#reem writes fic

[hms-tardimpala]

Ficbinding: Saw collection

Warning: long post

As you may have noticed, I recently got into Saw, and the fanfic quality is phenomenal. The writers in this fandom are exceptional and unafraid to write the kind of freaky shit I love. In a month, I've read enough amazing fics to fill a small book, so I did!

As usual, the fics come first. There are nine, by four different authors (I found writers I love right off the bat in this fandom).

By @theflirtmeister:

Our land is sharp and glorious (3.5k, E) (special mention to this one for being the first Saw fic I ever read <3)

Tell me sweetheart (1.6k, M)

What suits your taste (3.3k, E)

By @degloved (Wolverton on AO3):

See me bare my teeth for you (1.9k, E)

The Issue series (3 fics, 7.5k, E)

Pig on speed dial by @gurokatt (2.9k, E)

Helping hand (1.9k, E) is by an anonymous author I salute, wherever they are.

These are all great fics I wanted to bind to make rereads easier and I recommend them all strongly (just mind the tags). A big thank you to the authors for replying positively when I reached out, I hope this is a good surprise!

Now let's talk shop.

This is my smallest book to date, and I have a good reason for that. As silly as it sounds, I wanted to make a book that could fit in a pocket of Amanda's cargo pants^^ I chose red for the cover and black for the headbands and bookmark to mimic the Jigsaw coat. This cloth is amazing: the pictures above show the book in real lighting (I took them at the window to catch what light was left today). It's a non-uniform blood-like dark red, which is perfect for Saw. It's also slightly reflective, as if it were slick, as you can see in this video under artificial lighting:

I went crazy with the cogs, I know.

I'm very happy with the fonts I chose: "s'AWsome" for the title, "impact label" for the fic titles (reversed for the author names), "underway" for the drop caps and "reem kufi" for the body of the text.

I decorated this book more! Every fic starts with an image of an object related to Saw (I used chains, blades, a puzzle piece, a bear trap, a scar, etc...). I also put the title of the fic and the author's name at the top of the pages. I wish I could have put something between these and the page numbers, but it would have been too small to look good. I used barbed wire for breaks in the stories because of course I did.

I'm especially proud of the "underway" drop caps, look!

They look like fingerprints!!! The oily residue and everything, you know!

What didn't work?

This time, most of what I did worked perfectly. Well, I did have to print, cut, fold, sew and glue this three times because I made mistakes when trimming the textblock. But in the end it's fine because I don't think the uneven edges are jarring when it comes to a Saw collection. There's a small spot of glue on the cover that I'll be the only one to notice. I could have strenghtened the back less for a book this size, it would have made it bendier.

One the whole, I love this book and the stories inside it and, as a craftsman, I'm very proud of myself.

Reminder: Feel free to ask me about materials, fonts and tools, it won't bother me at all to tell you what I used, but I'm too lazy rn to write it in this post that's long enough already.

[2dmenenthusiast]

"You gonna make me?"

(John Price x Gn!Reader)

Jesus christ I've never finished a fic faster in my life. I'm absolutely feral for this man istg. Also, I 100% don't know shit about sparring or the military. Thank you

Feedback and Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated! <3

Summary: You made a mistake on the field, and your teammate got shot because of it. Safe to say, your Captain is less than happy.

Reader's callsign is Sting

Words: 3.6k

Warnings/Other info: references to injury, blood mentions, lots of fuckin guilt, this is smut free besties, just my mediocre attempt at writing fluff, reader is gender nuetral

The phrase “seeing red” couldn’t begin to describe the white hot rage that seared up your spine and wrapped tight around your neck like a noose. You just got back from a meeting with your Captain, and he had reemed into you like you wouldn’t believe. It was a bad call in the field, completely your fault. Soap got a bullet in the arm because of it, and you couldn’t stop beating yourself up over it. And while your anger directed at yourself was enough to have your fists clenched so tightly that you left crescent shapes in your palms, the reprimanding you got from Price left you vibrating with rage. You were ready to lash out like a cornered, rabid dog, biting at the hand of anyone who reached out. Which is why you found yourself in the training room on base, throwing jabs at the punching bag like it just insulted your mother.

The stinging of your knuckles through your wraps should've been a signal for you to stop and take a rest, but the screaming thoughts in your brain had you persisting, the solid, repetitive thump of skin meeting leather echoing throughout the empty room.

“Woof, remind me not to piss you off.”

You huffed out a breath, movements finally coming to a stop as you rested your palms against the bag. Sweat trickled down your forehead, chest rapidly falling and rising with each chased breath, and Gaz stopped a few feet away from you. A grey muscle tee sat loose on his torso, paired with black gym shorts. You quickly assumed he was here for the same reason you were, and while you had no reason to be mad with him, you couldn’t help but feel frustrated by his presence. You just wanted to be left alone with your thoughts for a few hours, take a long shower, and then go to bed.

“You wanna go a few rounds?”

You raised a brow, fist resting against your hip. “You sure?”

Gaz shrugged. “You look like you need it.”

You let out a humorless chuckle, clapping Gaz on the shoulder as you passed him. Okay, maybe the company didn’t sound so bad anymore. You quickly adjusted your wraps and shifted your neck, feeling the muscles tense and pull. “Just don’t go easy on me, alright?”

Gaz gave you that dazzling white smile, one that would have people stopping in their tracks, but it vanished as soon as it appeared once he came at you. Gaz was young, spry, his speed certainly giving him an upper hand compared to his big and burly comrades. He was light on his feet, easily stepping back when your fist swung out, and he was in your space the next second, hand pushing against the center of your chest and his foot sweeping your ankle. You landed on your back with a thud, the mat breaking most of your fall, and Gaz clapped his hands together.

“Alright, keep gloating Kyle,” you chuckled, grasping his hand when he went to help you up.

“I’m just lucky to catch you off your guard.”

You huffed, lips tilting up in a bitter smile and rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, seems like that’s been happening a lot today.”

Gaz’s expression immediately dropped, and he shook his head. “No, hey— I didn’t mean it like that—”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. Let’s go again.” 

You were relieved when he lunged at you without question, and you both moved around one another in a less than graceful dance. Gaz always had your back. Whether it be in the field or on base, he knew what you needed from him, and he was more than willing to let you throw him around a bit to get some of your frustration out. 

And maybe you haven’t thought about it much before now, but you were grateful to consider Kyle a close friend. 

Punches were thrown and blocked, and he actually got you pretty good in your side, the sudden force and the sting afterwards sending a rush through you. By the time he was spent, sweat dripping down his forehead and his limbs feeling the slightest bit of fatigue, you were on your back with his back pressed against your front, arms wrapped around his neck and legs trapping his hips. He struggled to get out of your hold, gripping your forearms and attempting to pull them away, but then there was a loud squeak of the doors opening, and you both paused as your Captain came sauntering in the room.

“That’s enough. Let him go.”

The deep timbre of his voice made a feeling you couldn’t quite place surge through you. It settled deep in your bones like sweet, thick syrup, and the look he pinned you with set your skin ablaze. 

Trembling limbs fell to the ground as you released Gaz, and he stood with a huff and quickly helped you up. His hand clapped against your back in a reassuring manner, his way of trying to cheer you up from the impending doom you were about to face, and he jogged over to Price. They muttered hushed words, shooting quick glances your way. The sight made anger flare up inside of you. What were they talking about? Was it about you? Was it about your royal fuck up today? 

An unintentional growl resounded in your throat, and you began picking at your wraps, the sweat collecting under the fabric making your skin itch. It was only now that you finally took notice of the blood seeping through the cloth, and the sight took your mind back to the field. The shouting. Echoed gunfire. Soap’s blood pooling under your hands and seeping through your fingers as you desperately called for Evac.

“You’re gonna be fine. We're gonna get you outta here, okay?”

It should’ve been you.

A low whistle drew your attention, head snapping up to watch Price as he sauntered towards you. Gaz gave you an anxious smile and a thumbs up from behind him, and you frantically shook your head with widened eyes.

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go—!

He left.

Dammit!

With a deep sigh, you avoided looking at your superior and walked over to your duffel resting on the bench, rummaging through it to find your water bottle. As soon as the water hit your dry tongue, you desperately took deep gulps of it, some of it spilling out the sides and sliding down your jaw. You finally looked at Price while you capped the flask, catching his gaze follow the water droplets that slid down your neck and under your shirt. You pretend like the sight doesn't shoot blistering heat through you and begin packing away your things.

“What do ya think you’re doing?”

“Leaving. What does it look like?”

If you were anyone else, you’d be scared to talk to him like this. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d reign your attitude in. But you weren’t about to roll over and show your belly, and a sick, masochistic part of you wanted him mad. 

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You barked out a sharp, sarcastic laugh, tossing your things aside and whirling to face Price. He wore that same serious look on his face, eyebrows set deep and his gaze narrowed. You tried not to focus on the crows feet that danced around his eyes, because that’s not what’s important right now and you should be upset with him. Not admiring the little details on his face that you’ve secretly come to love. Or looking at the way his arms flexed when he crossed them over his chest.

“Who says?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I do.”

Closing the distance, you mimicked his stance. “You gonna make me?”

A smirk spread across his features, and if you had a death wish, you would’ve slapped it right off him.

“Oh, I’ll do more than that, sweetheart.”

The pet name sent tingles down your spine that you refused to acknowledge, replacing those fluttery feelings with the rage you felt bubbling up inside of you. At this point, he wanted you to hit him. And he couldn’t be upset with you if you followed through with it, right?

He gestured with his head. “On the mat, soldier.”

Letting out a disgruntled huff, you reluctantly did as he instructed, like an obedient little dog. He was your Captain, you were supposed to follow orders. But the idea of letting someone yank you around and instruct you like a marionette made your blood boil and the veins in your forehead pop. But another part of you knew deep down that if you really didn’t want this, Price wouldn’t make you. You were just too stubborn to acknowledge it at this moment.

Once you were a good few feet away from him, you got into proper stance, feet spread apart and firmly planted, your weight evenly distributed. He copied your position, nodding his head to let you know he was ready, and you began circling each other. It was a waiting game, the clock ticking down as you anxiously waited for one of you to strike first. And despite everything in you saying to let him come to you, your eagerness and impatience got the better of you.

You lunged first, fist flying towards him which he easily deflected. You hit his solid forearm instead of what you were aiming for, and the quick jab in the same spot Gaz hit earlier had you stepping back with a growl.

“What happened today?” he asked. No. Demanded.

Your jaw clenched tightly, teeth painfully grinding together as you came forward again. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

Price gripped your arm and yanked you forward, spinning you so your back was pressed flush against him, and his arm wrapped around your throat. 

“You were impatient! You ignored a direct order, and it got your teammate a bullet in the process.”

With a strangled cry, you bent your knees and used your weight to push against Price, using the leverage to flip him over your back. He harshly landed on the mat with a pained grunt, and you scrambled to plant yourself on his chest, shins pressing down on his arms and your thighs framing his face. Of course, you’d imagined this scenario once or twice before in the privacy of your own room, but you didn’t picture it happening quite like this.

“So what do you want me to do? Go back in time and fix my mistake?! As much as I’d like to, I can’t!”

His hands came up to grip your thighs, pushing himself up off the mat and slamming you on your back, the air effectively leaving your lungs. His hands were on your hips the next second, flipping you on your stomach so fast that the room spun, and he had you pinned before you could even blink. There was a solid arm pressed harshly against your shoulder blades as Price straddled your hips, using practically all his weight to keep you down. You tried reaching back with your hand to grab ahold of something, anything, but he trapped it in his ironclad grip and pinned it beside your head.

A frustrated noise left you, slamming your fist into the mat as angry tears gathered under your eyes. You knew Price was trying to teach you a lesson, but couldn’t he understand that you’ve already screamed at yourself the exact same words he was throwing at you?!

He leaned down, and the scent of expensive cigars and gunpowder filled your senses. It was like he was slowly taking over every part of you, his touch and his smell seeping into your skin until all you could think about was him. Molten heat surged through you, settling deep in your belly and sending your pulse skyrocketing. You were sure if he placed his fingers just right, Price could feel your heart beating erratically in your wrist.

“You’re a good soldier, Sting. And you know it. Don’t make me regret putting you on my team.”

His gravelly voice was like thick smoke, sending you in a haze as you pressed your forehead to the mat and let your body relax underneath him. You hated to silently give up like this, but your body and your mind was tired. The only place you wanted to be more than underneath your Captain was in your bed.

“Whoa. Am I uh, interrupting somethin’?”

Head snapping up, you spotted Soap by the door, a grin slowly appearing on his face as he leaned against the wall. You were quick to spot the bandage wrapped around his shoulder, and Price lifted off you when you tapped the ground twice. You appeared at his side in less than a second, eyes zeroed in on his wound, and the guilt was eating at you all over again.

“God, Johnny. How are you feeling?”

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Been better. Doctor thinks I’ll pull through.”

He was joking. 

He… had a fucking bullet in him because of you, and he was standing here, smiling and joking with you.

Why?

Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he cursing and screaming at you? How could he even fucking stand to be around you right now?!

Your head gently shook back and forth, eyes cast towards the ground and your jaw clenching so hard it made your ears ring. “Soap… I’m so sorry. I—”

“Did you put the bullet in my arm?”

Your gaze lifted, his brow raised at you. “Well, I mean, no. But—”

“Then stop worryin’ your pretty head. I should be good for field duty soon enough.” You saw his gaze shift downwards, and his brows knitted in concern. “Though, I think you should be more concerned about yourself there, Sting. Jesus.”

You followed his line of sight and looked down at your hands, blood soaking through the wraps around your knuckles. Rough fingers wrapped around your wrist, gasping when Price suddenly lifted your hand up so he could inspect it. His eyes then landed on your face, and you shrunk under his disappointed stare.

“Bloody hell. Come on, let’s get you sorted out.”

Tugging your hand out of his hold, you gave Soap a tight-lipped smile and brushed past them. By the sound of heavy boots thumping against the floor, you figured Price followed after you.

“And where’d you think you’re going?”

You refused to stop, so bullheaded in that moment that he’d probably have to tackle you to get you quit. “The infirmary.”

You heard his footsteps stop, relief filling you for just a second as you thought he’d finally almost left you alone.

Almost

“Sergeant!” he barked.

His voice stilled you, back straightening like your spine was being pulled up by a string. Silence filled the space between you, and you were hyper aware of your breath filling and leaving your lungs, the sound of it almost too loud for your own ears. When you finally turned to face Price, his intense stare sent a chill through you, and your chest shuddered with an anxious breath when he held up his hand and curled his middle and index finger towards himself. 

With one foot in front of the other, you slowly closed the distance between you two, a million little thoughts running rampant inside your head. Price either didn’t know how intimidating his presence was, or he knew all too well. Either way, the gaze he pinned you with pierced right through you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was able to read your mind.

Hopefully not. If he heard what you thought about him late at night—

Shut up!

Stopping just a few feet shy from him, you held his stare for a moment before he turned, gaze falling on his broad back. The way his muscles shifted and flexed under his tight shirt almost stopped you in your tracks, and you scolded yourself for acting like such a lovesick fool before obediently following after him.

Aren’t you supposed to be angry with him?!

Why? All he did was point out your mistake.

A mistake you’ve relived over and over again until you wanna blow your brains out.

When you made it to Price’s office, he opened the door and wordlessly gestured to one of the seats in the room while he rifled through his desk. You sat without complaint, hands gripping your knees and focusing on your bandages splotched with red. When he found his first-aid kit, Price grabbed another chair and slid it in front of yours. His knees gently knocked into yours when he sat down.

“Alright, lemme get a look at you.”

Your fingers flexed, and you lifted one of your hands to place it in his. He was gentle when he gripped the edge of the fabric and began unwrapping your hand, and the stark difference between now and how he was when you were sparring would’ve surprised you if you hadn’t seen this side of John before. He was gentle and kind when he could be, always making sure his team got a proper looking at after missions, scolding you when one of you stubbornly let a wound go untreated. He cared about you, no doubt. Anyone was a fool to think otherwise.

The wraps uncomfortably pulled at the skin around your knuckles, the blood making it stick, and you let out a hiss. Price didn’t pause or stop, and you were grateful for it. You didn’t want him to treat you as weak or take pity on you. Not when you didn’t deserve it. It was only when he was wiping the blood away that you finally spoke after a prolonged silence.

“It should’ve been me.”

Now that gave him pause. The wipe froze against your skin for a split second, and he let out a sigh through his nose as he tossed it into the bin before grabbing a new one.

“And why do you think that?”

You didn’t answer right away, searching around the room as if you’d find the answer residing in a hidden corner. You were ashamed. What if Soap got killed today? How could you live with yourself knowing that his death was your fault? Your hand shook against his, and Price carefully tightened his hold to steady it.

“It was my fault. I should’ve taken the bullet, not him.”

Once Price was done with your left hand, he moved on to the right, giving it the same treatment. He shook his head. “Awful things happen to good soldiers that don’t deserve it every day. You can’t control it.”

“But I—”

“But,” he sighed, thumb gently pressing into the back of your hand, “you need to listen to orders, Sergeant. You’re lucky the bastard didn’t nag ‘im in the head.”

You nodded. “I’ll make it right, Captain.”

Once he was done patching up your hands, you moved to stand, but his hold on your hand didn’t falter. Rather, his hand snuck up your arm and pulled you back down into your chair, his lips quirking up in a small smirk.

“I believe you’re forgettin’ something, darling.”

Your eyes narrowed, leaning an elbow against your knee. You tried to remain tough, but you could feel your resolve turning into mush the more you stared into Price’s eyes. “You still expect me to kiss you after all the shit you said to me today?”

His smirk only grew, and his eyes crinkled up around the edges.

Fuckin’ cute bastard.

“Do I have to order you, soldier?”

You scoffed, pulling your arm out of his grip before suddenly maneuvering onto his lap. His hands immediately found their home on your hips, giving them a possessive squeeze, and you rested your arms against his shoulders.

“I think you can save the powerplay act for later, John,” you muttered.

He mumbled a quiet “Yeah?” as he stared at your lips, the word devolving into a soft sigh once you leaned down and pressed them against his own. Arms wrapped around your waist and squeezed you to John’s chest, your nose gently knocking against his as he chased your lips every time you pulled away. You cupped his face in your hands, and the roughness of his beard tickled your skin.

Could be tickling somewhere else right about now—

Jesus christ, shut up.

Price was always deep and intense when he kissed you, trying to pour every bit of love he had for you in each one. It felt like he stole the breath right out of you, your thoughts swirling and your mind hazy. He knew exactly what to do to turn you into putty in his hands.

“Where is it?” he muttered against your lips, and you reluctantly pulled away with a gasp as you tried to catch your breath.

Reaching under your shirt, you tugged at the chain securely hidden underneath it and pulled it over your head, dropping it into John’s awaiting hand. He smiled, fiddling with the clasp before cool metal slid over your finger.

“You should wear it more.”

Your brows drew together. “I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone?”

“We don’t have to. I just like seein’ it on you.”

Your lips slowly split into a grin, and you looped your arms around your fiancé’s neck. His large hand gently ran up and down your back, sending pleasant chills down your spine. With the way he looked at you, you’d do just about anything for him.

“I’ll wear it all the time then.”

Tagged: @latinxs-himbos-and-cowboysys

[ao3feed-itafushi]

in another life (i would've really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you)

by ithildin_23 “eating home cooked meals… watching sunbeams fall onto our hanged laundry… seeing her off as she walked beside someone like you, itadori... that would’ve been true happiness to me.” IN WHICH they get to be happy together OR WHERE i (and everyone else who read 266) was reminded of the quote from everything everywhere all at once and thought i’d write a domestic itfs fic :) | fic title from “everything everywhere all at once” | inspired by chap 266 (no spoilers tho!) Words: 1863, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 28 of reem's jujutsu kaisen fics Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Zenin Maki Relationships: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Shibuya Incident Never Happened (Jujutsu Kaisen), yeah fuck that shit, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, going HAM with the fluff tags, Domestic Boyfriends, THEYRE SO DOMESTIC, Soft Fushiguro Megumi, Soft Itadori Yuuji, Soft Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi Loves Itadori Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji Loves Fushiguro Megumi, Established Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Comfort No Hurt, Inspired by Jujutsu Kaisen Chapter 266, NO SPOILERS THO!!! I PROMISE, Grocery Shopping, Marriage Proposal, kind of?????, you'll see - Freeform, POV Fushiguro Megumi, POV Third Person from AO3 works tagged 'Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji' https://ift.tt/wNsLZyI

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Title: Blabbermouth Fandom:  Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating:  Teen and Up Pairings:  Gen, plance if you squint Characters:  Lotor, Lance Warnings:  Implied/Referenced Torture Word Count:  ~970

A/N:

for @badthingshappenbingo!! Prompt:  Truth Serum/Potion

you can also read it on ao3 here

not beta read, not even really by me

“You realize I’m just saying every word that pops into my head, right?”

Lotor gnashes his teeth together as he faces his prisoner. The young man already proved to be a blabbermouth upon capture, but the truth potion Acxa administered to him before they started their interrogation only made it worse.

“So obviously,” he continues, his dark blue eyes darting around the gloomy chamber, “I should just keep talking about whatever to make sure I can’t hear any of the question you’re asking me.” A loathsome smirk tugs at his lips.

Lotor does not rake his hand down his face out of frustration, but he deeply and thoroughly regrets killing Narti. What did it matter if she betrayed him to Haggar? A few ticks of her rooting around in this fool’s mind would’ve given them all the information they need about Princess Allura’s whereabouts!

Instead they learned all the most bizarre and intimate details of this man’s life - and, well, if Lotor can figure out a way to use those against him he will, but now...

“...and my left foot is slightly bigger than my right foot, but I can only really tell while I’m trying on a new pair of shoes.” He raises both bare feet into the air, peering over his toes and grinning at Lotor. “What about you, Prince Perfect? You have any flaws?”

Lotor’s eye twitches as Ezor, hovering nearby in case the prisoner escapes his bonds, giggles. He shoots her a glare, and her gaze drifts to the floor, chagrined. He smiles, some relief filling him; at least his underlings still obey him even with a simple glance.

“You know, I cried when a spider bit my sister,” he continues, barely pausing for breath. “I thought she was going to die. To be fair I was only six, but it’s still worth mentioning, in my honest--”

“Enough!” Lotor, losing his patience, strikes him with a backhand. His head whips back, eyes wide with shock, an angry red mark left on his cheek.

He turns his head, blood on his lip where his teeth must’ve grazed it - it’s what the imbecile gets for talking so much - and mutters, “You’re an ass, Your Highness.”

Lotor crosses his arms, staring down his nose at him. “I’ve been called worse things from better people than fools like you,” he sneers.

The man snorts. “I’ve been called a fool as a word of endearment,” he says. “That’s not an insult to me.”

“Maybe we should break his fingers till he talks,” Zethrid suggests.

“What’s wrong with good, old-fashioned torture?” Ezor agrees. She runs her fingers through their prisoner’s hair almost fondly, a gesture that must not fool him judging by how he jerks away from her touch.

“No, thank you,” he says with a smile that shows off a hint of fear. “I’m satisfied with a slap and a truth potion, but if you must, why not try tickling me? Pidge always tells me it’s the easiest way to decapitate me and therefore my greatest weakness.”

“I think you mean incapacitate,” Acxa corrects.

Lotor’s eyes slip shut, a shallow sigh escaping his nostrils. It goes a long way to calm him, to wash away the man’s obnoxious, disjointed rambling. They need something to use against him if he won’t reveal any information more useful than the size of his feet or how old he was when a spider bit his sister.

“Is that really what I mean, my lady?” the prisoner taunts. “It could be, I guess, since Pidge is always saying words I don’t understand, but she’s patient enough to explain them to me. And that’s all right, because I speak more human languages than she does!” He gasps and adds, “Oh, I could be talking in Spanish now, and you wouldn’t understand a word I’m--”

“So who is this Pidge?” Lotor asks. He leans over and grabs the man’s jaw with two fingers, turning his face towards his and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Tell me about her.”

“Oh, she’s brilliant!” he tells him. A silly smile crosses the man’s face, a far cry from the smug smirk or the one edged with fear. “I think you’d like her...but I can’t say she’d like you since you killed her--” His eyes widen almost comically, a flicker of terror in his eyes.

And Lotor, at last, knows he’s finally hit on a sore spot; but he suppresses a smirk and lets the man ramble.

“What’s there to say about Pidge?” he says, shrugging. “Why not ask me about my other friends? I have so many - more than you do, probably.” He nods towards Ezor, heedless of her fingers in his hair ready to yank his head back at a moment’s notice. “So you’ll have to be more specific, Your Highness.”

“But I’m not done hearing you speak about this one!” Lotor says brightly. He rests a hand on his shoulder, the man’s head tilting back to keep his face in view. “I have a name - I may even have remembered killing her...father, is it?” He raises an eyebrow, his heart skipping a beat in excitement, in triumph just within reach, and the fear rapidly spreading over the prisoner’s face only confirms all his assumptions.

“So unless you want this friend of yours to suffer the very particular attention of my comrades, why don’t we stop wasting this truth potion and you tell me what you know about Princess Allura?”

(From the corner of his eye, he sees Ezor’s sharp grin and Acxa nodding a confirmation at Zethrid, and all for the better. Lotor is nothing if not a man of his word, and if this Lance needs proof he means what he says, he’s all too happy to provide it.)

[mister-lady]

I was thinking I might be able to help with the prompt! But then again I'm usually not too good at thinking of fluffy prompts...

Ckvmfmdjgjdkdj that's okay!! I got a bit of a vague idea of what I wanna write but I'm slowly starting to think I can only seem to write under very small and specific circumstances- jsfkkvfmksjfkf

[fromageinterrupted]

“But all Lance could reply was that sometimes home tastes better than adventure” 😍

These two would absolutely do breakfast dates in their pajamas XD

[i-mybrunettelady]

How it feels to settle down

-- Festival of the Four Winds, 1334 AE

“You’re wearing flats,” Akila says suddenly. People are chatting around them, a man and a woman are having a child, someone’s sister is lost somewhere and they hope to find her - it’s vacation, not general party mingling at someone’s estate but she can’t really help herself - but Renira doesn’t quite miss the tone of her girlfriend’s voice.

Like she’s solving a puzzle.

“Am not,” she says back, tapping her slight heel against the stone. “No flats on this woman, ma’am.”

“They’re flatter than your usual shoes-”

“For all my grace I don’t want to trip over uneven stone and fall to my death down below-”

“Reem, you’re a mesmer.” Akila suddenly stops, staring Ren down as she curls a coat around her shoulders. She looks so positively Elonian in that moment that the spymaster just wants to whisk her back to the desert. Hm, isn’t a trip to check on her Shadows contacts due soon? Akila waves her fingers in an imitation of Ren opening a portal and furrows her brow in pretend concentration.

The imitation is accurate enough for Ren to laugh. She leans down and steals a kiss. “That I am. So, what are you on about? What other clues did you get where I’m taking you?”

“Flats,” Akila clears her throat. “You only wear those when you’re out with Rana on a flight.”

Ren blinks. “Yeah. You haven’t flown on a griffon yet so I thought I’d take you. It’s beautiful out in the sky and we have the means to see it and pass it. Besides,” she adds conspiratorially, “I’ve seen people take their dates on these high cliffs, even a wedding. They flew a priest just so they could get married there, or so a lady here says.”

Akila stares up at her, eyes wide in surprise. She goes on her tippy toes as she grips Ren’s hand and whispers, “You’d marry me?”

“We don’t have a priest,” Ren hides the surprise in her voice - the thought didn’t cross her mind at all. For a longest while, she swore off marriage. In her line of work, it isn’t as profitable as romantic novels indicate. Even a relationship means leaving someone behind if you happen to fall into enemy hands. Infiltration requires a long time away that could ruin a budding relationship.

The thought of settling down with Akila sounds more agreeable than she would admit to. To hide it, she gives her girlfriend another kiss, this time a little longer.

Everything for the Order is starting so sound harder than it has ever had.

Akila is still looking up hopefully. There is such gentleness and joy in her dark eyes that Ren doesn’t quite know what to say. “Can we discuss it a little later? Now, we have a griffon to visit.”

“You like the idea, admit it.”

Ren looks at her feet as she murmurs, “I like it a lot.”

They hear Rana before they see her, though the griffon, like her rider, is a giant creature. Tasa laughs as she flies towards them and settles before Ren, eyes bright as she screeches happily.

“Melodious,” Ren comments, scratching her head. “Good to see you too, girl.”

“Will we both fit?” Akila asks, digging her fingers into Rana’s feathers. The griffon leans into her touch.

“She was the largest of her siblings,” Ren shrugs. “We should, theoretically. Now, you won’t throw us down, Rana? You promise?”

Rana seems to consider for a moment before tapping her paws on the ground. “I think she won’t,” Ren grins. “Who will feed her if she does?”

“She’s nicer than that, I think,” Tasa replies. “She’s really bonded with you, Miss Sulver. And she’s fond of Lady Akila too.”

Akila looks at Tasa. They’re both from Amnoon, Ren remembers. She wants to have a word with Akila’s parents from taking her freedom away by selling her to Joko, but she understands that desperate times call for desperate measures. What’s worse, crime or slavery? Can’t decide. But at least I had a choice in it. She’d shiver, if she was a lesser spy. Death or waiting for a lich to fuck you? What’s worse?

“Let’s soar to the skies,” Ren declares to cut through all the negative thoughts.

Akila kisses her hand and rubs it against Ren’s cheek. Height differences at their best, Tybalt once joked. Then, she taps the saddle.

Rana screeches happily as she flies through clouds. Akila’s fingers dig deep into Ren’s exposed belly as she holds on tightly and Ren can feel the messed curls of hair against her back.

She may not know whether she wants to marry yet, but she knows one thing - that whatever may pass, this is what makes her happy.

--- Note:

Akila belongs to a guildie who isn’t on tumblr, but I wanted to write a piece of these two having fun because 1) haven’t written Ren in a while, and 2) she deserves some shippy fics as well. So, enjoy some Ren lore + Ren in love cause she deserves it :)

[batman-katflap]

Howdy, is it rude of me to ask how Salinity is going? I don't mean just in terms of when to expect an update but like...how is overall planning going for you? Do you have a general idea of the plot or just writing as you go? Do you often use music to inspire and write, or do you get more ideas from daydreaming? I'm so curious about the lore you have developed thus far. Do you think it'll be a long arc like Infinity or Sunshine? Or maybe shorter with future oneshots? Appreciate your time ��️ I just like trying to understand how authors function, especially when they write as amazingly as you! 💞

Ahh, I'm loving these asks recently :’3

To answer the first part, I know that you weren’t specifically asking for when the next update will be, but I figured I’d answer anyway by simply saying that it’s going-- slowly but surely. I’m a tad stressed from work atm, so I will say I’m not really writing much right now, but I hope that my funk will go away soon and I can get the next chapter up within the month at least.

I will also say that I love all these lil additional questions! 

For better or for worse, I actually don’t plan that much, if at all, for fics. Every fic I’ve written-- including Infinite and Sunshine-- I went into with completely different ideas as to how they’d end compared to what I eventually went and the thing is, I never planned a specific route to those endings, I just sort of kept writing with that vague idea in mind and eventually got on the right, track so to speak. 

The problem I have with plans (obviously this is just for me) is that if I go into a fic and think ‘right this chapter will have this and the next one will do this’ it means I’d then have to ignore the ideas I come up with as I write as ‘they wouldn’t fit with the current plan.’ It’s like, if I come up with a really cool idea, but oh no, if I go with it, all of a sudden my idea for the ending and the following chapters won’t work, so I need to redo all of those which is added work and effort, but if i have no plan to begin with, I can just go with the flow and see what comes from it and go from there.

Obviously there are times I’d love to know what I am doing. A lot of the hiatuses for Sunshine and Infinite came because I was like ‘right, I have written myself into a hole, how the fek do I get out of it.' I even have whole reems of cut content from both fics where I tried to figure out where I was going.

I do have the fear of that happening with Salinity as well, but I suppose Salinity has come to me easier than the previous two fics, as one: it’s the only WIP I’m working on atm, and two: I’m very passionate about seeing my vision of it come to fruition.

And I know that sounds counter intuitive. ‘Kat, you said you don’t plan and having a ‘vision’ sure sounds like another word for ‘plan.’ I know I know... but it’s like, I have ideas, I just haven’t figured out where exactly they all go and how to fit them all in, I just have them XD

As for the music question, there is a video on Youtube that I am not kidding you I listen to everyday, pretty much (I’m listening to it right now even XD). It’s called ‘Deep Relaxation Ambient Music ~ Space Music ~ Study ~ Dreaming’ and when I tell you it is the perfect music to write to, I mean it. It’s just so soothing. I do listen to other songs and music depending on my mood, but as this ask is already an essay I’ll leave it at that one for now ;D 

Thank you so much for your questions! I hope I didn’t bore you with my monolith answer. If you’d like to know anything else, know my ask box is always open :)

[seeds-of-the-garden]

About Us

We are a bunch of Plance shippers who really like coming up with fic ideas and often not enough time to see them into reality. We acknowledge the rest of the Garden is full of ideas too and we want to do our part to bring a bit of that to life.

This is a fic ask blog!

Give us an idea in our ask box based on one of our prompt reblogs. We will respond with 500 words or less of a Plance fic based on the information you’ve given us. Be as specific as you’d like, but just keep in mind we only have 500 words to write it in!

Did something we write or reblog inspire you? Submit your own response to us, or tag us when you post it! We want to share it too! That includes artists!

All the writing we do on this page is open for ‘adopting’. That is, if you love a particular idea you are welcome to run with it and make a longer story out of it! (Just tag us when you’re done because we want to read it too!)

Writers:

Mod Rue: Tumblr/Ao3

Mod Reem:  Tumblr/Ao3

Mod Kat: Tumblr/Ao3

Mod Hail: Tumblr/Ao3

Mod Nightshade: Tumblr/Ao3

Mod Fro: Tumblr/Ao3

[ceddar-cheez]

I think his isolation (since he was 10 basically) means he’s a really big book nerd and rather attached to the characters. I think the fastest way for Sole to form any sort of bond with him would to be arguing over interpretations of classics.

Cause of course an impassioned man like that loves to argue and debate. No one really puts up much of a fight against the Elder. At best, they concede and at worst they agree to disagree an move on. It’s not like arguing about books is important. So when Sole comes in with a hot take about Catcher in the Rye, he’s gunna roll up his sleeves and they go at it like a DC vs Marvel fan flame war. Sole’s not trying to ass kiss so they’ll actually put up a fair fight in their opinions. And really, that’s all he wants

Maxson headcanons:

Maxson actually does occasionally mingle with the other brotherhood soldiers by training, eating, or casually conversing amongst them to install a sense of familiarity with their Elder and to prevent any excessive lionization of him.

 Maxson doesn’t like wearing his signature coat when he decides to socialize since it immediately identifies him as their Elder and he has a feeling that everyone seems to always be walking on eggshells around him. 

He’ll go without his coat but his black fight suit still identifies him as an officer which still demands a certain level of respect to him. 

There are still boundaries that cannot be crossed, so do not expect the Elder to be very buddy-buddy with his soldiers, but more of a an professional friendliness.

Maxson also has a bit of a fondness towards new recruits as they do not always know their way around the brotherhood yet, while brotherhood bred and raised soldiers already have an ingrained protocol to follow, new recruits often do not. He therefore often finds his interactions with them very interesting.

Maxson can’t have any intimate relations with any brotherhood members that are too low in their ranks. Not because he doesn’t want to but because a lower ranking soldier that gets to close to him would be accused of trying to acquire unfair advantages from their Elder, so many would steer clear from developing any interpersonal relationships with the Elder in fear of harassment from their peers. If Maxson defends them, it’ll only breed more resentment amongst the other soldiers and make the harassment worse. 

Awww, firstly I’d just like to say thank you for blessing us all with the Maxson content 😭 but on that note, I feel so bad for him. (Yes I know, he isn’t exactly a favorite) He’s gotta be one lonely dude. These Headcanons hit the nail on the head imo

[hailqiqi]

Alright alright Plance fic knower, I have an inquiry. Do you know of any Regency type AUs? Pride and prejudice/ Jane Eyre era stories are my jam and I havent been able to find any for Plance. Do you know of any?? I'm writing one myself and I'm curious to see what other people might have written for the concept. Thanks!!!

Helllooooooooo every star!

SO. I cannot wait for your regency story (please let me know when you post it cause tags are funky lately).  As of right now, I am 99% confident that there are only two (2) purveyors of this type of fic in The Garden right now:

@sp4c3-0ddity and @fallen-angel-nightshade

The offerings aren’t the purest of drugs if you really wanna go full Jane Austen - mostly borrowing the setting or a few elements rather than the entire society and its trappings - but they’re still extremely entertaining, and they should help to scratch the itch.

Nightshade’s Highwayman AU is pushing the limits of ‘regency’ I know, but we get to see Lance being posh and plus, it’s my favourite poem. Also I realised too late that her other regency-type fic is Shidge.

Reem’s got at least 5 one-shots which fit the mould (mostly King & Court type AUS), my favourite of which is either masks for two or the one with the ships. Unfortunately they’re all in this gigantic file of stories and I have no idea what they’re all called individually, but hopefully she’ll chime in when she wakes up with some individual links (otherwise…enjoy your travels through Strangeness & Charm. It’s a good place to get lost).

Reem also has two longer fics which barely qualify (but beggers can’t be choosers): Dueling Hearts (technically a canon fic where Pidge catches the eye of a king, and is trapped into an unwanted bethrothal. Lance has to fight to get her out of it) and scaled to size (a fantasy King’s Guard/King’s Court/Dragon AU).

I hope this helps!  Does anyone else know if there’s any I’ve missed??

[rueitae]

1, 5, 18,21? For the fanfiction writers ask meme? =D

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction?

Oh boy. Checking on FF.net, my first published fic was October of 2001. It was a Pokemon/DBZ crossover. I was 14. I was probably writing before then, but my memory is hazy.

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

This is so, so hard. I’m honestly tempted to say any of my VLD stuff but… really my favorite is Floursack. It’s a next generation Danny Phantom fic, and dangit I’m so proud of that title. It was my first, longest, and completed. I remember writing like mad and everything just came. I was so proud to complete all 16 chapters. I still enjoy the humor, I loved my OCs, and all the twists still make me do a little jig like ‘yes, yes I wrote that, that was my idea and I pulled it off so cleverly’.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP��s? What made you abandon them?

Technically nothing I have is abandoned. Any VLD fic idea still has potential to be written, and I’ve resigned myself that I will never get out of the Pokemon fandom so I’ve got my fic for that too. It’s also next generation… there’s a pattern here I think. But dangit I love irony so so much. Let Jessie and James’ kid have a Pikachu and let them travel with Ash’s kid PLEASE.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

@sp4c3-0ddity is not only an incredibly talented writer (your words Reem, even if you don’t think they’re good, are so mesmerizing I’m always in awe at how you weave them) but she’s also the reason I’m even writing fic today. Thank you for your friendship and brainstorming conversations and enabling.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

For the Hozier title meme I got Gonna Save Me, Call Me Baby? Whatever inspires you? =D ❤️💕

“No.”

“Come on, Pidge! What’s the magic word?”

Pidge glares at him from her perch on the bench. He stands just beyond the holding cell, his hands wrapped around the bars and a stupid, smug grin on his face.

She hates how she can’t decide if she’d rather kiss it or smack it off.

“Just unlock the damn door,” she grumbles, crossing her arms tighter.

Lance rests a hand on his hip and raises the key ring, rattling it like a photographer trying to get a grumpy baby to smile. “Is that how you speak to an officer of the law, Pidge?”

Pidge buries her face in her hands, her face warm and...God, to be caught in this situation by her own damn cop fiancee who’s obviously enjoying this way too much?

“What kind of cop are you,” she mutters, voice muffled in her palms. She lifts her face, her eyes narrowing, and wonders, “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, reprimanding me or something for breaking and entering?”

“Well, considering Iverson was gracious enough not to press charges...” Lance shrugs but raises an eyebrow. “I paid your bail, you know, since I figured you wouldn’t want your mom finding out about this.”

Pidge sighs, sagging. “And I said thank you, Lance.” She glances at him. “What else do you want?”

“The thanks was nice,” Lance concedes with a slight - and fake, Pidge doesn’t doubt - frown, “but I’m looking for another magic word.” His eyebrows waggle almost suggestively.

Pidge knows what he wants, which just irritates her more, so she pulls her feet onto the bench and leans against the wall. “I think I’d rather spend the night here than with you.”

Because modesty isn’t one of Lance’s strong suits, and if the words he wants to hear cross her lips he’ll rub it in her face for the better part of a week and then every other day for the rest of their lives - if she doesn’t kill him herself at some point - for extra measure.

And it would be a shame to murder the love of her life a month ahead of their wedding.

“Oh, really?” Lance says, tone dripping with skepticism. He tucks his thumbs through his belt loops and clicks his tongue. “Is it really that hard?”

She crosses her arms, eyes fixed on the floor, and says, “Yes.”

Lance sighs, propping his arm against the bars and leaning in. “You’d make me miss you just because you won’t say two little words?”

Pidge shoots him a look she half-wishes would kill him on the spot; if she’s in jail - bailout or no - they may as well charge her with a real crime. “If it’s any consolation,” she retorts, “I’ll miss you too.”

He snorts, beginning to look a little annoyed. “Only you can make that sound a little insulting.” He fumbles the keys, and for a second Pidge thinks she might even win this, but...

Well, a grumpy Lance isn’t much fun either, not to mention the slight guilt stabbing at her.

So Pidge stands, shuffling her feet and glaring at them before mumbling, “My hero.”

“What?” Lance says. “I didn’t catch that.”

Pidge raises her gaze and glares, because judging from the slight smirk playing around his lips he’s lying. “I said, my hero,” she grits out.

Lance grins and winks. “I serve at my lady’s command.”

She presses her lips together, suppressing a frustrated growl, as he finally unlocks and pushes the cell door open. He gestures her out with a flourish and says, “Your chariot awaits.”

Pidge steps out, a free woman again. She follows Lance out of the precinct, ignoring his colleagues’ calls and jeers, and once they’re outside she grabs the collar of his shirt and tugs him down.

She presses her lips to his, his hands rising to her waist automatically. He smiles into the kiss, a softer expression than the stupid smirk that drives her mad in all the best and worst ways. The touch steadies her heartbeat, her release from confinement a load off her mind, so when they part and he meets her eyes she pats his flushed cheek and tells him, “You’re lucky you look good in that uniform.”

[rueitae]

@a-haunted-sock Two for one deal today on fic.

~~~~~

Pidge lies back into soft warm sand, but it's almost too dry, even if the ocean is mere feet away.

Perhaps, despite her best efforts, she’s misjudged the time. She slaps her tail lazily on the sand. It’s getting uncomfortably warm. She’ll dry out soon if she isn’t careful.

A shadow darts across the sun. Pidge smiles wide as she sits up - she hasn’t missed him.

“Oh no,” she cries dramatically. Lifting the back of her hand to her forehead, she sighs. “I seem to be beached without any means to get back to the ocean.”

A grin tugs further up her face as she affords a peek with one eye open. Lance comes diving in from the air to greet her, his outrageously large wings dragging behind him, feathers flying about around him.

He lands on his knees and slides across the sand into her, wrapping her into a tight hug as he gives her a smooch on the cheek. She giggles, falling on top of him as he falls onto his back.

“I am at your service, my lady.” His eyes glint flirtatiously. “Are there any enemies I must expel?”

Pidge snorts, feeling mischievous. “I can think of one bird that’s been annoying lately.”

His jaw drops and for a split second his blue eyes grow dark. “Who --” Then, like a searchlight, he’s back to his goofy, endearing self. “Ha. Very funny Pidge.” He gives her a soft kiss to the forehead. “You know I’ll save you any time you need it.”

Pidge lifts herself up, chest filled with delight. Her tail thumps lightly over his leg. “I know,” she says as she traces her hands over his cheek. He smiles softly and her heart flutters as she falls in love with him all over again. “I think I’ll try and avoid needing saving. You fly a bit too close to the water sometimes though,” she chastises. “One of these days you’re going to get stuck and then I’ll have to save you.”

“Oh?” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He leans in closer. “Should I go get my wings wet right now?”

“How about a kiss instead?” she laughs.

Lance grins. “You’re the genius.” He pulls her close, and Pidge can’t wipe away her giddy smile as their lips brush. She cups his cheeks in her hands as he whispers, “Who am I to say no?”

“A Bird may love a Fish but where would they build a home together?”

Or, local bird man visits fish wife for the summer.

Lol I’ve been hard at work on my pieces for the plance mini bang, but I didn’t want to let mermay end w/o contributing something! Maybe someday I’ll learn how to draw wings too ^^;

Enjoy!

[mister-lady]

I keep getting these random spikes of wanting to write fics and I either never start them or never finish them- djfkfmfrnrnj

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter One: “Which Door?”

Only slightly late to the party, as always, but here is chapter one of a re-introduction into my fic writing career because I’ve become so lax recently and my brain is on utter FANFIC OVERLOAD..but I can’t seem to be able to actually get much of it out of my head.

I actually have to thank @missclairebelle for this wise idea - because she is uber clever. So I’m going to try and catch on on the Writing Workshop the lovely @gotham-ruaidh put together by writing chapters of between 500 and 1000 words. I don’t particularly have a schedule, but I’m going to try and write 3-4 chapters a week until I have all 25 current prompts done. 

Hopefully this isn’t too terrible, but here’s to you Gothie. You’re my writing rock and I want to dedicate this story to you for being truly amazing. I love you loads <3 

As the clock chimed on the mantelpiece, Claire readjusted the large glass of scotch on her knee. The echo of the thing filled the small room, the steady ding reverberating through the thick, old walls and along the floor - finally tickling the base of Claire’s feet as she listened to the autumn breeze swish beside the large bay window. “I’ve finished the kitchen now, Mrs Randall. Is there anything else you need before I head out?” Mrs Fitzgibbons, her and Frank’s housekeeper, asked as she popped her head around the smoking room door.   Glenna had been working for Frank and Claire since they’d moved from Oxfordshire to Glasgow on business. Frank had begun his work at the University of Glasgow only two years previously and Glenna had been hired as a housekeeper for the family home. Since then she had become the one and only constant presence in Claire’s life as Frank became increasing more and more isolated, trapped in his office - buried beneath reems of historical documents that seemed to keep him so occupied that Claire became a rather distant memory to him - or, rather, that’s how he’d made her feel.   Claire nearly snorted at her earlier notion of the rather large Randall house. ‘Family’ was an abstract concept to her now - from the moment she’d left Oxford she had been isolated and borderline abandoned - left to fester alone in the massive corridors of the place she was supposed to call home. “I’m fine, thank you Mrs Fitz.” Claire replied finally as she slugged back the last of the amber liquid, the colour mirroring her dark irises as she watched her sorrowful reflection in the bottom of the now empty glass. She felt like a ghost even to herself. “Ye can call me Glenna ye know, lass.” Mrs Fitz said kindly. She’d been trying to get Claire to lose the formalities for the last few months but she’d only managed to get her name shortened from Mrs Fitzgibbons to Mrs Fitz. “Alright,” Claire finally sighed, her wry smile falling a little, “Glenna it is.” Nodding she stood and smoothed down her pyjama bottoms. “Actually, can I ask you something before you leave?”

“Aye, lass, of course.” Glenna replied, half moving into the room as she waited for Claire to finish.

“Did you ever have a dream, Mrs...I mean Glenna,” she corrected herself, coughing to cover the beginnings of her more formal address, “you know, when you’re asleep. That sort of dream. But one that’s so vivid you actively believe you’re living a different life. Until you wake up.”

Smiling kindly, Glenna walked slowly over to Claire and placed her hand against her shoulder lightly.

“Aye, lass. I have at that. Verra powerful things, dream, ye ken?”

Claire nodded, the sorrow in her eyes intensifying as she brushed the stray, light tears away. “Yes, they are.” She agreed, the daydream springing to life in front of her as she looked across at her kindly housekeeper.

“Do ye want to tell me, Claire? About the dream?”

“Before we were married, Frank and I,” Claire started, her memories of those heady days more foggy now as they aged and faded from her mind, “I told my parents that I wanted to be a doctor. I planned on it, you know. I researched university. I made sure my A Levels were valid medical subjects and I worked bloody hard to get the grades I’d need.”

“But…?” Glenna added as Claire took a sombre breath, her shoulders tensing and sagging beneath her fingertips as she gently massaged the aches and pains away as best she could from this angle.

Claire sighed. A long deep thing that seemed to last an eternity. Just like her flagging marriage.

“There shouldn’t have to be a but, should there? Not now. It’s the twenty-first century for Christs’ sake!” She cursed, more annoyed at her own battered resolve than anything else. “It should be an ‘and then’ not a ‘but’.”

“But life isna always that way, is it, Claire? Dinna be so hard on yerself. So ye met Frank, ye fell for him...marrit the lad? That’s true, aye, since yer here now. A Randall by name. I ken the man’s quite stubborn on his views, especially wi’ the money and the titles the Randalls have - old fashioned. He wouldna trust in ye to go to university then?”

“It wasn’t just him.” She choked, her throat closing as she battled to speak through the tears. Glenna had cut right to the heart of the matter in seconds eliminating the need for Claire to vocalise some of her story. Some but not all. “His parents didn’t agree with it. Not that they disagreed with a career so much as one that would take up rather too much of my time. If that makes sense?”

“Aye, I ken the sort. Ye were to marry. Raise a family? Attend some of those wee posh galas and gift money to worthy causes? That sort o’ thing?”

“Something like that, yes.” Claire sobbed, accepting the tissue Glenna held out to her as she moved to kneel by her side now where Claire had slumped back in her chair. “But I’m still the same headstrong girl I grew into, Glenna...and I still want to go to university. I just don’t know how to broach the topic. It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Nay, lass. It doesna.” Glenna answered. Her natural motherly warmth seeped into her words, even when they were firm and it made Claire think of her own mum. “I think what ye need is a healthy dose of bravery, aye? Fortune favours the bold; so they say. Ye can truly be that lassie again. Ye just need to take yer first steps. Get yer arse through the door!” She continued with a certain kind of clout that Claire recognised.

Drawing her brows together, Claire took Glenna’s hand in her own and held on for dear life before whispering an answer to her incredibly impassioned reply. “B-but Glenna,” she stuttered and stopped, her heart beating a mile a minute as she asked an unanswerable (and partially indecipherable) question, “which door?”