felt some liquid - oil - pouring onto his back. The bed dipped where Jaskier sat down before he carefully climbed on Geralt, sitting down on his bottom, legs kneeling left and right from the witchers hips.

Geralt had closed his eyes and was weirdly comforted by the weight of Jaskier on him. A moment later he felt the warm hands, calloused from years of lute playing, placed softly on his back, between his shoulder blades. Slowly the bard began to rub the lavender oil into his skin. His hands traveled up to his shoulders where he felt their grip tighten. Jaskier’s thumbs began to press into the tight knot of muscles at the base of his neck. He could barely conceal a groan as the bard began to circle his thumbs, digging into the muscle.

“Is that alright, dear?” he heard the bard ask.

“Yes,” Geralt managed to grunt, followed by a small groan. He heard Jaskier chuckle.

After a while he felt Jaskier’s thumbs stroking up his neck, just left and right from his spine.

“Tell me when something doesn't feel good,” the bard said. Geralt just hummed.

And on it went. Geralt felt himself relax under Jaskier’s touch, who knew exactly where to knead and press with strength and where soft strokes were enough to loosen the tight muscles.

Geralt registered Jaskier��s finger softly tracing the ugly bruises on his right side, where the kikimora had managed to kick his ribs hard.

“Does it hurt?” Jaskier asked.

“I took a potion, it will be gone by morning,” Geralt answered.

“That is not what I asked,” replied the bard softly.

Geralt huffed, “just don’t poke a finger in it…”

The scent of lavender, the lingering warmth from the bath and the experienced touch of Jaskier left the witcher in a relaxed haze, mind comfortably drifting off. The world ceased to exist outside of this bubble of warmth and safety, where he could only feel the soft bed, the pleasant pressure of one (1) bard sitting on him and the warm hands caressing and pressing every inch of his back till all tension was kneaded away from the shoulders down to his hips.

Before the bard’s hands reached his butt, he felt him tenderly stroke up his back again. Then the bard lifted himself off of him. But before Geralt could protest, the bard sat down next to him, legs crossed, beginning to gently stroke his arm, from the shoulder, down over the elbow to his hands. With each stroke the bard increased the pressure of his thumbs to the various groups of muscles.

After a while he placed Geralt’s hand into his lap and holding it in both of his. Then he took each finger into his, stroking them from the base of the hand to the fingertips, carefully pulling to stretch them out. He moved on to massage the palm with an emphasis on the thick pad below the thumb. Jaskier climbed from the bed, sat down next to it to repeat the motions on Geralt’s other arm and hand.

When the bard was finished, he held the witcher’s hand a moment longer, wondering if the witcher fell asleep and if he should wake him to make him eat. Geralt needed the energy for his recovery. So Jaskier gently pressed the witcher’s hand, who opened his eyes and mumbled “nimble fingers, indeed.”

[twiceblackvelvet]

Wish Upon a Star

Request; something fluffy for itzy’s lia. 

A/N; i have once again lost the original request because tumblr hates me. this has taken me so long because i genuinely struggle with such straight to the point requests in case it’s not what the person wanted. anyway, here’s soft lia. enjoy.

The cold night air is nothing too off-putting as of yet despite the night growing late. Sand between your toes and stars shining brightly above being the only light available to guide your feet. The ocean’s waves gently greeting the shoreline of the beach every few moments being the only sound audible in the vicinity other than light breaths. Wandering the beach this late at night has become a hobby, an accidental one that just continues to draw you back.

Many would believe it’s due to the scenery of watching the moon reflect off the water or in hopes of spotting an elusive shooting star, but no. The real reason is much more cliched. Lia loves the beach, but she doesn’t love the people who fill it with raucous activities during the day. Splashing the water around or chasing after volleyballs their friends have hit way too hard, it’s too “claustrophobic” as she says. Thus, the night time excursions became her escape but the thought of her walking around late at night alone was an uncomfortable one to think about. It was settled that you’d join her from then on.

There’s a small dip on the beach where the two of you sit and simply watch nightfall across the landscape. It’s peaceful. Quiet. Lia always carries a blanket with her to make sure the two of you can sit there for as long as she deems fit without freezing to death. Tonight it’s grey with a city skyline printed on it. Soft, yet providing enough warm for both of you.

“Do you think that wishes can come true?” Lia’s careful voice asks. You can tell she’s been thinking about asking this question for some time before finally speaking it. Her eyebrows are slightly creased together and she’s staring off into the distance. It’s a natural look for her and one you’re easily able to recognize after having been friends for what feels like an eternity. 

“I’m not sure. Why? Do you have one?” 

Her face softens with your words as she turns her attention away from the sky and towards you. Her eyes shimmering from the stars make it appear as if she’s ready to burst into tears at any moment. She’s beautiful, you think. Though, you always think this regardless of if twinkling lights appear on her features or not. 

“I have many wishes. But I’m not sure if any will ever come true.” 

A small smile graces her lips, it isn’t genuine and instead rather sad. You decide not to point it out and instead try to get her to elaborate on the current topic. 

“What are they?” 

“I can’t tell you, then they definitely won’t come true.” 

Whilst that may be true for blowing out candles on a birthday cake when you’re five, you’re not so sure that adulthood offers the same level of protection against wishes since most people above a certain age tend not to believe in having them. 

“What if I can help you make them come true?” 

The lines between her eyebrows deepen as she takes in your words. One of your hands resting atop the blanket slowly begins to become entangled with one of Lia’s gently as she laces your fingers together. Whilst not uncommon for her to do this, the small piece of affection still manages to catch you off guard.

“You know, it’s funny,” She begins to speak, slowly and staring back out at the sea and away from you again. “For years now, I’ve had a lot of different wishes. Some of them I’ve forgotten over time so they obviously didn’t mean much to me. But one has always remained the same.” 

“What’s that?” Your question gains a small chuckle from Lia who is now holding your hand with a lot more force than usual and shaking slightly. You shift the blanket toward her some more out of instinct, however, she rejects it. 

“I’m not cold, it’s okay.” 

“Lia, you’re shaking.” 

Her eyes float to where your two hands have meshed together tightly. She removes her grip and places her hand back into her lap. You miss the feeling of her palm against your own as soon as it’s removed. But whilst your heart tells you to reach over and grab it again, your head tells you to instead listen to her.

“I’m just nervous,” She pauses to face you once more, her eyes burning deep into your own. “You’ve always made me nervous.” 

Nothing else follows that for a small time, merely silence. Neither of you is sure of how to continue the conversation past her admission. But, you do finally decide to take her hand into your own again. It’s a small piece of comfort for you both and spurs Lia to continue on. 

“When we were kids, I always knew we’d be friends for a long time. But, then I started to want you to become more than my friend.” Her grip goes between strong and loose as she speaks, you place your other hand over hers to reassure her. “I know it’s stupid but once we became teenagers, I still always wished for you to like me back whenever anyone would tell me to make one.” 

“I wish you had told me this sooner.” Her mouth opens slightly ready to respond, likely because that’s not the reply she was hoping for, however, you move your body forward slowly and pause before her face. ���May I?” 

Your eyes staring directly at her lips that you’re sure are purple from the cold if there were proper lighting around you to see them properly. She nods whilst closing her eyes shut. 

The lack of visibility makes for an awkward first kiss between you both, your lips barely meeting her own in a soft, slow bout of trying to figure out a pace that fits you both. Her free hand touching the side of your face and pulling you in closer as you run your thumb across her hand that you now never want to let go of. She’s stopped shaking by the time you do eventually pull apart and the smile on her face this time is one of genuine happiness. 

“I guess it isn’t true then.” She finally speaks. 

“What isn’t true? Did I do something bad?” 

Laughter is all Lia offers you at first, clutching at her sides. You’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t making you feel extremely self-conscious, however, she puts your worries to rest quickly. 

“No, it was perfect,” You let out a deep sigh of relief with her words. “I meant, telling you made it come true, so perhaps keeping it a secret for so long was why it’s taken us until now to finally kiss.” 

The both of you remain seated in place for several minutes longer, hands still entwined and with Lia resting her head on your shoulder considering her words. You both agree to tell each other your wishes from this point on and stop relying on the shooting stars you’ve yet to see. After all, your feelings are far more reliable than something the naked eye rarely ever gets to see. 

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

[syilcawrites]

archived memories | 7

Series: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Type: Multi-Chapter Main pairing: Zelink (Zelda and Link) Rated: T Tags/Genre: pre-calamity, fluff (middle chapters mostly), hurt (toward the last chapters lmao), pining Summary: bits and pieces of zelink scenes strewn in between the canon memories in botw! Snippet from Ch 7: “And it only grew larger when he tilted his head up at her and smiled—not those small smiles he usually gave her—but a smile that reached his eyes. She had never seen one of those before, and a selfish desire to keep that smile only to herself flourished alongside that fear.” A/N: Between Memory 9-10 Obligatory beach chapter! :^D

You can also read it on ao3! Click here to see all chapters on tumblr

chapter 7: sweet summer sea

She stared in awe at the view in front of her—the sun was at its highest point, and the swaying sea water reflected its illumination, casting a glowing shimmer over it. They were situated in a small gulf of water, with high cliffs on either side of them.

It had been a long time since Zelda stepped foot in sand, and the feeling of it under her toes reminded her that she was here, in the present.

“Breathtaking,” she exhaled as her eyes shifted from the sea to the sky. A gust of wind rushed toward them, lifting her ceremonial dress to reveal the waterproof one piece suit she had worn underneath. Zelda dropped her sandals from her hand and pressed her dress down, face red, and darted her eyes over to Link. He was conveniently crouched down, observing a seashell.

“Well, this is absolutely stunning,” Zelda declared, poking his thigh with her big toe. He jumped at her touch, startled.

“Uh, yeah! I thought you’d like it here. My family used to visit the beaches near Lurelin sometimes, since the water is really warm.” He snuck a glance at her. “This is between Aris Beach and Clarnet Coast. It’s a secret spot though, so don’t tell anyone.” He brought a finger to his lips, smiling cheekily at her.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Zelda said, laughing. She always found his smiles contagious. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been near Lurelin…” She had went once, with her parents. When her mother was still alive.

“You ready?” The sound of his voice prompted her to look over at him. He stood up and proceeded to take off his Champion’s tunic in one swift pull over his head. Her fingers twitched as she watched the muscles on his back move—she wanted to trace her fingers along them, but decided to be courteous instead and looked away.

“Ready for what exactly?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

“We’re going in the water,” he declared. When she looked back at him, his trousers were replaced with shorts, and he faced the waves with his hands on his hips.

“We are?” Zelda asked, pointing at herself. He nodded enthusiastically, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness. Zelda frowned, glaring at the rippling water. She felt conflicted—the reason why she avoided the beach for so long was due to her growing dislike for water. But when she glanced back over to Link, his encouraging smile was hard to say no to.

“Well, maybe a little dip will be refreshing,” Zelda murmured in agreement, beginning to slip out of her ceremonial dress. She paused, halfway through pulling it off as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you going to watch me undress?”

He looked away, cheeks red. Zelda chuckled to herself at his amusing response. She neatly folded it and placed it next to a palm tree, then placed her sandals snuggly beside it.

Another gust of wind made her hair fly all over her face—one of the many downsides of having long hair was having to constantly tame it. Zelda had contemplated on cutting it every now and then, but could never muster up the courage to do so. She swatted at the stray strands that made its way into her mouth.

“I’ll join you in just a second… I’m going to braid my hair.” She shuffled around in her bag for a hair band, and when she pulled it out, Link tapped on her shoulder, holding his hand out.

“I can do it.”

“You can braid?” Zelda asked, surprised. She situated herself down on the sand, smiling in content when her skin hit the warm surface. Warm and comfortable, the two things she enjoyed. Link let out a hum of affirmation, sitting behind her, as he carefully combed her hair with his fingers.

“I have a younger sister, so I used to do her hair a lot.”

“You have a younger sister?” Zelda almost turned her head around, but stopped herself. “You’ve never mentioned her before! There’s always something new with you isn’t there?” Zelda smiled as he let out a small laugh. She focused on his fingers brushing through her hair, and on the sound of the waves that washed up onto the sandy shores. She had forgotten how pleasant the sea sounded.

Ever since she was unable to visit Hateno with him, he had promised to take her to secret spots around Hyrule that his father had taken him to, given that they were around the same area as their initial destination. She had looked forward to these various locations—although, that was before the overbearing pressure of obtaining the power.

No, the pressure was always there, but it had been suffocating her to hurry as of late. She had no time for such pleasantries, and decided to immerse herself in unlocking that damned sealing power to the point of exhaustion.

In the latest incident, she collapsed on horseback when they had gone on a trip to Rito Village to speak with Revali. Luckily he was riding beside her, and caught her before she could tumult head first into the rocky ground beneath them, but not without sustaining a couple of nasty scabs that still marked her legs. Link had fallen off of his own horse to dampen her fall and cushioned most of her damage. As he wrapped bandages around her legs, she tended to his head wounds, all while expressing her discomfort with him recklessly putting himself in harms way. It had been hard to keep the sternness in her voice when the pain from her legs kept causing her to grit her teeth though.

Zelda frowned upon that memory—if there was one thing she had to pick about him that she disliked, it would have to be how self-sacrficing he was.

After that incident, he seemed insistent that they take a small break to one of the many locations that he wanted to take her to, but reluctantly, she had always refused. Zelda did feel a little bad that she kept rejecting his proposal to take a short one-day trip, so she agreed to wear her bathing suit under her ceremonial dress for this trip, since he continuously mentioned that it would make her feel less uncomfortable while she was in the water when she prayed.

Of course she didn’t believe him—but she did it to humor him anyway.

And then this happened.

As she readied herself for another day of praying at the Spring of Courage, he lifted her onto the back of his horse, hopped on himself, and then sped off toward the coasts near Lurelin with her in tow.

Not that she hated being here. Rather, it was quite the opposite, but the stress was still there and the guilt for abandoning her responsibilities for the day were ever blooming in her chest.

“There, done,” Link exhaled with satisfaction.

Zelda turned around to face him, beaming. “Oh, we must take a picture!” She quickly grabbed the Sheikah Slate and pulled his arm toward her. Their heads lightly bumped against one another as she took a quick snap.

Link blinked rapidly afterwards, unprepared.

Zelda smiled down at the picture she had taken—her grinning and Link looking alarmed and confused. His expression reminded her of the first photo they had taken with the other Champions. She set the Sheikah Slate on top of her dress and felt around her hair.

“Why, you did quite a good job! I don’t feel much looseness in it.” Zelda pulled her braid over her shoulder, admiring it.

“There’s still enough time to go to the Spring instead, if you really want to.”

She caught that teasing tone of his—always lightly settled underneath the seriousness of his voice whenever he decided to poke some fun at her.

She scoffed and stood up, brushing bits of sand that had stuck to the back of her thighs.

“Come on, you need this too.”

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

She didn’t go into the water immediately. Instead, she watched Link attempt to catch fish with his bare hands for the first hour near the rocks. Halfway through, with no progress, he decided to try to stab them with his Master Sword, as if it would increase his chance of success.

Which it didn’t, to her amusement.

After he had gotten out, she decided to try her own fair share of the beach experience.

She tentatively stuck her toes in first to check the temperature of the sea, but it was surprisingly warm—nothing like the times where she stood in the shallow waters of the Springs and prayed. It was refreshing and inviting.

It was… peaceful.

Zelda wiggled her toes, watching the wet sand slip in and out between them with the water for a moment.

She looked behind to wave at Link, who decided to settle on the sand, sprawled. He waved back lazily, his eyes fluttering close. She waded in a bit deeper, submerging her body, trying to at least enjoy the warm waters without thinking of her responsibilities. At least for a little bit, if anything.

When she sat down, the water was up to her neck, and it felt like she was getting hugged by a warm blanket. As she relaxed, her eyes wandered across the sea. It was clear enough that she could see the rocks beneath and the different variety of colorful sea life. Zelda hummed, moving her hands under the water to watch the ripples it created. She chuckled as some of the little fishes around her darted away, swimming deeper, toward the rocks.

As her gaze trailed their path, her eyes caught a glimpse of a shine off to the side—something sparkled under the waves, just in the distance. She simply had to wade a bit deeper. She glanced back to Link, who now had his arm over his eyes in an attempt to shield the sun out.

She debated whether or not to bring the Sheikah Slate, but found herself already treading toward the sparkle underneath the crystal blue sea.

Her heart flipped as she drew closer to it. More colorful groups of fishes dispersed when she neared, scattering all around her. She knew why she had been so drawn to it—the gem sparkled like the color of Link’s eyes, bright blue against the rough grayness of the other rocks.

An Aquamarine gem.

She figured a quick duck under would suffice—but of course things appeared closer than they seemed underwater, and she was under the surface for longer than she anticipated. A little overestimation didn’t hurt her though, as she retrieved the Aquamarine easily enough. She didn’t rise up to the surface immediately after picking it up. Instead, she admired how it looked under the rays of the sun in the water.

The sound of Link’s muffled voice calling her from above drew her out of her admiration. She took one last glance at the gem in her hand before grasping it tightly, wiggling her way back up to the surface.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Zelda shouted once she broke through, waving her arms in the air. She swam back, hardly that far from shore in the first place, and rung out her braid of water as she smiled brightly at him. “I just found this stunning—“

“Why’d you go out so far?” he asked, panic wrapping around his voice. Her smile faltered.

“Link, I went approximately fifteen feet away,” Zelda stated, bewildered. “It looked like you were sleeping so I didn’t wake you up.”

“Regardless of what I’m doing you should’ve told me.” He ran his hand fervently through his hair, sending sand flying everywhere. He looked confused and troubled, as if he had startled himself awake from his own nap. Zelda tightened her grip on the Aquamarine in her hand, frowning now.

“If you’re resting, I’m not going to wake you up to tell you I’m walking fifteen feet away from you. That’s absurd.”

He stayed silent, and she knew what it was—closing up, deciding to keep his mouth shut. He did that now and then, and it was something she had accepted, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to keep him from falling back into his old habits. She wanted him to speak for himself, for him to voice his own opinions without worrying. At least… with her.

“Link, you deserve as much rest as I do. You need to put yourself first—“

“Your safety is my priority,” he stated firmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The fact that he had said it so easily angered her.

“Well, you’re my priority!” Zelda declared back stubbornly, shoving the gem into his chest. He grabbed it, but didn’t tear his eyes away from her. “I found this because I thought of you and I thought you’d like it. A-And as Princess, I declare you to put yourself as your own priority!” Zelda sharply twisted around to trudge back into the water.

“Don’t follow me!” she demanded. His soft footsteps that had trekked behind after her paused. She let out a huff of irritation as she submerged herself once more into the sea, going far enough so that she could sit down with the water just below her mouth. She blew bubbles into the water in hopes to blow off some steam, but the tempered anger didn’t linger very long anway. She kept glancing over her shoulder at him. He sat in the sand, looking sullen and glum. She couldn’t find it in herself to stay annoyed for too long.

After a short while she waved her hand at him, letting him know that he could come if he wanted to.

He had to sit a little ways behind her if he didn’t want the water to cover his nose. They sat there quietly for a couple minutes, simply listening to the sounds of the coastline.

“It’s pretty, thanks,” he said, breaking the silence. She nodded in response.

“I know it’s pretty, you’re welcome.” Zelda continued to blow bubbles into the water, her arms still crossed.

Eventually she scooted back and stopped once her back hit him. She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

“Link. Did you ever hate me?”

Her question startled him—she could feel him shift as the water around them rippled.

“Why would I hate you?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“Because I was nothing but rude to you at first,” Zelda stated matter of factly. “I don’t know what compels you to be so kind. Ever since the beginning you’ve been nothing but that.”

She patiently waited for a response, but his extended silence began to unnerve her. Soon, the little voices of doubt began creeping up into her thoughts: he must’ve been nice to her because he had to—how could he be rude to her, if she was the princess?

“The world is already cruel to you, so I thought you’ve had enough of that,” he said quietly. Her chiding thoughts halted shortly after, fading. Not even the voice of doubt could compete against his words, because if there was one thing Zelda was sure of, it was his honesty.

They sat there until their fingers grew wrinkled and pruny before she decided to finally look at him.

“I know you’re just concerned about me, but getting agitated over such a thing was quite unnecessary you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” Link rubbed the back of his neck.

“But I do appreciate your concern,” she stated, standing up. She turned around and held out a hand to him. He didn’t grab on immediately and glanced up at her first, hesitating. Zelda had a ghost of a smile on her lips, assuring him that she was okay. But there was still an unresolved tension under her skin that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

He gripped her wrist as he pulled himself up. It took all of Zelda’s strength not to topple over, but she felt slightly proud for not falling on top of him this time. Their weekly training sessions were definitely paying off.

“I was ready for you to fall into my open arms,” he said with a playful lilt of his voice.

“I’m sure you would’ve loved that just so you could have something else to make fun of me for,” Zelda replied back with a scoff. The chill of the wind made her shiver, and they walked back to the shores, with Zelda rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Link was quick to grab some towels that he left on some nearby rocks and wrapped it around her shoulders before he did the same to himself.

The tension under her skin snapped.

“See—that’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Zelda exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him.

He blinked, confused.

“You always do that. You make sure I eat first, make sure my tent is up first. You always make sure that I’m comfortable first before you are comfortable yourself!” She said quickly, halting. The waves crawled up to their ankles before drawing back into the sea. It continued that constant rhythm as they stared at one another.

He raised an eyebrow, as if he was saying so what? Zelda frowned and stood a bit straighter as she spoke. “From now on, I insist that you take care of yourself first, before you start concerning yourself over me.” He opened his mouth, as if to counter her point, but she immediately continued before he could say anything. “I see you as a companion, Link. As a dear friend, not just some associate of mine. I know that it’s your duty to ensure my safety, but I don’t want it to be at the expense of your own. It happens time after time, and it pains me to—“ she halted, sighing. She realized it seemed ridiculous that she had begun spewing this out simply because he had given her a towel first. But with him, she found herself more impulsive than usual.

And she wasn’t sure if it was necessarily a good thing.

At that point, Zelda had clasped her hands in front of her, casting her eyes elsewhere. Before she continued, she returned her attention back to his now softened gaze once she had found the words she had meant to say. “Take care of yourself more, Link. Won’t you?”

She admired his recklessness, but also feared it. Feared that it would make him meet a brutal end. The mere thought of it chilled her, and as if he knew she was plummeting into the depths of her thoughts, he brought her out of it with the brush of his skin against hers.

His fingers moved a stray piece of damp hair that had stuck to her cheek, making her realize how tense her expression probably looked.

“I’ll be okay,” Link reassured her. But it wasn’t the answer she was hoping to hear.

“Link,” Zelda grabbed his wrist before he could pull away from her cheek. “You’re not invincible,” she whispered, her voice grim.

A heartbeat passed between them.

“I know.”

But did he really? Her eyes traced the various scars covering his legs, arms, to the ones that trailed up his torso. The scars were long, thin, short, wide. Some deep, others superficial. There were even some on his neck. His skin was riddled with marks and burns, and that wasn’t even taking into account the backside of him.  Zelda tore her attention away from his body and met his eyes once more.

“Truly?” she asked.

He nodded, and she relaxed when she noticed that any semblance of humor had left his features. Zelda let go of his wrist, drawing her hands back to latch onto the ends of the towel hanging around her shoulders.

“I’ll hold you to that then,” she warned, letting lightness back into her tone. “Don’t you dare forget.”

“You’re so demanding today,” he exhaled, feigning annoyance. He shifted away from her to walk further up the shore, and Zelda followed suit.

“I’m exercising my right as future Queen,” Zelda insisted curtly, tugging at his ponytail gently. A smile of her own quirked up on her lips after she got a laugh out of him.

“Okay, fine. But I’m not going to put myself first every time. If you’re shivering from head to toe I’m giving the blanket to you first.” Link covered his feet with dry sand, wiggling his toes underneath it. She copied him and did the same to her own feet.

“As long as you don’t risk your life, I suppose I’ll agree to your terms,” Zelda replied back solemnly. He chuckled at her intentional usage of her princess-esque tone.

A click clacking sound prompted her to look up from her feet. She glanced back toward the waves, ears perking up. Her eyes latched onto a nearby ironshell crab, sauntering its way alongside the waves.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes brightening. “And lest I forget…” Zelda carefully made her way toward it, “I do wonder if I could study these local crabs alongside the hot-footed frogs. Will these crabs also produce some interesting effects, or will they simply be good for dining?” She raised her hands up, her fingers wiggling in anticipation. The moment the ironshell crab turned its head, Zelda latched onto it, being mindful of its claws.

She turned around to face Link, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have seen these crabs in some of our flora and fauna books in the royal library. I’m sure the name ‘ironshell’ wouldn’t have appeared out of the blue if they weren’t known for just that. If we take its name into consideration, perhaps it can offer some sort of increased sturdiness, which would greatly benefit you!” she rambled, peeking up to a nervous looking Link.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to eat this one just as it is,” she promised. “Unless, in the name of research, you would be willing to try it this time?” Zelda held the crab up to him, and she burst into fit of laughter when he instinctively paced ten steps back. “I’m merely joking, Link!”

He let out a shaky, albeit relieved, laugh of his own. Although it would’ve been fortunate for her studies, the last time she urged Link to try a critter, he was less than willing to. She was hoping that maybe a crab would be up his alley, but she figured that eating live critters raw was probably not something anyone, even Link, would be too keen on trying if he didn’t have to.

“Get a bottle for me, will you? I want to take it back to the castle.”

As he shuffled in her bag for a glass bottle, Zelda carefully made her way back to him while avoiding its sharp clippers. They sat down across from one another, with Link holding out the bottle, and Zelda meticulously placing the ironshell crab into it. She sealed it with a pre-stabbed cork top. She wanted to enable some breathing air for her captured critters, since a live specimen was far more valuable to her than a dead one. She lowered her head to get a clearer view as the numerous experiments she was planning on conducting were already whirring around in her head.

“Let’s come back here with everyone else once we seal Ganon,” Link said, his voice quiet against the wind. Zelda raised her eyes from the glass bottle to his face, a bit taken aback from his declaration. He was looking down at her hunched form, staring at her. Even now, it was hard to tell what he was thinking sometimes, despite her best efforts to decipher his expressions.

“Once we seal Calamity Ganon,” she echoed back, agreeing with a nod. She leaned back, clearing her throat, but the uncomfortable lodge stuck in it did not disappear. And she knew exactly what it was.

Her fear, growing and evolving into something more twisted and deafening than it already was.

And it only grew larger when he tilted his head up at her and smiled—not those small smiles he usually gave her—but a smile that reached his eyes. She had never seen one of those before, and a selfish desire to keep that smile only to herself flourished alongside that fear.

“I think we should visit the Spring of Courage again before we head back to the castle. We still have two days left,” Zelda murmured, casting her attention back to the clear blue water.

“Are you sure?” Link asked, drawing his eyes in the same direction.

Zelda nodded, letting out a long, hard exhale.

They both stared out toward the sea, relishing in its peacefulness for one last time.

[lefthandsuzukimethod]

tag people you want to get to know better

tagged by @captain-apostrophe! <3

tagging (but only if you want to): @vexingcosmos, @spectralprongs,  @brehaaorgana ,  @grandsairs, @christinismithe, @serendipitysunnyflower and anyone else who wants to do it!! <33

your name and then what you would have named yourself: ana! i am good with my name tbh idk that i'd change it

astrological sign (sun/moon/rising if you know them): libra/leo/capricorn

when did you join tumblr and why?: i just checked and i have been a part of this hellsite since feb 2009 fladkfmaf i remember there was like a week that almost all of ontd_ffa joined @ once because one of us was like HEY THERES A COOL NEW SITE and i'm still here lmao

top 5 fandoms: like active fandoms or just Things I Like? obv rn like… mdzs/the untamed lmao, but also bnha and ffxv pero like in tiny circles??? idk fandom for me is better when u curate your experience, also yk when people are like hey what do u want for christmas and your brain decides it suddenly doesn't know anything? that's what my brain is doing right now lol, UHHHH lemme get back to you on the rest of them. OH i am also dipping my toes into the bts fandom with @spectralprongs's help!! <3 i'm also still very mad that in the flesh was canceled after 9 episodes

top 5 favorite films: pan's labyrinth, pacific rim, coco, jurassic park, the devil's backbone probably 

go to song when you wanna Feel something: when i want to feel WHAT THO? so many moods, so many songs if you get specific i might have a better answer lol

what’s your religion or faith if you have one?: i was raised catholic, so there's a flavor of catholic jokes that will always make me laugh

a song that makes you feel seen: la respuesta lmfaldfmllkm YO NO NECESITO UN HOMBRE QUE ME JODA

if you could have any career: i wanted to be a photographer traveling the world taking pics and getting paid for it, but idk i'm p ok where i am rn working in immigration law if only because i can help people

do you have a type?: sweet gremlin men with nice bone structure, women who could probably beat me up

what does your heart/soul yearn for: for unprecedented times to be OVER please a bitch is tired

if you had to describe yourself in 5 words to someone who doesn’t know you: I Cannot for some reason it's so hard for me to describe myself lol but if anyone else wants to answer this for me GO FOR IT

favorite subjects in school: photography! art! languages! english! french! music classes!

where does your soul feel most at home: anywhere i can relax with my favorite people <3  

top 5 fictional characters:                                        

top 3 moments in a show that made you ugly cry: OOF moments??? the first ep of futurama with seymour the dog, the season finales of itf, idk i try not to watch shows that are going to make me sad lmao i'm cheating and putting the beginning of up here too

the earth, the sun, the moon or the stars: the earth we are not nice enough to her she's doing her best!!!! the stars are a close second but i don't get to look @ them enough thanks light pollution

favorite kind of weather: SNOWSTORM you can spend all day playing in it and then be cozy inside after with blankets and soup

top 3 characters you relate to: I CHANGED THIS QUESTION BECAUSE I DIDN’T LIKE HOW IT WAS WORDED LMAO but every oldest sibling from the untamed who raised their younger siblings oldest siblings deserve financial compensation!!!, prob the weasley twins who are v smart but also v much not about their grades lol (that's 6 it counts)

favorite medium of art: all of them i refuse to pick one!!! well no i can tell u my least favorite art medium is art made from trash and/or period blood

introvert/extrovert/ambivert: extrovert allegedly

a favorite literary quote: bruh i haven't read an actual book in SO LONG i need to make more time to read

some of your favorite books: remind me about this one i am at work and have forgotten every single book i've ever read

if you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?: i think i'm ok here! i love traveling and visiting new places, but i live super close to a big city and i like having Four Seasons (total landscaping ladfkamdf i'm sorry it was right there)

if you could live in any time in history when would it be?: mmm like cap said, history hasn't been particularly good to female-presenting people, and i'm gonna add that it's also been sorta terrible to not white people. NOT THAT NOW GOING PARTICULARLY WELL LMAO BUT UHHHH. if i could go just like watch history, maybe a period when art/music was having a big boom

if you could play any instrument masterfully it would be: piano!!! i have one but i can only play by ear lmao (it was an inheritance) i should be able to read music after many years playing different instruments but nope none of it stuck

if you have one, what mythological god or goddess do you feel a connection to: i do not have one

and lastly, favorite recent selfie in your camera roll: all of my recent selfies have been mask selfies i sent kie or pics of office puppy on the selfie camera WHOOPS i don't really take selfies

[eddieeatsass]

Luck Has Nothing to Do With It

This was written as a gift for the winner of my 2K followers giveaway on tumblr! @s-onora asked for some fluffy middle-aged reddie smut with aftercare, I hope I delivered. This was incredibly fun to write and very different from most of the stuff I've put out thus far. I didn't realize how much tooth-rotting fluff could heal my soul. :') Summary: “Richie had won life’s lottery. He’s not sure how it happened, and he certainly had his fair share of bullshit before getting where he is now, but if Richie were asked in this very moment how he felt about his life, he would be confident in saying it was pretty much perfect.” Pairing: Reddie Rating: E Warnings: Smut, explicit language

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Richie had won life’s lottery. He’s not sure how it happened, and he certainly had his fair share of bullshit before getting where he is now, but if Richie were asked in this very moment how he felt about his life, he would be confident in saying it was pretty much perfect.

He’s managed to lock down a fairly satisfying career doing standup, though the world of entertainment is always a bit unsteady, he’s made enough friends in the industry that he’s found himself always having something lined up.

He owns a small house in a surprisingly suburban neighborhood. Although he’s located in the big city, he still managed to find the one area that was reminiscent of the small town he’d grown up in.

And finally, the thing that made life even worth living, is that he married his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie knew it was cliche; closeted gay kid has crush on best friend. But the difference between him and a cheesy romcom plot line is that it actually worked out for him. For them. Because unbeknownst to him at the time, Eddie was living the exact same platitude.

It’s not as if things fell into place right away. Richie and Eddie both had their own journeys to fulfill, and unfortunately those journeys pushed them apart for a while. Richie had accepted his sexuality long before Eddie, and it scared him off for a few years. In that time, Richie reeled as he watched Eddie get married to a woman, one as vile as his mother at that, and live a seemingly perfect life.

It took almost a decade for them to screw their heads on the right way and stop denying their life long languish. Of course they stayed in contact because of their friends, consistent in group chats, wishing each other a happy birthday on Facebook once a year, but that was about it… Until Ben and Beverly decided to get married.

That night, Eddie had admitted to Richie that weddings made bile rise up in his throat, reminded him of his own terrible ceremony and everything that had come after it. That night, they had their very first kiss. Their very first confession. It marked the beginning of everything coming together.

Now, merely five years later, Richie got to come home to Eddie every single day. He got to kiss those rounds cheeks, hear that melodic laugh, and listen to that neurotic voice whenever he wanted to, and he’s never been happier.

Today, like most days, wasn’t particularly remarkable, but Richie still strode home with a small hop to his step in anticipation of seeing Eddie. He stopped at a small flower stand on the way, picking up a bouquet of yellow roses that he knew Eddie would turn his nose up at, pivoting around quickly to hide the blush that painted his cheeks. Eddie hated gestures like that, but in the kind of way where he actually loved them.

By the time Richie got to their front door he was practically vibrating with excitement. He was a hopeless romantic who was living in his dream world; who could blame him?

As soon as Richie entered his house his senses searched for any signs of Eddie. He couldn’t see him, or hear him, but he could smell something coming from the kitchen that gave him good enough of a clue to check there first.

Toeing off his shoes, he placed them gently on the rack inside the coat closet (one of Eddie’s house rules was that Richie had to tone down his messiness to a slightly less chaotic level.) Richie rocketed down the hallway and used his now sock clad feet to slide across the linoleum floor of the kitchen, only regretting it slightly when he slid too far and his hip bone collided with the counter.

His impact was what alerted Eddie to Richie’s presence, the smaller man reacting with a jump and a small scolding of Richie’s name.

“Sorry Eds, didn’t mean to startle you.” Richie couldn’t say it with a straight face, his smile no doubt making his apology seem insincere, but he knew Eddie didn’t mind.

Richie strode forward, meeting Eddie in the middle of the kitchen and presenting the bouquet of flowers to him. As expected, Eddie scoffed and immediately moved to turn away, but Richie caught his chin and pulled him into a kiss instead. He felt Eddie melt beneath him, probably melted a bit himself if he was honest, and when he pulled away that familiar blush was there to validate him; roses were a good idea.

He placed the bouquet on the counter, making a mental note to put them in a vase as soon as he was done soaking up his boyfriend’s attention.

“Wacha making? Smells good.” Richie noted, coming up behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“It was supposed to be a lasagna, but it’s looking more like charred volcanic rock.”

“Mmm, I’ve always wanted to expand my taste buds.”

“Well this won’t do anything but destroy your taste buds.” Eddie admonished.

The timer rang out, signaling the end of the lasagna’s cook time. Richie peered over at their (admittedly, probably too old) oven, and back at Eddie with a cocked eyebrow. “I guess it’s time to find out.” Richie smirked.

Eddie unstuck himself from Richie and turned everything off. He grabbed the oven mitts Mike had bought them for Christmas, cute little pieces designed to look like turtles, and pulled his dish out of the oven.

He set it on the stovetop with a clunk, and Richie gathered beside him to gaze down at the very sad looking pasta dish.

Somehow it was burnt and soupey at the same time, but Eddie had put so much effort into it, so Richie still pulled a small piece of noodle off the top and popped it in his mouth.

It was hard enough to imitate uncooked pasta, and it had an ash-like taste that reminded Richie of the times Bev and him used to sneak behind their school and share a cigarette she’d smuggled from her aunt’s purse, but as he continued to chew it seemed to dissolve into goo.

But still, he smiled, cheery as ever as he gazed down at a hopeful Eddie.

“You’re gonna die from food poisoning.” Eddie said worriedly.

“In that case, can we make tonight memorable?” Richie joked, pressing himself into the slot against Eddie’s back that allowed him to rest his head on that tiny shoulder. With no response from Eddie, he nosed at his cheek and added “It wasn’t that bad”.

“Shut up.” Eddie grumbled.

“Seriously! I mean it’s no chinese food but-”

“We can’t order chinese food every night Richie.”

“How do you know? Has a man ever tested that theory?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, pouting in the way he always did when trying to seem serious.

“Fine, I’ll find something else to eat then.” Richie rocked them back and forth slowly, dipping down and trailing light kisses along Eddie’s neck. “Something sexier.” Richie whispered into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie snorted, turning himself around in Richie’s arms and draping his own over Richie’s shoulders.

“My boyfriend thinks I’m sexier than lasagna, I’m flattered.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s ass playfully, pulling him flush against his chest.

“Just wait until you hear my dirty talk.” Richie teased. They both fell into lighthearted giggles, Eddie letting himself relax into Richie’s hold. Richie moved his hands up to the small of Eddie’s back, rubbing gentle circles into the exposed skin where Eddie’s shirt had rode up.

“Well, let’s hear it then.” Eddie whispered lowly, peering up at Richie with mischief.

It didn’t take long for them to find themselves back in bed, tangled up in each other’s limbs. Richie had made good on his promise and was indulging himself in Eddie’s body, writhing into the bed for the friction he so desperately craved.

Richie loved a lot of things about Eddie; he loved the way Eddie's eyes would crinkle at the sides when he laughed, loved the small dimples in Eddie's lower back that he could trace with his fingers, loved the subtle bow in Eddie's legs that even he didn't notice, but Richie had been fixated on since they were children. So it was hard for Richie to say exactly what his favorite part of Eddie was, but it was no secret that Eddie's ass was a strong contender.

Eddie, unbeknownst to himself, was built like a god. His hips flared out into large globes that sloped down like scoops of ice cream beckoning Richie to take a bite. It drove Richie crazy, and it would probably be the cause of his (future) insanity if he wasn't able to indulge in his obsession. Luckily, Eddie liked getting his ass played with just as much as Richie liked playing with it.

Richie parted Eddie's cheeks gently, always handling him with care even in their rougher times. He got lost momentarily, staring at the pink pucker that had once been so forbidden, only allowed to be fantasized in Richie's shameful dreams. Eddie, however, was having none of Richie's preamble, and made sure Richie knew as much by pushing his hips back and whining impatiently.

Richie couldn't help but chuckle before obliging, leaning in to lick a hot stripe across Eddie's hole.

He earned an appraising moan in return. Grinning to himself, he went in for more. Eddie may have been the one receiving pleasure, but Richie got off on it just as much, if not more. He could probably cum just like this, completely untouched, just devouring Eddie's little body bit by bit. But he was only getting started.

He brought his index finger up to join his mouth, teasing Eddie's entrance with slight pressure. He alternated between his tongue and his finger, assaulting the area in waves. He'd prod at Eddie's hole with his finger while his tongue trailed up his perineum, then switch to fucking Eddie with his tongue while his hand idly worked his cock. It was a process that eventually left Eddie exactly how he wanted him: completely pliant and pleading.

Richie reached into their nightstand, easily grabbing their bottle of lubricant and bringing it to his side. He pumped it into his hand a couple times, coating his fingers generously before moving back down to his target, but a small hand stopped him.

“Rich…” Eddie started, voice wavering self consciously. Richie already knew what Eddie was gearing up to say. They’d been here many times before, but Eddie still got nervous when asking. Richie thought it was endearing that Eddie was still so shy about it.

“You wanna top?” Richie filled in the silence, making it a little easier for Eddie to get into it.

Eddie nodded, looking up at Richie through thick lashes and adding quickly “Only if you want to. I don’t mind bottoming if you’re not in the mood tonight”.

“And pass up a chance to get fucked by my literal wet dream of a man?” Richie used his lubed up hand to stroke Eddie’s cock, watching the sinful way Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head at the extra stimulation.

Richie crowded into Eddie’s space, stilling his hand on the head of the flushed dick in his hold and only using his thumb to dip into the slit and rub through the pre-cum gathered there.

Richie was already practically in Eddie’s lap, so he took advantage of the position and splayed his legs out over Eddie’s, leaning back into the mattress with his forearm propping him up as the other snaked between his legs. He could feel the way Eddie’s thighs twitched under his own where their legs overlapped, but he stayed still, enthralled by the show Richie was about to put on.

He circled his own hole the way he did Eddie’s, only he didn’t tease himself or draw the process out like he would on his boyfriend. No, instead, he wasted no time in pushing one finger into himself straight up to the knuckle.

He heard Eddie’s shaky exhale and was empowered to continue. Richie wasn’t a stranger to this feeling; even when he topped Eddie usually had a finger in him, and Richie often played with himself while masturbating. However, he didn’t normally move this fast... but then again he didn’t normally have the promise of his boyfriend’s dick in his ass so today wasn’t a normal day.

Richie rocked down on his finger, relishing in the mild stretch. He continued to hump into his hand until he felt ready to add another finger, and that’s where he began to lose control.

The second finger felt mind-numbing, stirring up Richie’s consciousness until it was putty, his brain losing control only second to the feeling of pleasure he was chasing. He scissored his fingers, trying to open himself up as quickly as possible while still respecting his body’s limits.

“I love seeing you like this…” Eddie whispered, quiet enough that Richie wondered if he even meant to say it aloud.

“Yeah?” Richie goaded, spreading his legs a little bit further. “Like seeing me open myself up for you, baby?”

Eddie nodded, swallowing audibly in a way that made his adam's apple bob. Richie suddenly wanted to leave marks all over it.

“Come here.” Richie reached for Eddie's neck, pulling him down on top of him and going straight for that tantalizing neck. Richie’s legs ended up pushed up against his chest, a position that was sure to leave him with back issues in the morning, but for the moment it felt deliciously provocative.

As Richie marked Eddie up, he felt another hand join his own, teasing around his rim and making it very hard for him to concentrate on the hickies he was leaving. Before the fog could clear from his mind, Eddie was swatting Richie’s hand away, replacing it with three fingers of his own.

Richie cried out into Eddie’s collarbone, petering off into a wanton moan as the feeling of being split open traveled up his cock and down his legs. Eddie’s fingers were so much better than his own, working him open with precision that came from years of doing it to himself.

And then Eddie found his prostate, and Richie was pretty sure it was a self destruct button that caused the rest of his functioning brain to melt into sludge and pour out his ears.

He was gone, absolutely and completely subservient to Eddie’s touch. He could hear himself babbling, but wasn’t aware of what was coming out of his mouth. If he had to guess, it was probably garbled praise. Richie never could hold himself back from telling Eddie how good he made Richie feel.

“Please, Richie-” Eddie was breathing hard, his fingers moving double time inside Richie’s quickly stiffening body.

“Get your fucking cock in my ass now.” Richie ground out between clenched teeth.

Eddie replaced his fingers with his slicked up cock, moving the hand that had wound Richie up so tight to his hypersensitive dick. The touch made Richie hiss, but his jaw quickly fell open as Eddie pushed in, holding Richie tight at the base to keep him from cumming prematurely.

They both shuttered, a moment of pure bliss enveloping them. Eddie finally looked up to meet Richie’s eyes, want and hunger meeting love and devotion. Richie pulled him down into a searing kiss, moaning into Eddie’s mouth when he started moving his hips.

“You feel so good.” Eddie slurred against Richie’s lips. “So warm and tight, fuck Richie.”

Eddie was the perfect size to fill Richie up and hit all the right places. Each thrust let his cock rub up at a different angle, stimulating every nerve from Richie’s rim all the way up to his prostate. The sensation drove him wild, but what would be the death of him was the way Eddie looked hunched over him.

He could still see features of that young boy he fell in love with; the button of his nose, those big doe eyes, thin pink lips, and freckles that had no business being as cute as they were. But while Eddie had retained his cuteness factor, he’d also grown to be incredibly sexy. His chin had broadened, jaw getting stronger and cheekbones more defined. The loss of his baby fat had revealed new things for Richie to obsess over, and when he was leaning over Richie like this, sweat collected on his furrowed brow and tongue caught between his lips, Richie had a hard time keeping his obsessions at bay.

“How are you so fucking beautiful?” Richie murmured, not expecting a response.

Eddie picked up his pace, spurred on by Richie’s words. Richie had promised Eddie dirty talk, and he planned to deliver, no matter how difficult it was to form words while Eddie worked him towards orgasm.

“I love watching your cock slide into me, ahhhh, love the way you stretch me out.”

“God, Rich-” Eddie’s breath was speeding up, his pants becoming quicker with every thrust.

“Look at how well you work me over.”

Eddie’s eyes were screwed shut, his nostrils flared as he tried to slow himself down, but Richie didn’t want that. Richie wanted to watch Eddie come undone inside him.

“Look.” Richie repeated more insistently, squeezing Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie’s eyes popped open and immediately honed in on the spot where they were connected. He shuttered reflexively, a drawn out moan escaping him.

“Rich- I’m gonna cum, please-”

Richie snaked his hand down to his cock and began jerking it with abandon, giving Eddie the nod to let go.

Barely a few thrusts later and Eddie was emptying into Richie. He continued to pound into him even when his body went taut, moving through the stiffness to bring Richie to his own release.

The stimulation was overwhelming, Richie could feel the press of Eddie’s cock hammering into his prostate, the slide of his hand over his own cock, but what finally sent him over the edge was the feeling of Eddie’s cum seeping out of his hole as Eddie continued ramming into him.

Richie came with a quiet scream, his back arching as he tried to both get away from the feeling and get impossibly closer at the same time. He was wracked with emotion, tears flowing freely and a sob escaping him as he came down hard from the rush of endorphins.

Eddie pulled out of Richie, quickly crawling into his arms and shushing him with a soothing voice.

It wasn’t uncommon for Richie to cry after sex, so Eddie continued doing what he always did; staying close and making sure Richie knew he was there. Light touches, gentle whispers, anything to remind Richie that it was okay to feel overwhelmed.

It took a couple minutes for Richie to calm down, but his sobs slowly turned into sniffles and his arms eventually wrapped around Eddie.

“Have I told you I love you yet today?” Richie asked quietly, a dopey smile on his face.

“Three times this morning, twice at lunch, and once during downtime after your show.” Eddie counted off teasingly.

“Keeping track?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, burying his face back into Richie’s chest.

“I just like hearing it.” Eddie defended, voice half muffled.

“I like saying it.” Richie responded assuredly, placing a kiss atop the pillowy curls below him.

“I love you too.” Eddie murmured, the words coming out in a sigh of contentment.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” Richie whispered, his chest heavy with happiness.

“Luck has nothing to do with it; we were always going to end up together.”

[technoturian]

So after dipping my toe in the Pedro Pascal stan side of tumblr I decided to give his Netflix movies a try. Yesterday was Prospect which I *loved* and today was Triple Frontier which was... possibly the worst movie I’ve seen in the last couple of years.

Spoilers under the tag but honestly... Just don’t watch this movie. If you’re a fan of one of the cute men in it then just search the internet for gifs, I promise you you will get more out of that than you will out of this movie. Ranting below, you’ve been warned.

I have to commend the Pedro fans for their fanon version of his character in this film, as they pretty much were forced to invent him from whole cloth because basically none of that is in the text. And that’s because he doesn’t have a character. None of them have characters! None of them have arcs! The plot doesn’t even have an arc! The movie ended in the biggest shrug I’ve ever seen. They didn’t fail, they didn’t succeed, it was just kind of... well that happened.

Every time I thought, “Okay, I see where this narrative is going...” It just... didn’t. It didn’t go anywhere. The main thrust of the movie was done 30 minutes in and then the rest of the movie was them walking around killing people. Now, it could have been about that, about that they were killing civilians and growing increasingly more cruel and emotionless in their actions, but that was not reflected in the resolution. Nothing that happened in the movie was concluded in a way that made sense. It just was a collection of bad things that happened that then stopped eventually. What about the characters and their families who at the start of the film were stated would be hunted to the ends of the earth by ALL THE CARTELS!! (and other unspecified Bad Criminal People) and at the end just kind of shrug off the fact that they have no money to disappear with? Are Santiago’s fake passports supposed to fix that? Or maybe they deserve that because of the ~horrible things they did~ but then why such a light-hearted, optimistic-ish ending note where they all cheerfully say goodbye? What is the message here?

It was like two producers came together, one said he wanted to make an indie film that was a blunt drama on the horrors of war and dehumanization of the American soldier and a scathing, unflinching indictment of the military industrial complex, and the other one said he wanted to make a shoot-em-up heist movie with big budget actors and lots of explosive action and they were like...

...and mushed them together without any attempt to make a cohesive and narratively satisfying story. It fails at both of these aspects by committing to neither. I saw only the briefest hints of any kind of thematic thread that was so incompetently conveyed that it might as well have never existed. I can’t understand how this movie has such high approval from critics??? What did you like here, was it all of the monologues about how war takes and takes and doesn’t pay well enough? Because if you like that, there was a lot of that. It doesn’t actually go anywhere but it’s there and gee, it’s a thinker, huh, war is bad actually. Groundbreaking.

And this is not an indictment on the actors at all (except for Ben Affl*ck, he can choke). They were honestly working so hard, I could see that, and it made me angrier than if they’d phoned it in. I honestly cannot imagine how they got all of these big actors in this movie and gave them absolutely nothing to work with!

Every one of these characters save Santiago had the same ~arc~, “I don’t like what being a soldier did to me except I’m super loyal so I’m just going to do this one last job oh crap everything is terrible better turn on my murder training...” Which is like... Yeah that happens when you join the military, it’s awful, sure. “War is hell” and all that. But just pointing that out doesn’t make these successful, rounded characters or make this a good movie. I again applaud fans that found any value in these characters, it honestly feels like a case of “I like this actor so much that he deserves a lot better than this, let me invent an alternate reality where he actually had substance”. I can’t feel bad for them too much because I guess, I hope they had fun filming it on location and made a lot of that Netflix money?

As an exercise I tried to think of a single line in this movie that, if shifted from one character to another, would have changed... anything. If it would’ve effected their character at all. If it would’ve felt like it didn’t fit, like, “well HE wouldn’t say THAT”. I couldn’t think of one. They were all completely interchangeable. They all switch from being guilty about killing people to not really caring to straight up going murder-happy depending on the scene, excusing their actions and condemning them. ~Oho, but don’t you see, that’s the duality of the soldier, the hero and the villain~ shut up, it’s bad narrative if you can’t even figure out what a character’s motivations and baseline personality are.

Literally the only person I saw any slight arc from was Santiago, who basically got all of his plot threads neatly tied up by the halfway point and then was just a shell of regret like the other characters. From then on the only person with any sort of arc potential was Tom, because he was the first to get greedy and he was the one to shoot first and I thought “Okay cool, so he’s going to turn on them or something as the money dwindles because he’s going to put his family first and they’re really going to show how far they’ve fallen” and nope he’s dead, of course he’s dead, that’s the end of the only character that seemed like he MIGHT be going anywhere (not that I cared because Ben Affl*ck can choke). Even the romance arc didn’t go anywhere! It literally stops halfway through the movie just like everything else???? This movie feels like they lost the second half of the script days before filming and they were like, “Um, and, um, lots of... climbing the Andes, and, um, this Andes thing is going to be very long and so that’ll pad it out and, um??? War is bad, look what they make you do, look what they make you give etcetera etcetera? Then, uh, action driving scene, uh, yeah. There we go, finished.”

I honestly just can’t believe I sat through a movie with Ben Affl*ck, Charlie Hunn*m’s absolute travesty of an American accent, and 70s-80s dad rock music just because two hot Star Wars boys were in it. Maybe the real message of the movie is the hot boys we looked at along the way.

* And because it didn’t fit anywhere else, just a shoutout to this particular part: William’s character introduction being a recruitment speech that starts with “My PTSD is so bad I have violent blackouts” and somehow with a scene cut manages to circle back around to “So anyway kids stay in the Army it’s the best and you’re all patriots” is the most heinous thing that completely undermines A, his place as the moral center/voice of reason of the film and B, any anti-military message the movie might be vaguely attempting. I just keep remembering that compilation video of young, desperately sad military recruits saying “f*ck you” and “you lied” to their recruiter and thinking, “This guy has given this speech HUNDREDS of times??”