#it might take a wee while but i'll try to work through them

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

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[yuri-is-online]

Host With the Most (Vil Schoenheit x Yuu)

Intro

notes: they/them used for Yuu, in this house we love Vil Schoenheit and his pursuit of aesthetic beauty, Vil is very touchy with Yuu because he likes them, Yuu is a wee bit oblivious. Also happy New Year! Ha this took me too long to write. If you wish to see more of me, consider looking at my masterlist.

"As the default 'owner' of the Mansion it makes the most sense for Yuu to help me." Vil's voice has that firm air of finality to it that thunders through the air with the same force as Leona's roar or Malleus's storms. Speaking of Leona, he seems to be frightfully amused by this cute little attempt at imitation, and you have absolutely no desire to see them cat fight.

"Just what help do you need exactly? I'm not really the best choice for an understudy." You try your best to keep any trace of tiredness out of your voice, but you really should know better than to lie to Vil by now. He ignores his argument and cups your face in his hands to get a better look at your skin, pursing his lips ever so slightly to try and avoid a full frown.

"You really need to have more faith in yourself." The scolding is serious but the genuine affection in his gaze as you involuntarily chase his touch as he takes back his hands is real. "And to get more sleep. With enough practice you could be more than worthy, but lucky for us both that's not what I had in mind."

"Awww beta fish already claimed little shrimpy? Laaame." Floyd blows a raspberry and you stick out your tongue when Vil looks away.

"No chasing shromps for you." That cheers him up. You think.

"Stay!" Crewel seems to have regained a bit of his fire. "Ramshackle is Yuu's home, so having them work alongside Schoenheit will allow them to keep an eye on all you puppies and make sure you aren't destroying their living space."

"You have no need to worry yourself over such a thing Professor." Rook cheerfully says.

"Yeah! We're good house guests." Laughs Ortho.

"... Schoenheit perhaps you would like to take Yuu to look over costumes and explain your plans while I have some words with my third and fourteenth reasons?" Vil does not need Crewel to tell him twice.

~~~~

"We aren't planning on using any rooms you or Grim do regularly, though Rook and Floyd did have ideas for the attic." Vil immediately starts talking shop as soon as you leave the classroom. "Guests are going to walk though the house on a marked tour, and I'll be playing host for part of the show."

"A ghost host?" You expect to be reprimanded but Vil winks.

"In my first script the host had an assistant, but Ortho suggested he be placed in charge of screen mapping and projection so we didn't need to make as many adjustments to your dorm." Vil sounds just as proud of Ortho as Idia would be if he was telling the story. It fills your heart with warmth. "Thanks to that suggestion I get to have you stick with me for the rest of the week." And just like that the warmth floods up to your ears, damn that professional training for letting Vil say... things. Yes just things, you are reading into friendly banter too much. The way your breath hitches at the gentle ghost of his touch across your back as he guides you through the door he opens is natural, you just aren't used to Vil's touchiness yet.

"Have you already thought out the costumes?" You remove yourself from his side and try to place some distance between yourself and your feelings by looking over the fist set of clothes Crewel has laid out in this empty classroom, completely missing the brief flicker of disappointment Vil refuses to contain.

"I provided Professor Crewel some concept sketches and my script, but we still have some sizing adjustments to make..." Vil's voice trails off and you turn back in concern. Yet he does not seem distracted at all when you do, he simply proceeds with his thoughts evenly. "I hope you don't mind, but the costume I have in mind for you is raven themed, so you might end up looking a bit like our dear Headmage."

"Oh please no." You groan and Vil laughs.

"Just the bit." He moves to your side, directing your attention towards an admittedly sleek tunic like outfit with a hood and feathers embroidered down the cape. "Go ahead and try it on, I'll wait out here to look it over." As you turn to do just that you find his face close to yours, the typical intensity of his stares and danger of this specific smile suggesting something other than his usual ire. "And make sure to tell me if it's comfortable," he gently tips your chin up to look at him with a slender finger, it's as if he means to kiss you with how he tilts his head "you will be standing next to me for the whole night, I can't have my partner falling down from something as simple as fatigue."

Oh there is no need to worry over that when he is more than able to be the death of you on his own.

~~~~

The better part of your next three weeks is spent practicing the haunt and slowly loosing your sanity. You don't actually have any lines, or much of anything to do other than follow Vil around really, but that meant you had to spend more time around him. More time around those casual touches and compliments that have invaded your friendship since your trip to the underworld, battering your imagination in directions you had long since tried to convince yourself was forbidden. Vil is beautiful, and his confidence of it strangely not off putting to your foolish heart. But Vil had been clear, he was affectionate to all of his friends in private and no amount of skirting the boundary-

though it was all him, if you could only realize how he is trying so desperately to initiate that he is starting to come unglued

-would make your desire for his love anything less than a pipe dream. A dream made substantially worse by how you did know just enough about what one of his kisses would feel like to fantasize about tasting him on your lips. Not that you could see them from your position at the back of the test group, clammy hands fidgeting with the prop lantern you carry, but his slicked back hair and strategically rumpled suit are so ingrained in your dreams at this point you're sure you know what he looks like.

As if you are the only one tortured by fantasies, as if he did not design that cape specifically to see you in it. As if-

"Horntoads and lizards, fiddle and strum. Please answer the role by beating a drum!" Cater's head begins to "levitate" up off the table as he chants in a show of theatrics that's still impressive even if this is the 999th time you've seen it; Ortho's projection mapping coupled with Cater's willingness to improvise had blended into a really unique act. Something a Scarabia freshmen seems to really agree with you because he immediately starts screaming and flailing around in a way that has you deeply concerned for your poor dorm's safety. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, trying to examine the idiot's body language to determine if he was a threat or not. A decision that's made for you as soon as he goes for his magic pen and you note, perhaps too late, that maybe you should make your guests surrender them before going through the haunt.

"Excuse me." You make sure your cowl is lowered as you gently try to tug his hand away from his pocket and are rewarded with an easily dodged slap. "Well now you're just embarrassing both of us."

"Just what do you think it is you are doing foolish mortal." You swear you saw Vil walk forward, but your brain refuses to register his movements as soon as he opens his voice. "It seems you would prefer to take my way out after all." It's silly, being impressed with a professional actor staying in character, but then it must be equally silly to go a bit jelly legged at seeing Vil drawn up to his full height and radiating confidence. The student whimpers and you again reach for his hand, acting the good spirit gently tugging him away from the grip of the damned souls of the mansion.

"C'mon now, no need to be shy." The student lets you lead him away mutely, clearly disappointed in himself.

~~~~

"And I will see you all a little later." Vil bows, disappearing from the group as they flow into the dancers and he immediately drops his practiced face and begins making his way to his next scene. He has faith in you, so he is not surprised to see you waiting, cowl once again up and swinging your lantern to amuse yourself in a manner that would be cute if he wasn't so worried. "Yuu," Vil does not love how forceful his tone is for the way it makes you jump but the emotions running about in his chest keep him from softening it "are you alright?"

"Just peachy." You try a chipper tone but choke as Vil once again reaches to touch you. He cups your face in his hands like it is precious, examines it careful and runs his perfect fingers along your arms to examine your hands in what feels dangerously close to an excuse to hold them. "Dumbass," he purses his lips "sorry, po-ta-to thought Cater had actually lost his head because of Riddle or something. I made sure to hand him over to Crewel and suggested we take the guest's magic pens to make sure if they do freak out no spells get fired off."

"In hindsight that seems like a rather obvious precaution." Vil exhales, letting out the disappointment and intakes a prideful, teasing look to his eyes as he continues to focus on you. You swallow thickly, how many times has he said what he's about to in these past few weeks? "You're doing an excellent job, I knew I picked the right person to partner with." You look down at your hands, Vil still hasn't let them go. It hurts somewhat, more than nearly being slapped.

"You don't have to say things like that just to make me feel better." You cough and Vil frowns.

"I don't give compliments for the sake of ego you know." He lets go of one of your hand to run his thumb over your quivering lip, staring deeply at the tears you had not noticed until he moves to dry them as if he can erase them from time with sheer will alone. "When I say something to you about how grateful I am to have met you, that I admire you, when I say I find things about you to be beautiful and that I want you to stand beside me, I mean every word."

"If you say things like that I'm going to start thinking you mean something different when you call me your partner." You try to joke and for some reason this is what makes him falter.

"... wasn't that obvious?" Vil, beautiful Vil, has a genuinely surprised look on his face. As if he was not the one who had said he was affectionate to his friends specifically... as if he had expected you to notice how much longer he spent kissing you than Rook or Epel and divine his romantic intent from the way his hand sought yours alone. Perhaps he had thought you had more courage than you did, or perhaps, you think to yourself with some relief, there are some things Vil just doesn't quite know how to say because he is so used to having to prove himself worthy of saying them in the first place.

"Are you sure you want this?" You ask because you feel like you have to, but what you are really trying to ask is if you are allowed to want this, to want him.

"Dangerously so." He rests his forehead against yours, a contented sigh worming its way past his lips at the lack of ambiguity in the way your fingers finally thread through his. "I only have so much time left to keep you to myself you know? When the school year ends I'll have to make excuses to more than just a handful of classmates for why I deserve to be alone with you, without sparking any comments." You had considered that of course, let it fuel your doubts and even still now it flickers slightly in your mind.

"I don't want to take the coward's way out." You say and Vil's eyes betray momentary shock. "I don't want to keep ignoring my feelings."

"Then we are in agreement, my dearest partner." Vil draws you impossibly close and presses one kiss to your forehead to his joy and your rancor before he dips you to give the kiss you really want. "I don't think I could ignore you if I tried."

Welcome, foolish mortals, to this haunted taglist: @nothingfuninthislife

[vetinarivimesy]

Kenobi-centric fic recs

Everything here will heavily feature Obi-Wan Kenobi in some fashion, and will vary wildly by ship, tone, and fic-type though I'll do my best to give little blurbs/not-too-spoilery summaries.

The fics range from gen to explicit, in some cases pre-date tagging ettiquette, and, no, no I have not re-read them all (ye gods have you seen the word counts).

In a few cases I'm basing my summaries on very hazy memory and I have a noted bad habit of skimming straight past explicit porn when I don't want to read it, then forgetting its there entirely - so caveat lector!

These are mostly fics that I currently mentally catalogue as Wonderful Obvious Obi-Wan Kenobi Goodness fics rather than expecting to dig up any obscure hidden gems. The list would probably look very different on a different day. It's far from comprehensive, and the categories are loose at best. But here it is!

I've been contemplating putting something like this together for a while but been a bit nervous of sticking my head up above the metaphorical parapet. As, follows my fave character around without caring overmuch about the ship trash, I've got quite a list of Star Wars fics inhaled/rediscovered.

(Wee bit too used to coming into very dead fandoms long after everyone's left, put the chairs up on the tables, the metaphorical lights have been turned off... and the not so metaphorical bills have stopped being paid. More than once I've stumbled into a wonderful old fandom fic archive only for it to vanish into, Only What Was Saved on the Internet Archive Remains status. Even when the archive isn't actually an ex-archive, many don't actually allow for interaction. Apologies to the authors I've never worked up the courage to comment on, this is an explanation not an excuse!)

Obi-Wan's apprenticeship fics:

Commander Kenobi - norcumi (complete, 9646 words)

Obi-Wan gets de-aged in the midst of battle. Cody gets to find out what teenaged Obi-Wan was like. Given Obi-Wan thinks he's fresh out of Melida-Daan, nothing like whatever Cody might have been expecting.

A Town Called Stagnation - deniigiq (complete, 33,000 words)

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan take a trip to Stewjon, to let Obi-Wan get in touch with his roots post the horrorshow of his early apprenticeship. Smalltown thinking and the trauma of recent events clash horribly for everyone involved.

Another brilliant author who's whole fic-output is well worth checking out. Their wry utterly charming character voices never fail to amuse, even when the POV character is one I'm currently in an... actually I wouldn't mind some bashing of this guy kinda mood. I draw amusement and sympathy for Qui-Gon's character in every single one of their immediately post-Melida Daan fics for context here, with my knowledge of that event thoroughly warped and contaminated by the current popular fanon take on the matter too.

Though more Cody-centric, and thus Clone Wars era, than anything parallelogram (Complete, 33,000 words) and they're neutral (complete, 9900 words) by the same author are also wonderful.

poisoned chalice - qigiined (Complete, 9900 words)

Another author with the wit and deftness of characterisation to make immediately-post-Melida-Daan Qui-Gon's POV both amusing and sympathetic. They've also got quite a few other gems!

Qui-Gon's very wry POV as he tries to navigate raising a very traumatised child, and appeasing his various lineage members.

through hardships to the stars - kivaember (WIP, 148,000 words)

Canon divergence where Obi-Wan's apprenticeship snafu on Melida-Daan went just that much worse than those Legends-were-never-technically-canon novels would have it.

As a result Obi-Wan and a very young Jango Fett end up on the run from a terrifying darksider, whilst Jaster Mereel and Feemor despearately try to catch up with the pair.

Little Lights Stories - ms_nawilla (WIP, 628,000 words)

Qui-Gon neglected too much of Obi-Wan's training, so Obi-Wan isn't immediately knighted post-Naboo despite saving Qui-Gon's life and defeating the Sith.

Anakin goes to the creche, Qui-Gon's in utter denial, and Obi-Wan begins the rocky process of finding his own feet post-Naboo, getting through the thorny process of working out who you are as your own person after living under someone else's oppressive shadow for far too long.

Super detailed epic detailing all sorts of wonderful possible jedi-culture headcanons, illuminated manuscripts! beer! force-manipulation games! communal caring! crystallography! sex ed! old-people's homes! the engineers! clerical branch! outreach via art! dance instruction! reincarnation! politics! spies! terrible james bond esque spy films to hide that the spies were really real! lightsaber classes! non-jedi temple residents! U and L leaning prejudice! Alderaan!

Just what would happen if Qui-Gon Jinn were exactly the sort of irresponsible unpleasant adult who should never ever be given a child a lot of fandom suspects he is. His implied treatment of Obi-Wan here can be fairly harrowing, for all that its emotional neglect rather than anything graphic.

The jedi are never depicted as anything less than trying their best, unfortunately no matter how thorough the system tries to be, sometimes people do just fall through the cracks. As was v.nearly the case for Obi-Wan in this verse.

Mostly character driven, though the hints of the greater plot bubbling away underneath all of this glorious worldbuilding and character growth are both ominous and intriguing. The pairing is a hell of a spoiler, but also one that could potentially be a bit of a squick, I don't want to spoil the slowburn of this thing but I do want to give fair warning. Does tumblr offer spoiler tags?

Preventing Order 66 fics:

When Duty is Done - thosenearandfarwars (WIP, 257,000 words)

Wonderful long-form piece - technically a WIP but all installments so far are complete - a what happens next post-Palp's getting his comeuppance, messily. Features Codywan, grief, internalised ableism, jedi order reforming in a very nuanced 'we were this close to the brink' and lost so many people to the war sense *not* the sneaky 'jedi-positive but actually bashing' sense.

Hell I wholeheartedly reccie just about everything this author's ever done tbh!

(This Too Was a Gift (Complete, 69,000 words) is also utterly wonderfully done, and a complete fic in a similar vein, albeit much more focused on the ramifications for individual characters than the ensemble cast of thousands that is Star Wars.)

I Got My Head Checked - frostbitebakery (Complete, 79,000 words)

Codywan Sith!Obi-Wan AU. Cody falls for the hot Sith in the next cell...

Light of the Mists- Snowy Egret Chimes of Kyber, Songs of Kyber, and Anthem of Kyber (Complete, 166,000 words)

This one technically also fits the Obi-Wan's apprenticeship category too. Bit of an epic of, what would happen if Obi-Wan never made it to Bandomeer, and instead trained under a force sect with rather different ideas about how things worked than the modern jedi order?

Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi - stonefreeak (WIP, 113,000 words)

Wonderful crackfic premise done mostly seriously. (WIP)

By an extremely obscure bit of Senate Legalise, Obi-Wan finds himself thrust into the role of Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine is furious.

How A Romance Novel Saved The Galaxy - Ariana Deralte (WIP, 184,000 words)

The galaxy takes a left turn when a popular novel takes the world by storm, and the Jedi and Mandalorians mutually discover their two cultures aren't so different after all...

sanguine - glimmerglanger (complete, 158,000 words)

In which Obi-Wan being a vampire, with all the nasty prejudices that come with being a non-human in the GFFA, somehow saves the galaxy.

Just Go Kill Palpatine - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 6662 words though this is likely an underestimate due to formatting of a wonderful epistolary/OutsiderPOV social-media-centric chapter)

Just as the title says. Obi-Wan goes and attempts to do just that. Wonderful and hilarious.

The More I Live the More I See this Life is Not About Me - K_R_Closson

Another de-aged Obi-Wan fic. In which post-Melida-Daan suspicious of everyone and everything Kenobi somehow fixes things. Everyone around Obi-Wan is suitably horrified by the news of just what his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon entailed.

Not Quite Sure How to Catergorise these...

This category is the equivalent of the draw marked 'misc.' sorry! Mostly a mix of action/adventure stuff and fics I suspect will turn into, and they prevented order 66 fix-its, but maybe not, with some other truly misc. things thrown in.

backdrop - esama (Complete, 2300 words)

Short and sweet self-contained little tale. Very succinct, but what the author does with those words...

Gunslinger's Paean - Idiot's Array + Homeworld Elegy - Ashcroft_Writes (WIP, 299,000 words)

Epic, what if Obi-Wan post-Rako Hardeen paired up with Cad Bane action adventure tale. Mistrust. Violence. Gunslinging. Espionage. Murder attempts galore!

We Brothers, We Sisters, We Vod'e Few - infinitecompositions(WIP, 322,000 words)

Hell of a fic. WIP. What if canon were to take just a step to the left... Post-Naboo Obi-Wan finds himself recruited for the Shadows branch of the jedi order...

Another epic, cough, can you tell what style I like yet? Uh, starts off as a bit of a dark action adventure romp, rapidly morphs into a detailed dissection of spy-craft, espionage, and galactic politics - but becomes no less tense for it.

Kneading - Threebea O (WIP, 79,000 words)

Manages the miraculous trick of being canon, whilst seeming to be a fluffy bakery AU for a significant chunk of the first few chapters.

Jango/Obi - Jango falls for a local baker whilst hanging out in small town with Boba. Increasingly important to the fate of the galaxy shenanigans inevitably ensue when aforementioned baker turns out to be Obi-Wan Kenobi undercover.

Be Your Love - glimmerglanger (complete, explicit, 9000 words)

I tend not to go for 'real world' AUs but this author's work is so very excellent that I'm reccieing this one - hell I think most of their work is well worth a look through, and every fic-genre they've attempted has proven very fun indeed.

Heed the tags. Explicit Codywan BDSM stuff contained within.

Wizard of the Jundland Wastes - phoenixyfriend (complete, 3200 words)

Obi-Wan on Tatooine, outsiderPOV.

One of many wonderful Star Wars fics this author has written. If this one doesn't catch your fancy, one of their many delightful utterly bizarre premise taken to logical conclusion fics probably will.

Father of the Year (Not) - phoenixyfriend (complete, 2430 words)

Obi-Wan and Jango find out they're each other's soulmates. Mostly they're furious.

Wonderful very pointed skewering of all the usual soulmate and Jango is actually a decent dude tendencies in fic-writing.

Time Travel fics:

I thought I fought this war alone - stonefreeak (Complete, 3783 words)

Wonderful short and sweet Obi-Wan time travelling to his padawan days fix-it.

this is unexpected - MarbleGlove (Complete, 4461 words)

Very succinct and perfect with it time travel what if. Old Ben Kenobi goes back in time and immediately ruins Palpatine's day.

This author tends to be delightful no matter the fandom.

The Sun Swings East - kj_feybarn (Complete, 33,000 words)

Brilliantly done timeloop story of woe and hope. As much about recovery as the initial plot-driven despair. Mind the tags, Obi-Wan is understandably severely depressed throughout much of this fic.

The Making of Mavericks - AppoApples (complete, 146,000 words)

It was extremely difficult to choose just the one time travel fic from this author. Their output is wonderfully varied, don't like their particular take on the Jedi Order and/or the Mandalorians in this fic? Pick another, and odds are they'll have explored the concept from precisely the opposite angle.

This author has a wonderful exploratory sense of, okay okay, so how do we fix this thing/how do we make it worse?

In this case, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex time travel to the past. This creates broad sweeping changes to the timeline, not always for the better.

The Desert Storm (complete, 1,144,599 words) & Rise and Fall series (WIP, 396,000 words) - Blue_Sunshine (WIP)

Wonderful epic-length time-travel fic. Highly recommended. Technically a WIP, but what there is already is well worth the time.

Ben Kenobi, now Nasaade, in utter furious despair finds himself back in time, pre, well, everything. He decides to take matters into his own hands and change things.

Gorgeous character-work, where by the end of the piece the characters are all in very different places than where they started out. And you utterly believe the growth (positive and negative) that got them there.

Draws from both legends and canon in a bit of a hodgepodge approach - despite drawing from a few of the more leaning towards the jedi were the bad guys sources in legends, impressively manages to tread a nuanced stance on, okay so what if the jedi and mandalorians did decide to start reforming in the face of this grave existential threat that's been brought to their attention?

Wonderful utterly enviable pacing - I know this one's extremely long. But at no point do you ever feel/notice the length when reading this thing.

It Was Another Time and I Another Man - Pell_Binterhol (WIP, 196,000 words)

Multiple Kenobis time travelling. Absolute chaos for absolutely everyone else; fellow time travellers, fellow Kenobis, and plotting Sith alike.

the massive machinery of hope - Killbothtwins (Complete, 150,000 words)

Obi-Wan travels back to his padawan days and annoys everyone else into helping him save the day. Wonderful sense of wry humour throughout this fic.

Living Memory - elsa3beth (WIP, 363,000 words)

Epic very detailed wonderful fic detailing just what General Kenobi would do if he had to fight the war again.

Deals with just what could happen if Anakin had ever had to face his fellow jedi with even a few of his flaws laid bare, and the fallout.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, just barely managing to hold himself together, fresh out of the middle of his exile to Tatooine, is desperately playing four-dimensional chess against Palpatine and trying to use the awful structure of the Republic's Army to save both the Jedi and the Clones.

The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident - antigrav_vector & quarra (WIP, 783,000 words)

Long, character driven fic that's an incredibly fun take on just what might happen if Obi-Wan and a bunch of Ghost Company stumbled into Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians and get themselves adopted. Heed the tags wrt pairings!

All the complications that come from being an adult stuck as an apparent child ensue. From being squicked out about being a kid again, to having other people being concerned that a kid is behaving like an adult, to just... time travel complications, kidnapping, force esoterica, and fighting a small war.

Plenty of Jedi thoughtfully staring at this strange miniature jedi master, lots of Mandalorians being both stunned and horrified by these tiny soldiers, and Dooku/Sifo-Dyas being a surprisingly lovely central pairing.

Not Qui-Gon friendly in the least, and in this verse you can't help but feel he very much deserves it.

Suicidal Misunderstandings - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 67,000 words)

Obi-Wan spends much of this fic convinced he's hallucinating and on a bad spice-trip. The trigger warning is very much in the name here.

That said, wonderful, often hilarious time travelling Obi-Wan fic, as the jedi desperately try to work out 1) what's wrong with Obi-Wan, and 2) how to stop Palpatine.

Re-Entry (Complete, 568,000 words) and Re-Entry Journey of the Whills (WIP, 889,000 words) - flamethrower

Fair warning, might turn into a deadlink fairly soon. The author's stuff is in the process of being transferred to another archive. Not a big deal (though fandom being a collective arse is, ffs), as with many older fics this one has moved home fairly often! (Squidgeworld.)

Wonderful absolute epic time travelling Obi-Wan Kenobi fic. Even if you're not a fan of the central Qui/Obi pairing it's written from a very believable perspective, of you can see precisely how these two adults got there, and an extremely enjoyable read with it.

Starts off as a fairly character-driven piece, as the plot slowly builds into something extremely ominous indeed, though once the plot momentum gets going ye gods it gets going.

Another case of technically a series that's a WIP, but every individual story that's up is complete and a satisfying individual whole.

Filled with all the things I love in a Star Wars fic, Obi-Wan getting to be awesome, force esoterica, Obi-Wan getting to be a little shit, plotty plot, the jedi getting to be nuanced and awesome, canon and fanon star wars lore all over the place, and plenty of action adventure and gorgeous character work.

I don't want to go into too much spoilery detail here, but suffice it to say this one is a classic in the fandom for a reason, and deservedly so.

Warning that the dark stuff in this fic can get dark, the level of whump Obi-Wan endures goes all the way up to extremely creepy Palpatine-torture on par with the Ventress/Sith-mask/Alpha-17 situation. It's never gratuitous with it, but in places this fic is explicit, at turns in both the fun porny way and the whump sense.

Star Wars crossovers and fusions:

Alas this section will be shorter than I'd like it to be - unlike a lot of other sci-fi fandoms Star Wars fandom seems to shy away from crossover fic by and large. There's both less of it, and what there is seems to get a hell of a lot less interaction than it would in a different fandom. Not guilt-tripping, again, I am very very guilty of failing to interact myself, just a weird, 'huh, where are all the crossovers?' thing I've noticed.

Rouge Handed - nevertheless_turtle (complete, 2190 words)

As the name hopefully implies this one's kinda sorta a Moulin Rouge crossover. Ish. In that it's firmly set wholly in the GFFA.

Delightful little crackfic.

The weeping stone - Gabriel4Sam (complete, 6965 words)

A wonderful crossover with The Mummy that somehow manages to thread the needle, hitting the humorous tone of those films perfectly whilst simultaneously making you feel very sad indeed for Obi-Wan.

A Star to Steer By - dogmatix, norcumi (first fic in the series is complete, second a WIP, 109,000 words)

Absolutely wonderful Stargate crossover/fusion - it somehow manages to be both a crossover and a fusion at once.

Largely told from Jack's POV, the Jedi are symbionts, with all the misunderstandings that would imply, given the SGC are much more used to dealing with malevolent parasitic Goa'uld than benevolent symbiosis.

Lost Jedi - Augusta Pembroke (complete)

A Velvet Goldmine crossover fic. Curt Wild meets Qui-Gon Jinn, and things get complicated. Qui/Curt with implied unfulfilled Qui/Obi feelings.

All the unhealthy messy relationship stuff the Velvet Goldmine tag and the age of the fic implies is probably present and correct here.

Qui-Gon ends trapped on the wrong side of the galaxy, he finds Curt who's force sensitive, and trains him to help him get back home to Obi-Wan... Things get messy.

Snow and Cinder - MrsHamill (explicit, complete, 16,000 words)

The pre-requisite wonderfully done Highlander/Methos crossover fic. Obi-Wan hangs out with the ROG for a while post-Naboo in a bid to get over a falling out with Qui-Gon Jinn and work through his own messy feelings on the matter. The main pairing is Qui/Obi as many older Master&Apprentice archive era fics are.

All you really need to know about Methos is he's very old, and very cynical. He's literally seen and done it all.

This one doesn't fall into the all too easy to fall into trap of having Methos, understandably an extremely old and cunning immortal being so much better at anything and everything than everyone else around him that it stops being fun and starts bashing the other-verse in the crossover, for which I'm extremely grateful. It's a difficult balance to tread and this author manages it wonderfully. (I say this from first-hand, I have tried and failed to airdrop this character into other sci-fi fandoms you'd think he'd work well in, fic-author perspective rather than as a crit of anyone else's work!)

Look at the publishing dates please.

A few of these fics pre-date Attack of the Clones. They were written in the 90s.

If I find out someone's been bashing an author for outdated terminology or characterisation or for not using the current 2022 language, or a character the fic pre-dates in a fic they've not looked at for over twenty years, or how they wrote the central pairing in the era when the punchline to every single joke in Hollywood was 'haha they're gay!' I... Well... I won't be writing another one of these rec lists. Which isn't much of a threat I realise, but please, be civil.

I could probably easily fill a couple more of these lists tbh, and get more specific with it genre-wise... But as a general, here's a few fics I remember fondly often. I can feel myself getting neurotically 'this has to be perfect' at this thing, so, this'll do for now.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Leeli has FINALLY had her kittens!

There are at least* six. All are TINY wiggly charcoal kittens. Yep, all of them, six tiny black kittens with their white mama, they're an interracial family. xD

All of them seem to be healthy and Leeli is doing well! She started having them at about 7am and kept on until about 10:45ish. Never in my WILDEST dreams did I think she would have more than two live kittens after what she'd been through, and now she has six adorable little fluffy jellybeans curled up next to her, all alive and nursing and squeaky.

*she might still have one more to go, I feel another kittenish lump in her. Maraly waited two hours between her 4th and 5th kittens though, and this happens sometimes, so I'm not worried.

Maraly helped me midwife! I had her locked up at first, because she was upsetting Leeli, but I finally let her out while Leeli was distracted with kitten 3 and Maraly EAGERLY helped with the last three babies. She jumped right in and helped clean them!

The kittens are already purring and I- 😭💜💜

There are two extra small ones, but I think those are 5 and 6 so they should start to bulk up soon.

Leeli chose a nice box with a blanket in it for her nest (we specifically made it for the girls so I'm glad one of them used it) and it's right in our living room. She let me be right there and help her just like Maraly did, and she was also grateful I was there. I had to take off work today to be here, but it was very, very worth it.

Pictures of Leeli's tiny black babies (they look more Bengal-y than most of Maraly's, apparently the genes are strong) and Maraly being helpful

The first wee charcoal

*Maraly's brain* CLEAN THE BABY CLEAN THE BABY!

Maraly: this baby will be clean and that is THREAT

so many tiny babies ;-; <3 <3

truly an itty bitty kitty <3 <3

Once again, kittens won't have names until they're at least a month old and we know they'll all make it! I'll try and keep you updated on both litters (11 kittens!! it's like in ye olden days of my childhood! xD)

[rebeccathenaturalist]

apologies if you’ve been asked this before, but do you know a good way to find local native plant nurseries?

@swmngpools So there are a few things I do if I'm trying to find native plant nurseries in a specific place.

First, I'll search online for "[location] native plant nursery". Here in the US I usually search by state, though sometimes I'll add in the nearest major city, too. If my search is only coming up with general native plant sites and not nurseries in particular, then I'll put the location in one set of quotes, and "native plant nursery" in another--for example, "Seattle, WA" "native plant nursery".

I also try Google Maps. I navigate to the general area where I want to look--not TOO specific, especially if it's an area that is less likely to have native plant nurseries; I have more options where I live now in the Pacific Northwest than where I grew up in the Ozarks. I'll search for "native plant nurseries" or "native plants". Unfortunately, this doesn't always work as well as a general search engine because if there isn't an abundance of native plant sellers in an area, Google Maps tends to be more likely to show me general plant vendors. Searching in the PNW I get several hits on Google Maps, but searching around my old hometown in Missouri I get....Lowe's.

To be fair, Google Maps did also show me the well-established general plant nursery that my mom used to take me to when I was a wee kiddo in the 80's, and which is still around today. So if all you're getting is places like these, email, call, or visit them if it's convenient, and ask whether they carry or can order native plants. Or if they don't, see if they know of a place that does. You might also try landscaping companies; most of them stick to whatever non-native plants are popular, but there are some landscapers who do use native plants as well and may be able to help with sourcing.

While we're on the topic of going directly to people, if you're in the US most states have a Native Plant Society that can help you find sources for native plants. Other conservation entities, both here and elsewhere, may be able to help as well. This includes any private businesses, nonprofit organizations, or governmental entities that may be involved in things like environmental protections, habitat restoration and preservation, outdoor education and other activities, etc. Even if they themselves aren't directly involved in native plants there might be someone on staff who knows more about it.

Another thing I might try if I'm feeling a bit stuck is to ask in a relevant online group. For example, on Facebook there are groups like Pollinator Friendly Yards, that aren't region-specific, but that have people from all over who may be able to help you with resources local to you. And, of course, this is another good place to look for groups with native plant enthusiasts local to you--use the same search terms in Facebook's search feature that you did for your general search engine search.

One last option--if you know of a few native plants you might want to try planting, search for "[plant name] seeds" or "[plant name] starts", or even "buy [plant name]". You may have to search through the results to find someone actually selling what you're looking for. It's also possible that the plant is difficult to cultivate--or no one has even thought to try cultivating it--and therefore can't be purchased. Make sure that the specific species/variety is the one found in your area; a lot of people trying to help monarch butterflies in North America, for example, end up buying non-native tropical milkweed instead of whatever their native regional milkweed species is.

On that note, there's a lot of debate over "nativars", cultivars of native species that may be bred to exaggerate certain traits or make them more suitable for a vastly changed landscape. On the one hand it may seem like a great idea to have a plant that is easier to grow. However, nativars may actually be less beneficial to insects and other wildlife. For example, some nativars are cultivated with altered flowers, such as a double flower that has more petals than the original type. Pollinators are often unable to reach the nectar or pollen of these altered flowers. Nativars of a plant that normally has green leaves but that has been bred for more red in the foliage will be less likely to be eaten by herbivorous insects because the anthocyanins that cause the red coloration give the leaves a bad taste to deter insect predation. All of which, of course, defeats the purpose of planting native plants, since you WANT your native plants to be eaten by insects and other wildlife. So get the "wild type" native plant rather than nativars.

So those are my suggestions for seeking out native plant nurseries. Again, I want to emphasize that some places will be more likely to have them than others; the Pacific Northwest US has a great abundance, whereas a few cursory searches didn't turn up any in the Czech Republic. If you're trying to find native plants in an area where English is not the most common language, search in whatever the common language(s) is and you'll be more likely to get results if there are native plant nurseries or vendors in the area.

I hope this helps! Let me know if I can help with anything else.

[epersonae]

Because you said we could ask anything I wanted to ask about the whole meta level to the whole "rpf but not rpf" thing? I feel dense for not picking up on whatever is being commented on but I haven't been able to pinpoint anything.

Then again I'm not an RPF person at ALL but I've been following your stuff and I blew through WFU like it was nothing so there must be something special going on.

Before I get into it, this is the first time I've tried to put any of these thoughts in writing other than in rambly DMs, mostly I've thought about this out loud or talked in voice chat or a few times in person, so it may be a bit incoherent!

I'm also tagging in @gaypiratebrainrot, who I'm sure will have a quite different but intersecting take - I took what they did and ran with it in my own way. (I feel exceptionally fortunate to have had them both as an editor and as a friend who encouraged my various ramblings on this topic.)

That said, below the cut are my thoughts about the "meta level", which I think fall into two categories: constructing characters and the role of fanfiction inside of the story.

First, the whole process of constructing characters. For me, it was a very deliberate thing; with Ed and Stede, it's figuring out how to balance the canon characters and (the public perception of) the people who perform them. This, with the bonus complication of the actors having talked about how they feel about the characters in relationship to themselves, for me at least makes for a very self-aware writing experience. (And an entirely new conception of parasociality, I think it permanently changed my mental landscape!)

In WFU this is also addressed directly in the text by the characters themselves talking about AUs:

“It’s sort of like, you take the essence of the characters and their dynamic, and see how they might behave in different worlds,” Wee John says. “It’s experimental. You’ve got your coffee shop alternate universes, your sci-fi alternate universes, your actor alternate universes—” “Yeah, but, like, isn’t this the actor alternate universe,” Frenchie says, gesturing around them. “Like, Stede and Ed are kinda like alternate timeline Rhys and Taika.” “No, no,” Wee John says. “It’s all about transporting enough elements of the character for it to read like the same person, just living a different life. You couldn’t just write a story about Ed and Stede and call them Rhys and Taika.” “It’s kinda like, reinforcing the idea of some inherent self, though,” Frenchie says. “Like, as if we have some kind of soul that would be consistent across circumstances, instead of all of us being dynamic living bodies that are massively shaped by the events of our lives. Whole thing sorta reeks of cartesian dualism.”

There was a great post that I saw recently that talked about AUs and understanding what are the core aspects of characters in the canon and how to translate them into a new setting, using the term "concretes", which I immediately added to my vocabulary. So these guys, WFU Ed and WFU Stede, have this strange mix of concretes (both canon and fanon), and in writing my piece, I'm also trying to match the concretes of WFU while expanding out the universe that they exist in. (This is true to a lesser extent of other characters who have a one-to-one match canon to IRL, which hasn't yet come up in my work but does a little bit later tho it is in my other fic of WFU, a secret third thing.)

Which leads me to the construction of Mary and the unnamed wife (her interior-to-my-head name is Carlita, fwiw; I actually have a "alignment chart" of variations of her name that maybe I'll throw onto this post) - because they don't match that pattern. Which made me conscious on a different level of how I was creating these amalgams: the vanishingly small amount of information I know about either Rosie Carnahan-Darby or Rita Ora or Carly Rae Jepsen, and deliberately so! I didn't want to write RPF; I wanted to match the not quite one thing or the other of WFU, and so these two women are amalgams in a different way, with different ingredients, and they're also constructed from archetypes: the Manager Wife and the Pop Star, and the whole cultural soup around those ideas.

(I have a whole separate thought about the character of Javid Denkins but that's kind of a spoiler at this point. tl;dr: It's a very goddamn funny joke that ends up having bonus meaning.)

I am forever grateful for a specific little bit of canon that was in WFU, because it let me do something different in my work: Ed takes his coffee with seven sugars (and a little bit of godawful creamer), and so when Mary and the wife meet and have coffee, suddenly that has meaning in comparison to Ed. A canon bit of goofery can become something about diet culture, and that gets to be a whole new thematic thread through the story.

And then there's fanfiction as a story element within the fanfiction. We handle it very differently, I think, between my work and WFU, because we're looking at different aspects and from different perspectives. Among other things, it fundamentally changed my approach to learn that both Rita and Carly Rae had RPF written about them over a decade ago, when both women were in their 20s.

But in both cases, fanfiction is woven through as both contrast and mirror to the story, which is of course itself fanfiction. In both stories, Ed's fic reading habits say something about him and Mary's attitudes (about RPF in particular!) say something about her. The wife's reactions to both of these things, as well as her prior experience, shape how she interacts with them. The existence of tropes or characters say something about us, the readers and writers, as well as about the world that these stories' characters live in.

For me, both the fanfiction element and the character construction end up being partially about how much is it ever possible to know anything about another person. The obvious limits, in the case of someone who is in the public eye - I love this bit from WFU: "built [...] from a handful of Youtube interviews, my Twitter feed, and a level of horniness that would fix the climate crisis if only we could harness it for renewables", and I started joking that the wife was "three youtube videos and an architectural digest article in a trenchcoat", even though it's quite a bit more complicated than that.

But not just famous people: Mary makes assumptions about Ed and his wife based on their public personas; Ed makes assumptions about Mary based on pieces of past history through the lens of his feelings for Stede, and the wife's exploration includes piecing together information from Mary's social media and Ed's fic reading habits. All we can ever know about another person is what we observe, whether that's a public persona or their words and behavior. (There's a secret third level of how much can one ever know about oneself, but that's probably a different post.) And that circles back around to the writer and the reader: how much do we know about the canon characters? the famous people? the characters in the story?

(MASSIVE shout out to the phenomenal beta team of @gaypiratebrainrot, @veeagainsttheday, and @emi--rose for pointing out where I needed to really boost this question of who knows how much of what and when. Their incredibly smart observations did so much to help me bring out that theme among others.)

I don't know if that even answers your question, but it's some of the extra material that's been in my head as I've been writing and editing. I also had never read any RPF (with the curious exception of a notable No Reservations - Narnia crossover) before WFU and it basically melted my brain, which I have continued to process through the experience of writing for the benefit of all the broken hearts. So yeah, something different going on here for sure.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Can I pls request a day in Joker's life while taking care of baby Ellis from your previous work? I keep rereading that particular writing of yours because of the delicious angst 👌 I'd like to see how he takes care of his baby while leading a circus troupe and caring for his sick wife at the same time, while actively having to follow the Baron's orders. Just pile on the fluff and angst as much as u want to. Thank you ❤️

ohohoho what a compliment! <3

listen, y'all are supposed to say angst me mommy when you request shit like this... but... I guess I'll let it slide ;P

JUST MAKE SURE U CAN LIVE WITH WHAT YOU'VE UNLEASHED HERE BECAUSE WHEW-

JOKER’s days start earlier than ever now.

The one solace is that he gets to sleep in the same bed as his wife and wake up next to her in the morning. He gets to roll over, pressed against her, and give her a kiss… cuddle with her for a precious few minutes before the day truly begins. He gets to murmur that he loves her so much, lips painting those words onto her skin, because sometimes he worries that with all the hours he spends away from her, she might not know if he didn’t say it.

He gets to rise and greet his little baby, who’s nearing three months old now. Still just as darling as the day he was born. Although (Name) is getting stronger as she recovers on the treatment plan that the Baron’s doctor gave her, most of the time she only gets up for a few minutes to feed Ellis in the morning.

Joker likes to let her sleep in. He gets up before sunrise, and it’s not fair that she should have to do the same.

Thankfully, Ellis is much less fussy after eating breakfast… and Joker has learned, the hard way, not to bounce the infant on his knee for at least an hour after he eats. (To be fair, Peter also learned that the hard way whilst trying to get Ellis to stop wailing after feeding him a bottle. The fast-paced, busy nature of being a ringleader means that his child has been briefly left with each of the other troupe members at least once, so at least he’s not the only one who’s been spit up on.)

Once he’s made sure Ellis has a quick bath and is wearing clean clothes, it’s time to head over to the fairground. The small bag he carries during the morning is packed fast ― a few nappies and safety pins, a can of Mellin’s that the Baron oh-so graciously provides, a bottle, and a toy in case Ellis needs entertainment.

Then comes the hardest part; leaving (Name). Despite the fact that he’s only going to be gone for the morning, he’ll come home for a brief tea and to drop Ellis off… it still hurts to leave. It feels like he sees so little of her during the day. He almost wishes he didn’t have to go run the circus. One of these days he’s just going to say fuck it all, leave one of the others in charge for a day, and spend the whole morning here at the manor with his wife and child.

He perches himself on the bed with Ellis cradled against his chest in his good arm, and leans down to give his wife a kiss. A soft murmur of, “’Ey, darlin’, I’m off tae work wit’ Ellis now, alrigh’? I’ll be back this afternoon. Love ye,” falls from his lips against hers.

She returns the sentiment with a groggy smile and gives him her usual reply of, “Mmh, okay, sweetheart. See you then. I love you more.”

It kills him to leave. He does anyway… only after carefully tucking the covers back around her to replace how he moved them when he got up. The baby bag is slung over his shoulder, and he looks down at Ellis. “C’mon, wee lad. Let’s let y’r mama sleep ‘n’ we’ll go start our day. Get tae see all y’r aunts ‘n’ uncles.”

With that, he slips out the bedroom door and through the estate’s back exit, and he heads toward the fairground.

By the time he gets to the mess tent to grab a bite, the rest of the first-stringers are nearly done with breakfast. Thank God he gets to spend a short while with them before the hectic rush of the day sets in, or else he’s sure he’d never survive till afternoon. As soon as he sets the bag down and takes a seat, his free hand starts to dig in to the plate the others have fixed for him. “Mornin’, all. How’s ev’ryone doin’?”

As his family all mumble variations of, “Jus’ fine, not bad,” Freckles squeals and reaches over to take Ellis. “Aaaaah, y’ brought the baby!! Oiii, Ellis, sweet boy, c’mere ‘n’ spend some time with y’r Auntie Freckles while Papa eats!”

Sitting next to them, Wendy reaches over to ruffle Ellis’ little mop of auburn hair. “Joker, y’ gotta tell this kid t’ stop growin’. ‘e was jus’ a li’l, tiny thing, then we turn round ‘n’ ‘e’s gettin’ so big already.”

Peter beside her scoffs. “Oi, yeah, at this rate ‘e’s gonna end up taller’n us. Tell ‘im t’ cut it out; I don’t need someone thir’y years younger’n me towerin’ over me like some giant!”

“Aw, would y’ shut y’r yap? It’s big enough t’ make up f’r the rest’a y,” Freckles giggles, leaning down simply so Ellis can grab and play with their hair. “We should be ‘appy ‘e’s growin’! Look at ‘im, ‘e’s jus’ perfect.” When the baby coos and laughs at them, with a fistful of their hair in his hand, they look up at the ringleader almost pleadingly. “Oh, my God, Joker, I want one!!”

Joker has to pause to take a drink so he doesn’t choke on the last bite he took. God, they’re so funny… and yet, he knows they desperately want to start a family like he has. He almost feels bad that he ‘beat’ them to doing so. “Hah! Well, then, ye better find a beau an’ get busy, Doll, ‘cause that one’s mine!”

Dagger nudges Freckles in the ribs with his elbow. “Yeah, I think (Name) would ‘ave somethin’ t’ say ‘bout y’ takin’ ‘er baby!”

“Oh, yeah?” The fact that Ellis tugs on their hair apparently doesn’t dissuade them from wanting to keep him. They just grin bigger. “Bring ‘er ‘ere, I’ll fight ‘er! Winner takes ‘im!”

Everybody shares a laugh, and soon it tapers off into more subdued chatter as the meal is finished. It’s a welcome few moments before the day begins in full.

Joker lets Freckles keep holding the baby, making sure they’re fine to watch him for a few minutes as he makes his morning rounds. Of course, they don’t mind a bit. They’re probably disappointed they don’t get to spend more than a few minutes with him.

Things are always bustling in the morning, bright and full of activity when he walks around the tents. The second-stringers are heading to get breakfast now that the first-stringers are done, and the rest of his little family are practicing or getting ready to do so. He sees some of the newer members hurrying back from the mess tent, food in hand, to gather round Jumbo; as he often does during downtime, he’s started to play his harmonica.

Maybe he’s become soft, too soft, after Ellis’ birth, but Joker lets himself linger for a moment. He puts a hand on the newbies’ shoulders and sings along to the harmonica’s tune. Makes a few puns, gets a couple of laughs. Smiles at everyone. As much as he considers only the other first-stringers, his wife, and child his real family, he’s started to feel more and more like a father to the new members, especially the young ones.

After all, every single one of them was somebody’s child once. Don’t they all deserve to feel loved and protected like that?

His heart leaps into his throat when he thinks about his own baby. He remembers what he must have been thinking when he agreed to the Baron’s deal after Ellis was first born; Joker feels everything so intensely, just the hint of a future grief trying to raise his little boy without his wife was more than he could bear. Because Ellis is his, because (Name) is his, he can’t help but feel like they deserve all that love and protection more than anyone else.

Is he selfish for thinking that? Is he, or is that how everyone feels about their wives and children?

His voice trails off before he knows it, mind haunted by the shadow of future grief replaced by a future in which he’s eaten alive by guilt.

Soon enough, he disappears, shaken by his own thoughts, and collects his baby from Freckles. They give Ellis kisses on the head and pout when they have to relinquish him. The infant giggles in response; tugging a few strands of their hair in his little hand.

As Joker takes Ellis back against his own chest, he looks at Freckles. He hopes they get their own baby someday, someday soon if they meet the right person, and he prays they don’t make the same mistakes he’s made.

The day passes as normally as any day has passed by this point. Joker is sure it’s funny to watch him rehearsing whilst holding Ellis. Although he never moves around too much like this, it must be a sight to see him moving and pointing and gesturing with his bad arm with a baby nestled up in the crook of his good arm.

Not only that, Ellis makes all manner of little baby sounds. Which, while quite normal, are amusing additions to whatever Joker himself happens to be saying. In one breath he’s suggesting a change to the trapeze routine, and the next, Ellis is laughing at the sight of Peter missing his cue in such a way that his hat hits Wendy in the face. (Really. It’s entertaining in itself that not even a troupe full of troubled circus performers can resist laughing along after a baby starts to laugh. Even Peter and Wendy join in laughing.)

Despite the fact that his work is never really done, Joker has to leave shortly after they’ve all had tea. He’ll be back for the evening show, but now that Ellis has been fed, he’s been awake for long enough to start fussing because he’s sleepy. So it’s back to the Baron’s to put the baby down for a nap. Several hours of being fawned over and cooed at is tiring when you’re not very old, after all.

Besides… if Joker doesn’t go back for a short while, he won’t see (Name) again till he crawls into bed after midnight. He needs a few moments with her.

Thankfully, his darling wife is awake by afternoon. Even though she still gets tired easily, she’s usually regained some of her strength after being able to rest in the mornings. She’s not so weak anymore that just feeding the baby drains her, at least, and that means she’s in better spirits. Once Joker puts Ellis down, she’ll be able to stay up to watch him for the rest of the day.

Seeing her always perks him up. Just being able to kiss her and hold her in his arms for a couple of minutes is enough to get him through the rest of the day’s drudgery. Her smile, the sparkle of her eyes when she looks at him, the loving way she cradles Ellis before Joker sets him down in the crib… he still doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

Even though he wants to stay, he forces himself to slip out. One last kiss for his wife, one last kiss to the crown of his son’s head, and he has to head back to the fairground. If he doesn’t, he’ll just get greedy enough to not leave at all.

He’s at least resolved to get through the night once he returns to the circus. He keeps his memories close, and they drive him.

The show is a success. It always is. They all make sure to give the audience something spectacular to look at… and despite the fact that they’re certainly not getting rich, they manage to scrape by. They survive, they earn just enough so that no one has to go hungry. If nothing else, Joker can be proud of that.

Everyone is tired by the time night falls, but the first-stringers still have more to do. They all leave Snake to watch over everyone else, and they gather a short distance away from all the tents.

They all make their last adjustments — Freckles grumbling as they fidget with their parasol, Dagger trying to work out the kinks in his bad leg, Peter and Wendy quietly bickering in the affectionate way only siblings can. Joker’s almost unaware he’s been lost in thought until suddenly Beast is tightening his scarf like she thinks he’s about to catch his death of cold.

“Y’ need ta get some sleep,” she sighs.

He tilts his head, and he’s certain the smile he gives doesn’t meet his eyes. She can see right through it, at least. “Oi, I get ‘s much sleep as the rest’f ye lot.”

She scoffs. “No, y’ don’t. Ellis ain’t old enough t’ sleep through the night, which means you ain’t sleepin’ through the night. Y’re the only one’a us who’s got a baby. Wish y’d let (Name) come back ‘ere with ‘im. Maybe the two’a y’ might get some sleep if we take turns watchin’ ‘im at night.”

It’s painful for all of them. Beast feels guilty, too, he knows that; she also misses (Name)’s company. He knows everyone would be happier if she could have stayed here, especially after giving birth. Things just… didn’t work out that way. There would have been none of her staying here with how sick she got after Ellis was born. She might have died.

And now that she’s getting better… can he even bring her and Ellis back here? Everything is so different, so much worse.

“Soon,” he says softly, even though he’s not sure he means it. He gently brings Beast’s hand down, a silent reassurance that for right now, he’s fine. “She’s startin’ ta feel better… maybe she can come back soon.”

Beast huffs, and her eyes soften, and she shakes her head, and that’s the end of it. Distractions won’t serve them right now.

When they move into the streets, Joker notices that he still hesitates. Every move he and the others make, it puts him in physical pain. To do the things they’re doing, the things the Baron orders them to do… fuck. It makes him hate himself more than ever.

Least of all because if he doesn’t follow orders, then that’s it. His life is over.

If he talks back, if he shows regret, if he does anything that implies he’s questioning his ‘father’… then the Baron will cut off the medicine that’s been helping (Name) to recover. And he’s so done with Joker’s second guessing, he’s been threatening to pull out every little bit of security he’s affording the entire troupe.

If he doesn’t do these things that make him sick, his wife will die. His family will wither. Any chance at saving anything that’s meaningful to him disappears into thin air.

Once they’re all done for the night, once everyone else has returned to their tents, Joker has to stop on the way back to the Baron’s manor. He has to brace himself against a building and struggle to catch his breath.

He doesn’t know whether his body is trying to make him vomit or cry, but whichever it is, tears of strain and sorrow burst to life at the edges of his eyes regardless.

His throat is raw by the time his body decides to stop tormenting him. So his voice comes out raspy as he settles into bed, murmuring, “Jus’ me, darlin’,” when he puts his arms around (Name). He could barely look at Ellis upon walking into the room, his sweet baby fast asleep, after everything he’s done tonight.

He worries about both of them when he isn’t here. But they both seem alright, and his wife was just awake enough to be waiting for him. She rolls over to greet him, to kiss him goodnight, to snuggle in against his chest.

And he holds her, as tight as he possibly can without hurting her. Like she’s the one thing keeping his head above water.

He never sleeps well these days. He closes his eyes all the same, tired from the weight of this life he’s been living.

Tomorrow, he has to get up and do it all over again.

He knows he’s going to wake up more exhausted than he is falling asleep now.

His mind taunts him. How much longer can you keep all this up, Joker?

He doesn’t have an answer.

He just buries his face in (Name)’s neck, tells her one more time that he loves her, and lets sleep take him.

For the millionth time, he knows he will wake up to unanswered prayers.

At least, he thinks, he still has his family, his wife, and his child.

So for the millionth time, because of them, he prays anyway:

Please, God. Let things be better in the morning.

[esta-elavaris]

for the ship drabble challenge, number 10 and/or 13, I couldn't choose.

Also I adored catch the wind so much I loveeed their dynamic. I was looking for a movie to watch tonight and I had such trouble because all I could think was "I just want James and Theodora :( these romances don't compare"

Aaaa don't do this to me, my heart can't take it. Thank you! I know exactly how you feel though - I work on other WIPs now and I'm like "I just want them back, I want to write CTW all over again from the start, take me baaaack". It's why I have the little one-shot collection, it gives me an outlet, I'd be going through all five stages of mourning at once rn if I didn't have that. It's just a relief people aren't getting bored of them before I am at this rate lolol.

ANYWAY the prompt for no. 13 is below the cut -- "I'll do a paragraph or two!" turned into this I am very sorry 💀 I'll do no. 10 in a wee while but I just wanted to get this one up now so it's not a long wait for a response.

13 - "I tried but I can't forget"

James awoke in the dead of night with a start, coated in sweat and fighting to catch his breath, arms scrambling and legs kicking in an effort to tread non-existent water. Then he registered the walls of his bedchamber around him - and the woman sprawled atop the covers at his side, and he relaxed. Or at least, he tried to. 

“Y’alright?” Theodora’s voice was rough from sleep as she murmured to him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” his own betrayed how wide awake he now was. 

It was the heat, in all likelihood. This was the hottest summer they’d endured since returning to England, and sleep could only be found without a stitch on, atop the covers, with the windows as wide open as possible in hopes of enticing a stray breeze. It was bound to encourage memories of the Caribbean. 

“Bad dream?” 

Rolling from her front to her side, she blinked herself into wakefulness as he waited for his heartbeat to right itself.

“It matters not,” he shook his head.

There was no need for both of them to be stuck thinking about that night. But Theodora would not be cowed. 

“I get them, too,” she said “That the plan failed - or that it hasn’t happened yet, but it’s going to fail.” 

“In mine, you succeeded.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you but…”

“And that you did not live to see the results.”

Any trace of teasing slipped from her face “Ah.”

“Ah,” he echoed “I wake expecting this to all have been the dream, and that I’ll find myself back on the Empress, plotting how I might best exact my revenge, knowing that it will mean little in the end.” 

Sitting up so she could shift closer to him - despite how the unbearable heat had sent them to opposite ends of the bed during the night - she curled up against him, burrowing her face in the dip between his neck and shoulder, her bare form pressed against him, apparently uncaring that the nightmare had left him resembling a human furnace. James was glad for it, too, as the nearness offered him the rest of the reassurance he needed to calm himself - daft as it was.  

“It has a way of creeping up on you, doesn’t it?” she sighed quietly “I try to forget it, but I can’t.”

James pressed a kiss to the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her “I hope never to forget it. I hope never to take what you did - and what you were willing to do - that night for granted. If this is the cost of it, so be it.”

Splaying a hand flat atop his chest, she said the same thing she’d said the very next day after it had happened.

“I’d do it again. Every day. A hundred times over.”

“I know,” he breathed a tired, mostly humourless chuckle “And I know you too well to try and talk you out of it. But for the sake of my nerves I hope you never have to.”

[sunnyie-eve]

11 | Spelled

Series: No Prince Charming

Paring: Harry Hook x Original female character Princess!

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none

| MASTERLIST |

"Oh, no. Okay. Who got onto Jane's cake?" Carlos shouts at the other kids.

Bella tries to calm Carlos down about him worrying about the cake till they hear shouting outside and run out to see Audrey with the scepter and crown.

"Wow, my example to y'all was right." Bella turns to see Mal old.

In order to help Mal turn back onto her normal self they had to go to the Isle to get Hades ember. All Bella had to do was changer out of her skirt into pants Evie had made her that she's been meaning to give to her.

"Hey, I'm me again." Mal says as they arrive and Bella gets of Jay's bike.

"Duh. Evil magic doesn't work here. Kind of the point." Celia tells her leading the way to her dad.

Carlos turns on the tv to show that the man was talking about Audrey is behind the spell so they rush out to see Harry, Gil and others stealing their bikes.

"Long time nay see." Harry smiles.

"Get off my bike, Hook." Jay tells him.

"Catch me if you can, Jay." Harry takes off so they rush to stop them while Mal and Celia go to Hades.

The four end up losing them so they just met up with Mal once she was finished and they head back home just for Harry and Gil to jump through before the barrier closed.

"We made it, bro." They cheer.

"Hey, guys. We're just coming for a wee visit." Harry says so Carlos and Jay try to stop them.

"Stop it you guys." Bella tells them as Mal drops the ember and it goes towards the water but Uma shows up catching it before getting out of the water to join them on the bridge.

"Uma, you swam off and forgot all about us." Gil tells her as him and Harry join her side.

"Yeah. Planning her revenge, no doubt." Mal crosses her arms.

"It's not all about you, Mal. I was looking for a hike in the barrier to let everybody out. And you know what I found, boys. It's way better out there than we thought. There this thing that looks like a furry rock called a coconut. And fish so big you could dance on their backs. And they've been keeping it all for themselves."

"Uma, Mal kind of needs that to break a spell. Ben's ex, Audrey, sleeping beauty's daughter." Bella tells her.

"Mm. So the good guy is the bad guy?" Uma laughs, "Well, I might not give it back. Let's see what happens."

"Uma, it's not the time for games! People's lives are in danger!" Mal yells at her.

"Guarantee me that every single villain kid who wants to, can get off the Isle." Uma walks back some.

"I can't do that." Mal tells her.

"Can't do that... How about now?" Uma holds the ember over the water.

"Deal. Deal."

"Uma. Her word is good." Evie tells her while Bella looks at Mal knowing the truth.

"I'll still keep this, for the time being. Because of you think I trust you to save the world on your own, think again. This is a job for pirates."

"We can always go back to hating each other when this is over." Jay tells Mal so she agrees, "Where our bikes?" Jay turns to the guys.

"Oh, yeah. We crashed them." Gil smiles while Harry demonstrates it.

"Here's a thought. We could try to be friends. Put our history behind us and celebrate our differences. Yeah? Who wants gum?" Evie steps forward.

"Jay, the bridge, please." Bella tells him while Mal ans Uma bicker about who's in charge.

As they walk across the bridge, Harry grabs Bella's wrists as she walks in front of them pulling her back, "What happened to your visits?" He says making Mal look back at them.

"So you did go see Harry too on your trips to the Isle. You lied to me and Evie." Mal stops turning back.

Bella looks at Evie, "She lied to just you. I knew she saw Harry and Gil too on her trips." Evie comes clean.

"You lied to me too?"

"Can we talk about this later? We have Audrey to deal with right now." Bella tells Mal so they start to walk again.

Finally arriving they see everyone was asleep and couldn't contact anyone one. "So you hung out with Harry and Gil?" Uma stands next to Bella.

"Yeah, we got close. I wanted to get to know them more." She explains and sees Harry taking someone wallet, "Harry, no. We don't steal people's money here. Especially when they are under a spell." She takes the money out of his hand putting it back in the guy's wallet.

"You're no fun."

"Boohoo." She walks him to Uma and Gil.

Carlos comes across Dude who tells him what Audrey did to everyone either making them sleep or turn to stone.

Then Uma and Mal start to argue about where to check first and Bella gets annoyed, "How about I make the decision first since Ben is my brother and I want to check on him. So I beat you and you. Blood wins." Bella heads off for the castle so they all follow her.

Arriving at the castle they don't have much luck looking for Ben and end up in the knights room. "Okay, he's obviously not here." Bella looks around at the big empty room.

"You still have the ring." Harry picks up her hand making Jay eye the two.

"It was a gift, so yes." She take her hand back as they follow Mal and Uma to the dead end.

And since they were too busy arguing they didn't see the knight in front of them moving till Harry yelled at them.

"You like a Prince, Mal? How about a knight and shining armor? Or Knights." She makes all the knights come alive.

Watch your back, watch your back Watch your back, watch your back We can counter their attack Hit 'em 'til the armor cracks

"This could get a little sticky. How to win this battle could be tricky. But I know the best way, fall back, let me lead. You hold the line and we'll bring them to their knees." Uma tells everyone as they arm up.

"Swords in the air if you're with me. They got us outnumbered one to fifty. But victory is ours 'cause I got a strategy. You take the left and the rest of you can follow me. This is my crew." Mal tells Uma.

"This is my squad." They argue.

"This is my turf."

"Oh my gosh. Look, guys, we've got bigger fish to fry. Put your differences aside. Cause right now we're on the same side." Evie stops them.

Until the night falls, everyone We'll stay together 'til the battle is done Watch your back, watch your back Watch your back, watch your back We can counter their attack Hit 'em 'til the armor cracks Until the night falls, we're aligned It doesn't mean that we're on the same side Watch your back, watch your back Watch your back, watch your back Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast They're too heavy to react

"This situation's getting kinda heavy. Hold your weapons tight, keep 'em steady. Cause if we stick together, we can make it out alive. I'll cause a distraction, you attack them from the side." Mal gives instructions.

"All my soldiers stand at the ready. We can cut 'em up like confetti. We'll hit 'em from the front, you counter from behind. Don't forget the fate of Auradon's on the line." Uma adds.

This is all-out war, they got us outnumbered The way the swords clash is the sound of the thunder And we are not going under, we will never run for cover We battle for the victory and ride for each other

Until the night falls, everyone We'll stay together 'til the battle is done Back to back, back to back Back to back, back to back We can counter their attack Hit 'em 'til the armor cracks Until the night falls, we're aligned It doesn't mean that we're on the same side Back to back, back to back Back to back, back to back Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast They're too heavy to react

"Suit of armor strong and true. Make this metal bust a move!" Mal spells the knights.

Until the night falls, you can trust I'm gonna help you win this battle because I got your back, got your back Got your back, got your back All for one and that's a fact Knights fall, pitch black

[fairytimestudio]

Glassheart DEVLOG 2

8/6/2023

PROMOTION, MARKETING AND SOCIAL MEDIA

Lets start with the non-game related stuff...

In an attempt to get the word out about the game, I spent most of this week setting up my socials as well as putting up more content for the game. If you're interested in seeing more artwork related to the development of Glassheart and other stuff I work on in my down time you can find me on Instagram and Twitter.

Though with all the stuff that's going on on Twitter or X or whatever it's called nowadays I'm a wee bit reluctant to post anything there.

I also made a Linktree. Here she is:

Her name's Rita and she's a Leo.

ART

In terms of art I haven't got as much done this week. I did a bit more work on Anya's room and began solidifying the aesthetic I was going for. Basically each region of the world will have it's own sort of colour scheme and for Hedona that scheme is blue, pink, green and yellow (and some lavenders).

I want Hedona to feel dreamy and fairytale-like so I'm using a lot of pastels in the art. I also love how Anya's deep purples and blacks contrast with her bedroom and the rest of the cottage. It makes sense for a characterization. Speaking of Anya.

I also gave Anya a bit of a makeover from her first look. Due to her shifting role in the story I gave her a darker outfit with purple and black being the main colours and dark green and gold being an accent.

before, Anya was supposed to be you archetypical princess character. Kind, good-hearted, a little on the meek side but still had a rebellious streak to her. Think a Princess Aurora or Cinderella. But due to a drastic change to the stories themes her personality had to follow suit.

Instead she plays the role of the witch or evil stepsister within the narrative(or at least that's how she's perceived).

I also wanted to add some drama to her face so I gave her a bit more eyeshadow as well as some glitter. I wrestled with the glitter because I felt it might look out of place in a story but came to the realization that I don't care and I want everybody that where's makeup in the story to be well acquainted with glitter.

I also worked on the logo for FairyTime studio. The official logo is the second one though I might change it. We'll see.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Ianthe Rosingbird (@ianthefairytime)

And now onto the music!

MUSIC

So, I'm a solo dev. Let's remember that when we listen to some of the tracks I've come up with.

But seriously these are rough, basically just a few motifs and melodies to help guide me when I actually beginning making my songs but here they are.

I was inspired by again, golden age Disney music namely Once Upon a Dream and Snow White's Wishing Well song. That certainly isn't coming through now but I'm still in very early production with these pieces. I composed them with a music box instrument because it helps me focus on the melody and also I fucking love music boxes. My logo's actually based on a Polyphonic Music Box I fell in love with and just have to have one day.

Basically, I want the music to feel magical and nostalgic and I hope I'll be able to capture that when I actually start the composition.

WRITING

I've mainly been focusing on world building this week as well as determining the role that certain characters will play and the new Version of Glassheart.

Basically this story's gone through 3 phases and I'm currently trying to smoosh some other projects I was working on into this one but here's what I came up with.

Glassheart takes place in a country called Hedona at two opposing colleges seperated by a bridge:

The Garden of Crowns; The college Anya and the bulk of the cast attend and Wellwood's Cross; this is the opposing college that often times finds itself in competition with its neighbour. While the rivalry between these colleges can often seem light-hearted; there's real animosity between the two tribes especially fuelled by the adults.

This rivalry is further exasperated when Anya Torre, whose father is a well known alumni of the college, decides to offer her Blade to Bravis Swanthorn, a student of Wellwood's Cross and it's crowned champion in the sport of sword fighting.

She is branded as the Treacherous Blade and ousted from polite society with no one to defend her, not even her beloved half-sister, Beatrice Prine. She resigns herself to playing the role of a villainess and takes up refuge in Toad Cottage far off from the colleges and close to edge of the woods.

This is where the story begins to take off.

Now one thing that important to note about the world is the idea of Blades and their wielders. Essentially, a princess(which in this world refers to any young woman of a certain age) is able to draw a power out of her heart and manifest a blade that can be used in battle. Think Revolutionary Girl Utena.

There are two measures used to discern the strength of a blade: Sharpness - Which refers to how sharp and strong the blade is Lightness - Which refers to how light the blade is to hold.

The best blades are described as being "near-Glass" as no blade has ever managed to be fully classified as glass.

The elusive glass blade or Glassheart, is a blade so sharp and light that it has the power to tear through the fabric of reality and manifest the wielders thoughts and desires into existence. A power coveted by the Armed Guard; the protectors of Hedona; The Goddess Body; a group of outlaws that practice arts banned by the High Council of Alchemy and of course the Witches whose motives remain unknown.

I haven't yet began working on the metric to actually calculate all of this stuff but I think I'll have more to say about blades in a future DevLog.

The next DevLog will also feature some character descriptions just to get you acquainted with the main cast.

GAMEPLAY AND CODE

So for the coding aspect of the game I mainly focused on navigation. Basically the way the exploration works is that I've put some points in the shape of a box to indicate where the doors are. When the player hover's over that space fairy dust pours out of the wand to highlight that you're hovering over an interactable area. When you click this spot you're transported into a different room.

Different character's might be in different rooms so you'll be able to interact with them in the exploration phase in order to get relevant information.

Another thing I worked on was essentially just reducing the effects I was using in Gdevelop5. Basically when you use too many effects it can slow down the game down and while a visual novel isn't that resource intensive there was some lag in certain areas that I wanted to fix. I'm already using 3 effects to help sell the vintage look:

-Old Film to provide some noise -RGB Split for the slight chromatic aberration and -Blur(Kawase Fast) to make the art look less crisp

Too many effects as it is but totally worth it imo. But you can be the judge of that.

Outside of that I don't think there's much more I can say about the art or the game so I think I'll leave it there.

Thanks for reading all this and I hope you're having a wonderful day.

Ianthe

[inkofamethyst]

August 3, 2023

Now that I will be attending a school without regular free performing arts events from what I can tell (crying, screaming, throwing up), I'm going to need to budget for seeing performances. I can't just waltz into a free opera now because the tickets cost like seventy dollars, even through my uni's ""subsidized"" ticket page (wait I just checked the official venue website and they offer much cheaper student tickets lol). My mom gave me a budget template that I'm going to try to use for the next few months. I'm considering eventually coding a version of it in Notion, but that might make it harder to have a backup if I ever decide to drop Notion.

hhhhhhh I mean at least I'll get Adobe for free for a few more years (I am not good at using Adobe and find the learning curve incredibly steep but I do like getting expensive things for free).

Not to sound like a millennial, but adulting does suck. Like actually. For example. I love the idea of insurance. Finding an insurance provider though sounds like the most boring thing ever. And that's not even the worst of it. I have to find a primary care provider. And potentially a therapist. And (good) therapy ain't cheap. I liked it when I was cosplaying as an adult right down the road from home.

I went to see Barbie today!!!! I really enjoyed it :D It was super goofy, super silly, and then it did get rather serious and heartfelt. I also wore the peachy-pink dress I had nearly finished a few months ago (adding ties in the back to make the waist a wee more fitted was really the main fix), and the first person I spoke to while wearing it told me how cute they thought it was and of course I had to excitedly tell them that I'd finished it that morning. I mean I felt cute beforehand but that put me over the top fr. It's not perfect by any means, but I made it, it's mine, and from far enough away it's really super cute! Definitely a make I'll be taking with me despite the fact that the fabric wrinkles like that's its full time job. So goes rayon, I guess. Anyway it was really fun walking into the theater surrounded by other women and girls who were also wearing pink. As someone who doesn't wear pink ever, it felt weirdly empowering. Maybe because we were united in obnoxious femininity, and that togetherness was strength, of a sort. Well, whatever I was feeling and whyever I was feeling it, I dig it.

Today I'm thankful that my grad school orientation is online lol. Part of me was hoping for an in-person multi-day undergrad-like orientation event, but I suppose I don't really need that. I know, generally, how school works, and this one can't be all that much different. Besides, there's more flexibility this way.

[lolainslackss]

Could you do number 13 for the winter prompts? For Andreil?

a couple of people asked for this one!

13. my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry

Andrew’s lying on his bed, half-asleep, when Aaron knocks on the door and lets himself in. The smell of the Christmas dinner Nicky and Erik are preparing wafts in after him: roast turkey, buttery potatoes, and the spicy hint of pumpkin pie. Aaron sits down on his own bed, which is across from Andrew’s, and clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says. “Remember how I invited someone over for Christmas dinner? Um, that guy Neil?”

“Your sad friend from the Christmas tree farm?” Andrew replies, regarding him out of one open eye. “Yes, you already said.”

Aaron always worked at the tree farm over the holidays to earn some extra cash. He put most of it towards buying Katelyn these ludicrously extravagant presents - a complete waste in Andrew’s opinion. This year, he’d become chummy with some other guy who worked there hauling Christmas trees around. This Neil guy apparently had nowhere to go for the holidays, so was clearly some kind of walking tragedy. Aaron had told him and Nicky the whole sob story a couple of weeks ago before asking them if it was okay to invite Neil to dinner. Nicky had called Aaron the kindest boy in the world. Andrew did too, but in a more mocking tone.

“Well, I was thinking,” Aaron goes on, fiddling with his comforter, “you know how it’s going to be like, me and Katelyn, and Nicky and Erik?”

“Uh-huh,” Andrew replies, bored of the conversation.

“And how Kevin’s bringing Thea?” Aaron continues, making eye contact with the ground. “And how Renee’s coming with Allison?”

“Are you going to make some kind of point any time soon?” Andrew asks, a creeping feeling of apprehension worming its way through his gut.

“I kind of, sort of, asked Neil to come because I thought he might be a good um, match,” Aaron says rapidly. “You know, for you.”

“A good match. For me,” Andrew repeats, sitting up and twirling round on his knees to face Aaron. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I think you two could really hit it off. If you know what I mean?”

“I thought you invited him because he’s very unfortunate.”

“Yeah, that was part of the reason,” Aaron explains, looking defensive. “The other part is because I think that he’s, well, your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Andrew snarls, “and if I did, you would be the last to know about it.”

Aaron mirrors his glare for a second before frowning and looking down at the floor. He looks disappointed almost, like he was so sure he was being a brilliant brother. So sure he was doing Andrew a favour. Andrew hates him a little bit for it.

“Is he even gay?” Andrew finds himself asking.

“Um- I think so?” Aaron says, extremely uncertainly. “He has like, a vibe?”

“A vibe?” Andrew parrots blankly. “Stop pretending you have anything resembling a gaydar. Remember that you needed me to literally spell it out for you and you’ve known me since day fucking one.”

“You could just ask him,” Aaron says, shrugging. “When he gets here.”

“Maybe you should have made things clear before you invited him over here to go on some fucking blind date with me.”

“Well, he doesn’t know it’s a blind date.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“He just thinks he’s coming over for dinner.”

“I cannot believe I share DNA with you.”

“Well, he’s coming. I’m sorry,” Aaron says, holding his hands up in surrender. “We can drop the whole blind date thing, alright? Just dinner, okay?”

Andrew nods, but in hindsight, he should have made Aaron pinkie promise, because as soon as Neil Josten is ushered through their door twenty minutes later, Aaron is shoving him in the seat next to Andrew’s.

“So, this is Andrew,” Aaron says, putting his hands on Neil’s shoulders and holding him in place. “You’re going to sit next to him, okay?”

Andrew glares at Aaron over the top of Neil’s head, but his twin just pointedly raises his eyebrows before spinning on his heel and scooting through to the kitchen under the pretence of ‘helping out’. As if Aaron is any use in the kitchen.

Neil mutters something like ‘thanks for having me’, which Andrew returns with a miniscule shrug, before the room goes completely silent. It’s like, church silent. Andrew inspects his cutlery for water marks so he has something to do. After that, he unfolds and refolds his napkin. Finally, there’s nothing else to do but fucking look at Neil Josten. He turns his head fractionally to the side and sneakily slides his gaze in the guy’s direction.

He’s a little taller than himself. He’s quiet, apparently content to sit in the most painfully awkward silence that there ever was, but there’s also a sliver of tension in his body language that indicates he’s not one hundred percent comfortable with the situation. As Andrew watches him, Neil looks around the room, taking in every detail. He’s attractive, Andrew can admit that. His clothes (grey hoodie, unironed slacks) are terrible, but he has a nice face. Winter blue, Andrew thinks, rather stupidly, when Neil finally turns and their eyes properly meet for the first time.

Neil smiles awkwardly at him. The smile creates a tiny star of a dimple in his left cheek. Below it, Andrew notices some pale, silvery scarring.

“I hate small talk, just so you know,” Andrew tells him, looking away.

“Okay,” Neil says. “No small talk.”

The doorbell rings, and Andrew gets out of his seat and hurries to the door. As he does so, he wonders if Neil has figured out the whole thing’s a set-up yet, and if he has, what his opinion on that is. He also wonders if his brain will ever stop thinking useless thoughts.

He opens the door and Renee and Allison make their way inside, undoing their matching puffy jackets and unwinding their scarves as they do so.

“Save me,” Andrew mutters darkly into Renee’s ear as she pulls him in for a hug.

“What?” Renee asks.

“Aaron has brought this guy,” he says under his breath, jerking his head in the direction of the table. “It’s a set-up. A pretty obvious one, really.”

Renee’s brow creases as she watches Neil sitting placidly with his hands in his lap. “Does he know?”

Andrew shrugs.

“Do you want him to know?” Allison chimes in, grinning slyly. “He’s pretty.”

“Keep your voice down,” Andrew bites out, causing Neil to look at all three of them.

“Neil, hello!” Allison calls over, striding across the room to shake his hand. “We’ve heard so much about you-”

As Andrew and Renee stand by the door to watch Allison attempt to charm Neil, the doorbell jingles again.

Andrew lets Kevin and Thea inside and shoots Renee a look. She gets the message and guides them to the table. Andrew busies himself with hanging the coats and scarves and tries to think of what his next move is going to be. When they’re all sat around the table, paired off, eating dinner, it’s going to be even more obvious Aaron intended for him and Neil to be an item for the evening. The problem is that he can’t really tell if Neil’s into it. He can’t really tell if he’s into it. He’s never had a blind date before. He’s never even had a date before. Jerking off Roland in the backseat of his car doesn’t count, he knows that. What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say?

The doorbell pipes up again and he silently lets Katelyn come inside. He ignores her cheerful babbling and stuffs her coat on the rack next to Renee’s. Annoyingly, she was the last person to arrive which means he can’t even waste any more time lurking by the door like some weird butler.

He walks back to the table and returns to his seat next to Neil.

“Your friends are nice,” Neil says, nudging Andrew’s elbow with his own.

“They’re not my friends,” Andrew mumbles, ignoring the flush warmth of Neil’s skin. “And we said no small talk.”

“Sorry,” Neil says exaggeratedly. “Do you want to talk about moral philosophy or something instead?”

Andrew narrows his eyes at him. Was that flirting? Flirting about ethics? Is that something people do?

Before he can respond, Nicky kicks open the door and he, Erik and Aaron parade inside the room holding overflowing platters of food. It takes them several trips to carry all the food through to the table. By the time the turkey is plonked down in front of him, Andrew can sense all eyes are on him. Everyone is so nosy; Nicky should have served popcorn instead. Andrew carves his veggies into confetti, hating everyone.

“What happened there?” Allison asks bluntly, waving her fork just under her eye. It’s the same spot where Neil’s scars lie.

“Got into a fight with a Christmas tree,” Neil answers, deadpan.

Allison laughs loudly and Andrew sips his wine to hide his smirk.

“It’s true,” Aaron says. “I saw it. Very violent.”

“I thought I knew you from somewhere,” Kevin barks triumphantly, slamming his fist on the table like he’s some sort of drunken pirate in a tavern. “Thea - this guy helped us pick out our tree last week.”

“And now he’s dating Andrew?” Thea asks, confused.

“What?” Neil asks, mercifully hard of hearing all of a sudden.

“Nothing,” Aaron says. “Who wants dessert?”

Andrew raises his hand and then gulps down a generous swig of wine for posterity. He’s sure this dinner is going to be his legitimate cause of death.

Conversation messily nosedives into drinking games over dessert, and by the time everyone’s plates are empty, the majority of the dinner guests are mildly tipsy. Because Andrew’s life is just one misfortune stacked on top of another, he loses one of the convoluted games and has to clean the dishes as a forfeit.

“Neil will help you,” Renee says sweetly as she passes him her plate.

Traitor, he mouths at her, to which she just shrugs and sips her peppermint tea.

Aaron stacks up the remainder of the plates and unloads them into Neil’s arms and then they’re both being shooed into the kitchen. Aaron even closes the door. Andrew swears if there were a lock, they’d be barricaded inside until they kissed as if it were fucking seven minutes in heaven or something. He dumps the dirty dishes into the foamy water and starts scrubbing them. He feels stuffed, vaguely horny and not even remotely tipsy.

He passes Neil a clean wet plate.

“So, this is a set-up, right?” Neil asks, drying it.

“Yes,” Andrew admits, shoving a roasting tray down to the bottom of the sink to soak.

“Aaron didn’t tell me,” Neil says, sighing as he stacks the dry plates on top of each other. “I wonder why he thought-?”

“He thought you were ‘my type’,” Andrew explains.

“Am I?” Neil asks.

“I don’t have a type,” Andrew chooses to say, otherwise thinking, fuck yes.

“Was this weird for you?” Neil asks.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Andrew says, shrugging. “You?”

“It’s kind of difficult to have a supposed ‘first date’ with someone when all their family and friends are present.”

You’ve hit the nail on the head, Andrew thinks. He pulls the plug, swivels round and leans against the counter. His marigold gloves drip plump drops of water onto the tiles. Neil’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a spattering of brown freckles. He catches Andrew staring and grins and it lights up the room like a fucking Christmas tree. What a missed opportunity, Andrew thinks bitterly.

“Why don’t we try again?” Neil asks.

“What, like a proper date?” Andrew says, suppressing the urge to scoff. “Roses and candles?”

“No roses or candles,” Neil replies, shaking his head. “No small talk.”

“No meddling friends and family,” Andrew adds.

“Sounds good,” Neil says, reaching out to brush a rogue soap sud from Andrew’s cheek.

“Okay, then,” Andrew says, making a mental note to get Aaron something half-decent for Christmas. “It’s a date.”

[lizisshortforlizard]

Living Dangerously - Chapter 23

Jurassic Park’s animal handlers: none of them ever mentioned by name in Michael Crichton’s original novel. Who were they? What were their lives like on Isla Nublar? Did any of them survive the disaster?

A year in the life of those responsible for the care of the dinosaurs. Many people would kill to have their jobs.

But would they die for it?

Jurassic Park novel/Jurassic Park film (1993)

Viewpoint: 3rd person female oc

Wordcount: 70.7k (23 Chapters) [incomplete]

Warnings: dinosaur attack/car crash, brief mention of parental abuse, alcoholism, f-bombs and other bad language

Tagging: @heresthefanfiction @ocappreciation @arrthurpendragon @howlingmadlady @wordspin-shares @starryeyes2000 ( @themaradaniels are you interested? Totally fine if not!)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 22 | Chapter 24

Owner of a Lonely Heart - Yes

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes." A blatant lie. How could she be? Her heart was broken. Lizzy blinked wearily, her eyes were puffy and sore from crying most of the night. She was running on empty. "Are you? When was the last time you had a day off?"

"I honestly don't remember." Muldoon answered after thinking for a moment. "Every time I have a day off something bad happens. Usually involving you. Now, Sorna."

He explained the situation to her, in full. Site B was experiencing behavioural problems with a new species, someone had gotten an involuntary dactylectomy, could the resident ethologist arrange a visit to work it out?

”Did they take?” Lizzy asked.

”Take what?”

”Dr Ruso’s fingers, did they take? Is she alright?”

“The raptor ate them.”

”Oh, bugger.” Lizzy went faintly green, not helped by her excessive caffeine intake that morning. “Down in one or did she chew them first? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“The wording in the report is ‘consumed’, I believe.”

“Outstanding. This wee troublemaker does sound interesting." Lizzy admitted. "Even though I much prefer herbivores. Why can't the baby come here? You know I hate flying?”

"Like I told Baker, the paddock isn't ready."

"So she doesn't go in the paddock, right?"

“I draw the line at you keeping a dinosaur in your room, Armstrong.”

”Not my room!” She scoffed. “…Kathy’s room.”

”They won’t send the damn thing here without an action plan. And I want you prepared if and when you fly over. So, any ideas?”

"I'm a bit stumped." Lizzy admitted. She was so tired and scrambled she just couldn't think. "But I know someone who might be helpful. Someone who thinks outside the box. You won't like it.”

”Why not?”

”Because you already know her too.”

***

“You ring h-“

“No, you ring her.” Muldoon frowned at Lizzy. They were both sitting on couches in front of the phone in Hammond's bungalow. John-dear-call-me-John was back on the mainland, so they’d commandeered somewhere more private for the top-secret matter, where they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. “She doesn’t like me.”

“And she likes me even less. The feeling’s mutual. Do it.”

“Gerry could-“

“This isn’t a family reunion. Go on, pretend she’s your best mate."

"Oh, no bother! While I'm at it I'll see if I can fake a Scottish accent too!” Lizzy pulled a face at him but sighed in resignation and dialled the number of Dr Sarah Harding’s last known whereabouts.

“Put her on speaker.” Muldoon insisted.

“Why?”

“I want to know if she's being uncooperative.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. Bullshit, you just want to know if she calls you names.

It took so long for Sarah's team member in Kenya to track her down that they started to wonder if she was keeping Lizzy waiting on purpose as a power move.

“Well, well, well. Lizzy Armstrong.” Dr Harding the Younger did not sound at all pleased, when she eventually deigned to answer the phone. “What has it been, three years we’ve managed to avoid each other?”

Lizzy laughed, trying to sound brave and not at all like she was going through a break-up. “Hey, Sarah-“

“What’s Costa Rica like? Loud, I imagine.”

“Oh-“ The insult wasn’t lost on her. “It’s great. Just great.”

“How’s Dad?” Sarah asked in her West Coast drawl.

“A flirtatious nightmare.”

“Sounds about right.” She replied dryly. "Hey, don’t fall for it, okay? I’ve already had one stepmom. Though I should let you know, he prefers blondes."

Get to the point Muldoon mouthed at Lizzy.

"Listen, I need a favour."

“You need a favour?” Sarah mimicked her voice. “You want my advice? Why is that?”

“Got a Carnivore problem. I’m Herbivores. Always have been."

“Not everyone on that island is." She said accusingly. "Are you telling me that Robert Muldoon is clueless too?”

“I will go back to Kenya-“ Muldoon said quietly. “And I will throttle her.”

“I heard that.” Sarah crowed triumphantly. “He’s there, isn’t he? Hi, Robert!"

"Just answer her questions, Harding."

"Aw, you're getting mad at me already, this is like old times!”

“What happened between you two?” Lizzy whispered, how had she ended up in the middle of an international argument?

“Hurry up, this is costing money.” Muldoon dodged the question. “Get it out of her somehow, threats, blackmail, talk her to death-"

"Right. Sarah, someone had their fingers bitten off."

"Then just euthanise the damn thing and be done. You're working with zoo animals now, Lizzy, get used to it. At least if you’re chomped, you already have a lawyer.”

The sharp ache in her chest took her by surprise. Not anymore she didn’t.

"No, listen-” Lizzy felt she was about to snap any moment, which her fellow ethologist would simply revel in.

“Sarah…” Muldoon warned.

“First name? Shit! You are annoyed.” She chortled. “Okay, fine, I’ll cut the bull. Shoot.”

“The woman who lost her fingers, she maintains the animal tricked her. It's showing unprecedented intelligence. More than they anticipated. They-“ Lizzy hummed, then decided to trust Sarah with more information, even if it made InGen look bad. She had to give if she wanted to get. “They can’t manage it. And we can’t euthanise either. Not an option-“

“Right, I’m going to stop you there.” Sarah interrupted. “I don’t even want to know what kind of science experiment Dad’s fallen into over there, God knows John Hammond's a tricky devil, but you gotta nip that in the bud.”

“Why, what is it?”

“It’s dominance hierarchy.” Sarah Harding announced, as if it were obvious. “Dominance gone way too far.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, this is a female.” Lizzy countered. Females normally didn't have the hormone levels which led to aggression of this scale.

“Female raptors-“ Sarah started.

“Raptors?!” Lizzy squeaked. How did she know?!

“-as in a bird of prey; what did you think I meant, doofus?” She could hear the disapproval positively dripping from her tone, all the way from Kenya. "Female raptors are the most dominant sex. And usually bigger than the males. Ha, lucky for some.”

”But it can’t be, she hasn’t anyone to be dominant over!”

”Except her handlers. And there aren’t any males at all, so…” Muldoon shrugged. “I suppose Harding might be correct.”

“Do you think-“ Lizzy started, then stopped, shaking her head. It seemed pretty far-fetched.

It was known that reptile embryos could change sex while still in the egg, depending on the temperature of the outside environment on the other side of the shell. The difference between male and female was less than a few degrees Celsius. Furthermore, Lizzy had a fact niggling at the edge of her thoughts, just out of grasp. Something about adult females of certain species being able to change sex in the absence of males. Was it fish? Or maybe amphibians?

Could dinosaurs change their sex in response to either temperature or an uneven breeding ratio?

Increased testosterone would explain some of the baby raptor’s aggression.

Were the embryologists, was Dr Wu really positive beyond doubt that the infant was female? Had anyone actually checked? But these animals were custom-designed in a lab, with all their genes carefully selected, so realistically, what were the chances?

Sarah spoke again, distracting Lizzy, and the thought was simply gone from her foggy brain, messed up from lack of sleep and heartache.

“Uhhh, still here, losers. But your reaction when I said raptor made me guess this is a bird species you’re talking about. Maybe a super-rare one. I’ll get it out of Dad somehow, even if you won’t tell me.”

Close, but no cigar, Sarah.

”Let me guess, captive-bred? Single infant to survive past hatching? Spoiled only child syndrome?” Sarah kept questioning.

”Correct on all counts.” Lizzy confirmed.

“Hmm. Has it imprinted?”

"Huh?"

"Im-print-ed." Sarah spelled it out. "It’s a bird. Don’t make me spell it out here, Lizzy."

"Hang up." Muldoon told Lizzy. "No more details."

"No, no, no, c'mon-"

Lizzy panicked and slammed the phone down with a quick bye Sarah, thanks!

"Interesting input. Even for her.”

“Oh, she is very good. It’s infuriating.” Lizzy wondered if her fourth cup of coffee in two hours was overkill. So tired.

"Your first idea paid off, so what's the next one?"

“I need to talk to Isaac.” Lizzy decided. “About this raptor behaviour, and imprinting. He's our resident bird guy.”

”Too many people know about this already. We probably should have gotten Harding to agree to an NDA.”

”Take too long. I’ll tell Isaac as little as possible. Casually drop it into the conversation. Oh-“ Lizzy snapped her fingers. “Larry worked with herps. Back in Oz. I could speak to him, too.”

He was such a fountain of knowledge on reptiles, Lizzy hadn’t been able to resist calling him Crocodile O’Reilly.

“Harris first. One at a time. I’ll leave it with you.” Armstrong looked better now, he thought. She'd started in Hammond's bungalow paler than usual and subdued, but arguing with Harding about behaviour had brought a bit of colour back into her cheeks.

Good.

Their radios crackled, echoing through the empty rooms.

“Robert, are you around, over?” Richardson sounded anxious. "That depends." Was the answer.

“Got a slight issue in the Triceratops paddock that requires your…considerable expertise.”

“What now?”

“Trikes charged Harding’s Jeep. He and Julian are stranded in the paddock, no radios. Could you, eh- could you go in there and rescue them?”

"Oh, right enough, look." Lizzy stared and pointed at one of the video monitors in Hammond's living room, displaying an overturned Jeep in the middle distance.

“Do it yourself, bloody prat.” Muldoon muttered under his breath, before replying to Richardson with something much less insulting, then to Lizzy. "Why is it my job to fix everything?"

"Maybe stop being so good at it?" Lizzy shrugged as she grabbed her water bottle, assuming she'd be tagging along to lend a hand.

"Well, congratulations, Armstrong. For once, it’s not you causing mayhem.”

Lizzy groaned as she followed him out of the bungalow. “They better be okay. I really, really don’t want to phone Sarah twice in one day, 'specially not to tell her that Gerry’s been gored by a Triceratops!”

***

Tom cornered them as they were quickly loading the tranquiliser guns into the Jeep before heading out on the rescue mission.

“Where have you two been?” He looked them up and down suspiciously. "Kathy put me with Liz again today, but I haven't been able to find her for ages."

“Obviously weren't trying hard enough.” Muldoon looked less than thrilled. "You're coming too, then?"

“We’re the only others that can fire these dang things, since your Team Leader refuses to learn how to use one.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Lizzy muttered. She’d done her best to persuade Kathy to take a few practice shots as a bare minimum, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Guns were dangerous. And that was that, as far as the pacifist from Minnesota was concerned. "Oi, get in the back, you."

Tom narrowed his eyes but didn't argue. Time was wasting.

"Got any guesses why the Triceratops have taken such an intense dislike to our park transport?" Muldoon asked as they gunned it down the maintenance road to the paddock. “They’ve been fine until now.”

Tom yelled up front to them. ”Travis said they mixed in two juveniles a few days ago. There’s eight in the group now. Told me they got protective of the kids. Made a ring around them pointing outwards.”

”Like-" Lizzy started.

"Elephants." Muldoon finished for her. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

"How fast do these go?" Lizzy asked, tapping the Jeep door beside her.

"Probably not fast enough. Fast costs extra around here." Muldoon reminded her of Hammond's rather ironic go-to phrase.

"Oh." She replied with little humour. "Oh, wonderful."

***

"This way seems really stupid." Lizzy protested.

"Oh, I agree. But this is the way I've been told to go about it, since I'm not in charge of this species, he is. You two can still leave if you want to." Muldoon said dully as Richardson opened the paddock gates for them.

Lizzy and Tom looked at each other, but neither of them moved a muscle. They knew the risk but neither of them were willing to let Muldoon go it alone. It was madness but they had no other choice if they wanted Gerry and Julian out of the paddock any time soon. Help was a long way away.  

"Seatbelts off, then."

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Just have a feeling. If they attempt to flip us..."

Better if you're able to get out of the way sharpish. Lizzy knew the end of that sentence. There was a reason you never bothered with a seatbelt in safari vehicles.

Kathy's quiet voice addressed them over the radio as they proceeded through the gates.

"Muldoon, I don't suppose-"

"Yes, she's with me."

"Oh, balls. Of course she is!" Kathy very nearly swore. "Bring her back in one piece, or don't bother coming home, over."

"What about me?" Tom grumbled.

Some distance downhill, the trikes had gathered around their watering hole towards the rear of their enclosure. Destroying InGen property was apparently thirsty work. Lizzy grabbed the binoculars out of the glovebox and counted. Sure enough, six adults, one significantly larger than the others, and two little ones in the middle. All accounted for.

"We still haven't had any radio contact from Yamada and Harding, either their handsets are smashed, thrown on the ground, or still in the Jeep I suppose, but I'm fairly optimistic-"

"Ha!" Lizzy's laugh escaped before she could stop it.

Muldoon gave her a sharp look. "-fairly hopeful, they've made for those trees over to the right. Bit cramped for the adults to get in amongst them. Kennedy-"

"Way ahead of you, boss." Tom was loading up, checking the sights, ready to discourage any dinosaurs from approaching them.

"How's your aim?" Lizzy asked. She'd heard 'pretty darn good' but not seen for herself so far.

“Listen here. I can hit a playing card side-on from fifty feet."

"Fortunately, trikes are quite a lot bigger than playing cards." She couldn't help teasing him.

"Shut up."

"Quiet, you two." Muldoon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Let's get closer to the trees, it's our best bet. Harding and Yamada can run to join us, before the herd gets suspicious.”

”And then we make our way out slow and steady so as not to piss them off again?”

”That’s the idea.”

They trundled closer, but their destination was still a good half kilometer away. As she got a better look into the dip of the land where the water was situated, Lizzy spotted the wreck of the other Jeep.

"Oh, shit." She whispered. "They've really gone to town on that."

"See anything else?" Muldoon asked. Any bodies? was what he meant.

"Nope. No sign. I'll keep an eye on the herd until we reach the trees." Lizzy confirmed.

They were halfway there when through the lens she noticed the larger trike raise her head at the sound of the Jeep rumbling closer. The dinosaur’s frame visibly stiffened, and Lizzy swore she saw the nostrils flare as the frilled head sway slightly back and forth. They were upwind from the herd, the dinosaur could smell them and her body language meant only one outcome. Lizzy had spent enough time in Africa to know what was about to happen.

"She's going to charge." She warned.

Muldoon instantly hit the brakes and cut the engine in one movement. "Are you sure?"

The next few seconds were critical.

Lizzy didn't dare blink, holding her breath. Nothing else happened, and for a moment, she thought they might have gotten away with it.

Then the big trike tossed her head and snorted angrily, moving forwards in their direction. First at a slow amble, then quickly switching to the deliberate trot of a bull elephant who was going to teach you a lesson for daring to trespass on his land.

"Definitely charging!" Lizzy threw the binoculars on the floor and looked for something to hold on to. "Move!"

She was thrown back against her seat by how quickly Muldoon got the Jeep going again, bouncing over the uneven ground.

Have to get the trees between us and her. Circling back to the gate will take too long.

"I can take her down." Tom matter-of-factly said and got ready to stand up in the back of the moving Jeep.

"Too late for that." Lizzy yelled back at him. "She's mad. It'll make things worse."

If Triceratops were anything like their modern-day counterpart, the rhinoceros, attempting to tranquillise could just fuel them with more rage before they finally collapsed. And it was unlikely the dose Tom was using would be big enough to drop her. The trike was simply too angry. But she could do a lot of damage with a few extra seconds of berserker-mode. Shooting at her now could cost lives.

God, she moves quick. Lizzy felt her stomach rising into her throat when she realised they might not make it to the trees in time. It occurred to her that nobody on the island had seen the trikes at full speed before. It was just assumed they weren't fast enough to be that dangerous. Then again, hippos didn't look like they were built for speed either, they were soft wobbly herbivores. But they were one of the most deadly animals on the African continent.

"Uh, you might want to step on it, boss." Tom was rapidly losing his cool.

"Good, because I've been watching my speed until you said something!"

The trike disappeared from view as she pursued them up the hill, and in a way that was worse, not knowing where she had gone. Wondering if she had given up or would suddenly appear ahead of them, cutting them off.

Then the head frill, followed by the rest of the dinosaur appeared, now at an angle, side-on to the Jeep instead of behind them. The hill hadn’t slowed her down at all.

Muldoon knew it was far too late to change direction, he'd end up wrapping the Jeep around a tree trunk. But she was headed straight for intercepting the passenger side, where Lizzy was sitting.

"Guys, guys, guys, watch out-" Arnold's voice reached them over the radio, for once sounding alarmed, along with him was Kathy's desperate cry of do something, Ray!

The Jeep was trapped between the dinosaur and the trees, but the trunks were too close together, too sharp an angle for the vehicle to fit through to safety. And slowing down was not an option.

They could only hope to outrun her, but she was close now, alarmingly close.

Time ground to a standstill in the few moments before the crash. Lizzy saw the lumbering shoulder of the Triceratops in slow-motion headed straight for a collision course with the flimsy metal door beside her. She could see every detail of the dinosaur's skin, dusted with red river-mud, before-

“Liz, move!” Tom yelled at her.

“Oh, shi-“ She leaned away, scrabbling at her seat, but it was too late. The Triceratops tossed it’s head and-

BANG

A hellish screech of dinosaur horn on metal and the whole Jeep rocked, the horizon skewed sickeningly and vertigo rushed in as their ears popped from the impact.

…

Lizzy blinked and shook her head, registering there was broken glass everywhere, all over the Jeep floor and the dashboard, in her hair. The windscreen was completely gone. She wasn’t on the passenger seat anymore, and the space where her thigh had been, moments ago, was now occupied by the crumpled-in door. She hadn't hit her head and blacked out, but she appeared to have teleported two feet to the right.

Her legs were still hanging over the central console, miraculously unharmed. And the rest of her body was wedged between the steering wheel and Muldoon. They'd been spun around by the impact and were facing into the trees, low branches poking through the non-existent windshield.

“Come in guys, come in, aw jeez, aw shit-“ Arnold’s voice jolted them back to reality. Still alive. Still on Nublar.

"Are you two alright?"

Tom managed a shaky Jesus H. Christ from behind them. He’d scooted to the driver’s side in the nick of time, grabbing hold of a seatbelt and pulling himself.

Good thing we didn’t have our seatbelts on.

Lizzy quickly took stock, she could thankfully move all her limbs. Everything important was where it was meant to be. "Think so." She pointed at the branches in front of them. " Hey look, we made it.”

“Get back with Kennedy, can’t bloody move.”

Tom reached over, grabbing Lizzy around her waist and yanking her into the back seat. They huddled together, the rear passenger side had also taken a thrashing and was practically concave, half as long as it was before.

“Just a scrape, I think. As long as the wheel arch isn't knackered…” Muldoon was muttering.

“Just a scrape?” Lizzy was incredulous. “You call that a scrape?!”

"Sshh, quit yelling." Tom elbowed her. Her ears hadn't popped back yet. "Goddamn, where'd she go, anyway"

All three of them searched, looking around the paddock frantically for the dinosaur.

But the big trike seemed satisfied by their lack of movement, deeming the Jeep no longer posed a threat. She was trotting off jauntily back to her herd, grunting as she went.

"So how do we get out of here now, hm?" Lizzy asked. "Two Jeeps and five people down. Think Richardson will give it a try next?”

”Not bloody likely.”

“You folks okay down there?” Came a faint yell from somewhere above them. The West Coast drawl of Gerry Harding, thankfully alive.

"Armstrong?" Muldoon turned around.  "Do me a favour and put that ridiculously loud voice of yours to good use."

Lizzy yelled for Gerry and Julian to come and join them. Now.

After a moment there was rustling and thumping from a short distance away and both men dropped to the ground from where they’d been perching in the trees waiting for rescue.

“Hold on, make sure I can turn the damn thing first, or it might be a sprint back to the gate after all.”

Lizzy recalled the mistake she’d made of walking through a field of cows on a school trip. Most of them had calves, she and her friends had feared for their lives and ended up throwing themselves over the gate at the other side. But getting out of the trike paddock could be so much worse.

The Jeep reversed and then limped around in a large circle, making an ominous crunching noise every few seconds.

Lizzy leaned over. “Are you sure we shouldn’t walk? They clearly don’t like the Jeeps anymore.”

”Oh, undoubtedly. But it’s not you that gets a bollocking for losing two Jeeps in one day. Richardson will find a way to blame me for the other one, somehow."

"But - he's the one that told you..." Lizzy pointed out.

"Yes, I know. Everybody in."

“In where?” Harding complained. “You’re missing half your seats, Muldoon.” “Hang off the back.” Tom said, helping Julian up and keeping hold of his arm. “Hitch a ride, boys."

"For Christ's sake..." Harding muttered.

"C'mon Gerry, hurry up!" Lizzy tried to move things along.

"She's heard us." Tom stared into the distance. "Incoming."

"Guys, you gotta make a move-" Arnold warned at the same time.

Sure enough, there was the faint sound of thundering feet, and it was all systems go.

Muldoon started to move off while Gerry was still reaching for Lizzy’s hand, trying to climb her side of the Jeep.

She grabbed for him before he was left behind and attempted to haul him onto the vehicle, but he weighed significantly more than she did, and missed his footing on the way up. Lizzy was pulled clean out of her seat.

“Fuck!” Lizzy shrieked as her feet were suddenly waving in the air. She tried to hook her knee on something, anything for traction but she was slipping anyway while Gerry continued to overbalance, the material of the seats leaving scorch marks on her legs.

“I got you-“ Tom fumbled and grabbed at her belt with his free hand before she slid out of reach, roaring at the effort of having to keep three bodies from flying to the ground.

Lizzy’s bad shoulder was screaming as they raced along. She could hear the trike bellowing from dangerously close by, feeling rather than hearing her feet pounding the Earth beneath them through the Jeep tyres.

She couldn't bear it, the pain was so bad that she just closed her eyes and hoped. Prayed she and Gerry would make it out alive.

Can’t let go, can’t let go. Can't let him fall.

Gerry mistook her pain for fear and started telling her over and over: it's okay, it's fine honey, we're almost there- while wondering himself if he was about to feel a trike horn in his undercarriage.

And then, safety. The reassuring rattle of one set of paddock gates closing behind them, and then the second. Kathy and Ray cheering over the radio. Richardson yelling something about them all being stupid bloody idiots, and Muldoon replying with a few choice words that silenced him quickly.

They had made it. Somehow.

Lizzy just hung limply over the back of the seat even after Gerry had let go of her hands, willing some life back into her frozen arms.

"Oh, boy-" He dismounted the Jeep bed with an effort and doubled over once he was back on solid ground, hands on his knees. "Ol’ pacemaker’s getting a workout today. I haven’t climbed a tree in years.”

"Everything alright? Still four of you back there?" Muldoon asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

"Oh Christ!" Lizzy finally got out of the Jeep herself, thinking she might topple over, her knees were shaking so much. "Let's never do that again."

”Agreed.”

“Still in one piece, Liz?” Tom patted her shoulder, and she nearly threw up. Lizzy winced before she could hide it, hoping nobody had seen.

“Just about.” She fibbed through clenched teeth, trying not to think about how she would be in agony the next morning if she didn’t get hold of some ice soon. Her joint was complaining mightily after the effort of stopping fifty-something Gerry from stumbling to his doom.

She leaned on the un-wrecked side of the Jeep, trying to make the world stop spinning.

“What’s wrong with that shoulder?” Muldoon had noticed and confronted her.

Tears pricked in the corners of her vision and she hastily blinked them away. “It’s fine. Just playing up again.”

He wasn’t convinced. ”You aren’t living up to your family name.”

“Ha-ha! Have you tried to lift Gerry recently?”

“Hey!” Came a yell from nearby. “Have you tried María's ice cream?"

They squared up to each other, but Lizzy was the first to look down.

“Leave it.” She warned in a low voice, tired of keeping up the fight today, of all days. “Please. It doesn’t matter. Leave it.”

"I'm serious, Armstrong. You're not alright, are you?"

She yielded. "I need a bit of ice. Maybe a lot of ice."

"Let’s get you back then. Won’t find any out here.”

***

They’d abandoned everyone, still arguing over who was going in which Jeep back to base and whether to bother retrieving the smashed vehicle or leave it in the paddock as a sort of Triceratops stress toy, 'enrichment' they would call it.

Muldoon had given up on trying to find ice cubes in the kitchen, since they would melt too quickly anyway, and was trying to chip a small glacier out of the upright freezer with a knife while Lizzy waited perched on the countertop, cradling her arm.

“That’s the shoulder you injured when you were in school, and you wouldn’t tell me how.” “Uh-huh.”

“Do you want Harding to check it? I’d dare say he owes you.”

“No. I’m fine. What’s next, inside leg measurement?” She grumbled.

“I have the same problem. Mine is from years and years of shooting. Go on, why does yours ache when it rains?”

Lizzy was exhausted. She wanted to take her ice, and go find a nice bit of floor to lie down on for a while. It didn't even have to be clean. Talking to Sarah and the trike incident had distracted her temporarily, but now she had time to think, her heart was hurting again.

But maybe this was as good a time as any to tell someone other than S-...her now-ex, as much as she hated reliving it. How much more traumatised could she possibly become in one day?

“My mother did it. Dislocated it.”

“Your own mother?”

“Yep. Popped it right out of the joint. Made a horrible noise.” Lizzy was terse, clipping her syllables. “She was drunk at the time. I’d like to say it was an accident, but...-“

Well, that complicates things. Muldoon realised.

Lizzy kept talking. “-I didn’t look after it properly once it was popped back in, cue me shooting from the wrong side for the rest of my life.”

“Bloody Hell, Armstrong…”

”Happy? That you finally got it out of me?”

”Not sure.” That was true enough. Maybe he preferred the not-knowing.

”Don’t worry, now we can both pretend it didn’t happen.” She smiled tersely as she held out a clean tea towel for her own personal iceberg.

“Will that last you?”

”Maybe half an hour.” Lizzy nodded.

“Anything else I can do?” To him at least, the sentiment fell a bit flat. Muldoon wasn’t sure he’d be up for telling anyone about an experience like hers either.

“Forget I ever told you that. Thanks for the ice.” Lizzy hopped down from the counter and hurriedly made her escape, in search of a flat surface to collapse on.

***

Thanks for reading!

Remember that seatbelt safety is very important if you *aren’t* on a dinosaur island. Please buckle up 

[xoxo-bunnydumpling]

I saw that Eli got a text from his ex-wife's nana and the weird mental state started. I said not a word about it all day but it made me nervous. I tried to have fun at the studio today but...there was a thorn in my side. It worked for the content of the episode so I didn't have to explain it to anyone but Eric caught me in a hug before I left and said "hey, try not to take shit home with you okay?" Knowing that he noticed just made me more uneasy.

"You don't have to make them..."

He's already up and on his way to the kitchen to make the falafel I said I wanted for dinner. They were supposed to be hypothetical falafel, I didn't require that he jump up and make them and now I feel bad.

"No one ever HAS TO make falafel, technically...and I'd really prefer you not starve to death." I have been running on coffee and Werther's all day and haven't been able to make myself actually eat.

He's already in the kitchen opening cabinets when I shout from the living room.

"We could order them!"

"That is a thing we could do. But I'm grown and we have the stuff so I could also just make them and I really think I'd manage to live through the experience."

I'll be honest...my period is coming soon and I'm dumb emotional right now aside from the text and it's a thing and I'm already achy and uncomfortable and just in an odd headspace entirely. He says it playfully, not a hint of malice or glimmer of irritation in his voice at all...we do have a running joke, our very first one from way back to our first date, that cooking for me makes him nervous...but fuck all, I start crying anyway.

I don't know how he can tell from there. I have my knees pulled up and am crying into a pillow and am really trying to do this quietly and quit my bullshit before he comes back but I hear his footsteps coming quickly.

"Were they that bad last time?" When I don't look up and/or laugh, he sits down and pulls me over until my head is in his lap. "Don't say it's stupid. Just let it out."

So I tell him everything, how every month I think I might just die this time but knowing in three months I'll never do this again has been doing my head in. I've had my uterus for a long time, we've really been through it, and even though she's a stone cold bitch...she's my bitch. Always has been. He gives nothing but the occasional "mmhmm" and "yeah" but runs his hand up and down my back harder than usual, like he's trying to force it all out, shake it loose for me.

The absurdity of crying on my husband's junk catches up to me eventually and I start giggling a little.

"Sorry to get your dick wet."

"Honey, that's not a thing I ever expect an apology for."

I sit up and get into his lap to bury my face in the crook of his neck. If he doesn't see me ask, it doesn't count. His hands on my back and in my hair are more gentle now, easing me down from my hysterical high.

"Shelby's nana texted you..."

"I know."

I bristle at this just a little. "And?"

"And do you want to read it?" Then, very softly, "I should have told you earlier, I'm sorry. I just didn't want..."

It was a group text, essentially a Nana's news report. Just announcing that Shelby had had her baby and they expect to be at the hospital for a few more days. "A little early, but she's perfect" with a photo of this little person, new to the earth, still a little red from the hard work of being born, a shock of dark hair atop her wee little head. I look up at Eli, quickly.

"Still not mine."

I believe him, of course, but she looks like she could be. She could have been, he could be there right now texting Mama to let her know her first grandchild had been born. He could be falling stupid in love with this little girl forever, right now. But all he gets to have now is me...the broken wife. He deserves so much more than this and mostly because of what he texted back.

"Congratulations! So happy for you, she's very sweet. I think I live closest to the hospital now...let me know if you need anything. Hospital food can get old after while..."

I know he means it. I know that after all that time, no matter what happened, he still loves them all. Even Shelby, just differently. I should know how love shifts, but doesn't go away, by now.

[lord-jen-grey]

For the writing ask — 17, 29, 72! ☺️

The questions are: Do you have a writing routine? What is something about your writing that you're proud of? What is your favorite writing compliment you've gotten?

Of course, I couldn't keep it short like the questions probably intended.

It felt kinda obnoxious to write some of these, but I wanted to be honest and own my wee space. Enjoy.

17. Do you have a writing routine?

I suppose I have a few routines. Routines for story creation, chapter development, and writing process.

Routine for story creation:

I usually start with the end of the story first. The purpose of it. I try to ask myself what I generally want my readers to be left with when they finish that last chapter.

I make notes on transformations I want characters to undergo and ideas of how I can imagine them getting there. Is there a personal struggle they need to overcome? (Like P.I. Jamie and his self-destructive guilt.)

I take images or scenes that spring up in my mind and jot down notes on those emotional moments and how I would like to see them play out.

I outline the most major events, and each one of those events is a chapter. I truly like each chapter of my fics to be their own story within a story.

I then take those events and develop a working outline. A map. At least 1 whole page per chapter. I plug all the pieces together on that outline, laying the foundation for the purpose, character transformations, and emotional moments FROM THE BEGINNING. This part feels very much like a puzzle that I'm breaking apart and putting back together. It's very satisfying when the pieces all fit.

The reason I leave extra space on each chapter page in my notes is that I add details as the story progresses. Ideas spring up all the time, and I leave myself room to make the story more interesting and robust as I go. I jot down poems, jokes, small events, phrases, tropes, I want to play with as I go. So, while I have a structure to the story, I allow for significant flexibility within that structure. Sometimes, it takes a lot of problem-solving to make sure it all comes together.

My routine for each chapter:

I review the outline/map, then sit for a few minutes (or hours or days or weeks or months) and decide exactly what it's going to look like.

Then I plow through, forcing myself to write. To just put words on paper. My first draft is usually a mess.

My second draft cleans things up and makes them pretty.

Depending on the length of the thing, sometimes I'll leave it for the next day before I post it or submit to a beta.

I rarely use a beta because A) despite what one might think by my meticulous planning, I'm not a perfectionist and can shrug off mistakes B) I hate pressuring or inconveniencing anyone to read over my work in a specific time frame & C) I get too excited to post to hold out for someone else to read it.

After the relief of posting a chapter, I usually crash for a few hours/days/weeks (depending on how draining it was).

Then I start all over again.

My routine for sitting down to write:

Procrastinate with snacks, WhatsApp, and Twitter.

Research rabbit holes.

Get stuck on ONE SENTENCE for far too long.

Power through and write a TON of words in a few hours (usually super late at night when my kids are asleep).

Read over my work out loud and with bad accents.

Put on AO3 as a draft.

Read it over once more.

Then do it all over again until the fic is done.

29. What is something about your writing that you're proud of?

How about a few things?

I take an awful lot of pride in the variety of stories I write, different genres, different themes, different techniques.

I take pride in my humor and filthy puns. My Jamie Sperms story makes my soul happy in a way you may never understand.

I like the way I characterize Jamie, Claire, and John.

I feel like I am pretty decent at creating complex stories and (hopefully) sweeping the reader away into a little universe I've created (with canon's assistance). I actually feel like this might just be my greatest strength.

I think I write pretty freakin good sex. Realistic sex.

I take pride in my productivity and completing stories, even if it takes me a year or more. I've posted 1.5 million words on AO3, and I think that's pretty awesome.

I think I'm pretty decent at making things sound pretty when I want to.

I think my stories balance angst, humor, fluff, and smut fairly well.

A b*tch is humble too lolololol

72. What is your favorite writing compliment you've gotten?

There have been a few.

I really like the ones that start with "Your mind..." I spend so much time in my mind, it's really fun to let people in and see the sights.

I love the comments about how my story has changed a person's life. I've had a few people tell me my story helped them embrace their sexuality and made it a safe place to come out to family or friends.

I love when people tell me they use specific chapters of specific fics to go back and self-pleasure (en-freaking-joy, my friends).

My dear friend (before we were friends) left me a bullet pointed comment once that was a joy to read through.

I love when people make jokes in my comments. I try hard to share a few laughs, and when people do the same for me, I truly enjoy it. Give me all the puns pls.

I love when people get the overall picture and complexity of what I'm attempting to do and tell me they appreciate it.

I think the best compliment I've ever received that that I opened a person's mind up to enjoying something they didn't think they'd like before. I love it SOOO much.

[lovecolibri]

SaL anon here friend, and happy to see you dishing out the salt now that you survived the finale. If you don't mind, I'd like to share my personal list of finale sins, a mini does not spark joy to get you started on this week: Jones's sword has more screen time and plot relevance than Alex Manes, half of the favorite ship and only gay main character; Sanders is abandoned after last week's sweet scene with Michael; Maria being given a vision because she had no relevance to anything happening TBC.

Maria has magical tarot vision she discovered with little effort and might have been nice of her to try before endangering people's lives and careers earlier; Maria cautioning Kyle about Is being happy, like he shouldn't interfere, is some fucking aneurysm-inducing hypocrisy; no one worrying over kidnapped Michael as much as fixing Max; Michael is at the fucking bunker the whole time which should be obvious; Alex spends more time consoling Max than them discussing Michael; Eduardo apparently tells Alex about Michael and we don't see it; Michael reunites with Alex bloody and nearly dead and we don't see it; Echo gets to talk and reassure other for the entire 2 hours with sweet scenes while Malex got maybe 3 minutes (Chris Hollier you are full of shit); Maria finds Michael and I reach a personal record in the octave hit with my internal screaming; Isobel is suddenly a lone wolf when since S1 she has always emphasized keeping her brothers close; Isobel's S2 progress erased so Maria could have a sister moment; the bracelet, that wasn't deliberately not used all season is suddenly reason that Is owes Maria an IOU; not even getting 5 secs of Kylex joy when Alex teasers Jones; Eduardo confronting Jones makes no sense; Michael's trip to the turquoise mines when time is precious to do therapy mining makes no sense; but Michael can apparently teleport now too; constant pep talks for Max, Liz, Heath, and Is by everyone; No one feels the need to check on the mental health of queer couple, one of who was stabbed and kidnapped and the other their soulmate; Kyle still not getting either a happy ending or acknowledgment besides Isobel; the ridiculousness of "the science" and the show's idea of how long experiments take; Max calls Michael "Guerin" during the Jones confrontation (when the fuck was that a thing); the frequency forcing body swapping is dumb; Rosa is completely underutilized; Finally Malex, still can't exist in public with the main group and Alex can't exist almost at all, even in the areas where his story arc takes place. Sorry this is long, it's been probably not even a complete list, but the finale seriously has me asking how much do I actually enjoy this show if this is how i feel at the end of every season. Is Malex being happy finally supposed to let me ignore how they are treated? I'll go catch up on weewoo show now friend, keep on salting!

Hello my friend! I'm still working my way through my very full inbox (this is what I get for taking so long to watch the episode) but I wanted to make sure I got to yours before tomorrow is taken up with the wee woo show my beloved, especially because my sparks/not spark joy post will probably still take me a bit to work up because I'm running so late and it was a double episode with lots of frustrations.

So thanks for your list! and wow, it is...hard to look at it all laid out like that. There were so, so many missed opportunities in these episodes and some straight up weird choices/pairings that were made. It all felt soooo rushed. If only there were some earlier plot lines that went nowhere and affected nothing that could have been cut earlier in the season to make time for this main plot to come together 🤔🤔🤔

It's so frustrating that by cutting that vision plot (whoo boy do I have a post in the works about that!), that a lot of these other issues could be solved because one of the big complaints (again, still, always) is the writers telling instead of showing important things and with more time we could have had that. And unfortunately since they still don't know what to do with m*ria or how to make her useful she ended up just stealing moments that should have gone to other characters, or Isobel had to regress in her progress to give m*ria something to do.

And the "science" 🙄🙄🙄 Look. Yes this is a show about aliens and a very smart scientist. But the science isn't real. So it doesn't really matter if we know "how" it works. Because a) people who actually know science are going to want to tear their hair out when it's incorrect, and b) people who don't know science aren't going to care because it's not real anyway. Just have someone holding up a cool looking vial and saying "the gobbledygook worked!" or dramatically throwing a clipboard down and saying "dammit! The blah-de-blah failed again!" We don't need an hour long lecture on how the fake science works! Keep it vague, make it visually look cool, and show us actually important character interactions, and it will all flow so much smoother!

*Deep sigh*

the finale seriously has me asking how much do I actually enjoy this show if this is how i feel at the end of every season. Is Malex being happy finally supposed to let me ignore how they are treated?

I'm so sorry you feel that way and man has it difficult to find any joy and excitement after that finale fumbled so badly again. It's a curse with this show, I swear. And it's extra frustrating that we did get to see some glimpses of happy Malex and a lot of people don't understand why that isn't enough but like, *gestures wildly at the finale with less than 10 min of screen time for Alex and all his big moments going to m*ria*. The journey matters, and what they show us on screen matters, and damn I sure bet Chris is regretting saying the words "same level of importance as Echo" in regards to Malex because that receipt is going to be brought up a LOT after what that finale served.

Okay, this is long and rambling and I've already cut out several portions to make their own posts about, so I'm going to stop there, but I'm always happy to hear from you and now that RNM is behind us for now, I can't wait to hear about your 911 watch and your thoughts!