#its at 4000 words and its still just the first chapter
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this fic is gonna have everything btw
fratricide, god-summoning, period-accurate homophobia...
what more could you ask for?
#ooc#its at 4000 words and its still just the first chapter#honestly i MIGHT trim it down later on#but i just LIKE all of this so much
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My Haladriel fics
I haven't grouped all these together before, so here's a collection of all the complete Haladriel fics I've written so far since October '22. Cannot believe it's been almost two years!
(Some of these fics also feature Celeborn/Galadriel, Celeborn/Sauron or all of them together, because I like a) Celeborn b) multishipping and c) mess. I'll make it clear here which stories those are, so if Celeborn is not your guy or if multishipping confuses or distresses you then that's! fine! just please don't read those ones and then be weird to me about it in the comments.)
Multi-chapter fics
Shadow-Bride (E, 265k words): This is my long long longfic, started in December of '22 and now complete after 43 chapters. Canon-divergence from the middle of s1.
Banquets have burned for you (M, 24k words): Written for eastwynds for the spring '23 Haladriel fic exchange, where the prompt was "one thing happens differently on Númenor, and everything changes." Went heavy on the Greek tragedy influence for this one because it felt fitting for Númenor.
A man is a god in ruins (E, 21k words): At the time this was the longest story I'd ever written and the first multi-chapter story I'd finished since the LiveJournal days. How things change! Canon-divergence from the very end of s1; what if Halbrand decided to leave Eregion before Galadriel got suspicious?
All the kinds of alive you can be (E, 13k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel, also Celeborn/Sauron/Galadriel): so loads of us have written "what if Sauron shapechanged into Celeborn to seduce Galadriel"; this is "what if Sauron shapechanged into Galadriel to seduce Celeborn, because he's furious with her and obsessed with her and sort of wants to be her all at the same time"?
So Wide a Sea (E, 6k words, also Galadriel/Celeborn): After Sauron's final defeat in the War of the Ring Galadriel remembers a long-ago day on Númenor.
One-shot fics
Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed (T, 6000 words): the first Haladriel fic I ever wrote, of five scenarios of Galadriel learning his name. 'Shadow-Bride' is a continuation of one of these five; 'A man is a god in ruins' is the '...and one time it didn't.'
Tar-Mairon of the Shire (G, 3000 words): entire fix-it fluff, probably more '&' than '/', Hobbits make everything better including Dark Lords.
Tempered (M, 3600 words): written for @thecoziestbean for the spring '24 Haladriel fic exchange.
And white winter, on its knees (M, 1800 words): written for the Haladriel Winter Solstice '23, a what-if Galadriel said yes to Sauron's offer story.
Weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels (M, 4000 words): written for Haladriel Week '24. A little moment after the Tirharad battle and before the volcano.
I have loved flowers that fade (M, 1700 words): they deserved to have at least one nice time in Eregion before she found out who he was!
Weighed Against Our Future (T, 1800 words): A delirious (or is he?) Halbrand on the road to Eregion.
Shine (T, 3300 words) and its sequel Lady of the Seas (E, 3700 words): Halbrand makes Galadriel's armour on Númenor.
Silver Queen (M, 3600 words): my first 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' story, sort of a Haladriel fic and sort of a fix-it for Celebrían.
Civil Twilight (M, 10k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel): for Haladriel Week '23. A 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' and 'what if Galadriel finds her missing husband?' story combined.
The turn of the tide (T, 1700 words): For Haladriel Week '23. In the Fourth Age after travelling back to Valinor, Galadriel still feels called to the sea.
Though I sang in my chains like the sea (T, 3000 words): For Haladriel Week '23. They were on that ep2 raft for a while; so this is a gapfiller of them getting to know each other better. Or not.
Blood Sugar (M, 7000 words): the only time I've ever done a modern AU, and even then it doesn't really count because he's still literal Sauron in it. Anyway: Glasgow, professional disillusionment, and difficult relationships with your history.
Ficlets under 1000 words
You built a nest inside my soul, you rest your head on leaves of gold (M, 800 words); Numenor alleyway smut.
How shall summer's honey breath hold out (M, 600 words): and why shouldn't Galadriel get to command an army and have a nice time with the enemy general while heavily pregnant.
Gilded (G, 550 words): another 'what if she said yes on the raft' fic
Not for all my little words (T, 775 words) s1 ep8, Elrond-POV on Galadriel and her weird new friend in Eregion.
Miscellaneous fics:
Half-Maia Celebrían short fics: Suo Gân (G, 1000 words), Arda Sahta (G, 1100 words), As Little Might Be Thought (T, 2600 words). All these are Galadriel/Celeborn (and the last one is also Celebrían/Elrond) and Sauron isn't really in them, but they're all about the impact of that being his child.
To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (T, 1700 words) - another 'what if Sauron impersonates Galadriel?' fic, this time featuring baby half-Maia Amroth.
Silmarillion rather than TROP: As certain dark things are loved (M, 8000 words, also Galadriel/Celeborn, also Galadriel/Celeborn/Sauron), for @softlighter for the Sufficiently Advanced '24 exchange. Annatar in 2nd Age Ost-in-Edhil.
#haladriel#galadriel x sauron#saurondriel#rings of power fanfic#eyeofacat fic#I gather a lot of Haladriels here are pretty... hostile to? confused by? multishippers but there are plenty of multishipping Haladriels!#promise I have not written three hundred thousand words of fic for this ship because I secretly hate it#fandom is a big and varied place and not everyone has the same attitude to shipping or characters and that's okayyyyyyyy
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Spark (4/8)
Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers
Chapter 4 summary: You and Arthur slowly become closer while managing the trifles that come with running in the van der Linde gang. Arthur might even be ready to forgive you for your last offense...
link to my masterlist
first chapter, second chapter, third chapter
Hey. Sorry it took me so long. Aside from a full schedule, this was a hard chapter for me to write because its purpose is to display a transition and it might not be the smoothest thing I have written, but it's necessary to progress the plot.
4000 words, 20 minutes reading time
It was early in the morning, but Arthur had given up trying to sleep. Despite the sun not having risen yet, the light grey colour of the sky suggested that it wouldn't be long until the sun's warmth would touch the damp grass and shy away the small clouds that hung in the sky. Only a few people had already left their bedrolls and slowly started the daily business of running a camp. As Arthur opened his tent flaps some more, he lazily greeted Javier who had just finished his guard duty. Then Arthur sat down on his table, his journal in front of him.
You had been on his thoughts all night, he hated to admit it. So much had happened. And though yesterday Arthur was sure that he was anything but disgusted by your presence, he was concerned. Concerned that you had actually left camp, as he had threatened you yesterday. There was something in your features when he told you to leave, that stuck with him. An expression that haunted his dreams.
No. He had been seeing things. Better to stick to the things that he knew for sure; you annoyed him and had taken his journal.
Again and again, Arthur had reassured that you hadn't ripped out something, and he was almost disappointed to find out that you hadn't. It didn't fit the picture he had of you. For the tenth time since yesterday, Arthur skimmed through the pages, absentmindedly reading his entries when he overheard a conversation taking place.
He turned his head a bit to see you in the distance, talking to Abigail. He couldn't make out what the two of you were saying, but you looked calm - quite in contrast to the conversation you had with Abigail yesterday. Arthur curiously watched as you handed something to her. Then she closed in, it almost looked like Abigail wanted to hug you. But you stumbled back a couple of steps, extending your hand to shake hers.
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing what to think of that, when you suddenly turned and walked towards his tent. Flustered, he sat up straight, directing his gaze to the table in front of him. Why did he react like that? He hadn't done anything forbidden. And still, Arthur grabbed a pen and scribbled away on an empty page in his journal. He didn't even know what to draw, he just started with some simple lines, hoping he wouldn't have to think of something.
Then he heard you clearing your throat.
"You awake, Mr. Morgan?", you asked, standing at the entrance of his tent.
"Depends", Arthur replied briefly. He clearly was awake, you could see him very well sitting and scribbling in his journal, but his voice was gravely.
"Look - I'm...I'm sorry", you almost choked on your voice and had to supress a cough.
Arthur snickered, not even looking at you: "Sure. For what exactly? For all of it?"
"Taking your journal", you added and since Arthur didn't say anything, you took a big breath to repeat: "I'm sorry for taking your journal. I shouldn't have done that."
"Alright."
If you expected to be forgiven, Arthur was far than ready to do so. Simply that you had mentioned that you had taken his journal made his heart beat faster in anger. Nevertheless, hearing you mumble an apology was some sort of satisfaction.
"For what it's worth I really like the drawings. They are well done and...you don’t have to worry about me reading your secrets cause I read none if it”, you explained.
"Course you didn't", Arthur replied sarcastically.
"I can't read", you admitted silently.
"Ya got a damn big mouth for someone who can't read", Arthur mocked. Then he looked up and wished he hadn’t delivered this line like that.
You looked...-well. You certainly didn't sleep much last night. Your hair was messy, your hands and pants dirty with soil as if you had been digging something. Underneath the dark circles around your eyes there was a blooming bruise on your cheek bone where John had hit you. It looked painful. Your eyes were glassy and additionally to your feeble appearance came a blush on your cheeks. Arthur looked you up and down and noticed that one holster was empty. So, despite searching for hours last night, and evidently not getting any sleep at all, you hadn't found the gun he had thrown over the ridge. Briefly, he thought about mentioning it, but decided against it. You broke the silence again.
"I knew you told me to leave but...I won't", you were almost scared of the last two words. Scared he would yell at you and throw you out nevertheless.
"Real shame", Arthur sighed instantly, before he looked at you again and decided the harsh treatment was maybe not the right way, "It's none of my business anyway. But if ya can't stop annoying people around here I can't guarantee for yer safety."
You sighed in relief: "Understood."
You looked around at camp and caught sight of the Indian who was about to heave up a ridiculously huge sack of flour. Despite his physique, he seemed to struggle.
"What’s the Indian's name again?", you asked Arthur without letting your eyes off the man.
Slightly confused, Arthur answered with: "Charles Smith." Then he barely caught your mumbled 'bye' and saw you disappear from his tent. You headed towards Charles, determined to offer help. You sighed when you got closer. Maybe two apologies and one offering of kindness was too much for 7 am in the morning, but Charles had already caught sight of you, so there was no turning back without making things even more awkward.
"Need a hand, Mr. Smith?” you asked, approaching him. He looked up surprisedly but replied with a "Sure" before even thinking about it. His eyes lingered on your bruise, and you watched his slightly sceptical look. It was clear that you had a sudden change of heart, but there was no way Charles could tell how this had come to be. Unless it was connected to the ugly bruise right on your face. But he hadn't been present when John had punched you in the face, neither had he noticed that Arthur had thrown your favourite gun over the cliff and that you had been searching for it all night. All that was clear to Charles was, that you were in a peculiar mood. Your cheeks blushed, obviously embarrassed but at the same time somewhere else with your thoughts.
You tripped over your own feet as you helped Charles to carry the sack to Pearson's waggon. They were fucking heavy, and you feared that you might be less actual help for the man that was about five times your size when it came to muscles, but you tried nevertheless. Tried, while thinking about stuff you had been mulling over the whole night.
Something about Arthur kicking you out yesterday had made you realize that you didn't want to leave. You never were someone who lived with many people. If you had been with a gang, it either ended with being stabbed in the back, a disastrous job with many casualties or just your misjudgement making you shake hands with people who didn't have any good intentions for you at heart. But last night, as you crawled through the bushes you had realized something: This was not your average outlaw gang. You swallowed at the term, but this wild mix of people was a family. There were people who needed to be taken care of, and there were others who stepped in and provided. Of course, a Jack or a Reverend is useless in a fight, but they made this random mix of people a family.
"Y/N?", you looked up to Charles who had called your names a couple of times now before you listened.
"We can drop the sack here", he said, waiting for you to let go of your end so the weight wouldn't overwhelm you if he let go first.
"Sure", you sighed at the realization that you hadn’t been listening. After the sack had been dropped off, you wiped your dusty hands on your jeans.
"That's a nasty bruise you got there", Charles remarked, "I could mix you something with some herbs that grow around here. It'll make it fade faster."
You looked at his like he had just suggested the most ridiculous thing ever, and without even thinking about it you blurted out a: "No thanks, I'll manage." You turned on your heels to get out of there, when you halted, slowly turning around to Charles again, who hadn't moved at all: "Though...if it isn't too much trouble...?"
Charles stated a short: "Not at all." You nodded, cleared your throat and mumbled a "Thank you."
A few uneventful days passed. While you still rode out every day, at least to bring in some fresh game or a couple of dollars that you robbed from the first fella that had the misfortune of crossing your path, you stayed around more often and helped out with the daily chores. On a rather warm afternoon, you were on guard duty, lazily walking up and down, when Dutch and John rode up to you. Strauss was on John’s horse and his face was unusually pale. The pace at which they had approached you and Dutch’s tense face told you that something wasn’t right.
“Dutch?”, you asked when his horse was next to you.
“Cornwall’s men found us. We had to shoot our way out of town”, Dutch sighed in brief explanation.
“Anybody got hurt?”, you eyed the men and your gaze found a deep red stain on Strauss’s leg.
“Not seriously”, Dutch answered. You heard Leopold mockingly repeating the answer under his breath. The sweat on his forehead suggested that his definition of seriously hurt might differ from Dutch’s.
“We’ll have to move soon”, Dutch thought out loud and kicked his horse into a slow trot again. You walked next to him: “Want me to go scout ahead?”
“That’s…very kind of you, Miss y/n. I’ll need to discuss it with Hosea first, but you might as well start packing.”
And only two hours later, you were called to Dutch who was surrounded by Hosea and Arthur. You walked up to them with crossed arms: “So we’re moving?”
“We are. South, for now. I want you to go with Charles and Arthur here”, Dutch said. Looking at Arthur’s face, he had already found out that you would be joining the scouting mission and surprisingly, didn’t seem too disgusted by the idea. There was just a hint of annoyance in his features.
“Sure”, you nodded complyingly, “Not a problem. I’ll get my horse saddled –“
“Actually”, Dutch interrupted you, “We might need yours to pull a waggon. Bill let his be injured so we are one strong horse short.” You were still processing those words and what they were supposed to mean, when Dutch shortened the pause: “I’m sure you’ll find some space on either of those fine gentlemen’s horses.” Then Dutch gave you a slimy grin and turned around, implying that this conversation was over and there was no room for discussion.
You silently followed Charles and Arthur to their horses. And when Arthur sat tight, he offered you a hand to climb on his horse, but you were already headed to Charles, asking with a questioning look if you were allowed to ride with him. He nodded, understanding your implication without any words being said and watched you mount Taima behind him, not even bothering to offer you a hand. Because he knew you were capable, and he knew you didn’t like to be offered help, even though you had started to accept his offers more willingly with every new day.
Arthur watched those happenings as if he wasn’t sitting on his horse, one hand reached out to where you had stood ten seconds ago. He felt like an idiot, but since you ignored him completely, he could live with the embarrassment. “Didn’t want ya on my horse anyway”, he mumbled under his breath, for nobody but himself to hear.
“So we are heading south…”, Charles assessed five minutes into the ride.
“Yeah, area called Dewberry Creek. We’ll make sure if it’s clear and a good place to lie low for a while”, Arthur explained.
“Man, I’ve been with you for like two weeks and in those two weeks you’ve done anything but lying low”, you teased.
Charles agreed with you and even Arthur kind of did when he said: “There ain’t no lying low. Dutch is not gonna hide away in a cave somewhere. Goes against everything he stands for.” Both Arthur and Charles must have heard you snicker but ignored it.
When you finally arrived at the destination, a dried-out rover creek, you couldn’t help but grin bitterly: “That’s a shit camp spot, even for your kind of lying low standards.”
The place was exposed, with barely any trees around to cover tents or two dozen of heavily armed people walking around. This was no nice camp spot, and you couldn’t even start to understand why Micah, of all people, would recommend it. Not that you had any trust in your stepbrother’s suggestions to begin with, but he usually was sharp when it came to things like that.
“Let’s look around”, Arthur ordered, and you rolled your eyes. “Waste of time”, you hollered sarcastically, but there was no way of riding off with you sitting behind Charles on his horse.
After a while though, you heard Arthur exclaim: “There’s a camp over there. Let’s have a look.”
With that, the horses were dismounted and you walked up to a couple of rather big tents, barrels and clothing lines. “Looks empty…”, Arthur assessed.
“Let’s make sure”, Charles chimed in.
“Looks like they left in a hurry”, you commented while you kicked a couple of still glowing sticks into the fireplace, “or hid in a hurry.” You saw Arthur pulling away some crates from a waggon with Charles help. When you had approached, they were about to uncover three figures hiding, one of them holding a double-barrel right in your face.
Instinctively, your hand went to your holster, only to grip thin air. You hadn’t got used to missing your main firearm, when you tried to go for your second one, Arthur gripped your wrist so firmly, you hissed in reply.
“It’s okay. You can come out of there”, Charles spoke to them in a soft voice while he raised his hands defensively. Arthur shot you a warning glare, before he let go of your hand to give you the opportunity to raise your hands too, which you unwillingly did.
“We don’t mean you no harm”, Charles affirmed and the three of you stood still, patiently waiting for the oldest of the three people, a woman probably around 20, to move the last crate to crawl out from under the waggon. As the three people moved, still very much holding you hostage with the raised weapon, Arthur shoved you behind him, moving away from the armed girl. You hated him for handling you like that. It might have looked like he wanted to protect you, shoving you behind his back, but you knew it was to prevent you from saying or doing something stupid.
“G-german?”, the oldest stuttered.
“No…”, Arthur replied confusedly, “no go on, get out of here. Go, we need the land. Go!”
When they didn’t budge, Athur got louder: “Get the hell out of here.”
A blonde girl, probably not older than fifteen finally said something in broken English: “They took our father.”
“Who did?”, Charles asked without hesitation.
“Men. Last night”, the girl explained.
“Where did they take him?” Charles asked.
“Ain’t no business of ours”, Arthur said, turning to Charles offense as if he had just added useless stuff to do in todays list, “I don’t even speak their language.”
“You ain’t as tough and dense as all that”, Charles said, holding an erect index finger under Arthur’s nose. You worked hard to hold back a snort. Charles walked off to his horse, leaving you and Arthur standing there. A small giggle escaped your lips and you hit Arthur in the side with your elbow, secretly happy you kept your mouth shut the whole time, “Whose the insensitive bastard now, huh?”, you chuckled.
Arthur clicked with his tongue before shoving you forward nonchalantly: “Come on.”
While hunting down the men who kidnapped the father, you found the perfect camping spot. Plus, you had the opportunity to gun down some men, which you gladly did after not having had the opportunity to practice with your other gun. The business was taken care of faster than you had anticipated, and before you knew it Charles was riding to get the rest of the gang, Arthur brought the man back to his family and you guarded the newly-acquired camping spot.
Arthur was back before Charles and while you rampaged the place for valuables, Arthur sat down underneath the big tree. No words were spoken, and distance was kept.
---
"What are you staring at?", you snapped at Arthur. His eyes followed you while you walked through camp and did chores. They had been for a couple of days now, but he never approached you or said anything about it. He just watched. And at some point, it had started to annoy you. It angered you even more that you cared about it, but you couldn't ignore it any longer.
"Just checkin' if yer behaving", Arthur commented.
"Don't give me that bullshit. I told you I don't need babysitting", you said.
"Well then maybe, you should stop doing all those dubious activities", Arthur almost whispered.
Your eyebrows knit together, and you gave him a quizzical look: "What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"You know what I'm talking about", Arthur simply replied.
"I don't. But fine, keep your secrets. But stop stalking me."
"What was that thing that you gave Jack earlier?"
"What?", you hoped Arthur hadn't caught your look of surprise or the way you held your breath for a moment, "Nothing."
"Sure", Arthur chuckled darkly.
"Stop watching me", and then you walked off.
But as much as you would have liked to keep it a secret, it wasn't long until Arthur unveiled this mystery. To be fair, you had never done anything truly suspicious, he had just found it weird how well behaved you had become. It wasn't like you were going around throwing compliments at the others, but now you would stumble over a sleeping uncle and just curse him under your breath, in comparison to kicking and yelling at him to get his shit together. In fact, Arthur hadn't heard you fight with anyone recently.
Abigail had asked Arthur, who had caught up with her over a cup of coffee, to fetch Jack who should be playing nearby to help her get some chores done. It didn’t take long for Arthur to find him. He was just playing hidden behind Abigail’s tent, moving little wooden figures and thinking up a role play. And next to Jack? You, just as immersed in the little game that was going on.
Jack was quick to notice Arthur, jumping up and greeting him: “Uncle Arthur! Look! Auntie y/n made this for me because I lost mine!”
Jack was stretching his arms up to Arthur to present a wooden carved figure of…he wasn’t sure exactly. It could be anything from a deer to an elephant, so Arthur smiled and nodded, taking the carved monstrosity in his own hands: “That’s real nice, Jack.”
The boy nodded excitedly, but when Arthur looked down to you, you simply stared at the dirty ground with red cheeks. You didn’t mind if Abigail knew you spent time with Jack, Hosea had also seen you just a couple of days ago, when you were collecting flowers with Jack…but Arthur. His teasing could already be heard and he hadn’t yet said anything.
“Jack, yer momma is asking for you. Why don’t ya go and check if she needs something”, Arthur said to the boy, patting him on the back and watching him run off.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Finally, Arthur made a couple of steps to stand next to you and held the carved thing under yer nose.
“What the hell’s this thing? It’s damn ugly”, he said mockingly.
“Oh, that’s why it reminded me of you”, you shot back, a cheeky, half-assed grin on your lips. You looked up to Arthur who looked taken aback for a second before his lips curled into a soft smile. He squatted to place the - he had decided that it was most likely to be meant as a horse - on the grass next to the more professionally carved wooden soldiers.
“Yer not so wrong about that”, he mumbled. You barely made out the words, but when you did you knit your eyebrows together in a surprise. Arthur? Giving in? To one of YOUR snarky remarks? You swallowed thickly under the enlightenment that this conventionally handsome man just compared himself to your feeble attempt of a wooden horse, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said.
“I got s’mthing for ya”, Arthur said, standing up again. Some smart replies came to your mind but you remained silent, following him to his tent. You watched as he opened his chest and pulled out a peacemaker.
“Here ya go”, he presented it to you.
“What’m I supposed to do with that?”, you asked, eying the gun all over. It was a beautiful gun. Clearly rather old, but well cared for with carvings all over.
“Take it”, Arthur assured.
You looked up at him to see him staring and you, almost pleadingly.
“You’re clearly a fan of double-wielding and if ya don’t, yer shooting’s off. I don’t want myself killed ‘cause you miss half the targets with one gun”, Arthur explained, pushing the gun into your hand.
You snickered, knowing damn well that this wasn’t the reason. The bastard was feeling bad because he threw away your gun. This revolver he gave you weighted heavily in your hand. It was a bit too big, clearly made for huge manly hands instead of your smaller, though trained, ones. You’ll make it work, you thought. The last thing you wanted to do is refuse it, it looked special. Arthur observed you inspecting the carving. When you discovered his initials carved in as well.
“It’s one of the first gun’s Dutch and Hosea ever gave me. It’s old, but still good”, he briefly explained.
“Sure”, you answered. You could tell. “Thanks.” With that you put the gun into your holster that had been empty for a while now. After you had made sure the gun sat properly, you looked up to find Arthur offering you a cigarette.
“What’s up with you today?”, you asked, taking it and putting it in between your lips.
“Good mood, I’spose”, Arthur replied. He struck a match, and you watched attentively how small sparks flew around and were gone as soon as you blinked. Arthur lit your cigarette first before he moved on to one he had placed between his own lips. You watched as he took a first drag, closing his eyes in the process. It didn’t struck you as a way of enjoying the nicotine, but more as a way of calming down. The old peacemaker put a nice weight on your hips, you felt more balanced again and you couldn’t help but imagine that Arthur had put off lending you his gun for a few days now. So having finally managed that, he must be relieved.
You smiled over this realization. You’d have never thought that…well…he’d forgive you for the whole journal ordeal. But this was probably his way of saying ‘We’re good’.
That’s that then, you thought.
--------x
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next chapter here!
#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan fanfiction#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#red dead redemption community#rdr2#rdr2 fanfiction#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr fanfiction#rdr
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This is the first chapter of my take on the Epic Musical story :D The main idea of a banished Athena story being inspired by Coqeuxari.
I hope whoever reads this enjoys it as this is really the first narrative writing I’ve done for myself, so I can put all my writing effort into it.
Feel free to talk about in the comments whether you liked it or not and why that is. Also I have ideas for the entire story I just have to flesh it out so if you want to ask anything about the story go ahead and I’ll try answer unless if it’ll spoil any surprises I want to add
Decided to post this directly here for right now as I had a AO3 account but forgot the password so I have to make a new one.
Anyways
One war
One decision
One Man’s desire
Chapter 1: Troy
During the late hours following the Greeks retreat from Troy its citizen came forth. Stepping out of gates for the first time in ten years was a strange feeling to these men and women. As they exited a strange sight lay before them. A construct of grandeur, of worship, of deceit. They gazed upon the giant brutian horse at its feet resided a being in a drunken stupor. Sinon proclaims the being as its consciousness breaches the blockade of alcohol surrounding his brain. He slurs his words into a barely understandable statement, “Da rest ov a men eft me ear o ells yeahs dis orse is to orgive oos for da estruction of yeas atue ta atena.”
“Good sir care to repeat what you’ve said.”
“Ifa’s ant oondand meh den ja shupid.’
“Appears the god of wine kissed his lips sir.”
“Clearly, perhaps whatever he’s said could be true?”
“I dunno sir, we’s can’t understand a word he’s said.”
“Get the prophet. If he can read the stars then surely he can read the contorted mouth of this man.” A man is usher forward by the crowd. Still bitter from the death of his child by the Greeks, he begrudgingly kneels before the man who’s liver had been battered as if punctured by acid. “A izah guy dat Ager megnom iled ah kyled ov. Erphaps oos ain’t ain amaged,” the man repeated the phrases that he told the other men in the crowd through breath that suggested his insides smelt only of fermented grapes. “ The Greeks have left this equine as a peace offering. It is meant to replace the statue of Athena they’ve decimated.” The crowd of men responds with an inconsistent mermer of, “ I knew that’s what he was saying.”
As the victors drudge the pine stallion inside their walls that repelled all attacks the Greek threw will now be the prison of 4000 men, women, and children. As twilight encroached upon the land the noise of praise, feast, dance, and victory filled the coffin. Inside the horse sat the Greeks finest executioners. The 10 year drag left them desperate enough to sit within the humid and damp body of the wooden structure in a ploy to inter the city and break out allowing for a festive slaughter. This disparate act was conjured by the very goddess whom claimed to value the Trojan no more than 12 hours ago.
However atop to mount in the throne room of the great olympians a pitiful scene unfolded. “Father!” Roared Ares whilst clutching his bleeding side as golden droplets fell to the floor, “Can’t you see? That pompous child of a step sister whom I share dominion with has caused a mortal to injure me! By her hand through his, she punctured my flesh! She must be cast down for overstepping your declarations! No god is to have involvement within this war, is that not what you’ve said!” Ares lashed about whilst spitting and hissing these words.
“Correct my adulterine brother,” snarled Athena through her beaked lips, “how strange, you enter the palace exclaiming woes of which you blame me. Yet you’ve overlooked the shortcomings within your plea. For how could you have been injured by a mortal partaking in the war without being a part of it as well, or perhaps you were,” said Athena as a snide smirk etched itself upon her face. “ How dare you! I wouldn’t have had to fight your lousy champion if he hadn’t speared my dears hand as she attempted to save our child-“
“There you go again speaking without thought. You’ve now admitted to your wife having been part of the war too, uxoricide through stupidity-“
“How dare you feathered lout proclaim that I’ve harmed my dearest!” Ares shouted as if it were a war cry.
“Perhaps I could get you to come forth with the names of the rest of your posse. Would save me time having to present evidence,” laughed Athena. Ares stood his armor rattling with a rage encased within his godly flesh. The rage of all the fallen in hades. A rage that if released on a mortal or army would be more devastating than any split atom. He stood there in silence as Aphrodite rushed to him having sensed his peril of which she had never felt before. “ My great boar what ales you! What’ve you done you unrequited orinth,” hissed Aphrodite. “ Why not ask your doltish pig, of whom I’m sadly related.”
One word was spoken. One word with range like thunder. One word which held the force of the greatest storm. One word which was spoken from the one that the trio was annoying, “SILENCE!” Zeus thundered, “Daughter, who might the rest of the guilty be?”
“The children Leto father,” chirped Athena. “Thank you, I’ve heard enough of your insolent bickering. It was giving a headache equivalent to the one that birthed you,” said the now tired and defeated sounding Zeus, “ You all have crossed a line I clearly set. Of which the punishment Ares suggests is fitting until you’ve each proven that you deserve to reside within this palace, as currently I see three pups arguing over the corpse of a rat.” The trio stands there in silence as they accept what will happen to them next. “Hermes!”
“Yeah pops?”
“Inform the twins of Leto of my decree so that they don’t question why they’ve been stripped of divine power.”
“Alrighty,” Hermes exclaims cheerfully, seeing this only for its hilarity. He then zips through the archway leading into Olympus. Following soon after a bright golden light fills the throne room. Once the light fades only Athena remains, “why have you left me father?”
“I expected better from you Athena. You are my most prized offspring, and yet you’ve fallen to the same height as mortals. Perhaps if I gave a visit to your favorite human you’ll understand that we’re not like them.”
“ Father WAI-,” the same light surrounds Athena as she is cast from Olympus to the base of the former Greek camp.
(Now watch Horse and the Infant then just a man)
Odysseus approaches the camp ground he slept at two days ago before tonight, as he heads towards where Eurylochus had landed his ship. As he passes through the charred ground he can’t help but think back to what he’s done. Then suddenly a hand jets towards him. He unsheathes his blade and readies it to strike whoever was foolish enough to sneak up on him. Right before he strikes he sees the face of his mentor. Before he can stop Athena throws him over her shoulder out of reaction. Odysseus now puzzled and with a dirt covered cape asks Athena what she’s doing here. He then realizes that she looks different. Less feathers, and lacking her distinct beaked lips. Also, she’s now missing her giant owl wings. He moves to speak when Athena reaches out for his shoulder. As her hand makes contact he’s shocked to feel its warmth, its weight, its mortality. He shutters as he croaks on his words. Athena explains her situation to him after which Odysseus wraps an arm around her shoulders which are a head taller than him and says, “ You can ride with me and crew back to Ithaca! It’s the only right thing to do when your life long goddess friend is now mortal and now requires the same as me,” he smiles with the dorkish grin he wore when she first met him all those decades ago.
“ I. . . Uh saw what my father had made you do from here, do you wish to speak of it or. . .”
“Nope I’d rather move past that as soon as possible.”
“Alright little man,” she says while staring down at Odysseus who’s 3 feet shorter than she is.
“Aight Atty,” Odysseus says through a smile of a kid annoying his mother.
“I thought you agreed never to say that again,” she says, scowling at him.
“And clearly I’m no little man anymore.”
“Hard to tell from up here,” she says smiling as they approach the bow of Odysseus’ ship.
Odysseus boards the ship followed by the giantess which caused confusion among the men on the ships until Odysseus interjected that she was an Amazonian warrior who he’d been friends with for years now. Eurylochus Examined her, unsure of her presence being Odysseus’ right hand. Polities ran up to Athena grasping her hand and eagerly shaking it, “ I’m so happy to meet you, any friend of my best buddy Odysseus is a friend to me,” polities said with a somehow even more dorkish smile surrounded by the stubble of a beard, as his head band covered his forehead.
POV: how it feels to post 1500 words of a fan story
#epic the musical#troy saga#trojan war#ancient greek mythology#ao3 fanfic#ao3#fanfic#fan story#original story#the odyssey#odysseus#ares#aphrodite#hermes#apollo#artemis#the horse and the infant#just a man#zeus#polites#eurylochus#I wrote this at 11:00 while suffering from a sprained ankle#greek stories#epic ares#epic athena#epic apollo#epic aphrodite#epic zeus#epic the musical fanfic#epic the musical fandom
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Folks, there will be no new #FridayNightHistory today because of this week's now thankfully prior emergency. However, this is a post to intro the start of a modular, longform project which will become my first history book for the general public: A history of Miyagi Prefecture in the Occupation.
I recently read an account of Sendai in the early days of the US occupation of Japan, written by a paratrooper who served there. This got me curious, so I dug a bit in terms of books and online resources.
And to my knowledge, there doesn't seem to be a comprehensive history of Miyagi during the Occupation in English written by someone who knows Miyagi like a local or even like a scholar.
I want to change that.
My resources are limited. I can do this much thanks to the benefit of my patrons, but I'm still too absorbed in seeking out other opportunities to earn dribs and drabs of extra cash to have the time to devote to focused, in-depth, specific work on just one project.
And I have ADHD.
So what I'm going to do is modular. I'm going to start from writing a history of the dozen or so US bases in Miyagi, or rather the land they stood on (many still do, but they're now JASDF and JGSDF bases), each split into 2 sections (early history-1945, 1945-present).
4000-4500 words per section, 2 sections per base, dozen or so bases, is going to result in a lot of words when I come out the other end.
It will also mean that when I get there, I'll be able to do the big picture, thousand-foot-up view more easily, which ties these together into a book.
The picture that I hope to convey is of Miyagi as an edge of empire across a millennium, and of the US occupation as just one chapter in a very, very long story.
(In fact, in one place, the US set up a base where the Yamato court first established their local outpost in the 8th century CE!)
This is not a text for academics. The academic establishment (and its publication arms) and I are not on speaking terms. This is a text for the general public, written with the rigor I was taught as an academic historian.
Why am I writing this? Because Americans have had their say about this from the POV of the American uniformed experience, but the land and its people have a voice that I want to fit into the picture for anglophones to read and hopefully understand.
I am also writing it because it bothered me, reading this writing by Americans, which either doesn't really absorb the places or their histories or significance, or actively erases them and renames them with American names.
And finally, I am writing it because of those many years I got told by comfortably tenured bastards that Miyagi and the Tohoku region didn't matter.
Ono no Azumabito and General MacArthur disagree with you.
To support this project, please check out my current set of books on the Throne wishlist: throne.com/riversidewings, or send me a tip via ko-fi.com/riversidewings, or subscribe to my Patreon to support my continued work on this and much else:
Thank you one and all.
Now, back to work.
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️
Hi and thank you! How nice :) Five favourites feels like a lot since I'm always deciding things are bad, actually, like a month after posting them. Don't do that, kids! Your writing is worth promoting still even if you have improved as an artist! Ehem. So, taking my own advice and a page from your book of picking these based on which ones were the most fun to write:
The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox. ~60K words, Pavellan. It's so good. My first time posting a completed fic after having written all of it, it comes out on a regular schedule every Wednesday, or will do for the next three weeks! I'm almost done posting it and I think it's a really fun ride. Enemies-to-lovers canon-divergent Dragon Age Inquisition fic without the Inquisition. Dorian is a Magister, Taren First of his clan, they are thrown into an adventure together and have to slowly figure out how to get along (and manage their sexual tension ;)). It's also a tragedy and I'm really excited to break some more hearts, so go read it!
Strange Feelings in the Party Camp. 34K words, Zevran x Alistiar x Warden. This one is a sidebar romance within the events of Dragon Age Origins. Just a messy love-triangle-to-polyamory story, it's very sweet and they all figure it out eventually.
Matchsies. @onionjuggler YOU are the reason this monstrosity exists, thanks. I did eventually finish it! ~200K words, and there's a sequel. Pavellan. Modern tattoo-shop au slice-of-life complicated romance... thing. There's a lot of modern-with-magic worldbuilding and some beautiful relationship development stuff in this fic. I loved writing it, and I'm happy with the full final result, but I do look back on this one in embarrassment for how long the chapters got. Read it, but take breaks ;)
A Complicated Match. ~120K words, Pavellan. The Sequel to Matchsies. Rounds out the story in a nice happy ending, lots of great Dorian angst, Tevinter modern-with-Magic worldbuilding, slightly shorter chapters than its prequel. Really proud of them both.
Let's do something short and silly - I Hate You (and your little cat too.) ~4000 words, Fenders. Anders' cat escapes to his downstairs neighbour's balcony. His downstairs neighbour is Fenris.
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Branding | Scarring | Collar
Collar.
'Soap's been captured. Turns out this time, the torture is... a little different than he's used to.'
Trigger warnings for this prompt: Vomit, starvation. Ships for this prompt: Ghoap. Word count: Around 3000/4000
Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 7 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
Wrote this incredibly sick, I love October but holy SHIT.
~
Chained, collared, and left out in the cold. Like an animal. Like a literal dog.
This wasn't weird at all...
No, no it was very much weird.
The SAS trained him for all sorts, back when he was a rookie. All stereotypical shit you see in movies. Waterboarding, nail pulling, neck slashing, and so forth. But being treated like a mutt wasn't in the field manual. At least, not in the one he read.
Sitting ass first in wet, freezing mud sucked in any circumstance, but was, also, common. Being a soldier and all. They ended up in the mud nine times out of ten on missions, and in training, too. He can still remember crawling under barbed wire fences in the rain and sitting on his backside in the mud staring up at his supervisor waiting for instructions.
But, unlike those times, these pricks had gone ahead and done something a… little unexpected. Stolen his clothes right off of his fucking back, leaving him practically naked. At least they’d been courteous enough to let him keep his skivvies. Not that the soaked, once-blue fabric felt much better against his skin than nothing at all.
Oh, and the collar, of course. How could he forget the collar?
It was one of those old, worn leather collars made for ‘intimidating’ dogs. Little metal studs, not long enough to be of use circled his neck, complete with a little dog-tag. How nice. If he tilted his head down slightly, he could just make out the ‘name’ he’d been given: Bitch. How flattering!
The collar itself wrapped snug against his Adam's apple, a little hoop at the back connecting him to a nearby pole, stood tall and strong in contrast to the rest of the barren wasteland of a base. He was awkwardly connected to it through a metal chain, a huge one that he’s certain isn’t for dogs, much less humans, given that his neck tilted to the side with the sheer weight. Certainly good news for his posture, no doubt.
The pole didn’t just work as a chaining post for just him, of course. This was where they put all the dogs of the camp. Actual dogs, this time. He, as far as he knew, was the only human here. There were several poles, dotted around the base from what he heard, and his was known as ‘number seven’. It housed three other dogs, all anti-social little fuckers who coiled up as far as their chains could go, snarling and growling at anything that moved.
There was, actually, a kennel too. A nice little semi-dry spot, built of sticks and logs, for him to relax, except that was located at the base of the pole. Which wouldn’t be a problem given his grouchy neighbours if it weren’t for the one large, huge, brown-tan muscular dog that resided there. He supposed it was like… an alpha? Either way it scared the shit out of him enough that he much preferred his spot in the freezing mud.
He fucking hated dogs. His one weakness. Hell, his ‘kryptonite’, if you will. Terrified the shit out of him ever since he was a youngin. He was never able to shake the terror out from his heart, and he kind of liked it that way. Any other person probably would have sauntered right over to the ‘cute little puppy’ and lost their face for it. Not him.
Of course, this meant that the shelter was out of bounds. Which was just fine by him. It was his only choice in this whole situation, and he was glad to have it. He’d rather not lie down with literal dogs and risk losing his manhood or something, thanks to ‘Buddy’ or ‘Chief’ feeling a little peckish while he slept.
So here he sat, trembling like a flag in the wind, soaked to the bone, watching this dog nap peacefully out of the storm, save for its face and tail, exposed out of the small tunnel that made up the kennel. That brought some sort of sick pleasure to him. He was glad the dog was suffering at least a little, like the rest of them.
Made him almost feel happy about having his fellow shelter-less neighbours. Dogs or not.
Anyway.
Days in the camp, usually, went a little like this:
He would wake up to the howling, barking, and snarling of dogs. Of course. Following that rude awakening, he would peel himself off of the dirty ground underneath him and await food. Not that he ever actually got food. Only ‘good’ dogs got food, and he didn’t qualify, apparently.
But if he was honest, he was kind of glad. The slop the mutts were served was, frankly, disgusting. It was brown, and sludgy, and kind of looked like shit, if he was honest. Probably tasted like it too.
At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself watching them all happily scarf it down like it was the finest of dining, licking frantically until it was sparkling clean, not a dot of slop left. They probably didn’t even clean the bowls, now that he thought about it. Not when the dogs were constantly on the verge of hunger. Which was yet another thing to add to his checklist of being grateful he didn’t have to eat that crap.
Next, after breakfast, well… He would just… sit there.
What else was there to do? He sometimes would check the chain, check his collar, look for some sort of wear or tear in the fabric and the metal. Or sometimes, when he was too exhausted to look, he would simply hold the chain up. Give his poor neck a break from snapping awkwardly to the side under the weight. It left little relief, so he usually resorted to laying down, curled on his side just like his dog friends.
Once every few days, someone would come and collect him. He’d be forced to waddle on all fours into one of the houses that the people owned, like a literal mutt. They led him to the same room practically every time; the dining quarters. Full of men and women alike, munching down on mouth-watering food. Literally. His mouth would salivate as soon as he even saw the doors to the room. Pavlov would be proud, that stupid psychologist.
There, they would chain him to a table leg, and then they would eat their lunch.
If he tried to stand? Hit. Tried to grab some of the food from above? Hit. Hell, if they dropped something, and he deemed it free-dibs, he was hit. He just had to sit there on aching knees and watch them eat meal after meal. People laughed at him, kicked him when they walked past, teased food right above his face, and he just had to take it, or face being hit. Hit even more than he was already, really.
Starvation was a big issue for him, at this point, but not an issue he was unfamiliar with. He knew it all too well, a common tactic for interrogating soldiers. He knew this was their plan from the get go, and he’d been more than prepared mentally, but being around food so much was hard. Watching the dogs eat their sludge had been hard enough, and now he had to smell and see real human food. Burgers, hotdogs, chips, pizza. Not to mention the fact that the only drink to relieve his raspy throat he ever got was when it rained and he stuck his tongue out. They had Cola in here, Fanta, lemonade, water, squash. Coffee, too. Anything and everything.
“Does the puppy want some?” A woman cooed, waving a half-eaten sausage back and forth in front of him like a hypnosis. When he didn’t budge, the only thing to move being his eyes to follow the food, she laughed. “The puppy knows tricks.” She looked back up to the rest of the people at the table. She reached down to tussle his wet, mucky hair. Overgrown from his time out away from a good pair of scissors. “Its learnt to stay!”
The table erupted into laughter, and one man stood up, moving over to him. He kneeled down, a slice of pizza in his hand. A sliver, not enough to satisfy even an ant, but a slice nonetheless. “You hungry, mutt?”
He wasn’t going to give it to him, so what was the point? He simply stared forward blankly. He was too exhausted for this, his head hurt, his whole body hurt. He just wanted to be taken back outside.
“Hey.” A click of the fingers and he was back in the world of the living. The man was still there, eyes serious. “You can have it.”
He curled a brow. Seriously?
The man grinned, lifting the slice up before spitting a wad of saliva onto it, holding it out once more, tossing it to rest between his knees on the dirty floor. “Here you go!”
.
He was so tired.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here for now; starvation curled around his mind like a coiled snake, stealing any rational thoughts.
It was watering him down, he realised. Watering him down to a dog, like the rest of the mutts around him.
When was the last time he’d spoken? Eaten? Drank?
When was the last time he was held?
He wanted to be held. He wanted someone to curl their arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. He would even be okay with the dogs, he just needed something living, breathing. Something that had an ounce of love left in it, at this point.
He’d tried, once, to get closer to one of his neighbours, out of sheer desperation and loneliness. He had a nice bite mark to the left arm to thank for his troubles. At least, he assumed he did, he was covered in enough mud that no matter how much he swiped at it, it never revealed the wound underneath. But he could feel it, aching and hurting. Got a glimpse of blood sometimes, through the muck.
At least this experience had sort of cured his fear of dogs momentarily. He supposed that was kind of cool.
.
He was getting sick.
He wasn’t too sure what from; be it the cold, the mud, his wound, the starvation, the dehydration. Whatever it was, it was making him ill. Making him vomit. Not that he brought up anything but bile.
Turns out, though, that bile works sort of as good as water. Not that he would swallow it again, fuck no, he wouldn’t stoop that low. The bile helped him weaken the mud clung to his skin. Allowed him to get a look at that arm wound finally.
Yeah, it wasn’t looking good.
Red, raised, and bumpy. Yellow goo oozed out of the ragged puncture marks left behind, red mixed in. Blood, he realised. He could’ve cried. What if that dog had rabies? Was he going to die?
He could have laughed, actually- because only now did he think about death? Typical John Mactavish.
Thinking about death made him remember that he had a team. A team that would come and get him.
They’d find him, they’d save him.
Right?
.
.
He was right. Of course he was right, he was John ‘Soap’ fucking Mactavish! Sergeant of 141. Fuck the odds!
His team came for him, they came, they came, they came, they came. They were here. Somewhere here, only metres from him.
He could hear them, hear gunshots; screaming and shouting. The dogs had all risen with the change in normalcy, barking and yapping and howling in confusion and fear. Even little old ‘Buddy’ as he’d named him, that big fucker hogging the kennel, had moved to peer at the windows as they shattered from sprayed bullets. At the people sprinting for their lives out the doors, whizzing past them.
He grinned tiredly.
It was 141. It had to be.
It was his team. His team, all his, they’d come for him. They were taking him home. He was going home. Today, not tomorrow, not next week, not ever, but today.
He was so fucking exhausted.
He’d just rest his head for a moment, on the ground. That wouldn’t be too bad. They would find him, surely. He was the only non-dog here suffering, after all.
They’d find him. He trusted them.
.
.
.
“-oap, Soap. Soap-” Hands over his face, his eyes, his cheeks. He groaned.
“Fuck,” Someone hissed, and fingers jabbed themselves into his neck, attempting to wiggle between the leather and his skin. It was fruitless, he had tried himself. “Get this collar off of him.”
“I don’t have any bolt-cutters, sir. Ghost has them.”
“Alright, alright. Simon? I need you over here, stat.”
A voice, static-y and far away, “You find him?”
“Yeah.” The voice breathed out, relieved. “Yeah, we found him alright. East side. Need your set of cutters.”
“He awake?”
“Going in and out at the minute.” A hand softly rubbed at his shabby hair. “Soap?”
A wisp of a grunt. “On my way.”
He blinked an eye open. It was Gaz’s face to greet him, eyes wide with adrenaline and worry. Instantly, upon seeing his own, they softened. Another hand reached for him, cupping his cheek. “Soap.”
Price bombarded himself into the picture a moment later. “Son.”
He felt hot tears well up, dripping down his cheeks. Price ever-so-gently wiped them away. “It’s okay.” He promised, “We have you now.”
Soap let out a raspy sob, reaching a hand upwards desperately for the older man, but he couldn’t. It fell short, trembling and weak. He was exhausted beyond belief after God knows how many days out here.
Price was there, however. Of course he was, and quickly took his hand into his own, rubbing over his muddied knuckles. “You’re alright, son.” He soothed, “You’re alright.”
His eyes began to close once more, but Gaz tapped his dusty forehead. “Don’t sleep, Soap.” Concerned eyes met his own when he blinked them back open. “Don’t. Ghost’ll be here soon, okay?”
“Si’?” He coughed, chest seizing at the simple word. He curled in on himself, groaning.
Gaz’s hand moved to rub against his back. “Yeah.” He promised, “Ghost is here.”
As if on cue, footsteps thundered against the dirt, sprinting directly towards them. It stirred the dogs back up, snapping and growling at whoever had dared come into their territory.
A hand quickly fell onto his shoulder, hard. A more gentle one on his head, turning him slightly from where he lay on his side, facing him to the sky. He blinked.
“Johnny.” Ghost’s voice was impossibly watery. Thick with emotion. It was unlike him to be so open in public. The big softie.
He cracked a soft smile up at the masked man, “Si’.”
“We need to get this thing off.” Price was explaining to Ghost as the man kneeled down, Soap’s own head resting on the dirt between the man’s knees, almost.
Gloved hands touched his neck. Ghost shook his head, frustrated. “No can do. Too close to his skin.” He explained to the others, rather than to Soap. He couldn’t blame him though, what use was he in this situation? “I can cut the chain, though. For now.”
Price nodded, still stroking the skin of Soap’s knuckles, “Yeah, that works.”
“What’re we gonna do with all these dogs, Cap?” Gaz piped up, peering at the snarling mutts. “There’s so many of them.”
Price shrugged, “Shelter, probably. Though I doubt they’ll find homes. They look downright feral.”
Soap almost felt bad for what were soon to be his ex-neighbours.
Almost.
The chain was cut with a quick snap, and he was free.
Hands were helping him up before he could even process this. He stumbled once his feet were under him. Nausea coiled in his stomach and he leaned over, arms still holding him up, to dry heave into the dirt. Almost dry heave, he clearly still had some bile to at least vomit back up. It hit the floor sickeningly. It made him want to puke more just watching it.
Price let out a soft wounded noise, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s alright, son, take your time.”
He coughed, wheezing. Ghost was on his left. He watched him move in the corner of his vision, almost in slow-motion, adjusting his grip slightly and-
He yelped, like an actual dog, flinching away from the man’s touch as gloved nails pressed into the wound hidden under mud and muck. He watched as hurt flashed in Simon’s eyes, tears in his own as he held back a sob. I’m sorry, he wanted to cry out, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-
“Nevermind.” Price said curtly, “We need to get him out of here. Now.”
.
“Alright, love, let's get this off you.”
He clutched onto Simon’s hand as the doctor moved, hands searching the endless amount of drawers until she came up successful, holding a pair of fabric cutters. She held them out for Soap to see. “I’ll use these, okay?” She said softly, kindly, “I’ll just ease it in the gap between the collar and off it comes. Is that okay with you?”
He nodded, and she smiled, scooting forward on her wheelie-chair so she was in front of him. “Good, good.” She peered up at Ghost next to him like his deathly shadow. “Can you hold the collar for me?”
“Gotcha.” Ghost’s hands wrapped around his neck first, stretching the fabric sideways to attempt to make a gap. He coughed as it pressed against his throat uncomfortably.
“Alright” The doctor said as she began to work. “Looks to be a big enough gap here...” He could feel metal worming its way against his skin. He fought to hold himself still. “You’re doing great.” She encouraged, “Aaaanddd-”
Snip!
Slowly, painfully so, the thing was pulled from his skin.
She winced, blowing out a breath. In her hands, the dirty fabric. “Hell of a mark you got there, soldier.” She held up the collar for him to take. When Ghost glared at her, she chuckled, “Souvenir?”
He took it in shaking hands. It rested on his lap heavily.
His eyes bore holes into it as Ghost’s fingers came to rest on the back of his neck, beginning to rub at the marks adorning his skin.
He was truly free.
His eyes welled up with tears, and he choked on a sob.
She smiled sadly, moving to stand, aiming for the door. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
As soon as the door shut with a soft click, tears were streaming down his face.
Ghost’s fingers caught them gently. “Sweetheart?”
Soap dove for the man, curling into him with a wail.
Strong hands enclosed around him. A soft voice in his ear. “I’ve got you.” he promised wetly, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
“I’m free?” He choked, like it was a question. Like it was something he couldn’t quite believe yet.
“You’re free.” A kiss on his head. “You’re free, love.”
“I’m free.”
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i need to be annoying about this again, also i have some actual new material this time... here's the first chapter (and a chunk of the second) of this fic im writing. 4000+ words!
summary: the year is 199X, and the employees of the School decide to throw a Christmas party. things go either poorly or very well indeed, depending on your point of view. this fic is my answer to the question “what if Jeb Batchelder had angst about his crush on Roland ter Borcht?”
this is a fic that exists for me to turn the “self-indulgence” dial all the way to eleven, and for no other purpose
- - -
Until the Christmas party, you didn’t get along. After that, you did, and that was worse.
Roland ter Borcht had been a late addition to your team — he had come from Itex after the buyout, and that meant he simply hadn’t been there during the startup phase of things. You knew him — the professional circles you moved in, even before he joined your company, were small enough that you’d have had to put effort into ignoring him — but you didn’t consider him a friend. Just a face you saw in the halls.
But at the end of the first full year after the buyout, you were all in a festive mood. Things were going well, better than you’d dared to hope for, and of course the increased funding you got from Itex helped smooth things over. And so, you decided to throw a Christmas party.
Valencia did most of the decorating, which should have made you suspicious. But you were busy figuring out how to throw a party whose centerpiece wasn’t a bathtub full of jungle juice, and you were just grateful someone else was hanging the decorations. She’d even brought her camera to take pictures of it all.
You were pouring the last of the punch into the bowl when you heard a knock at the door.
“Come in!” you called, stirring cautiously with the ladle. One of Valencia’s friends had contributed the recipe. There were little chunks of fruit in it.
You didn’t have so many coworkers that you couldn’t recognize him just by voice. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant voice, but the accent was distinctive. And you still knew few enough Europeans that you found it faintly exotic.
“Am I too early?” he said. He’d signed up to bring potato chips, and he had — his arms were full of bags. Well, at least he wasn’t a flake.
“No, come in,” said Valencia, who was busy setting out stacks of napkins and paper plates.
You stirred the punch a little more, then took three cups from the stack next to the bowl, and began ladling out the punch. “We’ll start a little early,” you said.
You didn’t really register that ter Borcht had come to the table next to you and set the chips down until you heard Valencia laugh.
“What?” you said.
You looked at her, and wondered why her camera had suddenly moved from hanging by its strap to sitting poised ready in her hand. Then she pointed up, above your head, and you understood.
Stapled to the foam ceiling tile, positioned strategically above the punch bowl — was a strand of mistletoe.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you said.
“That’s hardly fair,” ter Borcht said, next to you. There was a nervous edge to his voice.
Valencia only laughed again and, worse yet, raised her camera. “Gotcha,” she said.
“You’re not going to blackmail me, are you?” you asked. You knew she wouldn’t settle for a quick greeting kiss on the cheek, either. No, she would want you to pose.
It all happened very fast after that. A hand tapped you on the shoulder, and you automatically turned to face its owner.
Ter Borcht said, “Take the picture.”
Then he grabbed the front of your shirt and, unflinching, pulled you towards him — and kissed you.
You didn’t have an extensive record when it came to kissing, and were therefore rather lost when it came to what to do next. Luckily for you, he kept things brief — he brought his lips to yours, kept them there a moment, and released you. He smelled like aftershave.
You opened your eyes and said, “I hope you got the picture, because there’s not going to be a repeat performance.” There was a hot flush on your cheeks, as though you’d been outside in the cold.
Valencia laughed and patted her camera. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I got it.”
///
The rest of the party went well, though you couldn’t decide if you felt betrayed, embarrassed, or some other, third thing. Valencia was in high spirits, and ter Borcht surprised you by staying the whole time — so whatever you were feeling, neither of them shared it. You settled for just not thinking about it until, very suddenly, you found that the party was over. And ter Borcht needed a ride home.
As it turned out, he was even in the same apartment building as you. So you didn’t even have the excuse that it would take you too far from home. Faced with this pressure, you folded.
Standing next to your car in the parking lot, you said, “Don’t make it weird.”
He looked at you silently for just a moment, then said, “Pardon?”
His grasp of English idiom was still a little patchy, you decided. “Just get in the car.”
He stayed quiet as you started the car and poked your way through the darkness away from the School; the whole car rattled on the gravel access road. You realized, with shame, that you were still a little drunk. You held the steering wheel harder, as if that would help.
You almost forgot you had a passenger until you were turning onto the highway back to town. His voice was soft. He said:
“Sorry I ruined the party.”
You were a little started; you couldn’t remember, just then, what he was talking about. “Huh? You didn’t ruin the party.”
“At the beginning, when I--” He broke off there, and made an embarrassed hand gesture you could only partly see while driving.
“Oh,” you said, before he could finish the sentence with a lethal verb. “Uh, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” You fumbled for words. “Valencia is – kind of a prankster, sometimes. She plays jokes on people.” And there was no way she was ever going to let you live this one down.
“I know the type,” he said, after a pause.
You doubted that – you didn’t know him very well, but you also knew that no one seemed to know him very well. He was polite but never friendly; when you sent the invitations out, you hadn’t expected him to show up to the party. The shape of his character was, to you, a pure negative space, defined by that absence of knowledge. A flicker of alcohol-fueled determination went through you. To hell with the polite fiction of self he showed at work. You wanted to know the man.
That was your excuse to yourself when you let him invite you to his apartment. You could’ve just gone straight home without fear of committing a social faux pas. But as you parked he said artlessly, “Do you know, I’ve been living here a year already, and I’ve never had a visitor?”
“Really?” you said, and you followed him upstairs.
His apartment looked familiar the moment he opened the door. It looked like Valencia’s apartment – like yours. The furniture was lazily-arranged and clearly on its fourth or fifth owner, and nothing seemed to quite be in its proper place.
There was only one thing on the walls, you noticed. (Valencia’s apartment was virtually wallpapered with framed posters and artwork. You, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as put up a calendar.) The couch was an earth-toned relic of the 70s, its familiar Western pattern worn by years of use. And above it, tacked neatly to the wall, was a photograph you knew.
It showed a ruined village, protected by a looming outcrop of stone that hid it from the sky. The buildings that remained upright stood in the loose rubble of their own slow collapse. You knew that, in real life, the soft, ashy gray of the bricks in the photo was a warm brown that echoed the sheltering mass of sandstone overhead – and you knew that the photo didn’t show the dark black lines of desert varnish that laced that stone.
Ter Borcht had gone into the kitchen – you could hear the sink running and cabinet doors opening – but he heard you when you said:
“Hey, I’ve been there.”
“What?” he called.
“The picture,” you said. “That’s Mesa Verde; I didn’t know you’d been there.”
“Oh, I haven’t.” His voice preceded him out of the kitchen. He was carrying two glasses of water, and he offered one to you. You took it. He said, “I found that in a – thrift store.”
Ordinarily you would have shut up and just let that statement hang awkwardly in the air. But tonight you said, “It’s a national park in Colorado – I went when I was in college.”
He looked at the photograph for a moment, silent. There was a distant look in his eyes. “I thought it was very beautiful,” he said quietly. “You could take me sometime?”
You were a little startled by that, simply in logistical terms. You were torn between the potential joy of showing someone a place you had loved, and the practical fact that you barely had enough time off for sleep, much less driving across multiple states. “I mean, if we’re ever in Colorado,” you said. You cast about for something else to offer. “There are some petroglyphs, rock carvings, in some of the canyons around here, I could show you those.”
“I would like that,” he said, and smiled. You were just close enough to see the faint wrinkles that feathered the corners of his eyes. Your chest felt warm, and the skin between your shoulder blades prickled. You took a sip of water so that you wouldn’t have to say anything.
He said, “I am sorry about the party — I’ve never done that before.”
Your mouth spoke before you could think. “Kissed a guy?”
Your palms were sweaty, and you wished you’d gone straight home. At the same time, you didn’t want to leave.
“No, I have some experience with that,” said ter Borcht. His tone was casual enough, but even you could see the trace of a flush that arose on his cheeks. “I mean — for an audience.”
You didn’t need to think to defend Valencia. It was automatic. You said, “She likes to play jokes, but she’s discreet. Trustworthy.”
“So.” He paused. His cheeks were still pink, as though it were actually cold outside. He looked away from you for a moment, at the photograph. His voice was quiet, but you heard him perfectly. “Do you… want to do it again?”
You were helpless. This was not a situation you were equipped to deal with. Your prior experience in love was minimal at best, and you’d essentially written the whole thing off as something that happened to other people. But now, it seemed, it was happening to you.
“Yes,” you said before you could think about it. You remembered his hands, knotted in the front of your shirt. “Yes, I want that.”
He took his glasses off, and slipped them into his shirt pocket; you set your half-full glass of water on the coffee table. You’d never been so aware of your own tongue. A horrible feeling came over you that now he was going to laugh at you, and your stomach tightened. You suddenly wanted another beer, or anything that would take the edge off, make you feel less like you were looking over the side of a tall building.
Ter Borcht looked at you and smiled gently. Backlit by the light from the kitchen, his hair shone like sunlight. He put out his hand to cup the back of your head; for no reason you could name, you turned away from him. His skin smelled clean.
“Hey,” he said. Your eyes felt dry and overused. “Hey, hey — what are you thinking about?”
His voice was soft, but consolation wasn’t what you wanted. Heart pounding, you turned back, leaned toward him and kissed him like it was the last thing you’d ever do on Earth.
///
For one heart-stopping moment the next morning, you were happy. It was a weekend, and you were in a warm bed, under the covers. Your life felt like a never-ending sprint sometimes, and your body welcomed any chance for rest. You laid there and dozed for a while, blissful in your ignorance of what time it was.
Then you noticed that these were not your blankets; this was not your bed, nor your apartment. The pillow smelled like someone else’s shampoo. You were not at home at all.
Your body threw itself into motion, rolling over and groping for the bedside table, where, thankfully, your glasses were folded. Your clothes lay disordered on the floor by the bed, and you dressed in a hurry. You couldn’t hear ter Borcht moving around the apartment, but that didn’t reassure you. Maybe he was just quiet at home. He seemed like the type. You opened the bedroom door as though he might be standing on the other side of it.
He was not. The lights were off, and morning sunshine streamed in through the sliding glass doors to the tiny balcony. Your shoulders relaxed.
Part of you wanted to linger, to look around the apartment by daylight — you were invited into other people’s lives so seldom that this was a rare opportunity indeed for you. But it seemed sadly vacant and quiet with its owner absent, and it was an emptiness that cried out to be filled. So you left. You slipped your shoes on, closed the door behind you, and fled for the relative safety of your own apartment.
You found no refuge there. It looked exactly like it had when you left the night before, but now the familiar disarray seemed pathetic. You’d left the blinds closed, and after the sunny openness of ter Borcht’s apartment, your gloomy living room seemed that much darker. There were still cardboard boxes pushed into the corners of the room, left where you’d put them when you moved in.
You took your shoes off and collapsed onto the couch. You still didn’t feel entirely awake, or entirely in your body. You wanted to go back to bed and sleep for a thousand years. You breathed deeply.
Then you reached for the side table, picked up the phone, and called Valencia.
There was a little bit of an edge to her voice when she answered. “Valencia Martinez.”
“It’s Jeb,” you said — and that was about as far ahead as you’d imagined this conversation going, so you quit. I mean, really, you rationalized to yourself, how can I even tell her about —
Hell, you couldn’t even think about it to yourself.
“Did you just get home?” Her voice had softened just a little. From the angle of the sun — you still hadn’t seen a clock, and you hadn’t worn your watch to the party — it was mid-morning, and she probably didn’t get a lot of phone calls on Saturdays. Or maybe she did. You only had your own personal life to judge by.
“Yes.”
For some reason, she laughed. “Have a good night?”
Fragmented memories swept over you. You couldn’t say anything; you thought of the smell of his shampoo on the pillow when you woke, faint but spicy, unfamiliar and exotic.
And you remembered how, after he’d kissed you in the living room, he’d taken your hand in his and raised it to his lips to kiss it, as if he were a knight, and you his lady. He kissed you like he wanted to do it — like he wanted to put his lips on every part of you. To stake a claim on you. The shock of discovering that you were an object of desire, that someone could want you, ran through you still, like the vibration of a struck gong. Your palms were a little sweaty just thinking about it.
You said, “Yes.”
She paused for a moment, then said, “Wanna go to Denny’s?”
The most inviting thing in your fridge was some half-finished Chinese takeout. You agreed to go.
“Great,” she said. “I’ll come get you.”
///
“You’ll feel better if you eat,” she said. Food was the absolute last thing you wanted. Your stomach was a clenched fist in the middle of your torso.
But you’d already let Valencia force a glass of water in you, and once she’d gotten her way, there was no stopping her. She was going to get you to eat; there was no real point in resisting. You stared listlessly at the menu. Toast. You could probably handle some toast.
She looked at you across the table and said, “Let me order.” And before you could object, she went on. “Take the leftovers home with you. Or I’ll eat them, or something. But you look like shit—”
Oh, God. Did you?
“— and you need to eat.” She pointed at you. “And then you’re going to tell me about last night.”
“You just want to gossip about me,” you said, but you didn’t really mean it. She had as much of a stake in the School as you did, and destroying your reputation would destroy it as well. And she knew much worse things about you, anyway — if she wanted to take you down, she would have done it already.
“Only a little,” she said, and grinned. She flagged down the waitress.
Valencia ordered a pot of coffee, and what sounded like half the menu to go with it. You waited until the waitress left to ask what the hell a Moons Over My Hammy was.
“You’ll see.” She sipped her water. Her bracelets clicked against each other as she set the glass down. “So. Where does he live?”
The whole drive over, you’d been paralyzed by thoughts of what she might say to you. And it wasn’t like you could really resist answering her questions. She knew exactly how to push your buttons. “Same building as me.”
“Makes the walk home shorter,” she said. You had to laugh; you couldn’t help it. You had fled in such a hurry, you couldn’t even remember the trip from his apartment to yours. “I thought — well, I mean, for all I knew, he was sleeping in the lab somewhere. Always shows up early, and he leaves after I do.”
You hadn’t noticed, but then again, he didn’t work in your department. If he was working longer days than Valencia, that was saying something. “Really.”
“I wasn’t even sure he’d come to the party,” she said. “Like, it might be too much fun for him. But he came.”
“He sent an RSVP, didn’t he?” You’d seen his name on the sign-up sheet, inscribed in neatly-formed handwriting that made yours, on the line above it, look childish. There was an undertone of stale cigarette coming from the smoking area. It did nothing for your appetite.
“Yeah. But you know how it is.” She waved a hand dismissively.
The coffee arrived, and Valencia let you get through half a cup before she went on. “It’s been a while since I had one of these conversations, so I’m just going to ask one more question, and then I can try to give you advice.”
You steadied yourself a little. She at least seemed to have a roadmap for whatever type of conversation it was that you were having. You, on the other hand, were hungover and clueless.
Valencia leaned toward you and looked at you directly. There was a serious look in her brown eyes.
She said, “Do you want to see him again?”
“What?”
Which was, of course, when the food arrived.
Once the waitress was gone, she repeated herself. “Do you want,” she said calmly, “to see him again?”
“Well...” You poked at your scrambled eggs, trying to buy yourself time to think. “I mean, I can’t really avoid him, it would look weird --”
“I mean, like, a date,” she clarified. “You’re gonna see him around anyway – and I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would kiss and tell. So unless you start telling people, no one is gonna know.”
You looked out the window, avoiding her gaze. It was a clear, cool day, and the section of sky you could see over the buildings outside was a promising blue.
“I don’t know what I want,” you said.
- - -
2
You did what you had always been so good at doing, and pretended that none of it had ever happened.
On Monday, you went back to work with your heart in your mouth, sure that somehow word would’ve gotten around and you would be out of a job. But instead you found something else: absolutely nothing had changed. The gate guard greeted you by name before going back to his crossword; the building did not crumble when you walked inside; even the air smelled the same, that cocktail of cleaning products, preservatives, and dust still intact. Every cell in your body ached with tension, and you could not make yourself relax.
You didn’t see ter Borcht at all for another few days, but that was normal. Your offices were at opposite ends of the building, and on different floors – and these days you seldom found yourself in the labs, where you otherwise might have crossed paths. After the buyout, you’d found yourself the most senior employee left standing, and while Itex ground through the process of finding a suitable replacement, you had been serving as interim CEO. Which often left you feeling like an actor who had forgotten his lines – you knew lab work, and a little about the bureaucracy that that entailed, but all your duties as a CEO seemed to involve either interminably dull meetings, or frustratingly opaque paperwork.
Valencia, your partner from the word go, had wiggled her way out of consideration for the position of CEO, and though she laughed at your complaints, she was also quick to reassure you that it would someday end, and you’d be back in the lab. “One day at a time, that’s all you can do,” she counseled.
But now you were glad to find yourself once again drowning in mundanity. Here was the latest report from Itex on their CEO search – they were down to three candidates, but were pausing the process until after the new year. Reports had come in from the avian recombinant project – things were creeping towards completion in primate trials, and they were beginning to look ahead towards the use of human subjects. The IT department needed to perform system maintenance, which meant taking the servers offline overnight. And on and on. None of it, you found to your dismay, required your full attention; none of it had the power to distract you for more than a few minutes.
Your memories of the party began to fade as the days passed, to your relief. You picked at their edges like you would at a scab; some details just wouldn’t go away fast enough. Such as the fifteen minutes you’d been trapped listening to someone’s husband lecture you about deep-sea fishing, and every time you caught Valencia’s eye, she smirked. Or the sad, drab feeling that the room had after the party was over – the sudden lack of life that came with its metamorphosis back into an ordinary conference room.
The things you most wished to bury, though, refused to stay dead. They seemed to follow you.
When you stayed late at the office one night, the week after the party, you stopped for a moment after starting your car to go home. The clear night sky through your windshield looked just the same as it had then; ter Borcht had said something about the stars that night, but you couldn’t remember what. Something about how close they had seemed, how clean the air was. You hoped that if you did remember what he’d said, that scrap of memory would lose its urgency and simply vanish.
You’d never thought of yourself as a romantic person – you’d even come to appreciate its total absence from your life. As though it made you cleaner, in some metaphorical way. Your heart was a carefully-tended garden, and love was a weed you’d eradicated.
But now it – or something like it – was trying to grow back, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
It would’ve been one thing if your feelings had stayed localized to the places where the events of that night had actually happened: the conference room, your car, his apartment. You had a whole life outside those places, outside what had happened there. The problem was that the two seemed to be growing into each other. Merging. You didn’t like it.
A week after the party, you were shaving and stopped partway through without planning to; it took you a moment to retrace your steps and assess the wordless thought that had stopped you. Against the white background of shaving cream, your mouth stood out in isolation. You captured the thought: these are the lips he kissed that night. You threw down the razor, and it clattered in the sink.
It was clear that you were going to need more time to get over the whole incident.
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Currently (or maybe soon) Reading Novels, some thoughts:
I'm currently reading In The Dark volume 1. My thoughts so far: they're a good writer, not my favorite though (priest is still pretty easily the favorite of mine style wise), but I do like the fast pacing of this novel and the way the author moves things along. Both me, and priest, sometimes dawdle in a scene for ages soaking it up, which is fun to read but also thats how you get the 4000 character chapters priest writes ToT (and the 3000-5000 words a scene i often write). So this writer is inspiring me to try and be more casual about my writing as far as just moving forward, not caring so much about perfect in depth ness. Plot wise? Mixed. So far its fairly basic, with the tell tale signs of general tropes like traditionally pretty leads and heroic detectives with playboy vibes. After priest its just hard to adjust... priest makes Such specific characters, even when they fall in some trope categories theyre so unique you'd not swap them with any other similarly trope having character or it would feel wrong. Like Luo Wenzhou is heroic detective playboy, but his history (of failed dating) hangs off of him heavy, his nurturing protective loyal to a fault colors every decision he makes (from getting to attached to fei du, clingy to tao ran, blind to superiors being shady, and trusting of mentor's children even if crime adjacent or involved until its IN his face), his controlling leadership style seeps into interactions with everyone from his parents to best friend to boss to coworkers to barely adjacent witnesses. His character faults (and unique aspects i love) are so intrinsic to him i could never mistake him for zhao yunlan Another Playboy Rich Dad Heroic Detective. Zhao yunlan isnt controlling, he is more level headed in viewing people with the facts before letting loyalty blind him, zhao yunlan is far WORSE at self care and nurturing of others and when he does help others its motivated by charm or kindness first (versus Luo Wenzhous ingrained normal state is nurturing, he finds it feels safe, lets him control making sure others have X things they need and provide routine to help them, hes a mother hen). Luo Wenzhou is quite aware of his economic status, his family backgrounds, comparative to his employees, comparative to fei du, just a general much higher awareness of how those differences affect everyone (from it being too hard to ever get custody of fei du as a possibly abused child, because luo is unrelated and too poor to challenge custody with a CEO, to the way hes aware he can abuse powers in certain ways that his underlings cant... so he stands up to authority more with an awareness hes got more room to negotiate). Zhao Yunlan is more reckless amd uncaring if there are consequences as long as he does the right thing (though he has status to somewhat protect him), while lup wenzhou is actually viscerally aware of risks at all time and despite being passionately kind and believing in justice... he is aware if hes not careful as he acts, then the effort is wasted and he will fail and no one will be helped. Luo wenzhou is much cooler headed and less passion motivated than zhao yunlan (though zjao yunlan isnt as simple as hot headed as hes got inherent power and intuition and ftankly Can Afford to be riskier). My point is... priest can give me multiple characters that would be summarized under the same tropes and be vastly different in actual personality. In The Dark? So far its not giving me much to make its characters stand out compared to say the intro to Breaking Through The Clouds ive read. Nor is its case. But time will tell. I need good characters though or i get bored.
I will say though, In The Dark so far succeeds at feeling like a detective novel aimed at murder mystery readers With queer characters, rather than being a BL with a murder mystery side plot. Theres 3 queer characters within the first few chapters, so no stupid "im not gay except for him" and a realism to handling queer characters that feels nice. Its similar to MoDu in that way, so im anticipating a solidly written murder mystery with queer characters as major players.
Novels Im considering reading (so any thoughts? Suggestions??): liehuo jiaochou, the positive? Its kind of mutants in the present plot, which is one of my favorite plots and what sucked me into Guardian the drama. Since i loved xmen and qnything with an xmen like premise will make me interested. Also, theres an ancient guy in it, so i like the themes possibly of past compared to present, beliefs clashing, moving forward. Can ci pin: i know im going to like it, the downside is its SO long im not sure im up for it right now. 2ha: i never finished it and own 3 of the print books now, so i know ill like it and i love meatbuns writing. Downside? Its SO LONG also i kind of want to read something new, and the first 100 chapters would be rereading. Peach Blossom Debt: i own it now, i heard Etetnal Love sort of ripped it off so im curious if pbd is better... because i basically hated and hate watched Eternal Love... but i saw the potential in some of it, and it was very queer friendly suprisingly for a bg romance drama. Imperial Uncle: i heard it was great, i think edanglars translated it so love that for me. Tai Sui by priest: i heard its amazing, but its very long so im not sure i qm up for it now. Guardian: see heres the thing. Ive read 20% in chinese. Its slow going. But im 1/5 through it so im kind of commited to finishing it in chinese. Its taking ages but ive just been picking qt it, im unlikely to read it any faster frankly, and im unlikely to touch the english copy at this point until im done with the chinese so i can have fun comparing the translation to the original. Also i need to reblog the Kunlun intro i translated, because its in my chinese print copy but they did not include it in the english translation :/ i hope they include the shen san extra in the english translation eventually. But im bummed theyre not including everything. Jinse by priest: i heard it was good, im glad its short, but not sure hpw into the plot ill be. Sha po lang: i just want the drama to live... i want tan jianci.... anyway. I want to read it and i know ill like historical steampunk... but im in a murder scary stories supernatural mood lately, so murder mysteries like In The Dark and supernatural like Guardian are just wayyyy easier for me to focus on and read right now.
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Complete Update!
*This is a clone of the post I just put on my Patreon, but I thought that I ought to let you guys know too!*
In a couple of weeks, I'm finally going back to school after a really long break, and so I figured that I should let you all know what will be going on! A lot of this is news that I've only just decided on, because I want to make sure that my work load is manageable alongside school!
At this moment in time, I'm putting Isabelle and Anton on a hiatus, and I'm hoping to take it back off of hiatus each time that I get a holiday from school. The problem with this fic is that each chapter is around 3000-4000 words, so it is a lot of work compared to Fear of the Person, which is about 1500-2500 words. This means that its a lot of stress to get the chapters done and to a good enough standard, and with school on top of running this page and writing, carrying on Isabelle and Anton every week will be incredibly difficult. I do apologise to everyone that looks forwards to reading Isabelle and Anton, but I will still be updating the fic, just not as often.
At the moment, Fear of the Person holds my attention and focus, because I've gotten really comfortable with writing it. As I'm writing this update, I've managed to get a chapter in front, and by the next update, on Thursday 22nd August (early access), I'm hoping to have gotten at least one more chapter in front. This means that, if I get absolutely swamped at school and I realise that I can't write a chapter one week, I'm not getting behind or missing out a week. I've got big ideas for this one, and I want to take this fic all the way!
I'm going to start doing more BTS updates and answering questions for those of you in the E-Book or Paperback Devotee tiers, hopefully one every week, but there might be some weeks where you get more than one or less than one! It all depends on how much work I get done in that week, because I might not have enough work to do a BTS!
Also, if I get any members to the E-Book or Paperback Devotee tiers within August or September, the first formatted book that you will be receiving will be a formatted version of my old Meaning of Multiverse series for Marvel! An absolute flashback to my proper beginnings in fanfiction (because this was the series that really got me into it), so I decided that it was fitting for it to be my first! Of course, if you wish to opt out of receiving this (only available for the Paperback Devotee tier), just get in touch with me through private messages and I'll send you a gift that's the same value of the book that you would be receiving!
That's just about it for tonight, and I'll get in touch with you all again when I upload the next chapter of Fear of the Person! Bye!!!
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This is chapter one of a sidlink fic in which no Hylian has come to aid Zora's Domain, so Sidon has to go out and find one himself. (And he just so happens to find one that is extremely capable and somehow... familiar).
The chapter is around 4000 words. The fic will likely be titled "Is It Worse To Remember Or Forget" but I'm currently unsure
Sidon can’t remember the last time he’s been so far from the Domain. It’s been weeks, at least, since he’s seen the sky like this. With the sun beaming down at him from the cloudless sky overhead, it seems unfathomable how greatly the Domain is suffering, tormented by endless rain.
Yet, the sight of Vah Ruta, pouring water into the Eastern Reservoir, waves lapping at the weakening dam, is all too vivid in Sidon’s mind.
The prince had been waiting for a Hylian to aid them—waiting at the edge of the Domain, searching for any traveler daring to come close, to come to their aid. When it became clear that no one would be coming, Sidon pleaded with his father to allow him to travel outwards and recruit a warrior to aid them before it was too late.
He left Zora’s Domain two days ago, and so far, he has found nothing, despite having traveled all the way to Lake Hylia. He’s passed by a few stables, many of the buildings housing weary travelers that all guiltily tell him that they wouldn’t be able to help. However, more often than not, Sidon finds that the many Hylian towns and outposts are nothing more than abandoned ruins now. He supposes he should’ve assumed that the old map of Hyrule his father gave him would be outdated, but he never imagined the extent of the damage. The Domain, while currently plagued by the Divine Beast’s rains, is far from being in ruin—except for a few outlying villages here and there. Sidon begins to wonder if any of the Hylian villages on his map are still intact.
Sidon floats on his back and lets the water carry him as he scrutinizes the waxy parchment in his hands. He was able to travel using primarily the water until now, but his next destination, Hateno Village, appears to be surrounded by land. With a frown, he rolls up the map and tucks it into a small pouch tied around his waist, swimming to the farthest point inland he can manage—a small body of water just west of the village, Lake Jarrah.
~ ~ ~
It’s late afternoon by the time Sidon makes the swim from Lake Hylia to Lake Jarrah, and though he’d love nothing more than to stop swimming and rest his tired legs, he pauses a bit away from the shore, treading water as quietly as he can.
There’s a dirt path surrounding a small area of ruins; small signs with painted red targets. Likely a place for archery practice, but Sidon’s gaze doesn’t focus on the scenery for long. There's a small hooded figure kneeling in the grass by the water, their white tunic covered in a variety of leather belts and armor pieces. Small, clawless hands—Hylian hands, Sidon realizes with a start—slowly pull back the drawstring of a bow that looks like it's made of sharp metal and bone. They release an arrow and strike the face of a black moblin a few feet away. The beast crumples to the floor, clutching its face with clawed hands. The Hylian shoots another arrow, inching forward, and the moblin bursts with a great cloud of black and purple smoke.
Sidon watches in awe as the Hylian dispatches monster after monster in this way, red legs kicking eagerly in the water to stay afloat and watch. The Hylian’s swift shots to the head are enough to immediately eliminate a number of blue bokoblins, though the moblins seem to need an extra arrow or two. Sidon is floored. This is the first time he's seen a Hylian fight (many of the travelers he ran into on his journey from Zora's Domain simply turned and ran if they encountered any of Ganon's beasts), and he's enthralled by the precise way the Hylian shoots their bow and by their stealth as they make their way across the grass.
A rattling growl erupts from the trees beside the ruins, and Sidon swims a bit closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature that made the noise. A bokoblin most likely, but there’s something… different about the sound. Sidon watches the Hylian crouch even lower, their hands moving to a strange object hooked to a belt on their waist.
And for a moment, Sidon is sure he's hallucinating.
Tendrils of thin blue light swirl around the sword strapped to the Hylian's back, glowing brightly until Sidon can't even see the weapon anymore. He watches the Hylian swipe their fingers across the strange rectangular object by their waist, and then the blue light fades.
A sword, spiked and split down the middle like a forked tongue, replaces the simple broadsword that was previously on the Hylian's back. The blade glows bright yellow, and the crackle of electricity sends Sidon sinking slowly into the water of the lake until his eyes are just above the surface, a shot of nervousness bleeding into his awe. He continues watching warily as the Hylian notches a new arrow, with a blue tip; it appears to be covered in frost. Sidon has seen similar arrows being sold in the Domain.
The growl erupts from the trees again, and a bokoblin the likes of which Sidon has never seen before lumbers out, wielding a bone club. Its skin is shining, golden, and its beady red eyes lock onto the Hylian. It raises its bone club over its head, a screech tearing out of its mouth as it begins to run forward.
The Hylian shoots the frost tipped arrow, and the golden bokoblin is suddenly enveloped by frost, its expression locked in an unpleasant sneer, its arm still raised. Sidon watches with a mix of fear and respect as the Hylian plants their feet firmly on the ground before pulling out their electric sword with a violent swing.
Green veins of electricity shoot out in every direction, and Sidon shudders to think of what it might feel like to be on the business end of that strike.
While the bokoblin is still stunned from the shock, the Hylian lets another arrow loose, freezing the monster again, and Sidon begins to see the pattern—freeze and shock, freeze and shock, freeze and then—
The electric blade snaps in half in the Hylian's hands, and the bokoblin shakes free from the stun and the frost, reorienting itself enough to swing at the Hylian with its bone club. They hurry to try and freeze it one more time, but just as they pull an arrow out of their quiver, the bokoblin's club strikes them in the chest.
The Hylian flies through the air. Their back slams against a crumbling stone pillar, and they tumble to the grassy ground with a groan. The golden bokoblin is still advancing, its club raised over its head, poised to strike.
Sidon is out of the water before he realizes what he’s doing.
He’s not nearly as swift as the Hylian had been, but the splash of his large body rising out of the lake causes the bokoblin to pause, to look his way, and that’s all the time Sidon needs. He has a silver spear strapped to his back, and as soon as the golden monster shifts to face him, he yanks it off his back and throws it with all the strength he can muster.
The spear strikes it right between its red eyes, and it stumbles, dropping its club as it tries to dislodge the spear. Yet it somehow survives the attack, crying out in agony as it claws weakly at the silver weapon lodged in its skull.
As Sidon runs to finish the job, he sees a small hand grab the discarded club off the floor, and the Hylian struggles to their knees, flinging the bone club at the bokoblin with enough force that it shatters upon impact against the side of the beast’s head. Finally, the monster crumples to the floor, a screech leaving its mouth before it disappears into a cloud of black smoke.
Sidon hurries over to the Hylian as they struggle to their feet, rubbing at their chest with a small hand.
“Are you alright?” Sidon asks as soon as he’s close enough to be heard. “I apologize for taking too long to help; I was so amazed by your fighting style that I hadn’t thought to join you.”
The Hylian takes a hesitant step away from him as he approaches, and Sidon stops advancing, unsure of what’s wrong. It takes a moment before he notices the wary hand poised to raise a bow, another hand hovering over the strange rectangle that previously brought forth the electric blade.
Sidon realizes his mistake then. This Hylian—he assumes they’re a Hylian, anyway—likely hasn’t seen a Zora before. Sidon's people haven’t strayed far from the Domain during the century after the Great Calamity; he’s sure that suddenly seeing a Zora must be quite a fright.
He has no idea how to make himself seem like less of a threat though. He’s at least double the Hylian’s size and he’s all claws, scales, and sharp teeth, quite literally a fish out of water.
Sidon decides to kneel in the grass, his hands held out, palm up, in front of himself—a show of surrender, almost. The ground is warm beneath him, water dripping off his thighs and fingertips onto the green blades below.
“I assure you, I’m not here to harm you,” Sidon says. “I’d like to apologize again for being slow to come to your aid.”
The Hylian relaxes their stance slightly but doesn’t move any closer. Sidon stares as clawless hands push away the white hood obscuring their face, and the prince gets a glimpse of blond hair, pointed ears, blue eyes, and an angular jawline. A Hylian man, Sidon now realizes, through what he vaguely remembers of the Hylians he met as a child and the few he's met on the way here.
Somehow… There’s something familiar about the Hylian’s face, though Sidon can’t place what makes him think so. From what he knows about Hylian life spans, there’s no one that he should be able to recognize. Perhaps this man is the grandchild of someone he met long ago.
Sidon watches as the blond man grabs something hooked to his belt: a small leatherbound journal and an attached pencil. He scribbles something across a page and then places the journal on the grass and nudges it towards Sidon with his foot. Sidon lets his hands fall to his sides and leans forward, still unsure if the Hylian is comfortable with him moving around, and peers down at the quick question written in the journal.
‘What are you?’
Sidon smiles at the blunt question.
“I’m a Zora,” Sidon explains. “My people live a bit farther north. We’re water dwelling beings for the most part, as I’m sure you can tell. It’s a rare occasion that we stray from the Domain, so I understand why you would be wary. However, I must assure you, we are peaceful people.”
Blue eyes stare curiously down at him. Sidon watches with interest as that bright-eyed gaze darts across his figure. He even sits up a little straighter, allowing the blond man to get a better look at him. Sidon wonders what Hylians know of the many people around Hyrule. The travelers at the stables seemed surprised to see Sidon, though they did also seem to recognize what he was. He wonders about the other groups, if there are some that Hylians have continued to interact with even after the Great Calamity.
In any case, this little Hylian’s wide-eyed stare seems to be evidence enough that there are some out there who have completely forgotten the Zora’s existence.
The Hylian darts forward to pick up his journal again, writing something new. He then seems to frantically scribble it out before writing something again. Now apparently satisfied, he passes the journal to Sidon with the same hesitant method as before, pushing it with his boot. The scribbled out words are completely illegible, so Sidon pays them no mind and focuses on the message below.
‘Your name?’
“Sidon,” the prince says with a grin. “And yours?”
Another hasty scribble later, and Sidon has his answer.
“Link,” Sidon says slowly. “Am I saying that right?”
He looks over at the Hylian—Link, Sidon quickly corrects—and he receives a nod as Link’s tense expression is finally broken by a small smile.
Link steps closer, picking up Sidon’s spear on the way over. As he returns Sidon’s weapon, he writes something new in the journal and then turns it for Sidon to see.
‘Good throw.’
After a moment's consideration, Link adds another comment to the end of that message.
‘I could’ve handled it on my own though.’
Sidon breaks into a sharp-toothed grin, and he shifts his spear so that it's strapped to his back once more.
"I don't doubt it. You're an exquisite fighter. Why, you might just be the strongest Hylian warrior I've seen!"
Granted, he hasn't seen any Hylian warriors besides Link in a very long time, but Sidon feels as though his point still stands.
Link smiles bashfully at him, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, and Sidon's grin brightens in return.
"Are you well known for it?" Sidon asks.
Link tilts his head slightly, a silent question.
"For fighting, I mean. Surely a warrior like you gathers quite a bit of respect."
Hope bubbles in the Zora prince's chest. Link may be the very Hylian that he needs. He's certainly a capable fighter—had his blade not broken, Sidon is certain that he would've defeated that golden bokoblin without getting so much as a scratch on him. Sturdy weapons can easily be arranged for him, and Link has already proven that he is adept at working with electricity…
The prince's excitement stalls when he watches the Hylian's smile drop, his blue-eyed gaze dropping to the floor. Has he said something to offend Link? Sidon desperately hopes not. The man may be his last hope, and it wouldn't do if Sidon ruined things before he had the chance to ask for aid.
"Link?" Sidon asks, and Link takes his time writing out a response.
'Not well known. It’s better to not be.'
Sidon stares at the little journal, nodding slowly, his hand beneath his chin. He can imagine that it would be troublesome to be a well known warrior in times like these. With monsters roaming all of Hyrule, Sidon can only imagine the amount of requests that would be asked of someone with Link’s fighting prowess…
Ah.
Sidon can't possibly ask him for help now. Not only would a request like Sidon’s likely be exactly the sort of thing Link is trying to avoid, but it would certainly give Link more attention than he would ever want.
Sidon shakes himself before he allows even a shred of disappointment to well up within him. It is fine. There is all of Hyrule left for Sidon to search for help. Surely there is at least one Hylian out there with Link’s skill level. Hope is not lost. Sidon is just… back to square one. Back to square one with a little less time than before. It will be difficult, but not impossible.
Link kneels in the grass in front of Sidon, large blue eyes staring questioningly at the prince still deep in thought. The Hylian reaches out to take the journal, writing with the journal angled so that Sidon can see what he’s writing as his pencil darts across the page.
‘Are you trying to head up to town?’
Sidon smiles as he reads, and he responds with a quick nod.
“I’m in need of a Hylian,” Sidon says, “Any Hylian that could be willing to help me. I was hoping that there might be someone in town that I could ask for assistance.”
Link frowns at that and begins writing again.
‘What do you need help with?’
“Well,” Sidon begins, trying to keep his voice light in spite of the dark topic, “I’m afraid that Vah Ruta—ah, the Divine Beast in Zora’s Domain—has suddenly begun to spray water over the area. It’s been causing rain without pause for weeks now, overfilling the lake nearby. My father fears that our dams might burst, causing a flood that would not only damage our lands, but a significant portion of Hyrule.”
Sidon watches as Link’s expression darkens, and the prince is quick to grin, swinging his fist up to his chest and hoping to lighten the Hylian’s mood.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about! All I need is a single Hylian who’s willing to travel with me for a bit, and all will be well.”
Link’s blue eyes stay dark, much to Sidon’s dismay, and the Hylian stares down at his journal, pencil held over the white pages. Link is poised to write, but he bites his lip, and his hand stays hovering, the tip of the pencil never quite meeting the page.
Sidon is unsure of what to do for Link. Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken about it, or at least kept some of the more disastrous possibilities to himself. It was probably disheartening to hear that Hyrule could be flooded. He can only imagine how terrifying of a prospect that may be for people born without gills.
“In any case,” Sidon says, deciding that it's probably best if he simply changes the subject. “May I ask you to show me the way? I’d like to get my bearings a bit before nightfall.”
Link’s frown doesn’t fade, but he nods, hooking the journal's attached metal clip and pencil to his belt before getting to his feet. He swings an arm, beckoning, and Sidon hurries to follow.
Link walks at a brisk pace, slightly ahead of Sidon as they march up the trail. The prince uses the moment of silence to take in the sights, loving the feel of the warm sun above him. Sidon takes in a deep breath, already seeing the Domain in his mind: bright, beautiful stone glittering in the daylight, Vah Ruta appeased and watching over the land as the diligent protector it was always meant to be.
Soon, Sidon thinks, soon my people shall see the sun again.
It’s funny, how those weeks of rain have made him appreciate what he had previously taken for granted. He vows to appreciate every good day of weather that comes his way from now on.
The rattling, guttural laughter of a bokoblin interrupts Sidon’s thoughts. He looks up the trail, into the trees, but Link is already moving, his bow out and ready. Sidon reaches for his spear at the same moment that Link shoots a blue bokoblin straight in the forehead, dispatching it instantly. Sidon zeroes in on the source of the monster’s laughter, and he sees a small Hylian woman lying on the floor, her hands clasped over her head.
When he gets closer, Sidon sees that she’s unconscious. The prince’s heart sinks, and he immediately rummages through the small pouch tied to his waist. He only brought a few healing elixirs, and he hurriedly places one at the woman’s mouth, not wasting even a second to worry about his small supply. She’s bruised, and there’s a bump on her head the size of a small apple, but, fortunately, the elixir works quickly. Sidon grins as she begins to open her eyes.
“My sister…” she mumbles, her hands moving to press the bump on her head.
Sidon’s smile drops when he hears a screech, and he looks over his shoulder to see Link engaged in another battle already—a golden bokoblin standing over another Hylian woman. Sidon scrambles to grab his spear again, watching with wide eyes as Link jumps over the bokoblin’s swinging club, moving in to strike with such quick swings of his sword that Sidon can only view the flurry of attacks as a blur of movement. He again finds himself floored by the Hylian’s skill, but he keeps enough of his focus to not just stare dumbly in awe this time.
Sidon keeps his spear raised as he edges around the battle being waged in the center of the woods, ready to help Link if necessary, but more focused on helping the woman on the floor while the beast that attacked her is still distracted.
Sidon kneels in the grass, readying another bottle of elixir, and he glances up just as the bokoblin swings haphazardly at Link again. Sidon watches in horror as the shield Link uses to defend himself breaks upon impact with the club, only managing to slow the hit enough that Link doesn’t go flying when the bone and wood club slams against his abdomen. The Hylian’s whole body hunches upon being hit, but he simply grits his teeth and swings his sword again, sending the bokoblin stumbling back and buying him enough time to swipe his fingers across the strange object hooked to his belt, a new shield materializing in his hands with a flash of blue light.
The woman’s eyes flutter open, and Sidon pushes the rest of the bottle of red liquid into her hands so that he can hurry and help Link. Sidon approaches the bokoblin slowly from behind, the golden monster still focused on Link as the Hylian warrior darts back and forth in front of it, dodging the swings of its club but not quite finding the right moment to rush in. Link meets Sidon’s gaze, briefly, and then he swings his sword at the golden monster. It jumps backwards, easily dodging the attack that wasn’t quite in range. Sidon’s grip tightens on his own weapon, halting his own advance to ready himself and put more force into the next attack.
Another misleading sword swipe from Link is all that it takes for the bokoblin to stumble backwards into Sidon’s range, and Sidon stabs his spear into the monster’s back, thrusting it with enough force for the blade to emerge from its chest. Its rattling screech of agony is loud and piercing, but Sidon simply tightens his grip on the spear as the bokoblin drops its club and squirms and thrashes about—
A crack rings out through the woods, and Sidon watches the bokoblin burst into a cloud of smoke, banished until the next blood moon. Link drops the bokoblin’s bone club to the floor with a sigh while the two Hylian women stumble across the grass to each other. Sidon hears one of them complain about truffle hunting, but he’s quickly distracted when he sees Link crouch in the grass, the Hylian releasing a sigh as he rubs his stomach with his hand. His white tunic is unstained—a little dirty from the club maybe, but nothing a quick dusting won’t fix—and Sidon is relieved at the realization that Link isn’t bleeding.
“Are you alright?” Sidon asks, dropping to kneel in front of Link, who hums a little and nods, still rubbing his stomach.
Link raises his head and points at Sidon, tilting his head slightly.
“I’m alright as well,” Sidon says, hoping that he understood Link’s gestures correctly.
Link smiles at him and then pats Sidon’s knee, and Sidon grins at the touch.
The prince’s urge to ask Link to be the one to help him grows stronger, but he manages to stop himself from saying anything.
He just can’t help it. Link would be so perfect for the job. A skilled fighter, quick to help others in danger. A Hylian able to wield electricity, well versed in battle with Ganon’s beasts… If Link could only see what Zora’s Domain was like now, surely the part of him that immediately jumped into battle when he saw those injured women would spark up again. He would be an incredible ally to have.
But Sidon can't force him. The prince will ask others first, and then come to Link only as a last resort. And if that plan fails then…
Images of Vah Ruta—trunk raised, water pouring relentlessly from the sky—flash in Sidon’s mind. His gaze shifts to his hands, and he thinks of the electric arrows scattered near Shatterback Point.
If that plan fails, then… Then Sidon will attempt it himself. His duty as prince is to protect his people, and he refuses to give up on that duty, even at risk to himself.
His sister chose that path as well.
Sidon feels pressure on his knee, and he looks down to see that Link has placed the journal on his leg. Sidon smiles at him before shifting his gaze back to the pages.
‘Ready to go?’
Sidon gently takes the journal and closes it before holding it up to Link, already standing with his weapons put away.
“Yes,” Sidon says as Link takes the journal back. “Let’s be off.”
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Therenlover’s Official Fanfic Glossary!
Hey hey hey! This is the place where you can find all my up-to-date fanfics linked nicely, read about what projects I have upcoming, and learn what requests I’m taking at the moment! Cheers!
This post is massive so, for the sake of your dash, everything is under the cut
A NOTE ABOUT REQUESTS!
I will do my best to fulfill any requests I get while my ask box/requests are open! That being said, I cannot promise every request will get done, and that if they do, they’ll be done in a timely manner. I’m currently working on a long-form project that needs a lot of time and energy to come out consistently, so unless I’m doing a writing event most of my writing juice will be focused on that. That being said, if you want something ask! The worst I can possibly do is direct you towards someone else who might be able to write what you want if I cant.
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Characters/Fandoms I will write for currently
💙 = I’m Currently Super Inspired To Write For This Character
Marvel/X-Men
Bucky Barnes
Loki
Peter Maximoff 💙
Pietro Maximoff
Helmut Zemo 💙
Hank McCoy
Ralph Bohner 💙
Vision
American Horror Story
Tate Langdon
Kit Walker 💙
Kyle Spencer (Pre- and Post- Death)
Jimmy Darling 💙
James Patrick March 💙
Kai Anderson
Fallout 4
Nick Valentine
Hancock
Star Wars
Poe Dameron
Armitage Hux 💙
Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Finn
Han Solo
Assorted/Random
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - FGO
Cu Chulainn/Cu Alter - FGO
Warren Lipka - American Animals 💙
Enjolras - Les Miserables
Grantaire - Les Miserables
Gabriel - Supernatural
Imagines - REQUESTS CLOSED
Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans
Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff
Rating: T
How The Evans (+ Quicksilver) Would React To Yoplait’s New Gushers Yogurt
Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Rory Monahan, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff
Rating: T
Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?
Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, Helmut Zemo
Rating: T
Headcanons - REQUESTS CLOSED
Modern! AU Armitage Hux Boyfriend Headcanons
Zemo With A Well Dress S/O Headcanons
Zemo Getting Jealous Headcanons
Oneshots - REQUESTS CLOSED
Marvel/X-Men
Helmut Zemo
One Last Night In Madripoor
Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 4200~
Still Some Catching Up To Do
Synopsis: As a member of the criminal underworld, people walk out of your life all the time. Some are killed, others kill themselves, most get caught and only a couple get out of the life unscathed, disappearing into the world never to be seen again. Very few walk back in. So when your supposedly incarcerated ex-lover, the Winter Soldier, and the Falcon waltzed through your door and made you murder your boss, needless to say, you were surprised and more than a little bit pissed.
Rating: 16+
Word Count: 6800~
Nine Years Starved
Synopsis: It had been a little over nine years since Helmut Zemo lost his family, his country, and his sanity. Nine years since his last kiss. Nine years since he felt like a human man. Finally, he was ready to start over again, but first, he had to pay his penance back where it all began; Novi Grad. That’s when, by the grace of the fates, he met you.
Rating: G
Word Count: 7000~
Daddy Dearest
Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 8000~
In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
Synopsis: As a wanted man, Helmut Zemo spends most of his time jumping from place to place in the hopes of avoiding a trip back to prison. Unfortunately, that means he can’t always be home in your arms. When he is, though, in the rare moments of calm, you’re reminded of just how worth it it’s been to wait, even if that wait was only shortened by the arrival of your enemies.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 35,700~
Two Bodies In The Rain
Synopsis: It was raining the day you finally had to admit your feelings to Helmut. You hated to tell him the way you did, under the grey skies as your blood pooled below you, but at least you knew, in the end, he had seen the real you, even just once. That was enough.
Rating: T
Word Count: 5600~
Rest
Synopsis: Living life on the lam with your escaped super-villain lover means things rarely slow down enough for a real rest. When the exhaustion starts to take its toll on you, though, he knows exactly what to do to ease the pain. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good husband when it counts.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3200~
American Horror Story
Jimmy Darling
Red Nights In Jupiter
Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?
Rating: 16+
Word Count: 3000~
James Patrick March
Heartsick
Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again.
Rating: 16+
Word Count: 3700~
In Sickness And In Health
Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 5500~
Fallout 4
Currently Empty
Star Wars
Currently Empty
Assorted/Random
Currently Empty
Long Form Works/Series
Young Artist!Zemo AU
Chapter One: The Boy With The Easel
Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.
Rating: T
Word Count: 7000~
Till Forever Falls Apart (A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)
Chapter One: Welcome Home
Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.
Rating: T
Word Count: 2400~
Chapter Two: The Doctor Is In
Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?
Rating: T
Word Count: 2800~
Chapter Three: It’s Always Been You
Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.
Rating: T
Word Count: 8600~
Chapter Four: Before You Go
Synopsis: Peter, after days of contemplation, has realized that part of him loves Y/N no matter what she is or what she’s been through. Unfortunately, he can’t find her anywhere. When she finally returns home with the intention of leaving again, Peter realizes it’s his last chance to tell her how he really feels. Will he succeed, or will he fail to be fast enough once again?
Rating: T
Word Count: 4000~
Chapter Four And A Half: Gimme Swayze
Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.
Rating: T
Word Count; 2600~
Cakes For The Evans: A Blogging And Baking Adventure!
Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake
Hey you! If you’ve made it this far down the list, thanks for supporting me as an author! I’ll be linking my AO3 here. I post everything there shortly before I post it here, and there are some older fics there you might enjoy along the way! It’s also easier to drop comments over there and I keep them open for non-members, so give me a shout if you liked what I wrote!
I love you all, you make me so happy, and without you support I would never be motivated to write! Cheers!
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Hold the line (I won't let go) [Chapter 1]
A 9-1-1/Buddie Fanfic
Summary: What happens next isn't Buck's proudest moment, and he's not even entirely sure why he does it at all. Maybe it's because he's still shaking with adrenaline, aching and freshly bruised, smoke still heavy in his lungs. Maybe it’s because Chim's been back a week and still hasn't said a word to him.
But then, it could be that Buck's genuinely struck dumb by Eddie's audacity - that Eddie feels owed anything at all from him, that he thinks he can talk to Buck like that after leaving him the way everyone else has and does and will - it makes venom bubble up into his throat, hot and acrid.
"Firefighter Buckley to Dispatcher Diaz," he starts, his knuckles white on the radio, something mean and furious trying to burst its way out of his chest, "You don't get to say shit like that to me anymore."
-
Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie finally get together after Eddie leaves the LAFD and becomes a Dispatcher.
Chapter: 1/2
Word Count: 4000
Rating/Warnings: T, None Apply
AO3 Link
***
“I’m leaving the 118.” Eddie announces, and Buck’s entire life is thrown completely sideways by it.
“Do you not trust me anymore?” Buck asks later, when it's just the two of them. He knows he sounds desperate, but he can’t understand why Eddie would do this. “Did I do something?”
“No, Buck, that’s not what this is about,” Eddie reassures, or tries to, at least. “I just need to be safer for Christopher.”
And Buck can never fault him for that, but surely, there has to be another way. Buck leaves the party that night hoping that Eddie will change his mind. That next time he sees Eddie at the station, he’ll say ‘actually, I changed my mind’.
But no, Eddie means it. No amount of reasoning or reassuring sways his mind, and two weeks after his announcement at the Christmas party, Eddie clocks out of Station 118 for the last time.
“Hey, this isn’t the end for us,” Eddie promises on the last day, as he clears out his stuff from their shared locker. Buck says nothing. He can’t even muster up the spirit to agree, because that’s it. Four years of partnership, and Eddie is just leaving. All of that talk about ‘you’re stuck with us’ and then he goes and does this.
And perhaps the worst part is that Buck can’t help but feel that this has been building for a while. They’ve drifted apart recently, even Buck can see that, and contrary to popular belief, he can actually tell when he’s not wanted.
So, Buck just storms up to the loft, ignoring Hen’s kind, sad eyes and Bobby’s concerned ones. He sits at the table, his eyes drawn to the empty chairs, and wonders, not for the first or last time, what about him isn’t worth sticking around for.
***
Buck would be a liar if he said things between him and Eddie weren’t really tense for a while.
Eddie ends up becoming a dispatcher, and objectively, Buck can see that it’s a fantastic fit for him. He gets to use his medic knowledge, and still helps people without any of the danger of being on the scene.
The small, selfish part of Buck desperately misses his partner, but the larger part of him is just relieved. Relieved that Eddie is out of danger, relieved that he’ll never have to go home to Chris and explain that he failed to keep his dad safe.
But the selfish part of him is louder, and it’s angry.
It’s misplaced anger, and Buck knows it’s completely unfair. It’s his emotions getting the better of him, and he needs to sort it out before he does something he can’t take back.
Ultimately, that’s how he justifies the distance he puts between himself and Eddie. That he’s just trying to sort out his own mess of feelings about the whole situation, and that he just needs some time for things to settle.
So, when Buck gets a text like,
From - Eddie (ICE) [14:21]: Hey, do you want to come over tonight? Movies and pizza?
He replies with,
To - Eddie (ICE) [14:25]: Sorry, I have plans with Taylor.
He categorically does not have plans with Taylor that particular night, but Eddie doesn’t know that, and it serves its purpose.
Weeks pass like this, and instead of settling into anything, or sorting out fuck all, his anger simmers, and starts to fester. He and Eddie go from seeing each other almost every day to barely even seeing each other at all.
The only reason they see each other at all is because Buck makes time to see Chris. He still picks him up from school sometimes, or drops by while Carla is there to help with his homework. Whatever happens between him and Eddie, he’s determined not to let his own petty bullshit hurt Chris again. Even then, they’re fleeting moments, never more than a few minutes at a time.
(If Buck’s being honest, he knows exactly what’s going on here. He can practically hear Dr. Copeland’s voice in his head, telling him that this is a maladaptive attempt at self preservation. That he’s pushing Eddie away on purpose, leaving Eddie before Eddie can leave him.
Buck knows it’s bad. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and self destructive to boot. But, he can’t seem to make himself stop. Maddie left again, Chim followed, and now Eddie's left him too, and he's the only common denominator he can see. How long until it's Athena? Or Bobby?)
If Eddie ever notices, he says nothing.
***
All of Buck’s unresolved issues finally come to a head on a call.
It's a huge five-alarm fire at an office complex, the building already ablaze by the time they get there. Eddie is on their radio line, helping direct them to people still trapped in the building.
Buck should find his voice reassuring, like he has his back on a call again. Instead it just puts him on edge, every staticky word just a reminder of the distance between them.
Bobby has just called for the team to evacuate when Buck hears something, a crumbling crack and low bellow, then something like a whimper - it’s probably nothing he isn’t already prepared for. After all, buildings make all kinds of noises like that as they go down.
But he can’t just leave without checking.
“Buck, status?” Bobby’s voice crackles through his radio.
“I’m in the northeast quadrant of the fifth floor,” Buck replies, as he quickly checks the offices one last time, “I’m doing one last sweep, I think I heard something.”
“That part of the building is unstable, I need you out now.” Bobby replies, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Buck is good at his job. He can tell that this building is minutes away from collapse. He can feel the intense heat of the fire, even through all of his turnout gear, and can hear the ominous creaking noises the building is beginning to make.
But still. What if there’s someone there?
“I’ll be out in a minute, I just have to check.”
“Buck.” This time it’s Eddie’s voice that echoes through, edged with concern. “You need to leave.”
“I know, I’m almost done,” Buck replies, exasperated, because it’s a little rich of Eddie to make comments like that when he’s not even here to see or hear any of it for himself. He checks the last of the offices down the hall, and satisfied that they’re truly empty, begins to make his way to the exit. “Buck to Captain Nash, I’m—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because the section of floor beneath him caves.
He’s thankfully half off the section, so he manages to grab a hold of the edge on his way down, catching himself. He slams into a support beam, hitting his chest and jarring his shoulder, but it slows him just enough that when he lets go, he lands, stumbling to his knees on the floor below.
It’s a hard landing, but overall a safe one, all things considered.
Buck pushes himself to his feet, groaning. He takes stock of himself. He’s winded, sore, and his heart is hammering with adrenaline, because that could have been so much worse. But, by some miracle that seems to be the extent of his injuries.
Through his radio, he can hear Eddie’s panicked voice, “Buck? Can you hear me?”
“I’m okay,” Buck manages to wheeze out. “Floor caved. Coming out now.”
“Buck, stay where you are,” Bobby commands. “We’re sending someone to—”
“No need,” Buck cuts in. The building isn’t safe, and no one from the team should come back in. Buck forces himself to move, sucking in a pained breath as he does so, and heads towards the exit. “I’m fine.”
With all the noise around Buck, it's hard to tell what Eddie's tone is through the crackling radio, but it's some cross of fear and aggravation. "Buck? Are you hurt? You sound like you're hurt. You're hurt, aren't you? Just stay there—"
"I said I'm fine," Buck snaps. He's perfectly aware he just proved everyone right with his recklessness once again. There’s no need to rub it in.
Despite his assurances that he’s not injured, Chim and Ravi meet him anyway, helping Buck out into the fresh air and straight towards one of the ambulances. Hen checks him over, her hands experienced and gentle, and after a few minutes, she seems satisfied.
“Looks like today was your lucky day, Buckaroo,” Hen says, sounding more than a little bit surprised. “You have some bruised ribs, and you might want to keep ice on your shoulder, but you don’t seem to have any other injuries aside from that.”
“How?” Chim asks, although he sounds more concerned than anything else. “You fell through the floor.”
“I did, but caught myself and landed right,” Buck says, before turning to Bobby, who has been standing there watching the whole time. “Told you I was fine.”
Bobby rolls his eyes, but Buck can tell that he’s relieved. “We’re going to talk about this, Buck.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck replies, because he knows the drill by now. He does something reckless, Bobby lectures him for it, and then he’s on dish duty or inventory for a week or two.
A moment later, Eddie’s voice cuts through the radio, “Bobby, is he–?”
“All firefighters present and accounted for, dispatch,” Bobby replies, “No serious injuries.”
There's a relieved sigh and exhale-through-the-nose type laugh that usually signifies that there's nothing actually funny happening, then Eddie says, "Jesus, you scared me. You need to be more careful, Buck."
What happens next isn't Buck's proudest moment, and he's not even entirely sure why he does it at all. Maybe it's because he's still shaking with adrenaline, aching and freshly bruised, smoke still heavy in his lungs. Maybe it’s because Chim's been back a week and still hasn't said a word to him.
But then, it could be that Buck's genuinely struck dumb by Eddie's audacity - that Eddie feels owed anything at all from him, that he thinks he can talk to Buck like that after leaving him the way everyone else has and does and will - it makes venom bubble up into his throat, hot and acrid.
"Firefighter Buckley to Dispatcher Diaz," he starts, his knuckles white on the radio, something mean and furious trying to burst its way out of his chest, "You don't get to say shit like that to me anymore."
There's a pause, a soft crackle in the carrier wave that lasts long enough that Buck begins to think he actually didn't say anything out loud.
Then Eddie's voice comes through. "...what?"
"Don't act like you have my back," Buck says - definitely out loud this time, his aggravation building, "You don't. So, you don't get to say shit like that to me - don't act like that with me anymore."
Eddie has the gall to sound indignant when he replies, "Excuse me?"
"Buck," Bobby warns, but Buck ignores it.
“I’m sorry, I was just surprised that we’re actually talking again.” Eddie hisses, his tone just as acidic.
"Oh, shut up," Buck spits back, "Don't pretend like you care that we weren’t talking - You're not my partner anymore–”
"So you're admitting you were avoiding me?"
"You left, Eddie!" Buck accuses, "You're the one who up and left! So don’t even bother—"
The line cuts out between them, and a quick glance at Bobby makes it clear that he's the one that cut it. Almost immediately, Buck is overcome with regret and guilt for what he’s said, so much so that it makes him nauseous.
“In the truck - now," Bobby orders, and Buck doesn’t argue. He endures the silent and frankly awkward drive back to the station, before heading straight up to Bobby’s office.
Once they’re inside, Buck just collapses into one of the seats, and Bobby sighs. Buck can see that he’s torn between being Bobby his Captain, and Bobby his friend.
“Am I fired?” Buck asks, straight to the point.
“No,” Bobby replies, sounding more exhausted than anything else. “But I am going to have to give you an official warning. Those calls are recorded and logged.”
“That’s fair,” Buck says, as he grinds the palms of his hands into his eyes and just tries not to cry. Once again, he’s managed to ruin everything. He’d let his emotions get the better of him, and on a job too.
Everyone with a radio had heard his outburst, had heard the way he’d spoken to his best friend. He must have sounded so desperate, so needy, and more than a little unhinged.
It’s no wonder that people keep leaving him behind.
After a moment, Bobby continues. “Are you still talking to a therapist?”
“No, I stopped a while back,” Buck admits. He’d thought he’d been doing fine, but, well.
“Well, I’m going to strongly suggest you go back,” Bobby says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument.
Buck just nods in response. He must look like an absolute mess if Bobby isn’t even going to give him a serve for his recklessness.
“I’m also going to send you home now,” Bobby continues, his voice stern. “Not only because you’re not in the right headspace, but because you need to take it easy after that fall. Are you okay to drive yourself?”
Buck nods again.
“Okay, I’m going to be checking in later tonight,” Bobby says, standing up to leave. As he does, he rests his hand on Buck’s shoulder for a moment. “Buck, you’ve got people who care about you. I know you struggle to see that sometimes, but you do.”
Buck nods, and follows Bobby out. He gathers his stuff from his locker and flees the station as fast as humanly possible. Once he gets to his apartment, he manages to email Dr. Copeland about setting up appointments again before just crawling into his bed.
Then the tears start.
He and Eddie have gotten through so much together. The tsunami, the lawsuit, the shooting. But this might actually be the final nail in the coffin, the final thing that Eddie just can’t move beyond. And Eddie would be completely justified if he was done. If he left him behind. Because the fact is Buck is a disaster who can’t sort his shit out.
He wallows, letting the physical ache of his injuries wash over him. They hurt less than the ache in his chest at the realization that Eddie won’t ever want to speak to him again. He’s such a mess that by the time Taylor sends him a quick text canceling their evening plans because of a story she’s chasing up, it’s actually a relief.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, and Buck is only stirred from his thoughts by a knock at his door, a bit after six. It’s probably Bobby, checking in, so Buck goes to get it. When he opens it though, it’s not Bobby waiting there.
“Hey,” Eddie says, quietly.
“Hey,” Buck parrots, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t been sure that he’d ever get to see Eddie again, let alone so soon, and he finds himself utterly unprepared.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Eddie asks, looking past Buck into the apartment.
“Uh, no, you’re fine,” Buck replies, suddenly conscious that he almost certainly looks like a mess. “Taylor has a work thing.”
There is a beat, where neither of them moves or says anything.
“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, uncharacteristically unsure. The fact that he knocked is strange enough, since Eddie still has a key to his apartment.
(Buck hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask for it back, knowing what that would have meant for them.)
“Oh yeah, of course,” Buck says, stepping back so that Eddie can enter the apartment. Buck closes the door behind them, and feels the weight of what’s about to happen settle upon him.
Buck instinctively moves to the kitchen, but hesitates at the fridge. Instead, he pauses on the other side of the kitchen counter, almost grateful for the distance between them.
Even as he fights the urge to move closer to Eddie.
Awkward silence falls in the loft, and Buck isn’t sure that it’s ever been this tense between them, even after the lawsuit. He fights the urge to fidget, trying to distract himself from the inevitable awful conversation that this is going to be. But the fact that Eddie’s here, at his apartment, is a good sign. Maybe if he grovels enough, they can still salvage some part of their friendship out of this. Buck takes a steadying breath, and goes to speak.
“I’m sorry,” they both say, at the exact same time, before breaking into nervous laughter.
“Can I go first?" Buck asks. He isn’t sure what Eddie thinks he needs to apologize for. As far as he can tell, Eddie hasn’t really done anything wrong at all.
“Go ahead.”
“I’m so sorry,” Buck begins, completely contrite. “I was really upset today, and I didn't mean any of it. You were right. I'm the one who's been pulling away, and it wasn't fair of m e to blame you for that."
The words hang in the air for a moment, before Eddie speaks. "We used to talk to each other. I just don't understand why you've been pulling away. Did something happen?"
"No, nothing. It's nothing," Buck deflects, not sure how to explain himself without sounding absolutely self absorbed and pathetic.
Eddie sighs. "Buck, work with me here."
"Seriously, don't even worry about it. It's stupid. I've just had a lot on my mind lately."
“Evan,” Eddie says, his tone gentle but also firm. Instantly, Buck knows that he’s not going to get out of this one. Eddie using his name always makes him fold like paper.
“I thought you didn't need me anymore,” Buck admits, despising how needy it sounds. “I don't think anyone actually does."
"I always need you," Eddie insists. "Bobby said to give you some space, but they don't know you like I do. I should have known better."
Buck is pretty sure that no one knows him like Eddie does, but that doesn’t mean that he’s about to make that Eddie problem.
"I'm fine! Really. The last few months have just been a lot," Buck quickly insists, because the last thing he wants to do is burden anyone, "And, I mean, you were going through your own things. I'm not the one who got shot."
Eddie considers him for a moment, "You were there too."
"Yeah, but it's not the same,” Buck says, and something inside him breaks. Suddenly it’s like the dam is open, and he can’t seem to stop what comes out, “I wasn't the one who got hurt. I was—I was just so useless. I-I-I mean, you trust me to have your back, to keep you safe, to keep Chris safe, and when it matters most, I can't—”
“Buck—” Eddie tries, as he moves closer to Buck.
"And I'm so sorry—”
“Buck—”
“—that I can’t—”
"Buck. None of that is on you,” Eddie cuts him off, as he closes the rest of this distance between them. He places his hands on either side of Buck’s face, and the weight and warmth of Eddie’s hands shocks Buck into silence. “I mean it."
There’s nowhere else to look but into Eddie’s eyes, and it steals Buck’s breath away.
After a heavy moment, Eddie continues.
“There was a moment today, where I thought I heard you die, and there was nothing I could do about it,” Eddie starts, and Buck knows exactly what that’s like. He felt the same way after the well, and especially after the shooting. "And I'm going to be honest, Buck, it was awful, and I didn't handle it well. But, it just made me realize that I have no idea what I would do without you. I meant what I said at the hospital that day. You're not expendable."
Buck’s eyes start to burn with unshed tears.
"So, I'm sorry,” Eddie continues, his voice sounding as rough as Buck feels. “I shouldn't have blindsided you like that, at the Christmas party. Especially with everything else you were going through. I didn't stop to think about how my decision to leave the 118 was going to affect you."
"I mean, you were right,” Buck says, his voice rougher than he would like it to be. “You need to do what's best for Chris."
"Still, I should have told you."
“Why?" Buck asks. At Eddie’s confusion, he clarifies, "Like, why would it matter, how it affects me?"
"Because you're my partner," Eddie says, simply. "That's just as true now as it was then."
Buck will never understand how Eddie can completely upturn his world, and put it back together again, better than it was before. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he’ll try and try again until he does.
“I’ve missed you,” Buck admits, trying really hard not to cry. “I just want things to go back to how they were.”
“Yeah, me too,” Eddie agrees, softly and honestly.
“You can have my back any day,” Buck adds, because he needs Eddie to understand that he feels the same way. That, even after everything, they still have this.
“And you could have mine,” Eddie finishes off, quietly, as his hands trail down to Buck’s shoulders.
Buck can’t help but pull him into a tight embrace. Eddie eagerly reciprocates, holding him back just as strongly. Buck isn’t not sure how long they stay there, holding each other like that before they reluctantly pull away. As they do, the movement jostles Buck’s shoulder, and he can’t help but wi nce.
“Sorry, it’s my shoulder.” Buck says, at Eddie’s concerned look.
“Hey, let me check,” Eddie sa ys, as he carefully pulls up the side of Buck’s shirt to check his injuries.
It’s not new behavior, Eddie always gets like this after a close call, insisting on looking Buck over himself. Even after he’d been given the all clear by Hen or Chim. Looking down, Buck can see that his side is already mottled blue. He’s definitely going to be sore for the next few days. Eddie, meanwhile, says nothing as he assesses the bruising, before moving his attention to his shoulder.
“You should be icing that,” Eddie instructs, moving to the freezer and pulling out one of the ice packs. He gently presses it to Buck’s injury, their hands brushing as he does so.
“Thanks,” Buck mumbles, his capacity to say anything more articulate suddenly gone.
“So, you said the floor caved?” Eddie asks, as he continues to check him over.
“Ah, yeah. I was heading to the exit when it just gave out,” Buck explains, “I landed about as well as you could hope.”
“You were so lucky,” Eddie says. There’s no judgment in his tone, just relief.
“I know right? It's a nice change,” Buck jokes, and even Eddie huffs a laugh. After a moment, he asks, “So, how is it at dispatch?”
“Uh, really good, all things considered,” Eddie replies, taking the olive branch for what it is.
They quickly fall into easy conversation, and Buck knows they’ll be okay.
***
A few hours later they're both still at the apartment, sitting on the couch and idly watching some action movie Buck had found on netflix. Eddie is seemingly reluctant to leave, and Buck isn’t going to make him.
Beside Buck, his phone begins to ring, the caller ID indicating that it’s Bobby checking in, as promised.
Eddie turns at the sound, his expression curious.
“It’s just Bobby, checking in.” Buck explains.
Eddie smiles. “Tell him I said hi.”
“Will do.” Buck promises, as he stands and moves to the kitchen for some semblance of privacy, before answering. “Hey Bobby.”
“Hey Buck, how’re you doing?”
“Fine. Sore, but not too bad,” Buck answers, truthfully. “I emailed my therapist too.”
Bobby hums in approval. He must hear noise in the background, because he asks, “Is someone else there?”
“Uh, Yeah, I’m with Eddie. He says hi, by the way.”
Bobby does not seem to be the least bit surprised. “I’m really glad to hear that, Buck.”
Buck glances across to where Eddie is sitting. It hits him then, with the intensity of a bullet, just how much he’s been missing this. “Yeah, me too.”
***
So, that was chapter one of my newest Buddie fic. Chapter two should be up by next weekend, and definitely before season 5B at the latest.
What did you think? If you did, please consider leaving a like/kudos or comment, either here or on the Archive (Fic Link). Positive feedback is what keeps me going!
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i read this thing on reddit about a person who read through 200 japanese novels. first they were N1 (but they think what they did could have worked for an N3 learner), then they started mainly with books for children/teens like 青い鳥文庫 novels with a lot of furigana, then books for a bit older, then general novels and some nonfiction, eventually adding the last 20 or so as audiobooks. they said by books 20-50 they had to look a lot of words up still but the reading was flying by, and by books 50-100 books still required frequent word lookups but were effortless feeling to read.
they personally looked up Every unknown word (so minimal learning *only* by context - which tbh is helpful with japanese and chinese where u sometimes need lookups of new characters period just to learn the reading even if u can figure out the word’s meaning in context). they did not mention how long the average novel they read was, but i know for the series mentioned above (the easier novels) are about 300 pages long.
so maybe roughly 60,000 pages for around 200 novels. and maybe for the 20 book threshold where reading started flying by, 6,000 pages. (also i absolutely commend them on how much they read because even in english i cannot read that many books especially in such a short time period, and reading in a language you’re learning tends to start at a slower speed, and so just generally SUCH a huge reading achievement is impressive).
if i assume maybe chinese progress is similar to japanese reading progress, i wonder how close i am to the 6,000 page threshold of ‘20 books’. A priest novel is about 3.5 pages a chapter. I will just estimate 3 (3.5 pages is the length of a digital page length estimator, but their chapters are like 5-20 pages in my print novel versions). So i’m going to estimate probably 3 pages for the webnovel chapters i’ve read. i’ve read like 200 chapters of some pingxie fanfics, maybe 140 chapters of other stuff (finished xiao wangzi, some kids cats stories, some sci fi short stories, some saye, some tian ya ke, etc). and then about 100 pages of guardian (i’ve Reread those pages multiple times lol but i’ll just count 1 read through since i’ve read many of these multiple times). So 340 chapters*3 pages = 1020 pages of chinese read, 1120 total adding guardian.
rip i am still SO far from even 6,000 pages. (Which in a way is funny, because if i JUST buckled down and committed to reading through the novels I start, I would easily be in the 4000s pages by now, just because tian ya ke etc are like 500 pages each then stuff like guardian is 800 pages, silent reading is even longer, sha po lang and can ci pin maybe be 1200 pages, the pingxie fics i like are easily 500-800 pages, the dmbj novels aren’t long but combined they’ve got to be like 6000 words minimum all on their own for the first several or so).
anyway, as usual i would love to copy someone else’s study plan and see if it works for me. in part because i usually do really well with such study plans - it motivates and challenges me, and i like to “prove” i can do what someone else did, and “prove” if it works or not. (for example, when i started chinese i copied a guy who did 2000 most common chinese words Ben Whatley memrise decks then dived into reading using a click dictionary, and i did exactly what he did lol - i added some extra stuff, and certainly there were better materials i could’ve used instead but just used what he used... but it worked! his study plan worked! so i was ultimately happy i’d tried it and that it had worked for me too! i wish i had a japanese study plan i could brute force that manageably). so i very much would LIKE to brute force read through X pages or X books in chinese (or japanese one day) and see if it works. i mean... in theory it should. its just intensive reading that the poster above did. look up every unknown word as you read, and its proven to work its just extremely intensive work (very mentally draining at first until there’s less unknown words).
so of course, i prefer to read extensively instead. and learn primarily from context instead of from definition lookups. in part because i am lazy and don’t like ‘clicking’ i am so lazy lol that i really don’t want to be taken out of the reading-flow focus. and in part because i tend to remember much better when i have to “figure out and guess” what something means like a puzzle... when i look up words i don’t remember them unless i do it 3-10 times. but when i figure it out based on what i’m guessing the word means? i learn it within 1-3 times of seeing it, maybe after seeing it 5 times at most if the first few times i could get away with ignoring the word instead of trying to figure out what it means. so i learn meaning much Faster when doing it the ‘through context’ way. reading extensively also means less breaking your reading flow constantly, which helps me because i have poor focus to begin with and often need breaks already.
however... if i’m reading extensively instead of intensively, there’s a few problems that crop up. 1. I cannot replicate that poster’s study plan, because i’m not doing the same reading type. so it may take me MORE books to get the same reading level skill, because i’m doing something different (or it may take less books, or the same amount of books, its simply unknown). 2. with a language like chinese it means guessing the hanzi readings too if i’m not using a dictionary... which is fine until i transfer from reading to listening. right now it only hangs me up because i’ll guess say “hun” for the reading of a hanzi with a similar radical, then try to look up a really frustrating word by typing in pinyin and finally realizing darn the hanzi is actually pronounced “hui” and thats why it wasn’t showing up. basically, it means the pronunciation gets even LESS reinforcement and correction than if i was looking it up 5-20 times every single time i saw the word until i finally remembered it. That’s a big reason i do a lot of “reading extensively while letting text to speech play” or just listening to audiobooks generally too. Because i like to get as much listening reinforcement of new words, so i hopefully remember their correct pronunciations to an extent even though i’m not looking it up constantly.
i would love to say that i’d change my study plan, and start reading intensively mainly to copy the person who made that post, and see how my progress goes. but knowing me... its not going to be happen, i’ll be lucky if i can just get myself to read more in general. (fun fact about me... even an english comic it takes me 30 minutes to read 17 pages, and that’s a comic not a novel with paragraphs, in english... i read even slower in other languages... despite having a fast reading level in college where i must’ve just sped read skimmed a lot). on top of things... i am barely reading right now, i can just get myself motivated to read a bit of chinese manhua... but that’s a wayyyy lower “word count” and language density than actually pushing through novels.
but if anyone else would like to make a goal of more reading? i’ll join you! and if anyone else would like to test what the poster did, with more specifically intensive reading (or u vary it like me and do mostly extensive reading), i’d love to know how it goes! if you want to share progress as you go!
any thoughts? any of you read X books or X pages and think at a certain point reading with no dictionary got easier/faster?
#rant#langblr#studyblr#reading#chinese reading#japanese reading#study plan#study method#intensive reading#extensive reading
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Chapter 7: Green Light
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note: i don’t know why i can’t edit chapter 6 so hopefully you reach this chapter
2 weeks.
2 weeks have passed ever since that night Yuta walked you home, the same night that you and Kuroo got into the biggest fight you’ve ever had. The doors were slammed, the remote of the TV flew from one wall to another, your voices were on top of your lungs.
Kuroo threw words he shouldn’t have, like accusing you of cheating on him. You even went on your knees just to prove to him that you didn’t. Apology after apology. You didn’t even know why you were asking for forgiveness when you did nothing wrong. He told you to leave, you should have, but you didn’t. You couldn’t leave him. You love him way too much even if he does you so wrong.
Kuroo has all red lights turn into green and you let him drive you insane.
But you’re getting tired of the ride that doesn’t have a destination.
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“Just go see (Y/N) at her office,” Kenma tells Kuroo as the two are looking over files. “My secretary and her secretary are friends. I can ask for her schedule if you want.”
“Why would I?” Kuroo scoffs confidently and his friend deadpans at him. “What? It’s not like I miss her or something.”
“You’ve been writing her name and scratching over it like a teenager going through a heartbreak. I thought the two of you made up already?” Kenma rebuts and the raven head pouts.
“We did.” Kuroo continues to read the document, trying his best not to get distracted by invasive thoughts of you. ‘But she isn’t chasing after me like she used to.’
You really have been different. Yes, you still message him and act sweet around him, but it seems like you’re forcing your actions, especially sex. Whenever you have time to go home, you two only do the deed, then sleep, and then he wakes up to an empty bed again.
Sex is good, great even. Kuroo loves doing it with you. But it isn’t enough. When was the last time you went on a date? Or ate a meal together? Or talked about your days? When was the last time you told him you love him?
“So why are you moping around?”
‘Because I miss her,’ Kuroo’s inside thought speaks in volume. He really does miss you but he can’t say it out loud. “I don’t know man. I guess because of work.”
“But aren’t you here with me because you barely have work to do?” Kenma says in an almost teasing tone. Kuroo just rolls his eyes and ignores his friend. Oh how the tables have suddenly turned. Kenma is the one teasing him now.
Kenma then realizes that Kuroo has finally started caring about you.
Kuroo arrives at your workplace earlier than your meeting time because he’s that excited to see you. He even bought flowers for you and pastries for your workmates. It’s his way for thanking them for taking care of you at your work. Also, it’s to let them know that you’re together so they stop shipping you with other people.
“Oh, Kuroo, you’re here,” Terushima greets him as they meet in the lobby. “(Y/N) has an emergency photoshoot today so I guess it’s your lucky day.”
“Photoshoot for what?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow as he follows Terushima inside the studio of your office. There are big lighting equipments, a huge white backdrop in the room, and a lot of wedding dresses.
“For our wedding dresses catalogue. Usually, Alisa does it but she’s sick today so (Y/N) has to take her place,” Terushima explains and Kuroo nods in comprehension. “I think she’s preparing for the last dress already so you don’t have to wait long for her to finish.”
Terushima gives Kuroo a chair he can sit on and directs him to a spot where he can see you while you shoot. While waiting for you, he hands out goodies to your coworkers, bowing and thanking each one of them.
Not long after, you come out in a white tulle ball gown with white flower petals on the bodice and ends of the dress. Your hair and makeup done bridal style: subtle, elegant and will surely take the groom’s breath away. Kuroo doesn’t know why but his breathing pattern suddenly changes and his heart beat picks up a rather speedy pace.
You literally and figuratively took his breath away.
‘I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack,’ Kuroo thinks without knowing that he has a sweet smile on his face. His eyes are staring at you in admiration, maybe even in a loving way. You just look too gorgeous in that dress it makes him wonder what you’d wear in your wedding if you even had one.
Come to think of it, what would you like your whole wedding to be?
The man is getting flustered just thinking about your wedding day. You’ll have one soon, right? It’s working out for the two of you so there definitely will be one. Or so he thinks that it’s working out for the two of you.
“Kuroo?”
“Kuroo.”
“Kuroo!”
“Yes?” Kuroo finally snaps out of his thoughts and sees Terushima smirking at him. “What?”
“You’re staring too much,” the blonde chuckles. He expects Kuroo to deny it and such so he gets shock when the raven states...
“Why wouldn’t I? My wife looks mesmerizing.” Kuroo continues to watch your shoot, his attention only on you and no one else. You finally see him, so you flash him a sweet smile and flirty wink before focusing back to your work.
Kuroo giggles with a blushing face which causes Terushima to laugh at his reaction. Terushima teases him so he hits Terushuma, telling the blonde to stop teasing him. “You are such a simp!”
The two of them are having butterflies in their stomachs because they’re lowkey like teenage girls, giggling and whispering to each other with blushes on their face, talking about the love of their life. If you’re looking from a far, you would never know what they are talking about.
The shoot finally ends and your secretary tells Kuroo to wait for you at your office. He does as told and roams around your workplace while he waits. He finds your little bedroom and sees some of your belongings in there. It must be where you sleep when you finish work when trains stop operating for the day.
Kuroo hears your door open so he gets out of the tiny room and skips to you, hugging you tightly in the middle of the room. He takes a look at your face and then tackles it with kisses, enabling you start a proper conversation.
“I missed you.”
Kiss.
“I missed you.”
Kiss.
“I missed you so much.”
Kiss.
“Tetsu, love,” you call him out in between giggles, your hands trying to cup his cheeks for him to stop, but he captures your lips with his first. Your eyes flutter close and give into his actions.
“You looked so beautiful in that dress, my love. Makes me wanna marry you again.”
You’re supposed to be happy hearing his words. Your heart should be jumping out of your rib cage by now. So why can you feel yourself forcing a smile?
“Love, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Kuroo asks you, his arms snaking around your body, nuzzling his nose on the crook your neck. You just humm, eyes closed, fingers tangled into his hair.
“What’s your ideal wedding?”
Your lids shut open from his question. “All of a sudden?”
“I just got curious.” Kuroo shrugs, waiting for your answer. He’s ready to take mental notes and use it when you plan your wedding.
“I’ve never thought about it,” you answer honestly. Kuroo moves away from you and stares, not believing the words that came out of your mouth. “What? I always knew I was getting arranged so I never thought about having my own wedding.”
“You’re a wedding planner and you never dreamed about your own wedding?” Kuroo is skeptical about your statement and he also feels disappointed?
You’ve never thought about your wedding? As in the ‘you as the bride and him as the groom’ wedding? Has it really not passed your mind even just for a second? Because that was all he was thinking about when he saw you in that wedding dress and up to this moment.
“I just don’t see myself having my own wedding,” you explain, not sparing a glance at his disheartened face.
“Not even with me?” He says without thinking, which you look at him for. You examine his face and see how he genuinely looks discouraged about your words. Not understanding why is he so hurt about your words, you cock an eyebrow at him.
“We’re married.”
“But we haven’t had a wedding ceremony. I personally think it’ll be great to have one,” Kuroo says as if it’s not a big deal, but deep inside he is making a huge fuss about it. He’s indirectly proposing to you and if you turn it down, his heart will shatter to pieces.
“Let’s see after our trying period,” is all you responded. Your response breaks him. You haven’t decided if you’ll stay with him?
He can feel his chest tigthen and hand sweat. Why are you saying that when months ago you were speaking about how much you love him? Why are you saying that when weeks ago you were begging him to forgive you?
“Don’t you love me anymore?”
——————————————————————————
Facts:
The idea of signal lights was first used on railroads to prevent trains from colliding. These signals were then adapted all over the world and used in roads since it worked so well.
The original pattern was red for danger, green for caution, and white to go. However, since white could have been easily missed against a starry sky so then it was changed to the green, yellow, and red we know of now.
The first constructed roads date from about 4000 BC
Roman roads were often stone-paved.
The Pan-American Highway is the longest roadway in the world, spanning around 19,000 miles or 30,000 kilometers
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Taglist: @postsfromthe6 @elianetsantana @chaelysian @kiyobbie @lilxstan @moonlightaangel @oh-hey-its-a-simp @kellesvt @karasuqueen @starry-magicshop @stantalentstanunderratedgroups @mint-mai @torilovestowrite @faithmoonxd @agaashesmilktea @birdiewolf @yeibuub @maitenight @ashhhh26 @kageyamasgirl @tnu-ree @avatarkyoshithewarrior @kurokawa-aida @dabisdominion @chanayah @sevenseoul @marissaraeblr @amlnadya @weebintheinternet @shizukusimp @madmelle @soullesstaco @merrdlp @kouholic @kiyoomi-channie @kageyuh @kaachanultra @sabzhabib @134340-cm @toripersonalacc @itsimjaebeomsforehead @todobruhski @graykageyama @coconut-dreamz @rienin @dawnsbaby @kagebunshiin @heavenini @d-efend @porcolie
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu smau#haikyuu series#kuroo tetsuro smau#kuroo x reader#kuroo imagine#kuroo tetsuro fanfiction#kuroo smau
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2021 in review: fanfic writer edition
Thank you @mppmaraudergirl for the tag❤️❤️❤️! This has been sitting here a few days and I’ve really enjoyed writing this year, so let’s go...
BY THE NUMBERS
words written: It’s about 4000 more than the published amount, at most!
words published (AO3): 123, 987 (I’m surprised it’s this much!)
# of published one-shots: 2
# of completed multi-chaps: 3
# of one-shots in progress: 0
# of ongoing multi-chaps: 2
# of fic ideas waiting their turn: 2
longest work: A Little Risk (78,932)
shortest work: Wildflowers (1.1K)
most chapters in a fic: A Little Risk has 10
highest # of kudos: A Little Risk
highest # of hits: A Little Risk
top 3 fics by kudos: A Little Risk, Wildflowers, Tight Quidditch Trousers & Other Distressing Things
top 3 fics by hits: A Little Risk, Boys Don’t Cry, Tight Quidditch Trousers & Other Distressing Things
BEHIND THE NUMBERS
most challenging fic to write: Definitely A Little Risk, because the plot is a bit complicated and I had no outline at all to start with, so that’s been a hoot (do not advise!!)
fic that came easiest to write: Probably Wildflowers, wrote it in one go, despite the angsty finish.
most true-to-the-outline fic: eh, this assumes I actually outline anything, which I don’t, so... probably the prank fic Boys Don’t Cry because it was intended from the beginning to explain why Sirius told Snape about the Whopping Willow, so the idea was pretty clear.
most unlike-its-outline fic: Probably A Little Risk because it had zero outline except the following ideas: Remus is a sassy detective, Lily is a Private Investigator and the coolest person in this fic, Sirius is a broody aristocrat, James is an Italian doctor, a muggle version of the canon prank, Snape is a bastard (what’s new), someone (that specific) gets murdered, someone (that specific) is the murderer, punching fascists activities would feature... yeah, no, that was the entire outline...
favorite reader freak-out: The comments on chapter 8 of ALR... basically AWWW followed by WFT???
most controversial scene: Probably still Chapter 8 of ALR!
hottest ask box topic of the year: Theories of who the murderer is in ALR and will Reggie be okay in the end
most loved OC: I don’t think I wrote any OCs this year!
most hated OC: ditto
favorite things about writing our heroes: The ridiculous amounts of pining, the stupid misreading other people, the banter, the Blackevans and Moonflower BroTP, the Prongsfoot BroTP?
favorite villain to write: Definitely love writing Snape so you all hate him
favorite marauder to write: Hmm, tricky. I am not actually sure about this one? In Boys Don’t Cry it was Sirius, in ALR it is probably Remus and James?
most I've cried while writing a scene: easy - the scene at the end of Boys Don’t Cry when Sirius sees Remus for the first time after the prank - devastatingly hard.
most I've laughed while writing a scene: probably writing Sirius trying to set up Jily in Tight Quidditch Trousers & Other Distressing Things.
smuttiest smut scene: lol none, I just don’t write smut even though I love it! Once I retire though... imagine auld one furiously typing away at fic entitled Smutty Smut Fest...
favorite Jily kiss i wrote: The first kiss in A Little Risk.
hardest trope/thing to write: the odd in-between chapter that you absolutely need for the fic to make sense, but doesn’t really attract you?
easiest trope/thing to write: Pining, and banter between them all, especially Lily and James, Remus and Sirius, and Sirius and James,
proudest fic moment: Ugh I don’t know, maybe chapter 10 of ALR?
any fic regrets? Not really, just wish I had more time to write.
2021 fic habits to break: Stop adding any more WIPs. And stop writing by the seat of your pants!!!
2022 fic habits to make: Plan. Make a fucking plan, for once. Please!!!
If interested, and absolutely no pressure whatsoever, I am tagging: @stonecoldhedwig @startanewdream @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @midnightelite @therealrjlupin @mollymarymarie @aeridi0nis @aqua-myosotis @mrs-stubby-boardman @corinnesamuels @dizzy--bird @clare-with-no-i @frustratedpoetwrites @pottinglilies @sweeethinny @thejilyship @hogwartslivy
and/or anyone else who wants to!💕💕💕💕💕
#end of year fanfic asks#2021 in review#marauders fics#loveliest tumblr friends#i love writing#join in if you wish
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