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homoeroticfisticuffs · 30 days ago

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WIP Wednesday - Sambucky Sickfic

Been working on this one on and off for a few weeks now whenever I've had the free time and I keep forgetting to post a WIP!! So here it is finally lol... working title is "There's No Need to Be Brave," from I Will by Mitski :] Once this is finished I'd like it to be maybe closer to/over 10k like the rest of my more recent fics, and I will only be posting the finished version to my AO3 because I just prefer to only post WIPs on here ;w; anyway Sambucky

Word count: 4.1k

He hadn’t even spent two weeks back in Brooklyn before he got the text; not from Sam, no, from Sarah, which made this whole situation all the more hilarious.

“Hey Bucky, I really hate to ask you for yet another favor after all you’ve done for my family, but my stubborn jackass of a brother got himself real sick with a bad cold somehow and I just don’t have the time to take care of both him and the boys. Would you mind maybe coming back down here to stay and watch over him for a bit? I think you’re the only other person he’d let see him like this.”

(The fact that he was actually checking and responding to his texts now was a new development for him, one he was glad Dr. Raynor wasn’t around to see. He really didn’t need to see her sarcastic grin or hear her smug ass voice giving him an “I told you so” or “see how easy it is” or whatever the hell she’d have to say.)

He smirked to himself as he saw Sarah’s text; it was timestamped at 6:47 AM, probably sent out of exasperation while trying to get the boys ready for school and also having to deal with taking care of Sam. The thought of Sam Wilson, the famous Falcon and now the brand new Captain America, lying helpless and miserable in bed was admittedly a little funny. He was probably wrapped up in a bunch of blankets right now with a bulky ice bag sitting atop his head and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. It really was comical when he thought about it.

“No worries, Sarah. I can come help out.”

He genuinely didn’t mind going back down there to offer his help, and he would have done it either way to help the people he cares about, but he also loved being a little sweet on Sarah because of how mad it made Sam.

He also needed to get out of Brooklyn, as much as he hated it. After offering closure to Yori, things just hadn’t felt the same. It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Part of him wished he could just stay in Louisiana; and maybe he could. The thought wasn’t so bad.

He sighed for a moment, looking down at his duffle bag that he never really got around to fully unpacking in the first place from his last trip. He could use the travel, really; it’s not like he had any other plans anyway, and it was always a nice treat to visit the Wilsons. Plus, this would give him a lot of ammunition and blackmail to hold over Sam’s head for a good long while. He smiled at the thought of bantering and bickering with him as he packed, looking forward to getting to see him again, though he’d never in a million years admit it out loud.

The sun was starting to set over the water in Delacroix, the last few rays of sunlight beaming in through the windows and casting a warm glow over the living room. Sam laid exhausted on the couch, hopelessly flipping through different TV channels in hopes of finding something other than the countless shitty movies and reality shows that litter the guide on the screen. He sighed in defeat before giving up and leaving it on a channel showing a cheesy eighties action flick, tossing the remote aside and curling further into his blanket.

“You feeling any better today?” Sarah asked from the kitchen, starting to cut up some vegetables to prepare dinner for the night: a nice and hearty vegetable stew.

“No,” Sam groaned softly, his voice weak from illness. “If anything, today’s been worse.”

She sighed, and he felt a stab of guilt at the sound. He hated putting all this on her. “Well, we’ve just gotta make sure you’re taking meds at the right times then and try and stay on top of that fever. Plenty of rest and fluids, it’ll be gone in no time. Can’t keep Captain America down for too long.”

He chuckled, knowing she was giving him shit for his new title. It was still taking some time for everyone to get used to, especially himself. No one had exactly seen it coming.

He hated this, all of it. He hated feeling this sick and miserable, and he hated being so useless and unable to help Sarah out around the house and with the boys. He knew she managed just fine on her own in the years that he was gone, but part of him will always feel a need to help and protect her whenever he can. She had gotten used to having him around lately, and had shared some of her responsibilities with him so that she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed with the workload. Now that he was unable to help take some of that weight off her shoulders, she’s been a lot more noticeably stressed out since he got sick.

His phone rang then, and he lifted it to see that it was Joaquin video calling him. He reluctantly hit the accept button; not because he didn’t enjoy talking to Joaquin, just that it was a little difficult to talk at all in his current state.

“Hey man!” Joaquin greeted him through the phone. “Oh, shit, you don’t look so good. You alright?”

“Yeah, just got a cold,” Sam responded quietly. It hurt his throat a little to speak, but he was fairly sure he could handle a brief phone call for now. “What’s up?”

“I was just checking in to say hey. You mentioned not feeling so hot so I just wanted to see how you were doing. Anything I can do to help? I could DoorDash you some soup or medicine or something.”

It earned a good laugh from Sam, possibly being the only real smile he had cracked yet today. “Nah, man, I’m alright. I doubt any sane Dasher would come this far out, anyways.”

“Well, offer’s still on the table if you end up changing your mind,” Joaquin said earnestly. “I’ll let you go for now, though. Rest up buddy, and take care! I’ll be thinking of you. Hope you heal up fast!”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replied, exhaustion clear in his voice. He was on day three of the cold now, with no sign of it improving. He was starting to get really tired of it. “I’ll keep in touch. Thanks for checking in.”

“No problem, man. And seriously, rest up, you sound like shit,” Joaquin laughed. “Okay bye, talk soon.”

“Seeya.”

Once the call had ended, Sam finally let out a couple of coughs that he had been holding in and took a big long sip of his water; engaging that much in a conversation, even if it was short, had rendered him a little worse off than he was before he took the call. Saying a couple short sentences a day was one thing, but his throat was seriously sore, and he sounded absolutely miserable with how nasally his voice was from being so congested. He let out a deep sigh before unwrapping yet another cough drop and tossing it in his mouth, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the couch.

Suddenly Sam heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching the house. He was a little too fatigued and feverish to connect the dots immediately, but he lifted his head and squinted his eyes at Sarah in confusion, wondering who or what the hell it could be before it finally clicked in his head after a few too many moments.

“You didn’t,” he said around the cough drop, unable to believe what he thought might have happened without him knowing.

“I had to!” she responded, her hands going up to defend herself from Sam’s criticism that she could already tell was coming. She moved quickly around the kitchen, trying her best to get dinner done in a timely manner and avoid getting any more grief from her brother. Sam noticed now that she was preparing five bowls instead of four, and he heard the motorcycle outside turn off.

“You really didn’t,” he said, exhausted. He tried to stand up slowly, grumbling to himself in the process. “Now I’ve gotta deal with his ass. Can’t just have my damn stew in peace.”

“Would you calm down? This is a good thing,” Sarah chastised him, getting irritated with his attitude. “Having an extra set of hands around here will be a big help. Not that you’d know what accepting help feels like,” she added, the last sentence being said under her breath, but still loud enough for Sam to hear.

Dumbfounded, Sam opened his mouth to hit her with another smartass reply, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Sarah quickly dumped a chopped up onion into the pot of broth on the stove before going over to the door, unlocking it and opening it for none other than the one and only James Buchanan Barnes to enter the house with a bag slung over his shoulder. He moved his sunglasses to rest on top of his head before he smiled at Sarah, and she went in for a hug. Sam could feel his fever rising as his blood boiled at the sight of it.

“Welcome back!” she said excitedly, looking him over. “I’m glad you could make it! Do you need help with your bag or anything?”

“I am too,” Bucky replied through a smile, his voice dropping lower than it needed to. “And no, I should be alright, thanks. Whatever’s cookin’ smells real good, what’s for dinner?” He freely carried himself throughout the space as he responded, and his familiarity and comfortability with the house made Sam feel a little funny.

“Just some stew, nothing fancy,” she said as she went back to stirring the pot and starting to chop up more ingredients. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bucky drawled casually, walking over to where Sam was standing by the couch. He set his bag down and got a good look at him, head to toe. “Not looking so hot, Cap. Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Something like that,” Sam rasped before a cough broke through involuntarily. He sat back down on the cushions, grabbing for his water bottle, but Bucky was faster; he handed it to him gently, and Sam eyed him, annoyed, before reluctantly taking it from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded a little quietly, pursing his lips. Sam knew his annoyance with the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re welcome.”

A door opened down the hall, and Bucky heard them before he saw them. “Is that uncle Bucky?!” Cass yelled excitedly, and both boys ran towards him as fast as they could.

“It sure is!” Bucky beamed back, reaching down a little to meet them halfway, picking them both up in each arm and swinging them around the living room with a big smile. Bucky had always been a natural when it came to the boys, and Sam found himself feeling a tinge of fondness seeing them all get along so well. Bucky used his vibranium arm to lift AJ up onto his shoulders, still swinging Cass around in a circle. “I’m playing doctor for uncle Sammy this week, if you can believe it.”

“No way!! A whole week? That’ll be so awesome!!” Cass exclaimed, as Bucky started to set them both back down on their feet.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned, barely audible. His voice dripped with sarcasm and with dread. “So awesome.”

“Could you pick me up from school one day this week so that everyone will see that I’m friends with the Winter Soldier and think I’m super cool?” AJ asked quickly, looking up at him expectantly.

Bucky laughed nervously, looking over towards Sam for help. Seeing him look so lost and unsure what to say was endearing and funny enough to make Sam crack a bit of a smile.

“Actually yeah,” he said. “I’m usually the one who picks them up. They’ve had to carpool the past couple days.”

“Well, uh,” Bucky started, “my bike can only really fit two, and I don’t wanna try and stick ‘em both on there. Could I borrow your car?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just get ‘em on time.”

“Alright boys,” Sarah interrupted from the kitchen, stirring the stew and turning the stove down. “Dinner’s ready, come get it.”

Sam went to stand, but Bucky gently put his hand up to stop him.

“Stay put,” he said, “I’ll get you some.”

Sam found the charity somewhat irritating at first; but he couldn’t deny that he really did not want to get up to get his own bowl. So to have Bucky bring one over to him was… nice.

The boys both ran over to the kitchen, grabbing their bowls and waiting patiently for Sarah to be done serving herself before they stepped in to get their own stew. As they did, Bucky moved to the other side of the kitchen and got out four glasses from the cabinet, opening up the fridge to get out the pitcher of sweet tea, filling them all up with ice before pouring the tea in. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion; he remembered Bucky being obsessed with Sarah’s sweet tea the first time he tried it. Why wasn’t he having a glass?

He set three of the teas at the table, then brought the last one over to the couch. He then, though, set the tea down on the coffee table, not in front of Sam but a good ways beside his water bottle, right in front of the other seat on the couch.

“You don’t need the sugar,” Bucky deadpanned preemptively, already seeing Sam’s glare and knowing he was about to complain. He picked up Sam’s water bottle, making his way back to the kitchen.

“I don’t remember you being a doctor,” he shot back anyway, challenging him with an angry stare.

“Sam,” Sarah firmly chastised from her seat at the table. “Quit it.”

Bucky chuckled, and looked back over to him with a mischievous grin. “Yeah Sam,” he said with raised eyebrows, continuing his trek to the kitchen to get their dinner and fill up Sam’s water.

Sam grumbled to himself, wanting to argue yet again but choosing instead to just grind his jaw and crunch up the remains of his cough drop so that he could eat. With the way things were already going, he swore to himself that he’d kill Bucky before the week was over.

Like every night before, Sam’s symptoms got worse once night fell. Blowing his nose every ten minutes and barely able to speak, he was popping cough drops constantly, putting in a new one almost as soon as the last one faded away. He didn’t feel up to doing anything other than laying his sorry ass on the couch with his blankets and flipping through the channels on TV, and he really, really just wanted to be alone; but that wasn’t an option right now, seeing as Bucky had to be here, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He was at the very least thankful that he was being silent (it was easier that way to pretend he wasn’t even there), just reading one of his books while Sam lounged comfortably though unable to engage in conversation. He doubted he would want to even if he could.

He was tired, exhausted even, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night. He never could when he was sick; each night he’d fall asleep, rest for an hour or two, wake up coughing or choking on his own spit, stay awake for an hour, fall asleep for another two hours or so, and repeat until he gave up on sleeping once the sun finally rose. It was miserable, and after several days, he was starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation as well as the cold.

An alarm went off on Bucky’s phone then, startling Sam out of his thoughts.

“What’s that for?” he croaked, instantly regretting it when he felt the dull swollen ache in his throat and heard how pitiful his voice sounded.

Bucky looked at him with pursed lips. “Your medicine,” he said. “It helps to keep you on a schedule.”

Sam huffed in annoyance, but he was too tired to argue.

Bucky put a bookmark in his book and stood from his spot at the couch, taking Sam’s lack of protest as acceptance. Wordlessly he made his way into the kitchen, sorting through the medicine cabinet because he knew just where everything was, and Sam decided to ignore yet again the way that made him feel. He was tired, that was all. That’s why he was overthinking the way Bucky occupied the space like he belonged there, surely. That was all it was.

Sam turned his attention back to the TV, choosing to focus instead on the rerun of Bar Rescue that was currently playing, even though he had been watching this same damn show for hours now and he had kind of lost interest in how much alcohol this particular bar was wasting every month.

Bucky returned after a few minutes, longer than Sam expected it to take to pour out a little dose of cough syrup, but when he did he saw it was because he was also holding a steaming hot mug in his other hand.

“Made you some tea,” he said, setting the mug down on the coffee table in front of Sam. “Should help you sleep.”

Sam just stared up at him, feeling frustration bubbling up in him at the feeling of being constantly coddled like this, but he was too exhausted to put up too much of a fight. He could manage a little bit though.

“I don’t like tea.”

Bucky sighed, irritated but not surprised by Sam’s resistance. “Just drink it.”

Still glaring, he wordlessly reached for the medicine in Bucky’s hand and downed it like a shot, not wanting the taste to linger. His nose scrunched up at the flavor anyway and he reluctantly reached for the tea, blowing on it for a moment before giving it a sip. It actually wasn’t too bad; he could taste the lemon, honey, ginger, and…

“Is that whiskey?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky replied, beginning to walk back over to the kitchen to put the medicine back up. “It’s a hot toddy. You’ve never had one?”

“No. Sounds old.”

Bucky chuckled a bit in response. “I guess it is. I used to make ‘em a lot back in the day, they work real well, trust me.” He then came back over to stand by the couch, looking down at where Sam was laying. He thought for a moment, and his eyes squinted just a bit. “Do you wanna sleep out here or in the bedroom?”

“I’m fine here,” Sam replied, his voice barely registering above a whisper. The drink was helping, though, as much as he hated to admit it. “You can take the bed.”

Bucky nodded, sitting back down in his spot at the end of the couch and picking his book back up. “‘Kay.”

Sam kept sipping on his mug, drinking on it slowly until the last of it was barely warm. He felt his eyes slowly getting heavier as well, also due to the nighttime medicine making him drowsy and sleepy. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t fight to stay awake any longer, finally letting his eyelids fall shut and stay that way, curled up into his blankets.

He woke up with a sharp and fearful intake of breath, sitting up straight as quick as a bullet and immediately starting to cough up the phlegm that had tried to choke him in his sleep. As soon as he did, Bucky was at his side in a moment’s notice, kneeling beside the bed and gently rubbing his back while he held Sam’s water bottle in his other hand. It took Sam a few tries, but once he properly cleared his airways, he took several heavy and labored breaths to try and recover from the anxiety of it all and to return his breathing to normal as much as he could. Having Bucky there was definitely a help; whenever this would happen while he was alone, it took him a lot longer to calm himself down, nerves running rampant with the fact that he could have almost died from asphyxiation (or so he convinced himself).

With one last deep breath, he looked over at Bucky, who was closer to him than he expected him to be. He squinted in confusion as he huffed, and looked over to see a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor opposite the coffee table.

“You slept on the floor?” he whispered.

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I sleep better that way.”

Sam understood the sentiment; he remembered having a talk with Steve about it when they first met. Sam also understood but didn’t comment on the fact that it was probably also so that Bucky could keep a better eye on him this way. He decided yet another time that he didn’t want to explore how he felt about it.

Bucky handed him his water bottle, and he drank greedily. He needed to clear some of the thicker saliva out of his mouth so that he wouldn’t choke on it again, at least not for a while. The coolness of the ice-cold water made him sigh with relief as it eased some of the pain in his throat on the way down.

“Lean up a bit,” Bucky spoke softly, his hand leaving Sam’s back as he stood to grab another pillow from the other end of the couch. He slotted it behind Sam, stacking it with the pillows that were already there. “You gotta stay upright.”

Sam leaned back into the new pillow arrangement, and it felt all wrong. He didn’t know if he could sleep sitting up, and when he tried to rest his head, his neck bent at an awkward angle. He scowled and scooted down the cough enough to get comfortable, trying his best to stay as vertical as he could.

“There,” Bucky said, standing up and stepping back. Sam noticed he was only wearing a pair of lounge shorts, his dog tags dangling over his bare chest. “That should help.”

“Why are you doing all this?” he heard himself say, not entirely intending to speak his thoughts aloud. His voice was soft and slow with sleep as the question fell out. “Going through all this trouble just for me?”

Bucky took in a breath before responding. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”

Sam would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at that; getting Bucky to admit literally anything about his feelings (in any form other than a complaint) was no small feat. He smiled a little at the thought of being the reason for it. “Thank you, Buck. It’s mutual.”

“Good,” Bucky huffed, his discomfort palpable. He clearly was not used to this kind of talk. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “Of course. Can’t have people knowing the Winter Soldier’s gone all soft.”

“Exactly. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Sam laughed again and pulled his blankets tighter to him, getting as comfortable as he could in his new sleeping position. He turned his head to the side and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. “Aren’t you nervous about getting sick, though?”

“Perk of the serum. Haven’t been sick since the thirties.”

“What makes you so good at all this then?” Sam asked, his voice becoming less and less audible as he felt himself start to get sleepy again. “The caring stuff.”

Bucky paused and looked down at the floor for a moment before gathering himself. “I used to care for Steve a lot when he’d get sick. Which was pretty much all the time, so I learned a few tricks along the way. Glad they’re coming in handy.”

“Me too,” Sam mumbled, the words barely coming out. “He was… real lucky.”

Sam didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the way Bucky’s breath hitched at the comment, or see the way his eyes watered ever-so-slightly; but when he fell back asleep, he slept through the night for the first time all week, knowing that Bucky was right there next to him.

Would love initial opinions/critique on this if you have any !! And again this is only a WIP, I'll probably keep posting more WIPs as I work on it and I'll make a little announcement post whenever I finish it and post it on my AO3. Just wanted to get a little bit of it out there after talking about it for so long. Anyway thank you for reading I hope you have a nice day :]

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minrathian · 3 months ago

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escapism thy name is tashur (or viperquin, or what have you)-- fanwork recs

Hey listen. It was a shit week and I am about as optimistic as Tarquin about the year ahead. So, as I head into the weekend, I am protecting my peace by metaphorically pulling the covers over my head and building a blanket fort out of fanworks About Them. If you also hate it here and want to go to secret gardens in your mind, here in no particular order is my annotated list of the Tarquin x Ashur/Tashur/Viperquin fanworks that are getting me out of my head, lately.

Obligatory disclaimers: YMMV, there are so many good works in this fandom and this list is not exhaustive/will be updated periodically, mind the ratings, enjoy responsibly, &c. And, thanks to everyone who's creating things for this pairing and folks who are reading/reblogging stuff about them, too. I'm way out of practice at fandom and mostly lurk, but it's a really lovely little creative community to be a part of even in a low-key way.

Kiss me when you’re done (series– explicit), thismission I haven’t had a single thought in my head any of the approximately 20 times I have read this modern AU series. It feels like your own personal bodyguard has taken you by the hand and is leading you around at a party: your brain is turned off and you are just trusting the process. It’s hot and it’s also such a deeply interesting character exploration of what these people might be like here and now, but without making me actually think many thoughts about the here and now really at all. And, bonus, it really captures the “get the fuck out of here with these feelings I’m not thinking about” Tarquin vibe and the “oh my god he’s so hot I’m immediately obsessed with him” Ashur vibe, which *I* am personally devoted to for this ship. Anyway I’m obsessed with this.

Most Holy, magemance This is my phone lockscreen and wallpaper and the day I made that decision was not only a good day, but also marks the day I noticed my phone battery was draining faster for some reason? Looking at this never fails to make me smile and so I stare at this and make chinhands and kick my little feet for hours out of a day. I’m sure that’s no connection to the phone battery issue. Probably.

Oh No! I’ve Been Hit By Evil Cultist Blood Magic! (explicit), knight0fcups This is immersive, there’s so many little details from Ashur’s POV that it’s just really easy to fall into and live there for a bit. This is sex pollen/fuck-or-die done SO well– I don’t seek out those tropes most of the time but I’m so glad this exists because it is fucking delightful from start to finish, snappy and clever and funny as fuck. There is a line that Tarquin says in this fic that made me laugh so loudly, I startled my dog. I won’t tell you what it is because you deserve to discover it for yourself. It is perfect, 15/10 no notes. Well, some notes. These notes, that I wrote. You get it.

moments we stole from the blight, rookfeathers One of the first pieces of Tashur art that lured me back to tumblr/fandom, this one has a special place in my heart for that alone, but– WALL KISSES. THE HANDS. THE DESPERATION IS PALPABLE but in a GOOD way.

Won’t you stay with me, my darling, (when my walls start burning down),(explicit), decant This is just. It’s just!!! So good! This hurts in such a particularly good way. It’s the “I’ve escaped to a MORE tragic timeline” kind of escapism. The level of despair is just…pervasive and perfect for blighted Minrathous, and Tarquin dealing with blighted Minrathous and the certainty of losing Ashur. AND YET. There’s just enough of something not-quite-hopeful filtering through the whole thing to really round it out. I don’t necessarily want to escape to blighted Minrathous (a lateral fuckin move in these times TBH) but I do love briefly visiting via this story.

Midnight rendezvous, J0ypatron (joy-jpg) Ahhhh I take one look at this and I am immediately blasting “Come to my window” by Melissa Etheridge. Just, immediately. That, and thinking of the balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet, only with a grumpy wet cat of a man yelling “Fuck off,” but like, in a loving way, at his boyfriend, who also happens to be the Imperial Divine.

Courting Traditions of the Oblivious Soporatus, (teen and up), bendingwind Look, I am super biased about this one because I have so many thoughts about courting traditions in Tevinter, and Z wrote this incredibly rich story that somehow made all my Soporati courting tradition dreams come true??? Miracles happen. It’s SO DELIGHTFUL. Screaming, crying, clutching my face with joy. Also: the strawberries??? Pls.

tarquin sees ashur’s face for the first time, fadesense I love everything about this. The name of the dog. The way Tarquin’s hair looks. Tarquin’s face and general disposition. Ashur knowing it was Tarquin. Ashur petting the dog. I am transported to a world where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

Holy matrimony, hesketh This is so fucking fun and also so sweet and those are two things that instantly send me to another planet in the best way. The pace is great and the banter is top tier 110/10 no notes and it also has bonus!Dorian being a delightful, handsome menace, as he is wont to be. Perfection.

Ashur and Tarquin fighting together, archfey-edda Like the artist, I ALSO just wanted to see them kicking ass together in the game, and this is SO COOL. Love love love a little glimpse of Ashur being a badass mage and the thought! Of him fighting back to back with Tarquin! I have ascended. The movement and the light in this is also just stunning, I could stare at it for hours.

Gnosis, asyouwes You wouldn’t think a story that makes me reflect on my own fraught relationship with organized religion would be on an escapism list but here we are– sometimes it’s easier to engage with those feelings at arm’s length, through someone else’s eyes. And, I’m a big fan of stories that capture a very particular mood or feeling and this one really does that well.

i have shed my skin, look at me now, (mature) frigid Nothing gets you out of your own head quite like a good werewolf/vampire AU. Really loving the overlay of cryptid stuff with the Shadow Dragons and everything going on in Tevinter.

Quick tashur doodle, loustica-lucia The LEANING. The FOREHEAD TOUCHING. The way Tarquin’s exhale LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE HEART. I live here now. Forward my mail here. You will not be hearing from me, but you can forward my mail here anyway.

Like sweet dreams, (explicit), greygerbil The absolute best morning-after-we-hooked-up kind of story, where they’re both kinda nervous but then it’s all fine because of course these feelings are reciprocated. Reading this is like one long exhale: my shoulders aren’t pressed up against my ears, that pesky knot of tension in every single one of my muscles has momentarily vanished, everything is fine and lovely.

Constant Like Cicadas in the Summertime, goldenringboy A little bit of wine drunk, a lot of grade A++++ pining, lovely visuals. Did I mention the pining??? The pining.

Two Heads are Better than One (explicit), thismission Clonefucking. That's it, that's the summary. I-- just read it, ok?

Flirt, bendingwind Fake dating because Ashur gazes at Tarquin too much and all the Shadows assume they're together...until they are? Please. I am WEAK.

Servus Servorum Creatoris (explicit), Anon Religious imagery in PWP??? It's more likely than you might think. And just as delicious.

digital paintings of the Viper and Tarquin, goldenringboy THEM BUT CLASSICAL PAINTING STYLE. GO GAZE AT THEM. GO DREAM OF HANGING THESE PORTRAITS ON YOUR WALL IN RIDICULOUSLY ORNATE FRAMES AND PRETENDING YOU LIVE IN A TASHUR ART MUSEUM. (I am a normal person with normal hobbies that I am so normal about.) The texture and the light is just. so good!!!

Bonus (it’s not art of both of them but it’s a delight to me): Modern Tarquin in a t-shirt being ineffably, perfectly Tarquin, rookfeathers.

#tashur #viperquin #tarquin x ashur #ashur x tarquin #fic rec #art rec #thank you hivemind for putting up with an Old Person (tm) in your discord

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topazadine · 6 months ago

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Signs That You Will Probably Finish Your Writing Project

Anyone can finish a book if they work hard at it, even if it takes them longer than someone else. That's right: anyone. Anyone, anywhere, can write a book. Maybe it won't be the best book in the world, but it would be done!

But most don't. Many start a project and never do anything else with it. They then come up with a million excuses as to why they couldn't do it.

After speaking with dozens of writers over my lifetime, I've become able to predict with good accuracy whether someone will actually achieve a completed first draft. I am not always right, of course, because I am simply a human. But I am right most of the time.

There's no rocket science here, and I'm not a mindreader. It's just that there are certain habits conducive to finishing projects, and others that stymie your success.

I know that this will upset some people, and I'm sorry in advance. I'm not saying any of this to be mean, nor am I trying to discourage you. All these bad habits can be fixed, though it requires a mindset shift. You can achieve all of these powerful mindesets with some of the tips I provide.

Why should you listen to me? I have a pretty good track record of finishing things. I have 132 stories available on AO3, have published two parts of The Eirenic Verses, and am already revising the third manuscript before the second is even out. I've finished three of the other manuscripts in the 10-part series already in addition to the aforementioned third part.

It is the mindset I mention here that helps me stay so productive. This is not exhaustive. There are probably plenty of things that go into a great writing mindset that I have completely forgotten about. And maybe you'll beat the odds and have one of these issues but still get it done! And that's great, and I'm happy for you.

But nevertheless, let's get into it.

You have healthy self-esteem (or are working on building it)

I'm dead serious here. Having a healthy self-esteem is crucial to being a great writer. Here's a few reasons why:

You believe your work is good enough as it is, but that it can always be better. You think you have something important to say and that other people will enjoy it. You are not shooting yourself in the foot by bemoaning how terrible your writing is, making no one want to read it. You self-soothe when things get frustrating (writer's block, plot not working out, etc) and encourage yourself out of that hole rather than needing others to comfort you. You believe you have the skills to solve problems in your text and remain proactive in fixing things. You don't get absolutely obliterated by critique because you recognize that it's not a personal attack, so you improve by taking good advice. You don't think that rejection of your writing is rejection of you as a person. Your happiness doesn't hinge upon success as a writer, which may not happen no matter how good you are. You're willing to take risks, to talk to people about your work, and to market yourself because you understand that you won't get success without a bit of exposure.

What are some signs of low self-esteem for writers?

Not wanting to show anyone their writing yet also talking about it constantly hoping that others will want to read it

Talking about how bad their writing is

Getting jealous of other peoples' success

Being hypercritical of other writers

Talking more about their failures than their successes

Dismissing any praise as disingenuous

Needing constant reassurance at every part of the writing cycle

Being a perfectionist, especially during the active writing phase

Constantly revising to the point where they don't get anything done

Obsessing over perceived imperfections in their work

Avoiding getting feedback after they have completed a draft

Just as with everything else in life, your mindset plays a huge role in your success as a writer. Having healthy self-esteem (not an overinflated ego) will serve you much better than being overly critical of yourself or others.

Knowing you have the skills and talents necessary to tackle your project (because you do) will help motivate you when things get tough and keep you from giving up at the first sign of trouble.

Look, I had a shit childhood and a rocky start to adulthood. But I've managed to scrabble up some good self-esteem juice, and I am sure you can too. It takes time, and it looks different for everyone, so I'm not going to tell you how to do it because I don't know you personally.

However, fixing your mindset and believing in yourself does wonders for your writing - more than any expensive course, more than a personal editor, more than any of that. Trust your own process, and you'll reap wonderful results.

You think of yourself as a writer first, not an aspiring author.

Though my profile says I'm the author of The Eirenic Verses, that's not how I introduce myself. When people ask me what I do, I say I'm a writer. Because it's true: I write business stuff for work, and I write fiction for self-fulfillment.

When I was still working on the first book in the series, I did not call myself an aspiring author. I said I was writing a book. I've never called myself an aspiring author once in my entire life, and I'm glad for that.

Why is this important?

"Author" is a status, but "writer" is an activity. Anyone can publish one singular book and be an author, but only people who write regularly can call themselves writers.

"Aspiring author" is a dead-end title. It means you want something but haven't achieved it. Then you become an "author" and ... what? That doesn't mean you're going to keep writing. It just means you did one thing, once.

For sustainable mindsets, we need to remind ourselves that if we want to be something, we have to do something.

No one calls themselves an "aspiring scientist." They call themselves a scientist in training because they are learning how to be a scientist. That's an active title. It implies you are doing something.

So, if you want to keep doing, call yourself a writer. It reminds you, every single time that you tell someone, that you need to write. You'll feel guilty if you call yourself a writer and then haven't written anything in five months, and it will compel you to keep going.

You don't worry about what happens after finishing.

Fussing about what will happen after you finish is the best way to burn yourself out. The writing phase is about writing, not about revising or publishing or marketing or whether anyone will ever want to read it.

Focus on one thing at a time. Think only about the writing when you are writing. Everything else comes at a later date.

You do not announce WIPs when you start them.

There's this author I follow over on Twitter whose name I will not share. It seems like every other week, she's announcing a new WIP with a pretty moodboard and a name and characters and so on.

She has little emojis and "code names" for each of her WIPs, and she'll "drop hints" about all of them every once in a while, all mysterious and Taylor Swift-esque.

Has she published anything? Nope. Nothing. Nada. A whole lot of talk and not a lot of action.

Why are you announcing something you haven't even done? Why are you telling us about a project that you personally haven't devoted much attention to? Why should we care about something that you haven't cared enough to work on yet?

I have a list of my WIPs for The Eirenic Verses because they are all in the same world and all have to exist for the next part to make sense. I don't have a choice to drop them if I want to finish the series. I didn't create that WIP list until I had already decided on each of the parts and had already published the first book, so now if I want to keep people reading, I have to commit to them.

But if you have dozens of different unrelated WIPs, who is to say that you'll finish all of them? You probably won't.

Announcing a WIP before you have done the work is cheating; you're getting a little dopamine hit of everyone telling you how excited they are rather than a dopamine hit of achievement for doing the thing.

You do not talk excessively about your projects.

The more you talk about your work, the less you get done because you are tricking your brain into thinking that you are actually getting things done.

Again, you get the dopamine hit of people saying "ohhh that's so cool I love it!!" and then you are happy that people liked your idea, and then you don't do the idea because you don't need to. You already got the result you wanted, which was people telling you they liked it.

Great authors don't tell anyone about their projects except in the most general, vague sense before they are well underway, because they don't want to jinx themselves. If you're already staying mum about your work, then you're doing great.

And yes, your constant updates of "here is exactly how much I wrote today" every single day does count as talking about your project.

You are okay with going it alone.

The Active Writing process is the loneliest part of writing. No one is looking over your shoulder and encouraging you. It is only after you get to Percolation and Revision that you start to share your work with others, get feedback, and find ways to improve what you already have.

If you need someone to constantly build up your confidence and tell you that you're wonderful and that you should keep going, then you are not likely to finish because you are constantly talking about your work instead of doing it.

Writers need to be comfortable with solitude, but they also need to be willing to network, get feedback, and listen to other perspectives. It is a balance and it all depends on where you are in the specific stages of this given project.

When I'm working on a project, I tend to just avoid other writers entirely and stick to my other activity groups so that I'm still getting social stimulation but don't feel encouraged to share details of my work.

Those other friend groups do not really care about the ins and outs of writing, and that's perfectly fine; they don't need to. If they're willing to show up and cheer me on when I actually finish the project, great! That's all I need.

Constantly needing to check in with other people and having them rubber-stamp your writing is a sign of a lack of confidence, and it's something you need to work on it if you want to finish anything.

Be okay with going it alone. Be okay with waiting for feedback. Trust in yourself and your writing.

You have a process.

Your process doesn't have to look like mine to be successful. I've shared my process so that those without a process yet can get some inspiration for how to organize themselves, but there's no rule that you have to do it like me.

I will say that my process has achieved great results, but I'm not omniscient; maybe there's an even better way of working that I don't know about yet.

Every writer goes about things a different way, and that's totally fine. What matters is that they are getting things done in a manner that they like and that is working well for them. Even if their approach would make me want to tear my own skin off, I cannot and will not judge. They've got their thing, and that's perfect.

You need to have something that guides you so that you can replicate your successes. Scattershot approaches get scattershot results.

Contrary to how it may seem, I am not actually a very organized person. I work on both Google Docs AND Word for different parts of the process because I like doing it that way, but it would probably drive someone else insane if they like to use things like Ellipsus or Scrivener.

But it works for me, and if it ain't broke, I'm not going to fix it. If what you has is doing well, then keep at it. If it's not working for you, then you have many options to better organize and systematize your work.

You worldbuild as you go along.

This is specifically for fantasy and scifi, two of the genres where I see people crash and burn the most.

That's because they set everything up to perfection before actually doing anything and then just ... don't do the thing. Or do the thing in fits and starts because they spent so much time and energy worldbuilding that they don't have any creative juice for actually writing anything.

If you have like one chapter done but you have a full bible-sized guide to your lore, you've gone about things in the wrong order. Now your project becomes about fitting all of that in somewhere instead of writing an entertaining story, and you're far more likely to fall into the Infodumping Trap. You're making things too complicated.

In my guide to worldbuilding, you'll notice that the things I encourage people to emphasize are little things that don't have anything to do with the plot. One cannot build a plot around a cultural dish.

And I emphasized those things on purpose, because those are things that aren't going to overtake your story and become a substitute for actually creating something people want to read.

When I started writing The Eirenic Verses, I had a pretty simple premise: there's one country that has poetry magic and one that doesn't, and there's a giant mountain range between them and the girls are fightinggg.

That's about it for what I had at the jump. All the other things - lore, mythology, religion, international politics, festivals, cultural consciousness, economy, clothing, etc - all came later, as I was writing.

I didn't set out knowing what festivals the Bremish had or how the royal family works in Sina or what the towns looked like or exactly how High Poetry works or any of that. I discovered all of that during the writing process and noted it down so I wouldn't contradict myself.

By focusing only on the "what if" at the start, then infusing the rest as you go along, you will avoid the sin of infodumping because you don't know what to infodump. Things will just come to you as they make sense, and you will include them as relevant. You don't have anything to infodump on the reader.

You remember that you can always revise.

And lastly, great writers worry about getting the draft done. They don't fret over every word because they know that they can get it looking flawless LATER. They just want that rough draft, and then they seek specific feedback on how to improve that draft.

My third book, Funeral of Hopes, is extraordinarily short right now. after finishing the first draft, I then sent it to a great beta, who offered me suggestions for how to lengthen it, and I'm now fitting those new puzzle pieces together.

I knew as soon as I was done that I needed more, but I wanted to let it sit for a bit and get some suggestions for how to do that. If I had spent ages trying to lengthen it the first go-round, I probably would have gotten frustrated and given up. It's okay to just have the bare bones of the story and then seek out feedback; there's something there to scaffold off.

If you'd like to read more of my work, consider buying my book!

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

Be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

I've also created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

Enjoy!

#aspiring writer #aspiring author #novel writing #author #am writing #beginner writer #creative writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writers community #writing community #writers on writing #writers of tumblr #writerblr #writer stuff #writer things

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us3rn4m3n0tf0und1170 · 23 days ago

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An identity reveal in the worst way possible…

A FAN FICTION FT DELTAPOOL/WADE WINSTON AND ARACHNID/JAMES PARKER (both part of my Marvel au)

TW: Mention of guns, someone gets shot, violence, vomiting, and terrible writing :3

MORE DETAILS AND THE FANFIC ITSELF UNDER THE BOARDER

random thing on how Arachnid gets his identity revealed, might make art on it later, I’m terrible at writing so bare with me 😭🙏

Footnote: this mainly takes place from Deltapool’s pov, his pov is in purple. Arachnid’s pov is in blue(though he doesn’t have the ability to break the fourth wall like Delta does) any other white text is just from me, the main narrator :) think of it like the breaks in SpiderMan Ultimate :D

An identity reveal in the worst way possible…

Honestly Delta had no idea what was going on. Once second he and his vigilante buddy, Arachnid, are beating up bad guys (without killing them because Webs said that was a no no) and the next someone’s getting shot to death and people are running and screaming. For the people who just got here, you may be wondering: “Why is the city’s friendly neighborhood Arachnid standing over a mangled corpse?” Well the explanation is simple, turns out the goody two shoes isn’t as angelic as he seems. Actually- scratch that, let’s start from the beginning;

A normal day of patrol, a normal, exhausting day according to Arachnid. And to make it worse he’d been stuck with Deltapool the whole day, the annoying jabbering prick who also somehow became his best friend. Hey! Not nice, I am not annoying! Just well spoken! Either way it was exhausting. They were both about to head home and turn in for the night when some supervillain attacked. How infuriating, and to make matters worse, they were making a huge mess of the city, as per usual. And speaking of as per usual, reporters were already rushing to the scene. Mostly because they never have any common sense, insert dramatic sigh here. So naturally Arachnid and Deltapool head over to the scene to fight this troublesome villain, with a stupid name that I can’t even remember. It was quick, and easy. Zip, zop, zoom, villain’s tied up in webs, job well done. Until it wasn’t.

“That was weirdly easy.” Arachnid muttered, looking at the villain. He was standing next to Deltapool, over the villain. The villain wore a gas mask, one with a neon yellow detailing around the eyes and mouth hole things. A dark black trench coat with neon yellow buttons shielded their body. “You’re telling me,” Deltapool, or Delta for short as Webs likes to call me, hehe, replied, glancing over at Arachnid, who was now crouched over the villain. “You fool…” The villain muttered, getting cut off by Arachnid. “I’d save your words for court buddy, you did kinda destroy half the city.” The tension was palpable in the air. “Let me finish you idiots-“ The villain began again, this time to be cut off by Delta. “Ah, ah, evil villain, no need to get too excited. You heard the man.” Arachnid chimed in with; “No it’s fine, if he wants to embarrass himself on live television then so be it.” Oh god another boring villain monologue. The villain stared up at the two of them. “You see, I am but a simple messenger.” Playing the victim, a classic among the villains of the hour, probably just another lie. “And I’m here to deliver a message to you.” The villain said, gesturing to Arachnid. “James Parker, you have 72 hours to restore what has been broken or everything you have fought hard to protect will be destroyed. Under the bridge is where I am found.” The villain said. Everyone went quiet, except for a few murmurs of people asking who James Parker was. Delta looked over at Arachnid, whose eyes were wide as he stared at the villain. Arachnid held out his hand to Delta, his eyes not straying from the villain. “Gun.” Was all he said. “Webs, no-“ Delta began. “I said, give me the gun Delta.” Arachnid replied firmly, with a dark tone Delta had never heard him use before. Arachnid shot a web over the reporter’s cameras. Delta doesn’t even remember handing him the gun, but he does remember the sound of the gun being cocked, and the look in his friend’s eyes when he pulls the trigger. Three shots. BLAM BLAM BLAM. Someone screams. The audio is being broadcasted live, the camera shot over by Arachnid- James’s webs. James fleas the scene, leaving Delta there standing in shock for a moment. Sirens in the distance, time to go. Delta gets out of there as well. Arachnid, the one who told Delta to never kill anyone again, had just shot a man down. Dead. After he did something as silly has say his real name. Delta didn’t understand it. Nor would he until the next time he saw James.

James currently was on a rooftop, pacing back and forth, his hands clutching his head, his mask in one of his hands. Yes, he just shot someone. Yes, he’s guilty about it. Yes, the whole world knows his identity and his life is ruined. He could feel the bile rise in his throat, a familiar feeling, but still terrible, he felt the burning pain as he projected the venom onto the concrete. Bleh. What was he going to do now? Arachnid, and James-, had officially became the menace the news always painted him to be. He couldn’t go home, his apartment was under his name. His friends probably hated him now. And Delta was also probably pissed at him. “Stupid, stupid, stupid-“ he growled at himself, plopping down on the building, his legs hanging over the edge. He stared at the city below. At the mess he made. He just wanted to sleep his problems away. But for now, he just stared at the city below, and hoped that things would get better, as they probably won’t.

Notes: JEEZ THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE 😭💔 half of it was improvised as I went along 😔 I don’t think I’ve dedicated this hard to any kind of writing. Anyways, should I make an Ao3 account??? Let me know what you thought of this :D

(This was written in two hours I think, either that or an hour and forty five minutes)

#fanfic #fanfiction #writer #marvel au #marvel au fic #Marvel au fanfiction #Kinda spideypool?#spideypool au #the amazing arachnid #J A M E S #Deltapool #Deadpool au #spidersona #lore #character lore #idk #i was bored

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starfragment1979 · 5 months ago

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I've been working on that fanfic, the one that was supposed to be fluff-n-smut, but the more I write the more plot starts creeping in, and just a liiitle bit of conflict. I was telling my spouse about this, and they joked that I just can't stop myself from writing a well rounded story, ha.

It's also turning out to be longer than I had anticipated, because of course it is. I had four scenes in mind, and I was going to post them as separate chapters just for ease of reading, but I was also going to post the whole thing at once because I didn't think it would be that long. But I just finished chapter one last week and it's 10k words, and if each chapter plays out the same way, 40k is kind of a lot of fluff-n-smut with some bonus plot and conflict. I'll probably still post it all at once, though, once it's done.

But, oh, friends, it is going so slow. I have been struggling with health stuff since early November... I thought at first it was just election stress, but after a while I started assuming I must've somehow gotten sick with a virus. My normal, everyday symptoms for years now include things like body aches and fatigue and sore throat and congestion and shortness of breath etc etc etc, which means it's so hard to tell the difference between just another flare up and being sick with something new, so I never even thought to test for covid until it was too late. I guess it doesn't matter now.

But I have been stuck in bed all day and exhausted and in pain and either not sleeping or sleeping like the dead and having nightmares every night and my brain is so sludgy that it takes superhuman strength to wrestle words out of it. Like it takes me fifteen minutes to write a sentence and then when I reread it I realized I already used half the words in the previous paragraph which I wrote the day before. I do have random better days where writing comes a little easier, and the story itself is clear in my head, I'm just struggling to find the words to convey it. But this one is gonna need some more substantial line editing when I'm all done writing, I think.

And just to be clear, I am writing these stories for myself. Like I do absolutely love the kudos and comments and the occasional Tumblr post or whatever, and I'll admit to regularly refreshing my stats page to see if I got more hits. But if I was just in this for the accolades, I'd go find a more active fandom.

I'm writing these stories because I love the characters and the lives and the world I've created for them. But also the act of writing itself is so vital to me feeling like a human being, and especially now as I'm increasingly bedbound and can't really access visual arts or craft projects, writing is one of the only ways I can practice creativity. I have lost so much to this illness, and I don't want to lose writing and stories and art, too, even if it's a struggle, even if I'm using more energy than I can afford to do it.

I don't know how to express how vital writing and creativity is to my mental health without this whole post coming across as a pity party. Every now and then, when I'm having a bad day or a string of bad days, I'll start to think, "Maybe this should be my last story, maybe I shouldn't be doing this anymore." But I don't like to think about what my life would be like without writing, and I don't want to lose that last little shred of humanity.

And whenever I start to think I should quit, I also wind up thinking up another story I want to write, and I wind up wanting it badly enough that I decide to keep going for just one more story. And then one more. And on it goes.

I've actually got the next story I want to write fully fleshed out in my head, like scene-for-scene, a lot of the prose and dialogue clear in my mind. It'll be a one shot where Flick has a medical issue, panics about it, and CJ helps take care of him. (I know, I know... it's not my exact medical issues, but there probably is some projecting going on here, lol.) And it's all so clear in my head that I'm tempted to take a break from my current story and write that one instead, to strike while the iron is hot, because maybe it's also easier for me to write angst than it is to write sex, ha. But I also think it's probably better for me to save it for later, so that I have some future plans and something to look forward to, to use my own stories as a life raft for myself.

#writing #artmaking #words words words #fanfic #animal crossing fanfic #flick and cj #flick x cj #long covid #chronic illness #me/cfs #this post is not a cry for help #i don't need a welfare check #just feeling sorry for myself

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whateverwords33 · 10 days ago

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Blue Prince, when red is no longer your color.

Spoilers

After beating the main objective of the game, I can see why people are calling this a game of the year contender. Roguelike genre is popular and this game does it with a twist. All the elements are there, just played out differently. Instead of health that decreases to death, you have a step counter that lowers until you're exhausted for the day. No random enemies to fight, just puzzles in rooms that need solving. You don't even have to solve every puzzle to finish the game, but you may want to if you want to understand the deeper lore within this world.

So I didn't open every safe to find every red letter and there's one permanent upgrade I never unlocked because I couldn't get the boiler room and laboratory together. I did make it to room 46, so I have rolled credits. Afterwards, I did look up guides and articles just to see what I did miss and if I was on the right track for some puzzles. To no surprise, I had the right ideas. For safes, I over thought the combinations and was right that the answers were technically in the rooms. Some might take some extra thinking power, but the answer is there.

Okay, let me breakdown how I was able to access room 46. I already had the pump room to lower the reservoir water down by one. You don't need the boiler room for this, but it would be easier if you can get that fountain water down as well. I could not. I did solve the four flame pedestal elevator problem earlier and the tomb puzzle with the secret passages. Including the one with the candles needing to be lit. Also the foundation basement puzzle secret entry. For me, this part was crucial because my manor floor plan was not successful. I had attempted to reach the antechamber, unlocking the great hall and the right doorway. Unfortunately, I was unable to connect to the foundation room, which was on my left side, and my rooms did not connect to the antechamber properly. I did however, have enough steps to go back outside and try from below. I go down the flame pedestal elevator and make my way past the gear puzzle to unlock the North door of the antechamber. All that was left was the hope that I could get there from the foundation room. With my access key in hand, I took the foundation basement elevator up and went to work. I luckily got a secret garden key, which I used to then unlock the right side of the antechamber. Made my way over and entered room 46.

I don't know if I plan to go back to unlock the other hidden secrets. I am satisfied knowing I could have solved the laboratory puzzle if my rooms aligned properly. I did most of the music sheet puzzle, and I do mean when you have to re-read them a second time. I just never got the workshop again near the end to see the final word and then go dig it up. I got most of the two painting puzzle, just stuck on the two upper right rooms, which turned out to be the word "we." I did have all the components to solve the cases, I found the clues in the book "A New Clue" but since I never finished the painting puzzle I didn't look into it more. I found one microchip in the vase before I realized what to do with it, and technically never knew since I didn't unlock that part myself. I was really close to solving all these puzzles, my rooms just were not aligned the way I would hope. So I don't mind stopping the game here, because I had the right ideas, I just need the time and luck to get them done. I'll probably watch some video essay about it months from now when someone has found all the hidden lore. The lore is interesting, there is an actual mystery going on in the background.

I'll leave my final thoughts saying, there is a significance that you are changing from the red prince to the blue prince. I think it has to do with the different countries since they all had a different color associated with them. Classroom and library books if you don't know. It's probably how you're now in charge of them as the new baron and blue is the new United color. Also a play on the word blueprints, but I'm sure you already knew that one from playing the game.

TLDR; you go from being the red prince to the blue prince, that's the secret.

#Blue Prince #Video Games #Spoilers #Review #Red to Blue #TLDR

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holocene-sims · 1 year ago

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simblr new years resolutions 2024!

thank you @stargazer-sims so much for tagging me!! ❤️✨🌟

not sure who has done this one yet but i'll tag 💌 @seyvia @simmersofia @mangosimoothie @minty-plumbob @queeniecook @dandylion240 @mmmatchasims @thebramblewood @aheathen-conceivably @nectar-cellar @igglemouse & anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

honestly, i have never made a new years resolution in my life, so this is a fun exercise to try out for once!

what's your resolution for your simblr?

this is VERYYYYY ambitious but i want to fully complete the core "everything the stars promised" and move on to doing side content and MOST IMPORTANTLY the more loosey goosey fun epilogue :)

april 15th of this year will mark the second anniversary of the story! i've done so much and yet at the same time, so little in the grand scheme of the plot i have in mind. i randomly checked today to see how many pages on my blog the story takes up and we're at 31 pages! so, uh, about 15 pages a year - not sure if that's good progress or not but oh well! we are getting close to the extra exciting parts of the story, and i would love to finish it all up this year, you know? finish on a nice round even anniversary number and with a bunch of plot point bangers lolol

but we'll see! it's possible, maybe, since i'm graduating college this semester and will have more free time for a while, at least i as figure out the work situation and probably even while working whenever i do get a job since nightly homework will no longer exist LMAO, but even if it's not possible, i am definitely promising myself to work harder on the story! i really do love this thing despite it all and i'm proud of it, and i want to see how much i can keep improving it so that the ending is truly the best part <3

what do you want from the sims franchise?

a sale on kits lmfaoooo!!! (which will never happen) i have exactly 5 dollars left over from an old gift card someone gave me for ea app when it was still origin. it's exactly enough for a kit except that sales tax adds on 7 cents and the gift card leftovers don't cover that.

yeahhhh...i'm neither charging 7 cents for sales tax nor 5 bucks for a second kit to my credit card. no, ma'am. i want that shit for FREE

any other new years resolutions?

don't become incredibly depressed by the shock of leaving the school system after almost 23 years of life and the horrors of figuring out the whole...life and career...thing

lol this resolution will be broken

so, how about an achievable one? read more books and write more actual prose, whether for my sims story or for something else. i've been so burnt out from academia that it's all stopped being fun. like even my sims story has been such a drag to create because i just have zero desire to write, to work on the outline, or find inspiration.

and that really sucks. writing and reading have been a huge part of my life for so long and they mean a lot to me, but right now they do feel exhausting. i'm tired of looking at a word document and wanting to bash my head into the keyboard because it reminds me of writing project proposals and boring shit instead of good fiction.

but i'm hoping the freedom from academia will spark joy in my literary hobbies again, and i'm going to try and bring back my love for them myself :) not sure how but aside from finding a way to work on the sims story more, i'm thinking maybe i'll commit to trying out more short-form writing prompts.

#tag games #in my hobby revival era

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iantimony · 5 months ago

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tuesday!

hello again! another 2-weeker because I was in Washington (Da Capital) for a portion of last week for an academic conference and boy howdy did that sap my will to live/energy to post.

listening: I finished relistening to TANIS! season 5 felt completely unfamiliar so I either never actually listened to it or it was just that forgettable. which tbh, it was. very forgettable. definitely good background white noise but really nothing cooking in there. very clear to me that at the end there terry miles was way more interested in writing a book than an audio drama.

for the sake of completeness I also am relistening to the black tapes. definitely a more cohesive narrative happening there even though I know the "finale" is looming ahead. also has not generally aged super well, and some of the attempts at writing academic experts of things in make me laugh a lot, and the overlap in voice actors for side characters is also amusing. I think this universe of podcasts only work if TANIS is a fictional podcast in TBT and vice-versa but that's not news. also why did they make cuneiform on…parchment…as a plot point in s3…it's cuneiform…wouldn't it be on a slab of clay…anyways a reference to "current political discourse" in a s3 ep made me check the date and I didn't realize that this came out in 2020????? insane. way more recent than I thought (derogatory).

music-wise, saw Mahjong Crib live a few weeks ago at a local bar so I've been letting that run in the background. the bassist was incredibly high (as he should be) and very funny. the last song of the set he put the bass down and started going ham on cowbell. definitely in the family of freeform jazz which isn't normally my thing. still not sure this band is my thing, will probably not be purchasing this album for example.

reading: How Cheerleading Became So Acrobatic, Dangerous and Popular (David Gauvey Herbert): what it says on the tin. didn't realize how much of it came down to monopoly of an industry again. womp womp.

read these both on the plane back from the conference: By Proxy (Lise): mind the tags. really nailed a good dynamic between LWJ and JC imo. Wuxian The Ninth (spockandawe): was linked by the author in a server we're both in. the choice to just do the intro and finale is so incredibly valid. I should do that for my abhorsen/TLT crossover actually because I have the beginning done and definitely have a finale cooking in my head but writing all the bits in the middle seems exhausting and this has made it occur to me that I am allowed to just. skip all the shit in the middle. nothing is stopping me.

watching: fallow

playing: fallow

making: I have been speed knitting a pair of fingerless gloves for my mom! chose this pattern specifically to do them flat style because I was on the go and didn't want to think about using dpns, and I don't have the equipment for knitting in the round comfortably on that small of a scale.

finished carving the block for my holiday cards BUT printing them has proved. challenging. I have what turns out to be kinda shitty water-based ink that is a real pain in the ass to do more than one print at a time with because it dries so fast. it's also applying and printing extremely unevenly and patchy, and while I don't actually mind the texture that adds, the fact that I have to wash off my block & roller every 2-3 prints or so is really stymying my speed. I am abusing my boyfriend's amazon prime to get an oil-based printmaking ink shipped to me so I have put further printing on hold til today when that allegedly arrives. I miss living in closer proximity to a more professional art supply store :-( I've printed about 15 or 20 now and depending on how much nicer the ink looks I may restart lol… either way next year I think I will get thicker paper to mail postcard-style instead of in an envelope to save on postage and work? we'll see. I'm hand delivering around half of my cards over the course of the holidays as it is to make it simpler and cut back on the amount of envelopes and postage I'll need anyways so it's really not TOO bad…

I kind of want to carve a return label stamp as well but obviously the scale/detail of that is more challenging. the easier move is to order return label stickers obviously so maybe I will design some of those, not for this year at this time scale but y'know. I was thinking of putting up my holiday card designs on redbubble or etsy or whatever as well just for funsies.

eating: made deb smittenkitchen's lentil soup with sausage, chard and garlic! really good! my sausages are generic beef from the farmers market so I feel like I lost a little flavor in there by not using some sort of sweet or spicy sausage but it's still tasty and filling. according to comments it freezes very well so I made the full recipe and will be freezing about four servings. I am rich in frozen soups rn.

I was GOING to make her crispy cauliflower and cabbage salad as well but the half a head of cabbage I had in the fridge tragically finally went bad. so instead I did an improvization at her cauliflower with dates and pistachios salad. I did not have dates or pistachios, subbed in craisins and almond slivers, lmfao, but still tasty and has the same structure. I also got some salmon burgers from kroger that have TWENTY FIVE GRAMS of protein each and were very tasty.

misc: feeling very [horror movie scare chord] from networking at that conference. my advisor's previous student who I did not overlap with but am familiar because I have continued his work casually commented that he applied to over Four Hundred Jobs before getting the one he currently has that he. does not even like that much. (I think? unclear. he is kind of a hater at heart in the funniest possible way, bless him.) so I have the fear of god in me a little bit but it's Fine, I'm doing what I'm "supposed" to be doing that a lot of other people are not by doing extensive networking and looking for summer internships for what will hopefully be the last summer of my PhD program.

I gotta start thinking about my yearly roundup too!!! I did a bad job of keeping a spreadsheet this year for this to note everything down in an easy format so maybe I will do that in retrospect as a time-filling activity in the next few weeks…

#tuesdayposting

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senashenta · 3 months ago

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Storm Season: Chapter Seven

Title: Storm Season (Chapter Seven)

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut

Summary: “Dean Winchester is Saved.” The angels all say, clear as a bell—and Dean crawls out of his own grave. Shortly after, he meets the person who pulled him out of Hell, and it turns out to be CASTIEL. Seven years after Cas vanished off the face of the Earth, Dean is suddenly confronted with his former lover again, only this time he’s not just a regular college kid—he’s an ANGEL, and Dean just doesn’t know how to compute that AT ALL.

But even after all these years, Dean can’t deny that he still has feelings for Cas, even as he and Sam embark on an out-of-place-palraijuq Hunt in Louisiana. Not even a giant crocodile monster can keep his attention when Cas comes around—and just like before, the angel is very, very distracting, bringing up Dean’s love for him once more. But things aren’t as simple as when they were younger and Cas was human, and it will take a lot of work before Dean can trust Cas again.

Notes: Alright, so as of now I have NINE of the post-Storm Season one-shots written (and about half of them edited) but they aren’t written in chronological order because LOGIC IS FOR LOSERS, apparently! I’m currently trying to start writing the remaining ones in order, but no guarantees because I am under the sway of my ADHD and have very little control over these things sometimes. :D;; But at the very least I will have FIVE to post directly after Storm Season is over, and then… I guess we’ll see where it goes from there!

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.

STORM SEASON ET AL TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

STORM SEASON Chapter Seven By Senashenta

The drive south was a long one, but at least it was mostly comfortable again. Dean had to admit (so privately, oh so privately, he would never say so out loud to Sam) that actually talking about things had helped him feel better. And like… quite a bit. Not just a little. So, he drove all the way to Louisiana feeling looser, freer, less like everything was crushing down on his shoulders, even though he knew he had a lot of things to deal with, still.

He also drove less like a maniac, so there was that.

When they arrived in New Orleans they hung their boots, so to speak, at a little motel called The Gatorland Inn and they were not kidding with that name. When they walked into their room, there were no less than three taxidermy alligators around the place, and everything was covered in ‘gator skin, right down to the lampshades. Dean almost turned right back around and walked out again, but who was he kidding? They had definitely stayed in worse places, even if the stuffed alligator over the television kept giving him the side-eye.

They spent the rest of that day unpacking and going through their belongings, and Dean began putting up the Wall Of Weird for this job. Giant Crocodile Monster was a new one for both of them, so they needed all the information they could get—and when he was finished, it was a pathetically small Wall. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t that much intel out there on the palraijuq to be had, unless maybe you went all the way up north and asked the Inuit yourself. Sam seemed disappointed that the Internet had failed him.

With all that done, they headed downtown and picked a random diner—South By Southeast—to have dinner at, where Dean discovered, to his absolute delight, they had the best pecan pie. He ordered two slices. Sam just shook his head, but he had a little smile on his face because it was good to see his brother acting… normal again. (Normal for Dean, anyway.)

That night they crashed early, exhausted from the drive, and thankfully Dean didn’t have a single dream—good or bad—the entire night.

-- --

The next morning, they set off to procure a couple of Inuit spearheads.

The Alabama Natural History Museum was in Tuscaloosa and give-or-take, a four-and-a-half hours drive away—probably less since Dean was the one who was driving, and he tended to have a lead foot even when he wasn’t angsting. They made it to Tuscaloosa at about the four-hour mark with Sam harping on Dean to slow down the entire way.

They couldn’t actually go in to pull off their heist until after the museum was closed, so they spent the day tooling around Tuscaloosa, until Dean found a bar he liked and decided to put down roots there. Sam continued his exploration of the city, and they agreed to meet at the museum at midnight. It was a solid plan.

The bar Dean had decided to camp at was called Decades and was a popular place, at least judging by the lunch crowd. It was around one o’clock and Dean was on his third beer already, now waiting for the burger he had just ordered—when Cas suddenly appeared in the seat across from him at the small table he was occupying.

Dean jumped slightly, then just sighed and swiped a hand over his face. “Shit, Cas, I will never get used to that.” He was just picking up his beer and taking a drink when Cas set a small jar of red liquid on the table between them. Dean finished swallowing thickly and asked, “is that what I think it is?”

“It’s seal blood.”

“Baby seal blood.”

“It was hard to get.”

“I bet.” That was about when the waitress came over with his food. She stopped at the jar of blood and looked at Dean, who just smiled winningly and informed her, “it’s baby seal blood!”

“Very funny.” She seemed to assume he was joking, and when Cas reached to move the jar out of the way she set the platter containing Dean’s burger and fries down in front of him, then looked to Cas, “can I get you anything?”

Cas just smiled a little. “No. Thank you.”

A shrug, and she headed off, leaving them alone again. Dean started in on his burger immediately, making a little grunting noise when it turned out to be really good. Cas watched him eat with a small, fond smile on his face. It was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed.

“You’ll be happy to know the seal didn’t suffer.” He told Dean, offhand.

“Oh, good. That’s good.” Dean tried to seem tough, but he secretly had a big heart. It was one of the things Cas loved about him. Now Dean asked around a mouthful of food, “so, you really just don’t eat anymore, huh? Angels don’t eat?”

“No, we don’t eat.” Cas confirmed, even though they’d covered this topic before. Dean couldn’t seem to get past it. “So, you can’t steal my fries anymore.”

Dean paused at that, just the faintest of smiles tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Do you miss food?”

“You know, I do.” Cas chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, “I used to love the taste of food. Most food, anyway. I loved the taste of lots of things.” Not necessarily just food, but he didn’t think he should go there. “But now it’s… I don’t taste things properly anymore. Everything just tastes like its molecular makeup. I used to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, yeah, but now they just taste… cosmic. It’s strange. It’s because of my Grace, I’m sure, but my Grace also makes it so I don’t need to eat anymore, so…” He shrugged. “Why bother, right?”

“That sucks.” Dean popped a fry into his mouth and chewed, swallowed before continuing with, “the food is half the fun of being human—which.” He stopped there and sighed. “I guess you’re not anymore. So, it makes sense.”

“Mm.” Cas agreed. Then he gave an almost cheeky little smile and added, “is the other half the fun of being human sex? Because I’m pretty sure I can still do that.”

Dean snorted. He was working on another large bite of burger, and once he swallowed, he muttered, “yeah we kind of proved that already, didn’t we?”

Cas laughed softly and reached to pick up the jar of seal blood, tucking it into the pocket of his trench coat again before reaching into the opposite pocket and pulling something else out. He set them on the table as an offering. “I got these while I was up there. I thought they might be handy and save you having to break into yet another museum.”

“What do you mean ‘yet another’?” Dean demanded, reaching with the hand not holding his burger to pick up one of the objects Cas had just presented—and he paused, turning it over in his hand before saying, “Cas, tell me these aren’t Inuit spearheads.”

“You guys are always breaking into museums for things,” Cas shrugged, “you keep forgetting I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

“I never forget that.”

“Anyway, yes, those are Inuit spearheads. I visited a couple of Inuit villages while I was in Alaska and one of the hunters there made them for me.”

“They just made them for you. Out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Yes. I asked for their help and told them we were hunting a palraijuq, and they were more than willing. They’re a very giving people.”

Dean set the spearhead down and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “Doesn’t matter that they’re not, you know, relics?”

“No, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re crafted by the hands of an Inuit hunter.”

Dean was already setting his burger down and dialing Sam’s number. “One sec, I have to tell Sam we drove to Tuscaloosa for no reason.” It wasn’t meant to be biting, but it came across slightly harsh. Cas brushed it off as he collected the three spearheads up and tucked them back into his pocket for safekeeping.

The conversation with Sam was short and easy. He took the news well, pleased that they wouldn’t have to do any breaking and entering that day—and it was only another four-hour drive back to New Orleans anyway. He said he would find the bar and meet them there as soon as possible.

When Dean hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket, he just immediately went back to his food, picking up his burger and taking another large bite. “Okay, so thanks for that I guess.” The words were barely understandable around the food in his mouth. Cas had actually kind of missed that particular habit of Dean’s.

It was funny, some of the odd things he had missed about Dean while they had been apart. Things that he had been able to see from above, but not experience. Things like Dean talking with his mouth full. A little thing that most people would even find irritating, but Cas found oddly charming, somehow.

He found most things about Dean charming, to be fair.

They sat in silence for a while, Dean eating and ordering another beer when he went to take a drink and came up dry. That was one thing Cas had never developed a taste for, in his time as a human—alcohol. He had been more of a coffee guy. But, once they were older, he had never begrudged Dean a beer or two if he wanted them, and now he had no right to say anything even if Dean was on his fourth, now.

When Sam finally arrived, Dean was done with his food and the waitress had whisked the plate away, leaving he and Cas to sit together quietly while Dean drank—possibly too fast, but who was Cas to judge. He would just make sure that Sam was the one to drive the two of them home.

“Where did you get Inuit spearheads from?” Sam asked as he dragged a chair over from another table and took a seat.

“An Inuit.” Cas replied simply. That much seemed obvious. “I was in Alaska anyway, so I figured…”

“Apparently Cas is good buddies with at least one Inuit huntsman.” Dean muttered around the edge of his glass. “He literally just asked them, and they immediately made some spearheads for him.”

“To be fair, I did tell them about the palraijuq.” Cas pointed out.

“Did you get the seal blood, too?”

“Baby seal blood.” Dean groused.

“Yes, I got it. You’ll still have to fashion the actual spears to attach the spearheads to, but that should be easy. Even broomsticks would suffice. It’s the spearheads themselves that are the important part.”

The Winchesters were not unfamiliar with fashioning their own weapons, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Making spears out of broom handles would just take a bit of whittling and cutting so they could strap the spearheads to the poles properly. Might take an hour or two, tops.

“Who here has ever actually thrown a spear before?” Dean asked after a moment, glancing between Sam and Cas. When his question was met by silence, Dean took another drink of his beer and mumbled, “and we’re supposed to hit this thing in the eye? We are so screwed.”

“Well—I mean—no, come on—” Sam waved one hand, “how hard can it be? It’s just a pointy stick, right?”

“Actually,” Cas began, and both brothers knew immediately they weren’t going to like what he was about to say, “the physics behind spear-throwing are very complicated. The weight of the spearhead, the balance of the shaft, the experience of the thrower… not to mention the fact that you’re trying to hit a moving target…” And when Dean and Sam both just looked at him, he demanded; “what? The palraijuq isn’t going to just roll over and let you stab it in the eye!”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Then Sam leaned forward against the table and said, “I say we send in the angel.”

Dean snorted into his beer. “You good with a spear, Cas?”

“Uh… spears were never my thing. Back in the Dark Ages, I was more of a daggers kind of guy. A sword when I absolutely had to. And I mean… my angel blade, obviously, so. But no, I was never really any good with spears.” Cas shrugged. “Maybe you just need to practice? I mean a lot.”

Sam heaved a sigh. “Where are we going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans?”

But Dean grinned. “I’ve got a better idea.”

-- --

It turned out they weren’t going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans. They were going to make the spears in New Orleans. They were going to practice in South Dakota—because what happened on Bobby Singer’s property stayed on Bobby Singer’s property, and that had apparently always been the case.

So, they drove from Tuscaloosa back to New Orleans with Sam in the driver’s seat and heavy one angel in the back. Cas was mostly quiet for the trip, but then so were Dean and Sam, just a little bit of conversation here-and-there along the way. It was only a four-hour drive, so it wasn’t unbearable. Cas spent the time looking out the window and remembering back to all the hours he’d spent on the bus, travelling to meet up with Dean when they were younger. The Impala was much more comfortable than the buses had ever been.

Back in New Orleans, they holed up in the motel room with two brooms and a mop they had stolen from the maid’s closet at the end of the row of rooms, and each of them took one. They removed the heads and got to work whittling down the tips to attach the spearheads to them. Eventually, Sam took over Cas’s when it turned out the angel was hopeless at whittling.

What he wasn’t hopeless at was disappearing and reappearing a few minutes later with a ball of twine that was desperately needed for attaching the spearheads to the newly made shafts. And once everything looked good, Cas was also tasked with transporting them to South Dakota, where they, a couple of duffle bags, and their sketchy-looking spears appeared on Bobby Singer’s doorstep completely out of the blue.

Bobby wasn’t even surprised this time, except for the spear part. He just heaved a long-suffering sigh and invited them in to dump their stuff on the floor in the living room—Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom and Sam won, of course, so he took his own bag upstairs while Dean took over the couch.

Then they quickly decided on the best course of action for practicing spear throwing, and they all went out and started making sandbags, which were then painted with bullseye targets on their centers and set out at a distance from the house that they deemed feasible.

The rest of the day was spent with the three of them throwing spears at the targets—and missing completely—until they were frustrated, exhausted, and just tromped back into Bobby’s house when the sun went down for food and beer, not a single one of them having even hit a sandbag that day, never mind a bullseye.

Cas excused himself and disappeared, heading off to do Heaven’s bidding, promising he would be back the next day.

Dean looked after him with a slightly sad expression on his face but didn’t actually protest. He understood that Cas had other duties to attend to as well as what he was helping them with down on Earth.

Still. Dean was growing to hate that soft little sound, the ruffle of invisible feathers.

-- --

Their first night crashing at Bobby’s place and Dean had a nightmare—the Hell kind, where he woke up at three a.m. hyperventilating, unable to catch his breath, feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest, with images flashing in his head that were so horrible that he wished he never had to sleep again just to escape them. Except being awake did nothing to keep them at bay, either, really, they were always there, in the back of his mind, tormenting him and—and sometimes he didn’t even know what was real, if he was actually back or if he was still in Hell or not—

And suddenly Cas was there, appearing beside the couch silently and shrugging out of his trench coat, letting it to fall to the floor before toeing off his shoes and climbing onto the couch with Dean, maneuvering them around and wrapping him up in his arms, holding him close, warm and comforting and real. Something from the real world that he could latch onto and hold onto for dear life while he attempted to find his footing again.

Sam was thankfully sleeping upstairs in the spare room, but even if he had been there, neither of them would have cared. Cas just held Dean securely for the longest time, one hand rubbing soothing circles against his back, while the man in his arms clung to him and slowly, oh so slowly, began to ease off and calm down, get a hold of himself again.

Cas wasn’t cleared to be on Earth right now. He had abandoned his duties right in the middle of something, leaving Uriel to complete the task, when he had seen Dean was in need. He would be in trouble for that later, he was certain of it. Already was, judging by the voices on Angel Radio—but he didn’t care. He would be there for Dean, no matter what. He just turned down the volume on Angel Radio to focus more on the man beside him.

Finally, after a long while, Cas murmured softly, “do you want to talk about it, Dean?”

There was a long, long silence before Dean took a shaky breath and managed to croak out, “you… came into Hell. To rescue me. Did you see…?”

“Some of it.” Cas admitted, “the incursion into Hell… Dean I know it was forty years for you, but that’s how long it took to get to you. We—I—started fighting to get you out right from Day One, but the resistance was… formidable. It took us all that time just to break through Hell’s defenses, and I did see… beyond the battle…” Trailing off, he sighed quietly; “I did see what you did down there. But I understand. That kind of pain, that kind of torture, for decades? Anyone would have…”

“The things I did,” Dean said in a voice that cracked mid-sentence, wavered in his throat, “they’re unforgivable, Cas. How can you even stand to be near me, to touch me? Never mind to—to love me, I’m—I’m a monster, I’m—”

“You’re not.” Cas insisted firmly, and just tightened his arms around Dean even more, holding him close against his side, “Dean, you can’t blame yourself for being human, for… for breaking, under those circumstances. You’re allowed to break, sometimes.”

“But I didn’t just break, Cas, I traded myself for…” There were tears in Dean’s eyes, now, and he scrubbed at them harshly with one hand. Cas just tilted his head to kiss by Dean’s temple gently. “The things that I did to those people, putting them on the rack and just—just tearing them apart, I—” More tears, and this time he couldn’t stop them. His shoulders began to shake, and he hunched in on himself; “why did you pull me out, Cas? I deserve to still be down there.”

And Cas’s heart broke on those words. He uttered a soft, almost wounded noise, and gathered Dean into his chest, just letting him cry. “I rescued you because it was my duty.” He told Dean truthfully, and then; “and I rescued you because I love you with every fiber of my being, because I know you, and you did not deserve to be trapped in Hell. You are a good man, Dean Winchester. You always have been, and you always will be, you just got pushed beyond your limits and that’s understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Dean had his face buried in Cas’s shirt, but he croaked out, “…you really… believe that; don’t you?”

Cas nodded and dropped a kiss against his hair. “I always have, and I always will. I’ll always believe in you, Dean, even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

Dean fell silent after that, just leaning into Cas and closing his eyes, forcing down the flashes of Hell—of what he had been through down there, of what he had done—and absorbing Cas’s warmth in the quiet of the middle of the night. Eventually, what seemed like hours later, his heartrate and beathing seemed to be under control again, and he was no longer actively crying, though tears still bit at his eyes from time-to-time. Cas was patient through it all, just letting him work himself out—until Dean finally sat up a little but didn’t actually pull away from the angel.

“I don’t know how you can always have so much faith in me.” He admitted softly. “You’ve… you’ve seen the worst of me. The absolute worst, but you still…”

“The kind of love I feel toward you, it means embracing all the flaws, all the mistakes. All the bad times, along with the good.” Cas murmured. He leaned back in the couch finally, pulling Dean along with him and settling with Dean tucked into his side, “I’ll always feel that way, when it comes to you.”

Dean was quiet for a while again, and then began moving, easing around to stretch out on the couch—but very obviously leaving room for Cas behind him. The angel smiled a little and eased down to lay with Dean, sliding an arm over his waist and holding him close.

“Will you… stay?” Dean asked after a moment, “can you stay?”

Cas hummed. “You mean until morning?”

“No, I mean—I mean yes, until morning, but,” Dean swallowed slightly, “even after Sam and Bobby get up? I mean can you stay?”

Cas was already flicking the switch in his brain to turn off Angel Radio entirely. “Of course I can stay, Dean. Of course.”

-- --

It was early the next morning when Bobby woke with a yawn, his back popping and complaining as he stretched, and wandered out of his bedroom. He poked his head into the spare room and Sam was already out of bed, so he continued on down the stairs to the kitchen. Sam had already started up a pot of coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug at his elbow and his laptop out, scrolling for news out of New Orleans.

“Mornin’, Sam.” Bobby greeted Sam even as he headed for a cup of coffee for himself, then; “where’s Dean?”

Sam picked up his mug and chuckled into his coffee, nodding toward the living room. “See for yourself.”

When Bobby walked over to the doorway to the living room, cup of steaming coffee in his hand, he was met by the sight of Dean laid out on the couch with Cas cuddled up behind him, both of them pressed tight together to fit on the narrow piece of furniture. Cas’s arms were wrapped around Dean, and he was holding him close. Dean was obviously still asleep, and Cas had his eyes closed—but the word was that angels didn’t sleep, so he was probably just resting.

Bobby gave an amused snort and returned to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. “How long until we disturb them?”

“Lets’ give them a little while longer.” Sam said with a little smile. He was still scrolling the news but paused to look over at Bobby. “They’re finally figuring things out, and I think they deserve the time together, after everything.” Then he returned his attention to the computer for a couple of minutes while Bobby drank his coffee and tried to wake up a little more before clucking his tongue and muttering, “another boat attack. A couple of alligator trappers this time. No signs of the bodies.”

“Shit, son,” Bobby muttered into his mug, “that’s three attacks in the last week alone. This thing is really picking up the pace.”

Sam muttered an agreement, already clicking the links for more information about the attack (“boating accident.”) He paused just long enough to go get himself another cup of coffee before returning to the table. Meanwhile Bobby had gotten up to dig through the fridge for the fixings for breakfast and started working on that, and soon the entire house was full of the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs.

When Bobby started plating everything up, Sam decided that it was about time to wake Dean and headed through to the living room where he cleared his throat softly and simply said, “Cas. It’s time.”

Cas’s eyes blinked open immediately, and he flashed a brief smile before turning his attention to the man in his arms, leaving Sam to return to the kitchen and give them their privacy. Cas simply tightened his hold on Dean briefly before letting go to rub one hand against Dean’s arm and murmur, “Dean? Dean, it’s time to get up. We have work to do.”

Dean shifted slightly, then just muttered, “we always have work to do.”

“It seems like that, doesn’t it?” Cas agreed softly and pressed a kiss into the nape of Dean’s neck, just lightly, gently. “I’m sorry to have to wake you.”

“I was already awake.” Dean sighed and patted at one of Cas’s arms around him, “I was just comfortable.”

Cas reluctantly unwound his arms from around Dean to allow him to get up, and Dean sat quickly, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and rubbing at his hair. Cas sat up as well, settling beside Dean and straightening his shirt absently. He glanced sideways at Dean before asking quietly, “are you… alright?”

“You mean after last night?” Dean wondered around a yawn.

“Yes.” Cas confirmed. “I mean after last night.”

“I… I feel okay.” The elder Winchester replied, chancing a glance sideways at Cas, along with a fleeting flash of a smile. “You being here with me helped. Thanks. For staying.”

“I would do anything for you, Dean,” Cas repeated the sentiment he had expressed so many times already; “and I promised, so of course I stayed. I’ll continue to stay, for as long as I can. For as long as you need me.”

“And what if I need you forever, huh?” Dean asked softly.

Cas reached to rest a hand against Dean’s leg, squeezing gently. “Then I’ll figure something out.” He assured him. “I’ll stay until they have to come and drag me away in chains, if it comes down to it.”

Another flit of a smile from Dean, and he nodded his head briefly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Cas offered a smile of his own, then squeezed Dean’s leg again before pushing to stand and holding out a hand for the man to take. “Come on, let’s get some food in you. We’ve got a lot of practice to look forward to today—one of us will turn into an expert spearman sooner or later.”

Dean gave a real chuckle at that, reaching up to take Cas’s hand and letting the angel haul him to his feet. Cas grabbed his trench coat off the floor almost absentmindedly, then the two of them made their way through to the kitchen, where Bobby had set out a plate of bacon and eggs for himself, as well as one for Dean—and Sam was already halfway through his own plate. Dean took a seat at the table and mumbled a thanks to Bobby before tucking into his breakfast, and Cas smiled to himself, even as he draped his coat over the back of a chair and eased around and plucked a mug from the cupboard, filling it with coffee and taking it over to set it by Dean, who paused in shoveling food into his mouth to utter another soft thank you. Then Cas took a seat, himself, about the time Bobby was joining them at the table as well.

“Sam tells me you don’t eat anymore,” Bobby shrugged as he began eating, himself, “so I didn’t make you anything. Hope that doesn’t come across as rude or nothin’.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Cas assured the older man, “it’s actually more awkward for me when people do offer me food.”

Dean paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and glanced toward Cas. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that, then.”

Cas chuckled. “It’s no problem, Dean, I know it can be weird that I don’t eat. Offering is a kind gesture.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and went back to his food, and Sam finished off the last of his bacon before offering, “new boat attack in New Orleans. It was in the news this morning. Two trappers missing, presumed dead. Bobby said this thing is really amping up, and he’s right. That’s three attacks this week alone. Ten people in total.”

“What’s the body count now?” Dean asked around a mouthful of food.

“Almost forty in the last three months.” Sam informed them all, then quickly finished off his eggs and stood to take his plate to the sink before returning to his seat. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. It was nearly cold now but that was fine—he was almost finished. “The New Orleans officials are declaring a state of emergency, banning all boating into the swamps and canals, except for the police. They still have no real clue what’s going on, though. They’re basically flailing at this point.”

“I would say it’s imperative that at least one of us gets the hang of spear throwing.” Cas stated flatly.

“And I would say you’re right about that.” Sam agreed, “so everyone finish up here so we can get back to work.”

They did just that, Dean scarfing down the rest of his food so fast Cas worried he might choke, then downing his coffee just as swiftly. Bobby ate quickly as well, but at a slightly slower pace than Dean. Sam powered down his laptop and closed the top, pushing it away slightly. Cas just waited patiently for the rest of them to be ready.

The rest of the day was spent like the day before had been, with Dean, Sam and Cas all practicing with their homemade spears, trying to hit the bullseye painted on sacks of sand—until eventually Bobby finally got frustrated with their frankly epic failure and demanded to see their spears. He looked them over closely, eyes sharp and intent, and then declared their shafts to be utter shit and set about taking the spears apart and doing some tooling on the broomsticks they had used to make them to begin with.

A couple hours of sitting around in the kitchen doing nothing later, and Dean, Sam and Cas perked up considerably when Bobby came back into the house with spears that were significantly lighter, more elegantly carved—and definitely more aerodynamic, according to Bobby. He handed one to each of them and then gestured for them to get back to work.

Cas took his and weighed it in his hand, then held it out to look down the length of it and nodded to himself. The balance was much better. They really should have just asked Bobby to do that from the get-go.

When they went back outside and returned to target practice, there was still a bit of a learning curve, but after a while they started to hit the sandbags, which was progress, and then the bullseye, though maybe not dead center at first. That took a little while longer. But it was important that their aim be impeccable because the palraijuq’s eye was definitely a tricky target.

In the end, Sam turned out to be somewhat of a prodigy, picking up the skill quickly and walking that learning curve faster than either Dean or Cas. By the end of the day, he was reliably hitting the center of the bullseye on pretty much every shot, while Dean and Cas were still in the vicinity but not quite there yet. They decided that when it came down to it, Sam would be the one to take the shot.

When it started to get dark out, they called it for the night, feeling much better about the whole situation than they had before, and headed inside, where Bobby was cooking steak and fried potatoes for dinner. They all sat down around the kitchen table again, and everyone except Cas had a beer while they waited for the food to be ready. Dean and Sam were starving, as they had skipped lunch earlier in the day, too distracted by their sudden spear-throwing successes.

When Bobby slapped supper on the table, not a vegetable in sight, no one complained, not even Sam. He and Dean just devoured their steak and potatoes like they hadn’t seen food in a week, and Cas was relegated to beer duty, taking away empties and bring back full bottles for all three men. He was more than happy to do it. It made him feel like he had a purpose.

After dinner, the four of them sat around the kitchen and talked about all kinds of things; jobs they’d been on, the best places to eat in various towns they’d been to, and a few of the restaurants they had been to so far in New Orleans—even a cute dog Sam had seen on one of his jogs the other day. And, of course, they all had angel related questions for Cas, who answered them all to the best of his ability without giving away too much.

That night when Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom, Dean actually won, which was a surprise to everyone else but him (and Sam) because he picked scissors the same as he always did. Sam knew what he would pick. He always knew what his brother would pick. By all means, Sam should have won, the same as always. But while Sam pretended to be shocked at the outcome of their silly competition, Cas and Bobby could see right through it.

Cas smiled to himself while Bobby snorted into his beer.

-- --

Later that night, after they had all sat around talking about nothing in particular for a while longer, Dean made a point of finishing off the last of his final beer of the evening and then yawning hugely before heading up the stairs with a casually tossed out, “you comin’, Cas?”

Of course he was coming. What a ridiculous question. Cas said goodnight to Sam and Bobby and climbed the stairs after Dean, not entirely sure where this was headed or even if he was ready for what he was walking into—but certain that whatever it was, he would weather it. For Dean’s sake.

Dean closed the bedroom door behind them once they were both inside, then just started getting undressed, carefully, deliberately, and when Cas just stood there, unsure, he asked, “are you gonna get into bed dressed like that?”

“Ah. No, I… of course not.” Cas quickly began undressing as well, draping his clothing over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room, kicking his shoes off, until he was down to his boxers and shifting almost awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, here, and it had him a little off kilter.

But Dean just finished stripping, down to his own boxers and a t-shirt, before climbing into the bed and reaching to flick on the bedside lamp. “Get the overhead light, would you?” Cas blinked, then stepped over to flick the light off before hesitating again—until Dean finally made a soft sound in the back of his throat and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “Just get in here already.”

And they had done this before, just cuddled up in bed together, so maybe this wasn’t so weird after all. Cas climbed into the bed and under the blankets, and then, when Dean tugged at him, tucked himself into the man’s side, cuddling close and sliding an arm over him, just warmth and comfort—the kind that Cas has severely missed, in Heaven for all that time.

They were both quiet for a while before Dean spoke up with: “I need to… apologize.”

But Cas made a soft protesting noise. “You really don’t.”

“No, I do.” Dean insisted. He adjusted slightly so that he could bring one hand up and stroke his fingers through Cas’s hair gently. Cas hummed out a pleased sound. “I’ve been an asshole to you basically ever since I got back and found out you were alive, and that’s… it’s not right. You’re an angel, and you take your orders from Heaven, and they told you not to contact me, so… I get it. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such a jackass.”

“You’re not acting like a jackass now.” Cas pointed out softly, leaning into the hand in his hair, “anyway, I should apologize, too. I shouldn’t just blindly follow orders. I should have questioned them. I should have gone to see you, to tell you I was alright, so you wouldn’t…”

“It broke me, Cas. Losing you.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Dean.” Cas shifted a little and slid a hand to toy with the front of Dean’s t-shirt absently, fingers catching in the soft fabric. “I’ve been getting into trouble lately, for spending so much time with you down here. I’m neglecting my duties in Heaven. I have Angel Radio turned off as we speak. They keep calling me out for it, my superiors. I think… it’s sad. That they don’t understand love like I do.”

Dean made a soft sound in his throat. “I never would have thought of Heaven as a place lacking in love, before all this. Then again, I didn’t really think it existed at all, so there’s that, too.”

“Heaven isn’t what most people picture. It’s… bureaucracy. It can be harsh and cruel at times, at least for those of us running it. There’s no room for love, with only a couple of small exceptions.” Cas hummed softly, “you know when man first came to be, though, we were all taught to love you over everything else. But I think most of my brothers and sisters have forgotten that, over time. Ironic, considering what happened to Lucifer.”

“But not you?”

“I might have as well, in the past.” Cas admitted, “but then I spent eighteen years living and growing up as a human, and I fell in love—deeply, so deeply—with you, and learned what it could be like to devote myself entirely to another person; to have that other person return that devotion in kind. I took that back to Heaven with me when I returned, and… I’m the broken cog, now. I bend the rules, I love too much, I throw things out of alignment.” Then a little smile and he added, “and I will happily keep doing so for you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “I do still love you. You know that. Just as much as I did before. I’ve already told you that. But it’s…”

“Hard. Complicated. I understand that.” Cas tucked his head against Dean’s chest and closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “I don’t expect forgiveness for what I put you through. Just the fact that you still love me is proof that miracles are real. And I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes for us to be… us, again.”

“But what if that never happens, Cas?”

“Then I guess… I’ll take what I can get. What else can I do? I’ll certainly never do anything to hurt you again. Even if you were to tell me to leave for good, I would do it if it would make you happy. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“You really are still… you. Aren’t you?”

Cas glanced up at Dean with a smile. “Just with wings now, yes.”

There was another brief silence before Dean spoke up again, voice quiet; “you know, at first, when you were gone, I thought… I thought it was because of the marriage thing. I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought you were running. And I…” His hand paused in Cas’s hair, and he swallowed slightly, “I thought maybe you’d finally come to your senses; you’d finally figured out that I was no good, that loving me was no good…”

“Dean…” Cas sighed softly and grasped at the front of Dean’s shirt firmly, shaking his head, hair mussing against Dean’s chest. “I wanted to marry you so badly. I still—” Breaking off, he smoothed his hand in Dean’s shirt again. “I know we can’t, especially now, especially with what I am, but I still would. And I would never think of you like that, that you’re no good—you’re the best man that I’ve ever met. For so many reasons.”

“I know,” Dean replied, and began stroking through Cas’s hair again, just gently, “I got that out of my head pretty fast. Especially when I started really thinking about it. You left everything behind. Even Marshmallow and Itsy. You didn’t even take any clothes with you. So, obviously something had happened to you, and then I just thought… something had taken you to get to me. Because of the job. Because I was a Hunter.”

Cas knew all of this already. He had been privy to some of Dean’s conversations over the years, in his surveilling of the man he was currently curled up with. “I’m sorry,” He repeated, “after what happened to your Mom, thinking I had been taken by some creature… I’m just so sorry, Dean.”

“I know you are.” Came Dean’s response, and his hand left Cas’s hair, sliding down so he could urge the angel up and draw him into a soft but still tentative kiss. “I know you didn’t mean for any of this.” He murmured against Cas’s lips, then hesitated before finishing with; “and I forgive you, Cas. Alright? I do forgive you. I forgive you for all of it.”

Cas froze at that, pulling back to look at Dean properly, blue eyes the slightest bit wide as he tried to judge—and wasn’t it a wonderous thing? All he saw in Dean’s gaze was the love and trust he had thought he’d lost forever, after everything he’d done—or not done, as the case may be. Finally, he just ducked in for another kiss. “I love you, Dean. With every part of myself. I always have. I always will.”

Dean smiled into the kiss and whispered back, “I love you, too.” A few deep, warm kisses later and Dean murmured, “so lets’ start over, hm? Go out on a date with me, Cas, when we get back to New Orleans tomorrow. Before the Hunt. A new first date, for a new lifetime.”

Cas could only smile up at Dean, wide and happy. “That sounds like a great idea to me.”

-- --

They didn’t have much planned for the next day aside from heading back to New Orleans, but Dean still woke up just after dawn anyway, and glanced toward the window to watch the sun beginning to shine through the blinds before just closing his eyes again, sighing as he felt out Cas still tucked safely in his arms.

As usual, Cas felt perfect against him, warm and comfortable. He always had, right from Day One, right from when they’d met. Like they were made for each other, Dean had said once, a long time ago, and it still held true even now, even after everything, even with Cas no longer human.

Dean was aware that he still had things to work through. But he thought he might be over the hump, so to speak, and having Cas around felt good now, not like before when it had been like salt in a wound to be with him. Having Cas near him was helpful, now. Felt good, felt warm, felt like love. He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time—seven years, to be exact, not counting his brief time with Cassie. And he had loved Cassie, yes, but his love for her paled in comparison to his love for Cas.

Cas was everything. Cas was the love of his damned life.

And Dean entertained thoughts, now, that Cas had been right about them being soul mates, because he had met the angel—then human—and taken one look and fallen hard. So much harder than anything he had ever experienced before, or since. They had the kind of love that defied explanation or expectation, and Dean deeply regretted his initial response to Cas’s reappearance in his life, because that love was still there, still tied them together, even after so much time apart.

Dean shifted slightly, ducking down to whisper by Cas’s ear; “I love you.”

A smile lifted Cas’s mouth. Of course he had been awake, even though his eyes had been closed. Now, blue eyes cracked open, and Cas lifted his head. “I love you, too.”

“Mm. Good morning.” Dean smiled and tilted his head, going in for a kiss.

Cas kissed back warmly, then pressed another little kiss to Dean’s lips before shifting back and settling against him again, leaning his head down against Dean’s shoulder and pressing one hand over his heart to feel his heartbeat underneath his palm. “How do you feel this morning, Dean? About everything that we… talked about. Last night.”

Dean made a soft contemplative sound and rubbed one hand against Cas’s back. “I don’t want to take back anything I said, if that’s what you mean.”

Cas sighed, the sound soft and almost relieved. “Just checking. You’d had a few beers; I was concerned the alcohol…” Then again, beer didn’t really do much for Dean anymore, did it?

“I’ve always loved you, Cas. And all I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. Things just got… muddled, for a while.” Dean told him; “but I meant everything I said last night, Cas. Just bear with me with some things, alright?”

“Muddled is a good word.” Cas agreed. He closed his eyes again. “I’m happy, then, Dean. You make me so happy.” Then a pause before he added; “but why are we awake at the literal crack of dawn?”

Dean laughed softly, his hand sliding up to stroke through Cas’s hair warmly. “I just woke up. Couldn’t get my thoughts to stop. Think we should get up and go downstairs? Bang pots and pans together just to be dicks to Sam and Bobby?”

“Don’t even joke.” Cas chuckled amusedly at the mental image, leaning into the hand in his hair. “We’re staying here a while longer. I won’t do that to Sam or Bobby.”

“What if we just go downstairs and make coffee, real quiet?” Dean suggested, ducking down to drop a kiss against Cas’s hair. “We can just sit in the kitchen and talk.”

“Why can’t we talk in here?”

“Because I’m awake and I want coffee. Well, coffee or sex, and I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

“We were there a little while ago.”

“That wasn’t…” A soft sigh. Dean tugged at Cas’s hair and pulled him up to look him in the eye; “lets’ just go get coffee.”

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Coffee it is, then.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #spn fic #sena writes #storm season by senashenta

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omniblades-and-stars · 1 year ago

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following the current, circling the drain

read on a03 | spotify playlist for good vibes

Well, shit, this certainly complicates things. Found myself in a bit of a conundrum now, haven't I? You probably have too, since you're also sitting in this shitty little cracker box of a "prison cell" in the basement of self-proclaimed warlord and arms dealer Sitis Epirian's sort-of-mansion. Or what counts as a mansion on this blessed rock called Omega. It’s more like a mercenary compound with fancy art tacked up on the walls than an actual mansion. Big and fortified, just like any hobbyist warlord should have.

Name's Inonsi, I'd say it's good to meet you, but the circumstances being what they are ...

Shit, will you calm down? Stop freaking out, it's not so bad here. They even put a bucket in here so you can piss somewhere other than your pants or the floor. I've been stuck in worse, comes with the territory. If you wait patiently, everything will work out, you can trust me on that. I've never let something like six-inch bulletproof glass with kinetic impact barriers, high tech security systems, locks, and a literal mercenary army stop me before. And if you so happen to slip out when I'm done ... well, that's none of my business, now is it?

I know what you're thinking, how did the drell with beautiful shining scales and eyes like endless obsidian pools end up getting manhandled and tossed into a man like Epirian's torture dungeon? Well, I could tell you the entire story from start to finish in exacting and exhaustive detail, right down to the number of buttons on my father's dinner jacket that he wore one time when I was five years old (seven brass buttons that caught the light and shimmered like small stars, by the way), but I won't do that. You humans don't have the attention span for that kind of biography.

But we've got some time to kill, I love talking about myself, and you seem like you're on the verge of a stroke. You need a distraction. Put your feet up friend, relax and let the tide flow out to the sea.

Disappearing Apprentice

I was a special child, training under a specialist known far and wide for her skills in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. Why was a child training under someone like that? Easy enough answer, the Compact. The hanar saved my people two centuries ago and now there's some long-held belief that all drell owe a debt to the hanar for it. And so sometimes, promising young upstarts with apparent skill in sneaking around and good balance get plucked from their parents to be trained as assassins, soldiers and mercenaries, and they're supposed to be thankful for it.

Etensan Laon was a difficult mistress, impossible to please.

"Again!" She shouts. A crimson scaled hand flies out and wraps tight around my ankle. One short tug topples me from my perch on the worn balance beam, the fading vinyl covering over the center evidences the apprentices of times past. I land hard on my back, my breath comes in short, painful gasps, her fingers are still digging around my ankle. She sneers down at me, lips turned up in the left corner with disdain. There are white stripes running from the crown of her head to her neck. "Balance and attention, Inonsi! Simply remaining upright when you land your jump is not sufficient. You will fall to your death if a strong breeze catches you unaware, as I have just done."

I am only seven years old, but she will not let go of my ankle. I know I must free myself from her grasp. One cannot depend on never being caught. Her talons scrape against my scales, still sore from the last two days we have been doing this exercise, repeating this exact scenario. "Yes, Sera Laon," I say before I swing my other leg beneath hers and attempt to pull her down. She does not fall to the ground, her knee only buckles, but her grip around my ankle weakens and I roll back, pulling myself free.

It is sloppy, unskilled, but it works. I leap back onto the balance beam to start again. I must be perfect. Etensan Laon does not tolerate imperfection.

Oh, sorry about that. Happens sometimes. You get used to it.

Well, I trained with Laon until I was ten years old. I was great. At ten years old, if something had a neck, I could theoretically snap it. If there was something to climb, leap from, hide behind, or twist myself into, I could do it. You know that thing in all the spy movie vids where the spy disappears into a crowd or into a passing shadow? Well, I could do that too. But I wasn't perfect, and I hated that as much as Laon seemed to hate me. It worked out in the end though.

Because I got to leave.

I was allowed to visit with my parents sometimes, and one of those times, my world went upside down. You see dear old dad got involved in some political scandal, the nature of which is quite embarrassing if you know anything about hanar-drell politics, which you don't, so don't worry your head about it. Suffice to say, he and mom elected to leave Kahje and well, they weren't going to leave precious little Inonsi behind. I waved goodbye to Kahje from the private passenger cabin of a very pricey transport shuttle. I was ten and to my mind it was an exciting adventure. Besides, I'd gotten in trouble with Laon because I had been caught stealing yetae blossoms from the tree in the meditation garden, and my parents were in such a rush to get off world that she never had the opportunity to tattle on me.

How was I supposed to know you weren't allowed to pluck them straight from the tree? It's not like there were signs posted around the ancient tree that I willfully ignored from the moment I arrived at the training center to the moment I left it. The blossoms smelled so sweet. If they didn't want me taking them, maybe they shouldn't have smelled so good. Following the rules has never been my strong suit.

If my parents had known then exactly how often I was stealing they might have kept a better eye on me once we landed at our destination, because flowers from a tree didn't even really count as stealing, there were other things. Mostly Laon's things. I didn't even keep them, I would just sneak into her quarters or pick her pockets and take things. Datapads, credit chits, clothing, incense burners ... whatever I could get my little hands on. I threw almost all of it into the ocean. She never caught me stealing anything that mattered. Just those fucking flowers that she treated like holy relics.

Urchin? Sort of.

And then, middle, middle, middle. You don't want to hear about the quiet years on Teyolia, where father dearest conducted secretive business, and I definitely did not make a habit of listening in on his conversations or hacking his computer terminal and reading his encrypted emails. I most certainly didn't bug his office. Nope. Not Inonsi, she never ever would have done that.

Just kidding. Let's just say that perhaps nature versus nurture might lean more toward nature in my case. My poor, long-suffering mother.

I kept to myself at school mostly, I stuck out like ... well a bright orange and purple thumb in a sea of tall, blue and beautiful girls. I was easy to mock, short by asari standards (and also drell standards, but that's neither here nor there), and very, very different. It's okay though, the meanest of the girls, Paresya, found a lot of her school supplies missing. A lot of her girlfriends too, as we got older. What can I say? I have a certain mystique about me, it would be a shame not to leverage that to my advantage.

Oh please, don't give me that look. You're in this cell too. Don't tell me you've never done something juvenile and vindictive like stealing someone's girlfriend or boyfriend out of spite. I don't believe it.

When I was sixteen I grew dreadfully bored of school and of teenage asari superiority, so I started skipping classes frequently. It's incredible how long you can get away with that if you know how to hack into the school's attendance system and reprogram the VI that calls the parents when you're absent. All those phone calls went to some takeout joint in the next city over. By the time my parents were contacted by a real person, I'd missed approximately a quarter of that year's lessons.

You know, those asari do a very good job of making their colonies and cities look like marvelous, utopic jewels. If you stay on all the main thoroughfares, in all of the tourist centers, you might even find yourself believing it. But at sixteen, I found my way to the seedy underbelly of Iare, a moderately large city in the main colony of Teyolia. I found a group of kids, far more diverse than I'd ever been exposed to before. I was used to living first around drell and hanar exclusively, and then mostly asari. They were poor kids, a pair of turian siblings whose parents were day laborers, a salarian whose dad was sort of like mine, but unlike mine had recently had the rug pulled out from under him, and an asari who didn't talk about her family at all.

I pulled the same trick. They were fun kids, and I didn't want them to know that I got to go home at night to a nice apartment with flawed, but loving parents. Zelthatea, Zel to anyone who didn’t want to get socked in the face, didn’t talk about her family for much darker reasons, but I was sixteen, and using her method seemed like the best way to fit in.

We were tight, those kinds of bonds formed by committing small acts of theft and property damage together. The kinds formed through spending whole days together rough housing and running away from cops, shrieking with relieved laughter as we narrowly escaped capture. And then they found out I could do tricks. I could scale a building, leap from rooftop to rooftop, and I started teaching them how to do some of it. Soon enough, we had ourselves a little gang of roof running hooligans, we would do beer runs on convenience stores, and escape into alleys and up and away from prying eyes, that sort of thing.

We got too big for our ill-fitting pants, though. I wish I could tell you that I don’t remember whose idea it was to break into a corporate office and try to make off with company secrets, but if a drell ever tell you that, you know they’re lying. Only one of us had a dad who was in the corporate espionage business, so you do the math. There I was, in the CEO’s office with Zel, Apus and Catiae were our lookouts and were pretending to be janitors. Dex (the salarian, he didn’t like us using his real name) was our man on the outside, he was supposed to keep an eye out for security and police activity. He lost his nerve the first time he saw someone who looked like she might have been security and darted off without telling us!

“Shit, something’s up, get out of there!” Apus calls into the room right before tossing the trash cart over on its side and dashing down the hall towards the fire stairs. Catiae is hot on his heels. Her secondhand boots crash against the tile floor noisily as her footsteps pound heavy, sounding her escape. They don’t quite fit her yet. They were her mothers, one of the buckles hangs loose, it clinks mockingly as she ducks through the door.

Zel looks at me, panic in wide, ocean blue eyes. She is already crying, but she doesn’t want to leave me behind. She is always so sweet, usually quiet. Three emerald lines draw down over her pointed chin, the only facial markings she has. “Zel, hide! I’ll run a distraction. Don’t leave until it’s safe,” I say. Out of all of us, she doesn’t deserve to get caught committing a real crime.

I snatch the OSD I was using to transfer a clone of the CEO’s terminal on and beat feet out of the door. Four guards turn the corner, they wear heavy armor, deep blue, accented with gold. I wave my hand at them, making sure they see the OSD held in my fingers. “Genteux gives his regards!” I shout. Genteux doesn’t exist, or at least, I do not believe he does, I’ve never heard of anyone named Genteux. I run for the elevator and dart inside. I send it down to the first floor, climb out of the maintenance hatch and pry open the doors on the second. One, two, three, four running steps to the window. It is not the kind that opens. Shit, I panic. I pick up a chair and send it hurling through with a neon biotic burst.

No hesitation, I leap through, tuck and roll to the ground. It hurts, but I haven’t broken anything. I land right in the center of a congregation of Iare’s finest, guns raised and trained on me.

Everyone but Dex got caught. I did my best to take the fall for it. It was my big-brained idea after all. But well, my dad wasn’t exactly a paragon of upstanding citizenry, as I have alluded to already. Money floated into someone’s grasping hands, and I was let off with a slap on the wrist. Despite my desperate pleading, daddy dearest did not extend his kindness to the poor kids who got wrapped up in my ego.

Well, my days as an up-and-coming criminal mastermind were cut quite short at that point. Mom was furious, dad was embarrassed, and apparently lost a lot of business (judging by the angry phone calls I was still horning my way into) because I allegedly chose my target based on some conversations that were very private. Allegedly.

We picked up and moved again. I won’t tell you where to, dad still lives there, conducting his business.

They say there’s no honor among thieves, but I am daddy’s little girl. I never put his lifestyle in jeopardy again, and I will not do so now.

Mom eventually wised up to his shenanigans, by the way, and is living the high life in the tropics. Last I heard, she’s started seeing a nice young drell. Good for her. I believe you humans would call her a cougar. She seems happy, and that’s what matters.

Hey, settle! The guard’s just cranky because of the little surprise I left in one of the bathrooms. I mean, maybe some people think a flashbang rigged up so that the pin gets pulled when the door opens isn’t a good prank, but those people aren’t tormenting assholes like these guys. This guard’s a pussy, he’s just trying to rattle our cage a bit. Keep it together, will you? Losing your cool because the guy is threatening to pull our fingernails out one by one because he has a migraine and moderate to severe hearing loss now is a surefire way to miss our chance.

Now, where was I? Oh, don’t answer that, it’s hypothetical. I know exactly where I was.

Actually an Acrobat

I was kept under lock and key right up until my parents could no longer do so without it being considered false imprisonment or kidnapping. I mean, I still got out. Often. Civilian security is child’s play, and it’s frankly embarrassing that more people don’t know how to hack open a regular old apartment door and slip out into the night.

This story has to, of course, touch on tragic young love. All the great stories do. And mine is pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I do.

Upon gaining the freedom afforded by adulthood, I immediately tried my hand at the nightclub scene. I learned two things right away, club goers are easy pick-pocketing targets, and that the cocktail called the “Rough Tide” is the best alcoholic beverage to be crafted by clever asari mixologists. Its main components are lunassa, a very strong asari liquor, and juice from the olan fruit native to Kahje. There are other things mixed in it, but I’ve never bothered with the finer points of cocktail mixing. The sweetness of the fruit masks the surprising strength of the liquor, and when you stand up the tide sweeps you off your feet.

I’ve made some of my best bad decisions under the influence of a Rough Tide … or three … or four. My favorite best bad decision was Tertus Achaso, even when you account for the aforementioned tragedy. I was sitting at the bar, pleasantly drunk but not out of my mind on it, when a barefaced turian with a charming smile, chipped third tooth, and sharp, honey eyes slid onto the seat next to me. His first words to me were, “So do the colors go all the way down?” Very charming. Very smooth. It should have been very off-putting. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for a good smile.

“Buy me another drink, and maybe you’ll find out,” I answered. I was looking for a good time, and it seemed I had found it. What? Oh, the answer? I am all the colors of a desert sunset from my head to my toes. You should be so lucky to see me in my full glory.

Stop distracting me.

We talked for a while, and he did buy me a drink, another Rough Tide. He laughed when I told him that I couldn’t stand the taste of hard liquor. He laughed even harder when I admitted that I had (still have, thank you) a terrible sweet tooth. One thing led to the only place this was ever going – a cheap hotel room.

He smells of fresh cut lumber and canvas. There is a scar cut deep into the keel of his chest, long healed. Dark brown hide, patterned with sandy, rough plates. He’s surprisingly gentle for someone so large. Fingers tenderly trace down-

Ahem, sorry. That’s not the kind of memory that one should share, especially with a stranger. We’ll just gloss over that by me telling that he worked for a traveling circus, and I happen to be very flexible. I made an impression on him, and he made an impression on me.

So Inonsi runs off with the no-so-smooth talking turian to join the circus, right? I had stars in my eyes, like all young women do. Tertus could do no wrong, and I became enamored with both him and the idea that I could make a living of being an entertainer. I wowed audiences with suicidal feats of acrobatic grace, tight ropes, swinging on long swathes of cloth, leaping from heights that made most people sick. Finally, I was putting my training to use. No more petty thievery for me, and breaking and entering because I was bored, I was going straight.

Ha!

See the thing was that those kinds of circuses, the ones that are not owned by multibillion credit entertainment conglomerates, are filled to the brim with criminals and rejects of every stripe. Beautiful, gentle, and sweet Tertus was one of them. A criminal, I mean. He was probably a reject too, but he was my, admittedly very small, world so I didn’t see him that way. Some nights, he would step away from the other stagehands to go make phone calls. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I listened in on those too, I am ashamed to say. I am capable of some shame, not much, but some.

Look, I didn't listen because I didn't trust him. I just like to know things. People are always having such interesting conversations, don't you think?

If only listening in on his conversations drove me to some sort of action. But it didn't. He had the kind of debts a lowlife criminal with a former drug addiction came upon. Tertus did more crimes to make creds so he could pay those debts, circus work does not pay well, and in the process, he pissed some very bad people off. This place wasn't like Omega, where you can't throw a rock without hitting some wannabe mob boss, so he thought he would be safe traveling with a planet-side circus.

It was the morning before our first show in a new city, I'd been with the circus and Tertus for several months at that point (eight months and four days according to the local calendar, to be exact). We actually had an auditorium to perform in that time, and I was excited do all of my tricks. There were poles to climb, flowing fabrics to spin around in, things to dive off of. It was going to be magnificent, and people were going to learn my name. And Tertus and I were going to live happily forever. And he was late to meet me at a diner for breakfast. That wasn't very unusual, circus folk run on a different sort of clock - the kind that's always late.

But after an hour of waiting, I decided to go looking for him. As I was crossing over a foot bridge heading back towards the hotel most of us were staying at, I heard boots slamming on concrete. Have you ever heard a sound that's innocuous, an everyday sound, but it's so wrong it sets your teeth on edge?

Sun is warm on my back. One, two, three, four rushing steps, panicked breathing. I look up and see Tertus running full speed toward me. He doesn't see me at first, too focused on watching his feet to make sure he doesn't trip. His eyes meet mine, halfway across the bridge, eyes wide with fear. "Go! Run!" he shouts as he grows nearer to me. But I can see what he cannot.

Three men carrying assault rifles are gaining on him. Two turians, one krogan.

I know something that Tertus doesn't. You can't outrun a bullet. The world slows to a crawl. Fear roots me to my spot until it is too late to do anything to save him. I have never heard a gun fired outside of a range or without protection for my ears before. Three, four, five muzzle flashes. Cobalt blood like rain splatters across the ground, Tertus falls forward as though he has been pushed.

My training spurs me to action. I’ve never actually taken a life before, but these men hurt my Tertus. I run towards them, using my very unimpressive biotic talent to generate a barrier. Dodge to the right, jump onto the railing of the bridge, leap from the rail, use the momentum to snap the neck of the turian closest to me. Maintain my momentum, stay in fluid motion. There's a gun in my hand and the second turian falls with the sound of automatic gunfire filling my ears. It's too fucking loud.

Something burns in my leg and my stomach, but I can’t stop moving. If the krogan gets his hands on me, I'll die. I leap onto his back, I nearly drop the assault rifle, it’s too big for me. I launch myself from his crest plate and fire down into his neck while I’m still in the air. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's too fucking loud. He’s still coming, and I just keep firing. It's over. I'm covered in blood, indigo, cadmium orange, and my own emerald. A cruel painting in brilliant organic color. I run to Tertus.

He's already dead. Honey eyes glassy. Jaw lax, mandibles hang limp next to his dear, sweet face. I scream, everything hits me all at once. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But I have no time, I hear more boots on the ground, and I am surrounded by bodies and covered in blood.

I don't hesitate. I leap into the river and follow the current to somewhere new.

Please, don't apologize. Everyone on this station has a tragic backstory. I bet you have one that's a real doozy. The river flows out to the sea, and so too I've learned that you have to keep living. You humans have a saying, "Go with the flow." It fits very nicely with my personal philosophy. Which is why I have to insist that you keep your pants on and stay calm, our time will come. If you try to take your chance too soon, it fucks things up. Swim with the current, not against it, friend. You'll just make yourself tired fighting the undertow, and then you'll sink to the bottom.

We wouldn't want that, now would we?

Star System Hopping Woman of Mystery Thief

If you have to ask how or why I ended up on Omega, I'd have to ask you if you've been listening at all. True, I don't live here full time. I'm sort of a star system hopping woman of mystery. But I do end up on Omega very often. You'd be surprised how many art sellers and antique collectors are just straight up criminals. Or maybe you wouldn't be. You are in the same basement holding cell as I am, after all. Or did you come here for something other than stealing priceless relics from a murderer?

Please don't tell me you came here to steal his weapons! How uninspired.

Anyways, of course I mourned Tertus. But I was scared, possibly wanted for the murder of three people, maybe four if you account for the possibility that it would have been very easy for the local police force to pin the whole disaster on me. I was naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. So I did what every young, unfortunate fool who gets tangled up in big time criminal activity and is too stubborn to ask dad for help does: I caught the first transport to Omega I could get. (I snuck aboard some mercenary gang’s smuggling vessel. I fit into crates quite nicely, don’t you know?)

Here's what I learned my first week on Omega:

No one gives a shit about you. They don’t care who you are, who you were, or what you did. Minding your own business is a matter of survival here.

The pickpockets here don’t even try to hide what they’re doing. They just run real fast when they get caught. I always catch them.

The bartenders here have never heard of a Rough Tide. At any of the bars and clubs.

There are a lot of assholes here who think they’re hiding the fact that they have goods that are worth something.

Hallex is a great time if taken in moderation and while dancing with bright lights and pretty girls.

Oh, don’t give me that look. Go back to lesson number one and mind your own fucking business. I was dealing with the traumatic death of my boyfriend, and the guilt of killing people. Besides, you learn to have a more relaxed view of party drugs when your own skin secretes a toxin that makes people see sounds and hear colors. I’m a walking party drug. What? No, you can’t try! What, am I supposed to let a stranger suck on my fingers or lick my face just because they’re curious? I don’t know you well enough for that. There’s a two drink minimum for that kind of talk.

Besides, you’ll need a clear head to get out of here. Or did you forget that we’re in a warlord’s torture cave?

It didn’t take very long for me to grow bored of partying my feelings away, and even less time for me to start planning a heist. Eh, less of a heist, and more like I broke into some rich pirate king’s hideout and stole anything I could carry that was worth something. I also hacked his terminals and wiped all of his accounts and infected everything with a computer in the building with a virus. His operations came to a screeching halt, and I gleefully lined my pockets with his ill-gotten gains.

Oh, you thought I was one of those do-gooder thieves who robs the rich to feed the poor or whatever? You’re too funny! I have rules against stealing from poor folk, and I don’t use street kids and beggars in any of my schemes like some others of my ilk. But I’m in this business for myself.

Breaking into low security hideouts and penthouse suites when no one was home lost its luster very quickly. I’ve always loved a challenge, and I’m prone to acting unwisely when I’m bored. I started traveling again, I’ve hit museums, government archives, art galleries, even corporate research facilities. Sometimes, someone pays me (I come pricey) to steal something for them, but mostly I hear about something I really want to touch (or fence, whatever,) and I go and take it. If my marks don’t want me to steal it, they should secure it better.

Oh, you’ll love this. Once, I received word that a relic of one Earth’s ancient royalty was going to be up for auction at some high society party in Paris, yes that Paris. Collectors have been shuffling around Marie Antoinette's pearl and diamond pendant for literal centuries. It was one of those “benefits” that the rich and famous throw that never actually benefits anyone but their own image. Stealing it was surprisingly easy. I stole it before the display case ever made it to the auction floor, but they didn’t even notice it was gone until they unveiled it to start the bidding. It was my first, and only, taste of champagne.

A waiter wearing a tuxedo hands me a fluted glass filled with golden, bubbling liquid. I taste it, and I’m very unimpressed. It’s very bitter for something that looks so tempting. A warm chuckle takes me by surprise, and I turn to see a handsome young man, dark curly hair, very dark skin and wide brown eyes, who is watching me. “Not a fan of the beverage offerings, I take it?” he asks jovially.

“No, I’m afraid not. The drinks on the homeworld are much sweeter,” I respond. There’s a slim-to-none chance that a random human on Earth would know anything about Kahje, and an exactly zero chance that he would know about Rakhana at all. I could tell him literally anything about my “homeworld” (one which I had not been to since I was ten, the other a place that was more cautionary tale and myth than homeworld), and he would have to believe me. I set the glass on a nearby table.

"Are you here for the auction? There aren't very many aliens here." He nods his head back toward to crowd starting to form on the bidding floor. He's right, there are a few asari here and one salarian, bright yellow skin with emerald speckles on his horns and the backs of his hands. I know my time is coming soon. The man smiles, teeth shining pearls, his left incisor is too high on his gum, giving it the appearance of an animal's fang. I like it. It's a shame I'll be leaving soon. I never learn his name.

"I am as a matter of fact, here on behalf of a hanar friend. He has an interest in antiques from other cultures, but sadly, could not make the trip himse-" My lie is cut off by first worried tittering up at the stage and the chaos and panic erupts as they open the secure vault container and find it empty.

The man looks around frantically, trying to piece together what is happening until his eyes fall on me again. More specifically, to the necklace hanging framed by the daring neckline of my suit jacket. A single tear-shaped pearl hanging beneath diamonds arranged in a ribbon’s bow, and above that one large round diamond, all hanging from a cheap silver chain I nicked from a department store jewelry counter earlier that day.

I press my finger to my lips and whisper, "Watch this." I take off running for the open balconies, pushing party goers out of my way, one, two, three strides before I am standing on the balcony rail, the small barrier to a long drop and a messy death. I rip the pendant free of the necklace and place it in a secured pocket sewn inside of my suit and step off the balcony.

With a twist my body I am hurtling towards the ground in a dive. A press of a small button on my bracelet as I spread my arms, my daring fashion choice turns from a strange, webbed cape sewn into the arms and body of my jacket, into semi-rigid wings. Soaring between skyscrapers is one of the most freeing experiences I have ever had.

It took a little doing, but I managed to sneak off Earth the next day. I still have the pendant. I wear it to parties sometimes. What do you mean, why do I wear it? It's jewelry, isn't it? I don't have an art gallery, friend. I don't typically keep things in glass cases. But don't get it twisted, even if you found out where I keep my things and occasionally live, you wouldn't be able to get in. That pearl stays mine.

Oh! That's our cue. That sound that just rocked the very foundation of this building is how I'm getting out of here. If you would be so kind as to press down on the bench over there with your boot while I - uh - change positions here to - uh - get better leverage with a good kick. There's a cotter pin in there I can use to break the lock.

Alright, on three be ready so you don't eat it when the bench collapses. One, two, three!

Beautiful! Now while the guards are all going to check out the giant hole in the wall- why did I plant bombs? Rule number one of thieving, always have a plan for if you get caught. I wouldn't have been caught if it weren't for some clown getting caught with their grabby little hands in Epirian's weapons cache just as I was heading to my original escape route. Funny that. But it’s no sweat off my back (mostly because I don’t sweat) but also because I always have a secondary escape plan.

Though they aren’t usually quite so … explosive.

But all is not lost. These idiots couldn't do a successful pat down on me even if I was naked as sin. There's an OSD in a hidden pocket with clones of all of Sitis' terminals and datapads.

What? Oh, you thought I was here for the art or his antiques? Ha! I guess I did allude to the art quite often. No. Dear old dad needed a hand. Family business, and all that. Do you know how many creds those corporate bigwigs at companies like say ... Armax Arsenal will pay to keep proof that they've been dealing super advanced weaponry to pirate king arms dealers an ugly little secret?

So much it would make your head spin. Let's say that good ol' Sitis deals with a few of these bigwigs. Papa dearest collects the blackmail money from those nasty weapons manufacturers, and dear, sweet Inonsi helps collapse Epirian's little criminal empire. For purely selfish reasons, of course. (Dear, sweet Inonsi also makes a fat stack of creds in the process.)

Now, stop interrupting. This is a Saronis Applications Securitron-X78 model haptic interface lock. A baby could open this with the right tools, but I do still need to focus. Just insert the pin into this little gap here, use it as a conduit for a little biotic pulse like such and bingo! We're almost home free, my friend.

If you’re going to stick with me to get out of here, you’ll need to do what I say, when I say it. We go with the flow, take our opportunities as they come to us, not a moment before, not a moment after. If we play our cards right, we’ll slip out unnoticed. And hey, if you impress me on our way out, maybe you’ll get the pleasure of being another one of my best bad decisions. What do you say?

#mass effect #fanfic #drell #ocs #daisy screaming into the void #i'm just having fun with this one

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thessalian · 5 months ago

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Thess vs The One Day Off

Every time I have to do overtime, I end up remembering why I only work a four-day week, and only six / six and a half hours on those four days. Because this is my one day actually off this week, and I am exhausted and made of aches and I have a feeling it's going to be just as bad this coming week.

But they do not get my Sunday this weekend. FUCK. THAT. I will put aside my Saturday Shenanigans until the New Year if I have to but I WILL NOT BE GIVING UP MY SUNDAY D&D CAMPAIGN FOR BULLSHIT LIKE WORK.

Also because ... seriously, this was my 'weekend'

Saturday: slept in because I was exhausted, logged in to find about 100 extra bits of typing in the queue, did four and a half hours of overtime which I didn't finish until nearly the time my Saturday D&D group would normally start, and slept poorly because pain and gale-force winds shaking the windows.

Sunday: got up at a halfway decent hour (...ish), braved gale-force winds for a few errands I had to run (which took longer than expected but never mind), got home, immediately logged in, did three and a half hours of overtime because I literally could not take anymore, and at least made myself a nice dinner before I became a pile of pain.

And now there's today. Woke up at a halfway decent hour ... rolled over and went right back to sleep because just NOPE. Could have done so again but I don't want to screw up my circadian rhythms completely when I have work tomorrow. But I also want to do something fun ... but I hurt badly enough that that's going to be an issue.

Oh, and last night I did some online shopping to get Christmas gifts for my mother. They're hard to shop for, the parentals. My stepfather is a pain to shop for and it's honestly best just to give him food. As for my mother ... I think the problem with both of them is that they're a bit insular, particularly since Covid and since Mum retired (around the same time, honestly). They don't know a lot of what's out there and they have their interests and ... yeah, anyway, Mum called while I was in the middle of yesterday's overtime and I got some ideas so TeeTurtle got some of my business. She likes my TeeTurtle T-shirts so I figured... Anyway, also found her toller retriever socks on Redbubble, because a) she likes "funky" socks and b) she loves Digby, her Nova Scotia duck toller retriever and they're not the breed you usually see on most merch. I was also thinking of an adjunct of, like, a little .pdf with a few of my cooking hints and tips, and some recipes I've had luck with.

Of course, now I have to think about what I might want for Christmas. Look, I didn't have to think about that last year, because Christmas and my birthday were eaten up by the MCM Comic Con ticket and (most of) the Critical Role cast autograph fees. I still regret nothing, because that weekend was fire even if it was excruciatingly painful in places, but ... like ... those were my Christmas and birthday gifts so I didn't have to think about it. Now I kinda do. Of course, the one thing I actually want is a bigger air fryer than the little one I got myself, but my stepdad refuses on the basis that "I don't know what the kitchen will look like where I end up". Which ... people work that shit out, stepdad, but okay. ...No, seriously, it honestly is okay, because if it's anything like my instant pot, it's not like he's saying I can't get one at all; just that he won't be party to it. Which is fair enough - just means I can't ask for one for Christmas. Probably not a new microwave either, because I noticed that Flat 13 now has a microwave installed and I dunno what's happening with that. I mean, obviously Steam gift cards go on the list because ... okay, it's weird. Like, I love it when my friends lob random games at my head, but from the parentals I like the luxury of a whole bunch of Steam wallet money that I don't have to feel bad about spending on something useful and the shopping experience of "How much of my wishlist can I clear during the Steam winter sale?" Then I guess there's the useful stuff - casserole dish with lid for those recipes that really need one, new tableware to replace the cheap-ass supermarket own-brand ones that are like ten years old (maybe even with decent-sized pasta bowls), maybe a weighted blanket... Well. Guess I have my list.

Anyway, with that out of the way ... this is my one day off and it's mostly over and I want to do something with it (Molly!Rook, for preference). But I do hurt so very, very much. All of my haaaaaaate. But it's probably going to have to be more overtime over the week, too, if things keep on the way they have been. I have the 19th and 20th off and I don't care what Scruffman says, I am not cancelling those days or moving them to some other time. I need them so badly, and they're the only Christmas-adjacent days I'm getting because I had the holiday period off last year so it was the other girls' turn. Honestly I just want to sleep for like a week.

#Thess has a day job #Thess vs the holidays

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blackbloodteeth · 7 months ago

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And here's my other belated Sunday Snippet haha, thanks for tagging me too @worldismyne!

Somehow this one is infinitely more chaotic, for completely different reasons haha

————

Maka fusses with the door and being after you-ed by this trench coat-wearing bastard before quickly locking it up and pointing her taser at him, because wearing trench coats and being a bastard is her job. "Alright, chucklefuck; What's your name, how many crimes have you committed, and what's your motive?"

Said all-of-the-above slowly lifts his hands up with that godawful obnoxious smirk, showing signs of incriminating nervousness and chuckling – "Okay, rude." – as he takes a little too long for her liking to answer, prodding her to gesture for him to get on with it with the taser's test crackle. "Okay, like I said: Name's Soul Eater –"

"Bullshit."

"– Well you can check my birth certificate, if it still exists," he retorts dryly. "To get to the important bits of your interrogation though, crimes: Matter of perspective, haven't killed anyone. And motive: You really looked like you needed help –"

"I had it covered!" she squawks.

"– If you'd let me finish, it's also because they were in my way. For crime reasons."

Maka throws her arms down with an exasperated huff above her pay grade, giving Soul Eater a chance to lower his arms back down and pocket them – She's still got a wary eye on him, but (unfortunately) he appears to be genuine for at least the last answer. For now. "Death, you're probably a weapon, aren't you. Everywhere I go it's always one of you who manages to flip my life upside-down all over again – And you better not say you're a scythe-"

Almost immediately she peeks out from under the glove-buried exhaustion at the rather pronounced laugh he bursts into briefly, a glare cast directly on his soul and his lineage when he just steadily grins at her with his incriminatingly sharp teeth before he then dares to speak.

"Aight then, I won't say it."

"Eugghhhhhh-" She's already had it up to miles with him and his stupid face and his everything else as she stomps away. "I can't believe this; I'm done with you, I'm done with this stupid city, I am DONE with every last one of you and whatever cosmic force you're all working with to screw me over specifically!"

And she's done with that stupid little chuckle he does, especially while he lifts his hand up to his mouth as if speaking aside to someone that clearly isn't even actually there. "Oh boy, smells like we might have an 'enemies to lovers' brewing, folks."

"Who are you even talking to?!"

"I thought you said you were done with me."

It is at this very moment Maka is practically ripping her hair out due to just how completely and utterly insufferable this Soul guy is, and she must have projected her deep, visceral desire to never be in the same room as him again so clearly that he's already unlocked the door, opening it with a welcoming gesture – "After you" – and then stepping aside to bow slightly towards the door – "Thank you."

"Wait, when did-"

"Well I'll be taking my leave, it's been fun for our first and obviously last meeting, so, uh…" She stares at him like he- well like he's got the mouth of a shark until she (somehow) has the inkling to tell him her name. "Maka. Yeah, that rolls well off the tongue – Well Maka, to answer your final question as to 'Why am I like this': Because when the world is just so nutty, all you can really do is laugh."

And she just stares at him grinning, the realization finally sinking in. He's an insane scythe.

#writing #soul eater #soul variant #soul evans #maka albarn

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kelyon · 9 months ago

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Tuesday

Yooooo!

So I have been having A Time lately. Some of it good, some of it bad, all of it exhausting. I didn't want to say anything before or make an actual TMI Tuesday post, because I never know when I'm gonna have an insane writing burst that makes finishing a chapter seem actually plausible. And I feel bad because I feel like there isn't anything new or interesting about me announcing delays anymore. It's not like, I'm currently in the hospital so I can't write for the next week. I've just felt crappy and distracted for too many days in a row, so I haven't been writing. And when I try to write, I very quickly become full of hate for everything I am currently writing or have ever written or indeed every single word in the English language. When I get to that point, I know I need to close my laptop.

I saw Weird Al Yankovic at a convention over the weekend (see, I told you I was busy). At the q&a, he said something about how he decided to make music his job until it started to feel like work--and it never has. For me, writing has felt like work lately. Of course, everything feels like work sometimes, so I'm not sure what to do with that. I'm gonna keep trucking on Courtship until it's done. And I don't want to stop writing. I just want it to stop feeling like work.

To make a long story short*, there isn't going to be a new chapter of Courtship on Friday.

*If I was capable of making a long story short, none of us would be in this situation, but alas.

Two pieces of good news:

One, I am taking some vacation time next week and I don't currently have that many plans. There's a strong likelihood that I'll be able to get some actual writing done! And an even stronger probability that I'll be able to sleep and relax and not feel like a dried-out husk!

(I don't want to make promises, but if there was ever a time when I might be able to get two chapters out one week after another, it might be now.)

Second good news: Tonight, instead of banging my head against the wall over Courtship, I started my outline for Golden Love, the eventual third major installment in the Golden Cuffs 'Verse. I'm not sure how long this fic is going to be. Just going off the top of my head, I was able to outline the first 14 chapters (ie, the first act) and then come up with 8 additional plot points for the rest of it. It was nice to just be able to brainstorm. More accurately, to siphon off the ideas and plans that have been occupying my brain for... a very long time now. The fic is still a long way off, I'm not planning on starting posting until next June or so. But it is so nice to remember that I actually do enjoy this process.

#courtship #golden love

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onceuponaloonatic · 1 year ago

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hi everyone! sorry this took me so long, i got super super busy with school 😭 i'm on break right now for the next few days and am planning on hopefully spending it working on fic stuff! anyway here's the misatzu picnic + baby sai i promised!

Mina sighed as she sunk into her office chair. She had just finished a long surgery, and while the patient had made it through, Mina was still exhausted. The day had started with a long meeting at six am, then Mina’s surgery had lasted pretty much the rest of her day. Now with only about an hour left, she was more than ready to leave.

“Doctor Myoui?” Mina held back a groan when she heard a voice followed by a knocking on her door. “Come in.” Mina muttered, holding back another groan when she noticed it was the newest surgeon. While she was a talented, well trained individual, she was always nervous running her own surgeries. Since starting, any cases assigned to her ended with Mina running the surgery and the new surgeon “observing”. Mina had been fine with it at first, but now six months in, Mina was tired of doing someone else's job.

“I have a laminectomy tomorrow morning, but I have never done one on my own, could you possibly assist me with it?” Mina remembered “assisting” with a laminectomy three weeks ago, and during the entire procedure, she was slow and made an effort to make sure the new surgeon understood everything she was doing. She would be fine observing and making sure that mistakes were avoided whenever possible, but she didn’t want to do another surgery that wasn’t actually her responsibility.

“Yeah sure.” But Mina was too tired to argue with the woman. Even if it meant they would probably end up in the same position next week.

“Thank you! It’s at five.” Mina wasn’t planning on coming in until around ten the next day, but she guessed now she had to come in early. If she wasn't exhausted before, the now looming early morning made it even worse.

Once she was alone, Mina slumped back into her chair. Thankfully, she was finally done for the day, all she had to do was log her time and then sign off, and she could leave.

When she opened her computer, Mina couldn't help the little smile on her face at the little picture sitting next to her computer. The picture showed Sana and Tzuyu holding hands, Sai on Tzuyu’s shoulders after a long day at the local amusement park. Sai was half asleep on Tzuyu’s shoulders, a tiny smile on her face, Sana had the biggest smile, and Tzuyu had that goofy little smile she would give whenever someone said something funny. Mina had gotten the photo sent to her by Momo, as she had been working the full day of the trip. Even if she hadn't been there, seeing her family so happy made her happy. They had plenty of photos together, given Sana’s proclivity towards taking photos, but Mina was particularly fond of that particular photo. Mina was interrupted when she heard her phone buzz.

hi baby, we're at the park 😊 tzuyu got us a super nice spot, it's by the pond near the entrance closest to our house! can you pick up a little treat for sai-chan on the way? she was being so sweet and adorable earlier 🥹 i'll send you the video i took! see you soon 💟

Mina didn't even need to look at the called id to know that it was Sana. Sana always sent tons of silly emojis, no matter how old she was. Mina would never tell her she found it really adorable.

we can't just give sai sugar for being cute, i don't think that's responsible parenting

please 🥺 she promised to pick up her toys in the living room!

Mina giggled at the response, especially at the next text she got from Tzuyu.

do not get sai sugar, sana gave her cookies after lunch, she's just trying to spoil her

so i shouldn't stop at that bakery you like right next to the hospital and get two chocolate breads on the way home?

Mina giggled at her tease. Even if Sai had already gotten cookies after lunch, Mina was going to get her a little treat. She was already planning on getting a little dessert for Sana and Tzuyu, she tended to do that on days that were hard, and it would be evil to not get something for Sai too.

… fine…

Mina giggled at the response. Truthfully, they probably should be more strict with Sai’s sugar intake. Sai, like most four year olds, adored pretty much anything sweet. And while the occasional little treat was fine, they had been caving into her demands a little more than usual lately. Not the best example to be setting, but it was hard with the circumstances.

Finally logged off of her computer, Mina took off her lab coat and slipped on the warm jacket Tzuyu had gotten her for her birthday. The weather was starting to get cooler, and as Sana and Tzuyu always teased her about, Mina got cold easily. She tried to make a beeline to her car, politely waving to anyone she saw on the way out while trying not to engage. She ended up in a conversation with her supervisor, which did bring back all of her previous annoyance as he talked about giving her even more patients than she already had, but she finally was able to make it to her car a little while later. After a quick stop at the bakery, she swiftly made her way home, sipping on a nice warm coffee as she went. After parking at home, and grabbing another jacket for Sai (Mina was always worried Sai would be cold) she made her way to the park by their house. After work picnics were normal for them, Sai loved getting to run out her post-preschool energy while the adults enjoyed just watching and de-stressing after work. Usually, around dinner time, Sai would be a lot calmer and would ask to be carried home while Sana tended to any cuts or bruises she may have gotten while playing and Mina and Tzuyu discussed what they would do for dinner.

Unfortunately though, today’s picnic could not end as well as many of their others. While the sunset was likely going to be gorgeous next to the little pond, Sai might not be their biggest fan by the end of the night.

Sana and Tzuyu had reassured Mina it was going to go great, that Sai would be happy to be told she was going to be a big sister, after all, all of her friends had little siblings, and she always seemed a little jealous of them. Even Ai, who was two years younger than Sai, was already about to become an older sibling. Sai always seemed fine when the younger kids were around, but that didn't stop Mina from being a little nervous.

Three babies were a lot of babies to have at once. While she was great at holding it together in front of Sana (she was not), sometimes the stress would hit Mina in the quieter moments. Of course she had been on board with having another baby in the first place. Sai was perfect, and completed Mina’s life in a way she never could have prepared for, but they had always planned on having another eventually. Sai was at the perfect age to become an older sibling, old enough to listen and understand directions, but still young enough that it wouldn't be too weird for her. It's just, three more kids were a lot more, more than they had planned on. And of course these sorts of things just, happened, but Mina couldn't help but be a little stressed by the whole thing. Mina would love all three of the new babies as much as she loved Sai, but that didn't stop her from feeling the pressure of being a good sire to three more babies.

“Mitang!” Mina was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard Sana calling for her. Mina instantly put a small smile on her face, and made her way towards her wife. Sana was alone on their well used picnic blanket, a half opened book sitting next to her. Mina smiled as she sat next to Sana, immediately leaning her head on Sana’s shoulder before wrapping an arm around Sana’s waist. “Hi.” Sana giggled.

“Hi.” Mina breathed in Sana’s scent, the comforting smell of warm vanilla and marshmallows. Mina could smell Tzuyu’s influence in Sana’s scent, hiding behind Sana’s sweet smell. She had always loved how her partners' scents mingled together.

“How was work?” Sana asked, kissing Mina’s head as she picked her book back up.

“Mmm…” Mina grumbled, lightly squeezing Sana’s waist as she continued to let her partners comforting scents consume her.

“That good huh?” Sana giggled. Mina grumbled again, moving her face towards Sana’s neck for a playful nip. “Mitang!” Sana erupted into giggles, setting her book down once more and wrapped both arms around Mina.

“Where are Sai-chan and Tzuyu?” Mina asked, pulling away from Sana’s neck. She playfully scrunched her nose up when Sana gave her a short kiss, but it quickly faded into a smile as she laid her head in Sana’s lap. Sana grinned, put one hand in Mina’s hair, and resumed her reading.

“They went to go feed the ducks,” Sana responded. “Don’t worry, Tzuyu made her promise to throw the food this time.”

“That’s good.” Mina smiled. “How are you doing today?” “I’ve been a little tired all day, but otherwise, I’m fine.” Sana tangled her hand in Mina’s hair.

“I’m sorry. Maybe we can go to bed a little early tonight?” “But my favorite drama is on tonight.” Sana whined.

“Mm, well how about we just plan on watching it in bed? Then going to sleep right after?”

“Mmm, maybe. Knowing how up and down my energy has been lately, I might be completely fine after dinner.” Mina grabbed one of Sana’s hands and squeezed it. “Hey, what days do you have off next week?” “Mm… I think I have Tuesday and Sunday off. I’ll be on call on Monday, but if all goes well I shouldn’t have to go in.” Mina remembered.

“Okay. Can you pick Sai up on Tuesday? I have a photoshoot.” “Sure, of course. Nothing too stressful right?” “No, don’t worry. It shouldn’t take the entire day.” Sana let go of Mina’s hand to turn the page of her book.

“Okay.” Mina took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. It felt nice to be outside after a ten hour shift. “I have to go in early tomorrow.” “Didn’t you go in early today to go in late tomorrow?” “Don’t remind me.” Mina grumbled. “Okay love.” Sana giggled. “If you want to talk, just let me know.” “It’s nothing new.” Mina complained. “Just, work.” “I know, I’m sorry baby.”

“Ka-san!” Their quiet conversation was interrupted when they heard a distinct screaming. Mina couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she sat up, immediately spotting her daughter. Sai was running as fast as she possibly could towards Mina, Tzuyu following behind her. Mina immediately opened her arms, catching Sai in a somewhat painful embrace as the toddler jumped into her arms. “Hi Sai-chan.” Mina whispered, holding back a giggle when her daughter scented herself. Sai loved her scent, in her own words Mina smelled ‘the bestest in the whole world’. Sai moved into Mina’s lap with her sire’s scent now wrapped around her. “Hi Mina Unnie.” Tzuyu gave Mina a small smile as she sat next to her. Mina smiled, kissing Tzuyu’s cheek while Sai got herself comfy. “Are you cold Sai-chan? I got you a jacket.”

“No.” Sai nodded, wiggling a little more on Mina’s lap to be comfy. “Mommy.” “Hm?” Sana turned her attention to her daughter.

“Duri.” Sai demanded. Duri was Sai’s favorite stuffed animal, and they knew better than to go somewhere without it.

“What do we say when we want something Sai-chan?”

“Duri, please?”

“Good job.” Sana smiled, grabbing Sai’s little backpack and pulling out the only thing in it. Sai’s face lit up as she cuddled her stuffed animal.

“Hey Sai-chan, I got you a treat.” Sai turned to Mina when she said that, a hopeful look on her face. “Treat?” Sai asked, her eyes wide as she set her stuffed animal down. “Yup.” Mina laughed at the adorableness of Sai’s expression before grabbing the treats she had gotten earlier. She passed one chocolate croissant to Sana, one of the chocolate bread to Tzuyu, and the final bread to Sai.

“Choco bread!” Sai smiled. “Thank you Ka-san!”

“Thanks love.” Sana kissed Mina’s cheek.

“Thank you Unnie.” Tzuyu grinned. Mina nodded, grabbing the bread from Sai before opening the package for her. “Don’t eat it too quickly, okay Sai-chan?” Sai nodded slowly as she started eating.

“Hey Sai-chan, we need to talk to you about something…” Mina was surprised when Sana interrupted their quiet moment, but this is what they had discussed. Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the easiest way to do it, and even if Mina was incredibly anxious about the whole thing. Mina was infinitely grateful Sana volunteered to be the one to explain everything to Sai.

“Hm?” Sai looked up at Sana, her mouth covered in breadcrumbs. Mina giggled, grabbing a napkin and wiping Sai’s face. Sana took a deep breath, Tzuyu grabbing one of her hands and squeezing it for support. Mina silently sent her support to her partner. “How would you feel about maybe getting a baby sibling? Like how Kihyunie has a baby brother?” Sai looked down at the question, taking a couple more bites of bread as she thought. “I would be a big sister?” Sai looked between all of them.

“Yeah.” Sana let out a breath.

“Mm… Okay.” Sai nodded.

“Okay?” Mina was confused how easily Sai seemed to accept everything.

“Yeah. Can I get cookies instead of chocolate?”

“What?” Mina asked, already confused.

“Yeah, Kihyunie gets chocolate when he helps with baby Dae. Can I get cookies instead?” “Sai-chan…” Sana looked towards Mina for help. Mina was just as lost on how to handle it as Sana, and a quick glance to Tzuyu showed she was just as lost. “We’ll… Think about it.” “I’m okay with choco too.” Sai nodded, going back to her bread.

“We have one more thing to tell you Sai-chan…” Sana started.

“Hm?” “Well, so remember how we told you that baby’s come for wishes mommies make when they are ready to have a baby?” “Uh-hm. Then they go into their tummy. Is there a baby in your tummy mommy?” “Yeah, well about that… So mommy, mama, and ka-san made their wish and instead of just one baby, mommy was lucky enough to get three babies in her tummy.” “Three babies?” Sai seemed extremely confused by Sana’s description as she finished her bread. “Do mama and ka-san have babies in their tummies too?” Mina stifled a laugh. Tzuyu didn’t even bother, laughing freely at Sai. “Sorry baby, it’s just- wishes only work with omega mommies.” “Oh. So there’s three babies in mommy’s tummy?” “Yeah.” Sana nodded. “We still love you very much, but we might have a little bit less time to spend with you when the babies come. We will try and keep everything as normal as possible for you, but there might be some small changes.” Sana moved closer to Sai, opening her arms for Sai to crawl into her lap. Sai crawled into Sana’s lap, resting her cheek on Sana’s stomach. “How do three babies fit in here?” Sai whispered to Sana, who giggled.

“Well, they are really little at first, but they’ll get bigger over time.” Sana laughed, threading one hand through her daughter’s hair. “Are you okay Sai-chan?” “Uh-hum.” Sai yawned. “Three babies means lots of cookies.” “Sai…” Mina trailed off, looking at both her wives. “We’ll discuss it baby.” Sana answered. “You're going to be a good big sister Sai-chan.”

“I will?” “Yes.” Sana kissed Sai’s head. “We love you sweetie.” Mina cleaned up some of the trash, lacing one of her hands with Tzuyu. After a bit, Sai moved away from Sana, crawling back to Mina and situating herself between Tzuyu and Mina.

“Ka-san?” “What’s up kiddo?”

“Can we go home now? I’m hungry.” “Sure Sai-chan.” Mina giggled. “Are you two ready to go home?” “Of course.” Sana smiled, accepting Tzuyu’s help when she stood up. “Ka-san.” Sai whined as Mina tried to put her down. Mina was surprised with the clinginess, Sai always insisted on walking by herself.

“Oh sorry Sai-chan.” Mina picked Sai back up, holding her tightly as she tried to help Tzuyu clean up with one arm. Sai cuddled her stuffed dog, her face pressed against Mina’s scent gland. Mina kept herself from laughing from the ticklish sensation as she held her daughter. Once they were ready, Sana immediately moved towards Mina and Sai, lacing one hand with Mina’s while Tzuyu moved to her other side. By the time they got home, Sai was fast asleep, cuddled with Mina’s scent gland. “This is new.” Mina laughed as she balanced Sai in her arms, being careful not to wake her up. “She had a big day at school apparently.” Sana giggled. “She was telling me all about it earlier. I’m surprised she didn’t talk your ear off when you got here Mitang.” “Honestly, me too.” Mina adjusted Sai one more time. “Well, that went better than I expected.” “I feel like she hasn’t really processed it.” Tzuyu mentioned. “She is four, I think the implications of being an older sister to triplets hasn’t fully sunk in yet.” “Do you think she will be okay?” Sana looked at their daughter, a little bit of worry on her face. “I tried to word it in a way where it was kind of a choice for her, but I am already pregnant.” “We probably should have talked to her before we started trying.” Mina commented playfully.

“It just felt a little weird to ask my four year old if we should have unprotected sex.” Sana whispered, a smirk on her face.

“Sana Unnie!” Tzuyu blushed. Mina felt her own face heat up, looking at her daughter to ensure Sai was still asleep.

“Well I would have worded it differently.” Sana laughed.

“I’m sure you would have.” Tzuyu rolled her eyes.

“It’s too late now.” Mina smiled as Sai muttered something incoherent in her sleep. “Aww.” Sana whispered. “We have the most adorable kid in the universe.” “We do.” Mina whispered, gently squeezing Sana’s hand as she lightly moved her head towards Tzuyu. “I love our little family.” Sana commented after a couple moments of silence. “It won’t be that little for much longer.” Tzuyu commented as their house came into sight. “I think four kids classifies us as a big family.” “Maybe.” Sana giggled. “Anyway, what should we do for dinner?”

As the discussion kept going, Mina took a deep breath. She never would have imagined her life the way it was now when she was younger, but as she looked at the loves of her life and felt her daughter’s gentle weight in her arms, she knew that this was way better than anything she imagined as a child.

#twice #minatozaki sana #sana #tzuyu #chou tzuyu #myoui mina #mina #misatzu #sai #baby sai

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