#the whole point of this fic is that its about arthur being forced to consider what he does after Not Dying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xmalereader · 5 years

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Tommy Shelby X Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

@faire-semblant-dange

Request: pls pls pls can we get a tommy shelby and male reader fic?? hes like a huge comfort character for me and ive been having like some super bad depression recently. it would mean so much to have a comforting tommy fic to read or smth, but pls dont stress if you cant do it ;; i rlly look forward to hearing your response !

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, slight kissing

The weeks have been colder and winter was slowly approaching. Y/n had been spending his time taking care of Charlie while tommy was out doing some business with some other mobs or with his brothers. He usually stayed out of sight since none of Tommy’s family know that they are together. Yes, they know who he is but they don’t know that they have been dating this whole time.

After being together for almost three years and in secret, y/n has been a second father to Charlie and had been visiting more often to the point that tommy had offered him a room of his own. He knew that y/n wanted to take there relationship slow since he wasn’t used to the whole guy on guy thing quiet yet. They took there time together but as the years went by he was able to share a bed with tommy now.

Y/n knew the dangerous things that tommy did and he didn’t mind it. He couldn’t force tommy to stop doing something that he sort of liked doing. He wasn’t like that, he’s usually staying out of tommy’s way when he’s up to something dangerous.

The cold winter days are usually spent with him indoors with Charlie and and visiting the stables, he helps charlie feed the horses and make sure that they have enough water and food before tommy sent them off to the races. He would sometimes stay longer and clean up their areas so that they had would have a clean space, he cared a lot for the horses that he would do anything for them.

Charlie smiles softly as he watched y/n clean the horses pelt with a brush as he hums a song to himself. “Y/n, you sing very nicely.” Charlie blurts out from his spot that he was standing on. Y/n froze and blushed under his coat as he turns to Charlie and smiled. “Thank you Charlie but I’m not a good singer, I just like to hum to music that I like.” He answers back as he shoveled up the mud that was created inside the stables and dumps it into a bucket and wipes his sweat. Charlie only tilts his head in questioning, “But I’ve heard you sing to father once, I think he was feeling ill that day and you went into his office to cheer him up with a song.”

Y/n knows what Charlie was talking about.

That day, tommy came home all beaten up that he could even breath. Y/n remembers dragging tommy to his office and closing the door as he lied him down on the couch. He would check his wounds and place some bandages on him as he tried to fix him up but tommy kept fusing and moving around. Saying, how he didn’t have time to get fixed up but y/n could only glare and shout at him to hold still and to let him place the bandages on him.

Tommy did’t refuse after that, not when y/n had yelled at him that harshly and he knew not to mess with y/n when he’s helping.

Y/n would rub the blood off his scars and sing to tommy, he knew that it was a girly thing to do but his own mother would always sing to him when he was either upset or ill so y/n did the same thing for tommy when he would go through a hard time. He would sing a soft song in German.

Once y/n had finished with bandages he noticed how tommy had fallen asleep to the tone of his voice.

That was a month ago.

“It’s a lullaby that I like to sing.” Y/n answers to Charlie as he smiled and hears the sound of a car approaching their home. He looks up with a frown to see Tommy stumbling out of the car and slamming the door. He looked frightened and pale. y/n took this as a bad sign and hands Charlie the shovel. “Charlie think you can finish cleaning up for me? I’m going to go check up on your father.” He takes his gloves off and leaves charlie to finish up as he heads back home.

“Y/N?!”

He hears shouting from inside the house as he enters the place with a frown, he hears his yelling and shouting as one of the maids tries to calm him down. “Mr. Shelby!” The maid says out in shock as she watched him slam doors, searching for y/n.

“What’s going on?” Y/n asks as they maid gasps in shock and lets out a breath of relief. “Mr. Shelby is looking for you sir, and it doesn’t look quiet happy.” She responds as y/n frowns. “Don’t worry I can handle this, do me a favor and check up on Charlie, he’s outside in the stables and taking care of the horses.” He instructs as he watched her scurry off. Y/n turns back to face the stairway only to see Tommy at the top, panting as he grips the railing. “Tommy, what has gotten into you? The maids are frightened what happened?” He asks as he walks up the stairs to face tommy.

“They know...” he breaths out as y/n stops.

“Know what?”

“My family, my brothers, aunt Polly, they know about us.”

Y/n’s eyes widen as he stared at tommy, not because he was afraid but because he knew that this was Tommy’s biggest fear. He knew that tommy feared about his family finding out about them since he was considered the leader of the family and they looked up to him, he’s seen it with his own eyes. He’s seen the way that everyone looks at tommy; compasssion, leadership, a man with a plan.

But today tommy didn’t have a plan.

He was scared and feared of losing y/n forever, for the first time in his life he’s been happy. He was happy to come home to see y/n with a bright smile on his face and together with charlie. He always brightened his day.

“Y/n what...what do I do..?” He pants out as y/n steps up to wrap him in a hug, he could only hold tommy close as he whispered soft words in his ear. He pulls him down to the floor where he could hold him better. He gently ran his fingers through his hair and sighs. “tommy breath...” He instructs as he kissed the top if his head, “you need to calm down, don’t worry...” he continued to whisper as he allowed tommy to relax against him and hold his free hand.

“Tommy...look at me.” Y/n lifts tommy’s head up but he refused to look at his partner. “Thomas look at me.” He uses his full name this time as Thomas finally looks up come face to face with y/n. “Now you listen to me.” He begins to say.

“No matter what happens or what they say, I am always going to stick with you. It doesn’t matter if they look down to me. But reamember this, you, Thomas Shelby, will always be the man that I know. You have done so much for me tommy, you’ve given me a home, a family, happiness and love.” He continues on as tommy lets out a shuddering breath. “I will stick with you tommy because from what I know, you would do the same for me.”

Tommy could only chuckle softly as he was finally relaxing. “Remember when I was going through a hard time too? I was lonely and depressed, didn’t have the energy to even work and kept myself Locked up in my room.” He began to remind him as he leans back against the wall with tommys back against his chest. “You came to me and forced me out of bed and forced me to at least eat something...After that you remained in bed with me for the whole day and even if something important came up you would send Arthur to do the job for you. I really appreciated that, and in return I want to do the same thing.”

Y/n smiled at he looks down at Thomas to see him looking back at him. Y/n could only giggle as he leans down to kiss him on the lips. Smiling against them as he softly mumbles. “Guess its time to meet the family properly correct?” He asks as tommy smiled back. “To hell with what they say, even if they are me family. I am willing to do anything for you.” He mumbled back against his lips.

Y/n nods, I’d do the same thing for you.”

The two stayed leaning against each other for the rest of the night, talking softly and exchanging encouraging words. They even had the maid bring there food to the stairway as they ate in happiness and quietly.

(( I just noticed that it was suppposed to be the reader getting comfort from tommy and instead wrote it the other way around so I’m sorry if it’s something that you didn’t ask for! ))

#male reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x male reader #thomas shelby #male x male #peaky blinders x male reader #imagine

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thetimelesscycle · 4 years

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Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 9

The Guardians of Arcadia grapple with the loss of yet another Master Wizard.

Zoe and Claire hatch a new plan.

A/N: I return!

A week later than I had planned, but I digress.

Turns out I spent my holiday actually working on some of my original pieces, which means this little project got set aside in favour of works that have been neglected for far longer. I intend to try and keep working on those stories going forward, so updates for this fic may not be quite as regular.

We'll still get there in the end, though. ;-)

Enjoy, TTC

Chapter 9

For Want of a Wizard

Like all wizards, Claire had been born with her abilities. They had always been a part of her; A silent power thrumming beneath the surface without her ever having been aware of it. It was strange to think that, were it not for Jim becoming the Trollhunter and pulling her into the wonderful world of trolls and magic, she might never have realised what she was capable of. She had pulled off her fair share of miracles since then, and it hadn’t even been a full year since the first time she’d used the Shadow Staff. Part of that was definitely luck — she’d been given a headstart thanks to Morgana’s attempt to steal her body, and the Shadow Staff itself had seemed to guide her in its own way long before that — but the rest had all been instinctual. Magic just felt right in the same way that being on stage had always come naturally to her, though it wasn’t until she met Douxie and the hedge wizards of HexTech that she realised how rare that kind of intuitive casting was.

All of them were her seniors in age and experience to varying degrees, though Zoe and Douxie easily outstripped their peers on both counts. She’d been given the impression when she asked that there was an unhappy reason so few wizards of their generation were still wandering the world today. She hadn’t asked again, more than capable of filling in the blanks even without a front row seat to history, and not wanting to waste what precious little of Douxie’s time she was able to claim for herself.

It was a calculated risk, making the trip between Arcadia and the Master Wizard’s new hideout, even infrequently and via the Shadow Realm. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been given much of a choice. The Arcane Order was still at large and Claire needed training beyond that which a hedge wizard could provide; Even a centuries old, very skilled hedge wizard. Douxie might not have been able to use Shadow Magic himself, but he’d learned the majority of his own skill the same way she had — through a sometimes painful process of trial and error — and was more than capable of steering her away from what might cause trouble. He was also an adept translator of the book she had taken from Morgana’s rooms, and she went to him for explanations even after he and Zoe had each set time aside to help her learn to read the tome’s contents herself. She found it easier to follow his directions than try and comprehend the words on the page, and with time set firmly against them the sooner she could learn to do more than open portals and create illusions the better.

Technically speaking, she had done more than that when she had fought to save Jim, but it had all been wild, desperate, and exhausting. She needed to learn how to do those things deliberately, and without pouring more of her energy into each spell than she could safely get away with. It was frustratingly difficult sometimes, even with Douxie’s relentless encouragement and stout belief that she was capable of anything she put her mind to. He’d laughed when she’d admitted as much, freely pointing out she’d picked up a whole lot considering she hadn’t yet had her magic for a fraction of the time Morgana had. She’d wanted to argue, not because she didn’t think he was being honest, but because for a moment her mind had completely tripped over the short passage of time that had passed since this whole adventure started.

They had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time. The Eternal Night. Gunmar. Morgana. The search for the new Heartstone. The return of the Arcane Order. Jim and Toby had been at it only a few months longer than she had, yet, somehow, between them they had been involved in saving the world no less than three times. Surely, surely those adventures could not have taken place over a single year. But they had, and Douxie’s gentle amusement at her impatience had reminded her that her chosen teacher had spent nine centuries learning his craft and had still only just earned his staff.

That had put things into perspective.

So had watching Arcadia burn.

She was not a stranger to battle anymore. Even if she didn’t count the various, small skirmishes she’d taken part in there had been the Eternal Night and the Battle of Killahead Bridge to introduce her to the horrors of this millennia long war. Young though she might be, she knew what it was to stare death in the face. To stand on a pitched battlefield knowing you were outnumbered and outmatched and choosing to fight anyway. But even Gunmar had only wanted to conquer the human world — the Arcane Order wanted to burn it all to the ground — and it was there, standing in the midst of the calamity they had caused, that she most keenly felt her lack of experience.

Even without the soulless husk of Arthur to support them, the Arcane Order had them outmatched. They weren’t invincible — Deya had landed a hit on Bellroc at Killahead, and apparently caused some serious damage — but they had replaced their lost pawns with an army formed of what seemed to be every magical creature they could hold beneath their sway. She didn’t even recognise all of those swarming the streets, despite the hours she had spent pouring over Blinky’s bestiaries. There were shadow mephets, nyarlagroths, goblins, and hellheetis alongside countless others. She thought she saw a gruesome briefly out of the corner of her eye, and the stars above were blotted out by the winged outline of at least three stalklings.

It was madness, utter and complete, made all the worse by the innocent bystanders caught in the midst of it all. The three of them had been given the unenviable task of rescuing as many people from the heart of the battlefield as they could. Claire’s shadow portals were the only reliable way to transport people safely in and out, with neither the airship nor the Hextech wizards able to risk getting close to the Arcane Order themselves. That was Douxie’s role, and Claire hadn’t been able to argue when he declined her offer for assistance. Her skills were needed elsewhere, and she’d already tested her strength against the Orders and been found wanting. Douxie had promised he would manage. He’d smiled and gripped her shoulder and she’d let him walk away like a fool.

“Claire?”

The sky was spinning above her, half obscured by smoke as her mind wandered in aimless recollections, dredging up recriminations for a mistake she did not yet realise she had made.

“Claire! Wake up!”

The smoke burned the back of her throat as she unwittingly inhaled it. There was a ringing in her ears, loud and distracting and muffling Jim’s voice as he shook her urgently.

“Are you alright? Claire?”

“I’m fine,” she said, or thought she said. Her own voice sounded like a whisper, her hearing still as distorted as her vision. She coughed, her bruised sides protesting the motion, her lungs screaming for fresh air. “I’m fine. What—”

If Jim answered her she didn’t catch his reply, but he did help her off her back into a sitting position. His face was blackened with soot and streaked with blood from a dozen small cuts. No doubt she looked just as battered. Judging by the rubble surrounding them, half a building had come down with Bellroc’s last fireball. Still dizzy, she leaned against Jim a moment, trying to get her bearings, trying to gather her wits because now was not the time to lose focus.

The ringing in her ears was fading, replaced by what sounded like screams. Not sounded like, she realised, was. The smoke had parted behind them, so that when she and Jim whirled to face the source of that dreadful sound they were both given a clear view of the battlefield once more. Of her teacher — her friend —on his knees at the Arcane Order’s mercy.

“No!”

‘Magic is emotion’, Douxie had told her, something she had always known but never fully understood. Not until she was forced to embrace her fear or be rendered helpless once again. It wasn’t fear she was feeling when she staggered upright, bleeding and still choking on smoke; It was absolute, white-hot fury, and her magic reacted accordingly. The shadows took on a will of their own as soon as they left her hand, the energy torn from her fingers to join the violent maelstrom their battle had created. What she had meant to be an escape route turned instead into a whirlpool of darkness that dragged anyone and anything in the vicinity into its heart.

It should have calmed once they reached the other side, like diving beneath the surface of a pool in the middle of a storm. Unfortunately, she had unwittingly brought the Arcane Order along for the ride, and found herself emerging into chaos. Magic roared around her; Raw, unbridled, and dangerous. She couldn’t see anything, the clashing forces spinning her in circles and blinding her to both friend and foe. She could hear screams, voices she recognised, and a slow, swelling chant that settled sinisterly at the back of her mind, reeking of ill intent.

It was terrifying, but so was everything else they had faced today, and she wasn’t about to be the reason they didn’t make it out of this alive.

Giving up on righting herself, ignoring the chips of ice slicing through bare skin and the flames nipping at the edges of her hair, she let the whirlwind carry her where it would, pouring all of her focus, all of her energy, into locating her friends. She wasn’t Nari, she couldn’t simply sense the soul of any living thing, but she could picture the one’s she cared about clearly in her mind, imagine the shadows wrapping about them all in a protective blanket, and yank them to safety.

The landing was rough. They emerged from too high and crashed against the floor in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Claire had the breath knocked out of her when Krel landed on her back, a stream of what she was fairly certain were Akaridion curse words falling from his lips as they disentangled. She paid no attention, crawling on hands and knees towards the two among them who weren’t moving. Archie was closer, and she paused beside the small dragon, fingers seeking and finding the shard of ice that had felled him. She could feel the dark magic that infused it, an enchantment too complex for her to try and dispel on her own. She tugged the shard free instead, her fear easing a little when it did not resist, and watched with bated breath as the frost that had spread from its impact slowly began to melt. Archie’s wing twitched as the invisible layer crumbled away, and she nearly choked on her relief, hastily shoving the familiar into Jim’s arms as she turned to Douxie.

“Teach?”

He’d fallen face down without making any attempt to catch himself. She could still hear the screams Bellroc had been ringing out of him when they’d done... whatever it was they’d done. With a shaking hand, she reached to turn him over. There was no resistance; He rolled limply onto his back, skin pallid and face still, blood streaking the side of his face from a nasty gash on his temple. His chest had been branded with a strange rune that looked like it had been burnt directly into his skin, still bright in places, like hot embers in a dying fire.

She placed her fingers at his throat, searching for some sign of life as she pleaded under her breath, “Come on, Doux. Don’t do this again.”

There was no pulse that she could find. She tried to convince herself not to panic. This had happened before and he’d been fine, despite the fact the fall alone should have killed him. She just had to trust he could do it again. A minute ticked by, and then another, agonisingly slow and all too fast at the same time.

“He’s breathing, right?” Toby was behind her, Jim on her other side, still carefully cradling Archie. “Tell me he’s breathing.”

“I don’t…” she moved her hand to his chest, careful of the brand as she felt for the rise and fall that would indicate life. “I don’t think he is.”

“I could not hold him.” It was a fragile whisper, and Claire looked up to find Nari crouched on Douxie’s other side, staring at her own hands as if they had betrayed her. “I could not... I was not strong enough.”

“What did they do?”

Nari startled, lowering her hands as she lifted her eyes to meet Claire’s frantic gaze. “They have destroyed his soul. I tried to stop the spell, to hold him together, but I could not... I could not...”

“No.” She shook her head, denial rising. “No. There has to be a way to fix this. I can—”

“Guys!” The exasperated shout came from the other end of the dark cavern. Claire looked up to see Steve running towards them, Blinky a stride behind. “What is taking so long? We gotta move!”

The gyres. Of course. Their escape route. Their means of ferrying an entire town of people out of danger as quickly as possible. It had been her job to get everyone here safely, and she had failed.

“Great Gronka Morka!” Blinky had reached them, shoving his way through the circle they had unwittingly formed. “What happened?”

“No time for that,” Jim interrupted, moving Archie’s weight to one arm so he could reach down and pull Claire to her feet. “Steve’s right. We’ve got to move before the Order realises where we’ve gone.”

“But—!”

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised, stepping aside to let AAARRRGGHH!!! collect their fallen friend. “Just not here. Come on.”

Stumbling, she let herself be pulled along. The battle had exhausted them all, she could see it in the faces of those running alongside her, but they couldn’t stop yet. Douxie had been clear on that. They needed to get out and away, or the Order would just keep on coming. If they could. She didn’t know if Skrael or Bellroc could control the Shadow Realm now that Morgana was gone. No doubt they were powerful enough to find a way even if the magic was not in their repertoire, but leaving them trapped within its boundaries might buy a little more time.

Jim was leaning on her almost as much as she was leaning on him when they reached the gyre, his stamina not what it had once been as a half troll. Their sorry group piled on one after the other as Blinky wrestled with the controls. AAARRRGGHH!!! braced himself in the corner as they took off, cradling Douxie’s limp form gently to his chest. Claire found herself watching him as she swayed back and forth with the gyre’s sharp turns, still waiting on a miracle that wasn’t coming. Nari huddled at the large troll’s feet, her arms wrapped around herself as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked devastated; Claire hadn’t yet moved past numb.

The station was crowded when they arrived, filled to overflowing with frightened Arcadians and equally unsettled trolls. These people had faced the Eternal Night and Alien invasion, only to be left shell shocked by an ancient order of wizards marching in without warning to burn their town to the ground. She could hear Dictatious shouting somewhere amidst the crowd, trying to ferry people to where they were meant to be as if he could actually see what was going on. Her parents were somewhere in that mess, as was her brother. Douxie had been adamant they get their families to safety before joining the fight. He’d sworn he could handle the Order for as long as they needed.

He’d lied.

The guilt was an old companion, a heavy weight bearing down on her shoulders as she disembarked. They drew attention. Human or troll, people knew Jim, and AAARRRGGHH!!! was much too large to pass unnoticed. Even if very few of those present knew who Douxie really was, they seemed to recognise that something terrible had happened. The crowd parted without prompting to let them pass, battered bodies shuffling out of the way and then watching them hasten by with curious eyes.

All except one.

“Zoe...”

Claire trailed off before she had even begun, the words dying on her tongue. The hedge wizard had clearly raced to reach them, her chest still heaving from the dead sprint she had just stumbled out of, dust in her hair and rips in her shirt that had not been there the last time they had spoken. There was a wild look in her eyes that had nothing to do with her battle-worn state, and Claire stepped aside, tugging Jim with her, as Zoe staggered forward. Static energy crackled behind her as she walked right up to AAARRRGGHH!!! and his precious burden, the large troll crouching lower to allow her near.

Without missing a beat, she leant across Douxie’s prone form to grab a hold of his singed shirt. “Hisirdoux Casperan, you are not going to pull this nonsense on me again!”

The answer was, predictably, silence. Zoe waited a beat longer, then her eyes flashed down to the burning rune. “What is this?”

“The Arcane Order…” Nari answered meekly. “Bellroc turned his soul to ashes.”

Zoe went a shade paler, her voice sharpening to a verbal razor. “His soul?”

“I tried to stop them.” There was an apology and regret both in those words. “I failed. I am sorry.”

“No.” Zoe’s hand turned into a fist, Douxie shirt still clutched within her fingers. “No, that’s not good enough. I haven’t spent centuries helping Archie keep this idiot alive for it to end like this. You were a part of the Order, you must know a way to fix this. They brought Morgana back. Twice.”

“Morgana’s soul was still intact,” Nari explained, shrinking a little more with each word. “Even if I could still sense his spirit on this plane, I cannot complete the ritual alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Claire interrupted, earning the attention of both her fellow spellcasters. “You have us, Nari, there must be something we can do.” The tiny sorceress looked up at her helplessly, her lips parted without words, and Claire felt her own determination wavering. “Please.”

“Come.” Laying a supportive hand on hers and Jim’s shoulders, Blinky started them moving again. “We should find somewhere quieter to discuss this.”

Suddenly hyper aware of all the eyes on them, Claire let herself be led, finding and grasping Jim’s hand tightly in her own. They left the crowded chamber, passing by the glowing doorway where the new Heartstone rested; A triumph she had all but forgotten in the wake of all that had followed. Holding aside a thick curtain of fabric, Blinky ushered them all within the comparative privacy of his new library, then hastened to clear room on the table for AAARRRGGHH!!! to set their fallen comrade down.

The large troll did so with care, folding Douxie’s hands across his stomach. It reminded Claire entirely too much of Merlin’s tomb, and she tore her gaze away to watch Jim settle Archie into place beside his wizard. The familiar was still under the influence of whatever dark magic had been locked within that icy shard, though the paralysis seemed to have eased somewhat, his eyes no longer staring blankly into the distance. He still wasn’t conscious, and Claire thought that was probably a mercy right now.

“What the hell happened out there?” Zoe was still choosing anger over any of the other emotions she might be feeling, standing rigid with her arms folded as she searched the faces of those gathered in the room.

“We were too slow.” Jim spoke, and Claire tried not to flinch. She had been too slow. If she had been able to evacuate the town faster, Douxie wouldn’t have been trapped facing the Order alone. They’d been overrun, yes, by mephits and stalklings and all manner of dark creatures, but that was no excuse. She should have found a way. “Skrael hit Archie, and then...”

He trailed off. Scowling, Zoe moved to check the familiar herself, Nari clambering up to perch atop the table beside Douxie’s head as she did so. The small sorceress reached out as though intending to touch him, only to snatch her hand back at the last second with a guilty flinch. “This is my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault.” There were tears pricking at the corner of her eyes; She refused to let them fall. “The Arcane Order did this, and we are going to make sure they don’t get away with it.”

She didn’t care how. Enough was enough. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else to these monsters. Never, ever again.

“He can’t be dead.” She hadn’t realised Steve had followed them until he started speaking. “Don’t wizards like, turn to ash or something when they die?”

“That would require his soul departing to the next realm.” Blinky, one of only three in the room with the authority to comment, offered his knowledge. “Without that, I fear our wizard friend may remain like this forever.”

“What? Really?” Steve blinked, giving their fallen friend a sidelong look. “That’s… that’s just creepy.”

“One of the many mysteries of magic,” Blinky shrugged, turning to Jim. “I must go and make sure everyone is getting settled in alright. You’ll call, if you need anything?”

“Of course.” Jim nodded. “Can you let mom know we’re here?”

“Right away, Master Jim.” Blinky bustled out, AAARRRGGHH!!! shuffling behind him, and the room was plunged back into a heavy silence.

“What about Archie?” Claire couldn’t stand it, and spoke in spite of her shaking voice, “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know what this enchantment is,” Zoe admitted, running her hands over the familiar with a gentle care that was at odds with the fury still radiating off her. “Curses aren’t exactly my specialty, but one of the others might be able to help.”

“I will go ask.” As eager as any of them to have something to do, Krel bolted from the room.

“And Douxie?” Toby pressed. “Is there some sort of wizard guidebook on soul reconstruction too? Some sort of relic we need to find? Some spooky, dark lair we’ve gotta sneak inside? Oh, oh! Maybe Gatto has something that would help?”

“Nari?” Claire kept her eyes on the forest guardian, the only one among them who had any true understanding of the magic that had been used here. “How do we fix this?”

“I know of no magic capable of restoring a soul once it has been destroyed.” Nari shook her head, her own gaze fixated on the unmoving wizard in their midst. “There are spells, rituals that might help if a fragment had survived, but I cannot sense any part of Douxie still with us.”

“You couldn’t sense Jim either,” Claire reminded her. “But he was still there, in the Shadow Realm.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start.” Zoe made a decision, stepping away from the table to stand closer to Claire. “We are not letting it end like this.”

“You can’t go alone.” Not about to be left out, Jim added, “The Order might still be there.”

“You stuck the Arcane Order in the Shadow Realm?” Zoe gave her a look that was equal parts bemused and impressed. “Douxie really has been training you, hasn’t he? You’ll have to ask him about that nyarlagroth he stuck in Limbo one day.”

“I will,” she promised, holding that fragile thread of hope for all it was worth. “As soon as we get him back.”

#Tales of Arcadia Fanfiction #TOA Wizards #TOA Zoe #Claire Nunez #Jim Lake Jr #Toby Domzalski #TOA Archie #Hisirdoux Casperan #blinkous galadrigal #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #We fudge the scenes I don't want to write because why not #Nobody is here for the actual plot anyway.

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 4 years

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You’re a WHAT

Kanene’s Notes:

I’m weak for carzy scenarios and glitter, so BOOOM!! Why don’t get these two things together??? :D)/ This fic marks the end of my break, I will be (trying to) going back to my old projects and probably won’t be writing for some weeks kjnhgfvghjkjhg. Wish me luck! <33

This wasn’t suppose to take so much to be written but I lost my PC and life got in the way :v Buuuut! I manage to finish it and I already count this as a victory! xP

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Remy and Roman. They’re friendos yay :3. Oh, and this is pretty crazy. Context: The morning after Black Friday when you’re grumpy and wanting to kick the society in the face. A LOT of swearing, Patton does not approve.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 2.900 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Try and have fun with new hobbies, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman thought himself as a really lucky human being. Unbelievable lucky.

It wasn't due to the apartment where he currently lived - Too much dull for his personal taste and space, getting even smaller from the day he admitted a messy, sassy and with sleep problems roommate, since Roman just started his musical career and couldn't afford an own house yet. - or the fact that was finally able to pursue his dream after years and years of just picturing, painting this moment on his future, only to find out his fantastic breathtaking and incredible goals weren’t nearly close of the cold reality, at least for now (Who would know that, after umpteenth days of hard studying and training he would need years and years of experience in order to even START wondering in get out of his partial-time job on that Electronic Store) or any other reason someone would be able to consider himself a receptacle of pure, brute luck, enlightened by the spotlights of the good, pleasant destiny...

... Or at least the most pleasant it could be in the horrible and exhaustive middle of the night after a whole day filled with his attempts to survive and treat respectfully the unmerciful, dirty jungle that humanity was at Black Friday. Something around fifteen hours working with massive hordes of unscrupulous zombies starved for a sale and able to even kill and die (more likely the first option) to get what they want and with souls (if they still got one) free of any slight sight of education, patience and morals to be inserted in a society which, as it seemed, was equally rotten as them. View point only proved as Roman was obligated to be working after his shift to "clean all the mess" - more like hide the bodies of exhausted warriors after such bloody battle. – the store because those sons of a...

"... Bitch, YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!!" The poor, frustrated employed shouted to nowhere specific, his face turning towards the sky, seeking in some way to show his all his hate to the cinematography - because this was too much coincidence to NOT be part of a movie or some random fanfic on the black hole that was internet - rain falling at full force leading the weather to became even more freezing as soaked them both with its cool, thick drops.

Anyway, what he was daydreaming about?

"Roman." Oh, yeah, the reason why he viewed himself as a truly lucky person. "My gurl, if you try to impersonate a fucking, dramatic, bitch crow in my ear even again, I swear in the name of my life juice bean that I'm going to KILL you with my bare hands and these sunglasses."

At least his best friend since, honestly, diapers, who coincidentally was his roommate and even more coincidentally, his coworker was just screwed as Roman himself. Which automatically made the duo less screwed, however equally pissed off, something that neither of them discovered if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

"Fuck you, Remy" Roman whispered between an tired yawn, too much tired to even think about some nickname or to put real heat in his words as he got instinctively closer to the other, the one called taking off his jacket and lazily throwing it over their heads, doing his best to cover they both with the small available black leathered fabric, the act intertwined with grumpy grumbling and motions which would probably slap Roman's face if he wasn't careful. "I'm the one who buys your coffee."

"Having my incredible, unique personality in your life should be motivation enough for you to buy me the entire Starbucks Company, be glad I'm weak to your cute face and am going easy on ya."

" 'Cute'? Excuse me, I'm the most handsome, hottest and fabulous man you will ever met in your lowly life, mortal."

Remy snorted at this "Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe, but if it's going to be like that your ego soon will have to pay his part at the rent."

"Well, this 'ego' here was the only thing between your highness and jail after stopping you from committing all those murders today."

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't use my contacts to hide the evidences." Their tune were already completely sleepy, bodies instinctively leaning onto each other as the words stumbled, mixed and almost lost themselves in the soundly wind as slipped from their lips. Roman just laughed.

"Well, if by ‘contacts’ mean 'Virgil' good luck getting him out of his bed on his free day. You would became the fucking new King Arthur." Roman rubbed his eyes, trying to physically force his eyelashes to not close, a new yawn finding its way to his mouth. He didn't even know about what they were talking anymore.

"I roll the dice to cast Badass Nerd Bitch."

“Logan??”

“He likes to study nature stuff, especially at night, I’m sure he already knows some good spots to hide bodies. Glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“Glasses.”

“OMG, the anime character with glasses.” Roman stopped, his mouth wide open as if all the secrets of the universe had been revealed to him.

“Exactly.” Remy extended each syllable, grinning smugly.

“I’ve never-“

“THIS IS A ROBERY!!”

The sentence, which appeared to came out from nowhere, cut the air in a harsh, sharp tune, breaking the barriers and tying them up in the same place in a frozen position and wide eyes staring astonished the hooded form and their unreadable features under the bad illumination of the light poles helped by the increased storm. The wind trespassed them, stirring their clothes and making the muscles shake both of the alone employees in the middle of a dark, empty street at the dawn, even if the dangerously shiny knife directed towards their direction still in a hatred silence.

“My.” Roman knew he probably should be afraid, the freezing feeling running across his veins and frightening his brain and actions as infected his words in an unspeakable terror impossible to ignore nor escape. “fucking.” However, the only thing that slipped through his next was the purest, deepest, truest... “ASS.” Indignation.

Roman thought about a lot of things. He thought about running away, grabbing Remy’s arm and sprinting across the street, about scream in the top of his lungs the waterfall of swearing already racing half way to his throat and even about kicking the knife out of the other’s hands and then kicking him - with a couple of cool moves he saw in some actions films - together with their frecking audacity to try to rob him of all the people in the world. Roman, who asked himself if he would have enough money to eat in the next week with a concerning frequency, who wondered if this is the life he will have until the end of his existence, if he will ever be able to accomplish his dreams.

His gaze changed to Remy, who was paralyzed, trembling between the poor light of the street and the massive rain. Roman swallowed. Everything was in his hands.

For a piece of Roman felt the strange urge to spill to the figure before him the story of his life, all his tries, all his battles, his everyday fights to make his dreams real. Blow by blow. Day by day. A life destined to go after everything he wished to himself, everything he wanted to life, to experience, to savor, to do everything in his hands to ignore and one day maybe, hopefully forget all the ghosts - these ones always accompanied by those emotionless, sharp whispers - asking, doubting nonstop if he ever would be able to do all of this, if he was doing the rights thing, if it was really worth all of it.

However, before the first word even slipped of Roman’s tongue or his mind came fully back to Earth, Remy was already positioning himself strategically between the robber and his friend, the currently only one with the leather jacket falling on his shoulders. However, Remy didn’t seem nearly soaked as he should be, and for a heartbeat, the same one which Remy moved his hands to his jeans’ pocket, his fingers touching and firmly holding something there, Roman could swear that the unexpectedly shiver running across his spine wasn’t due the cold wind.

Nor the sentence hurled in the clouds.

“You know what?? Fuck it.”

And then he unsheathed his magic wand.

Roman loved with the entirety of his heart all kind of magic, he could easily spend an entire afternoon (which he already had, by the way) listing his favorites movies, musicals and stories with that theme. That also could be easily said by the thousands and thousands of worlds, universes and lifes he invented – in and out of his head - about the subject trough his childhood and handful of teenage years, random ideas and inspirations appearing and dancing in his mind until nowadays. If that only wasn’t enough to convince someone then the umpteenth memories of mornings and afternoons bathed in the smell of books, rocked by the calm silene of the public library as he turned one more page, his back lightly aching by the bad position assumed behind the shelters, in a place he strategically found and claimed as his own Bridge to Terabithia, enjoying every moment as if nothing else mattered. Perhaps you wouldn’t even need to swim in such deep, ancient waters to find out his love, since at least fifty percent of his day was dedicated to shout, hummer or murmur Disney songs.

However, as rays of pure energy - shiny and kind of glittery one - involved and swirled from Remy’s, who now was floating a few centimeters above the ground, wand in stripes that got lighter and lighter, begging to spin faster around the aforementioned, creating a spere of a power stunning and big enough to stop the rain in the corner.

The silence resulting from the lack of the storm didn’t had the opportunity to fill the moment, being obligated to give its space to a soft, intense melody whispered in their ears. The notes standing some more moments in the air, the beating following the changes in the shadowed figure inside the spere. Hesitations taking over the loud, quick heartbeats when the song finally stopped.

The power’s spere finally exploded, the impact leading to an unbelief and intensive force push both human meters away.

“Get. Out.” Remy’s tune still the same, his form – Now adorned by a gleaming crop top, his fluttering skirt over shorts floating in synchrony with the veils which surrounded his clothes and wrapping his arms, the ending spreading in the air as a bunch of angry powered and fancy snakes. - even with the new vestments full of glitter (this probably would be a hell to get off, later) still the same, his gaze, powerful – a new meaning pouring from this word – strong, still the same. But yet…

Yet his wide eyed, heart hammering in his chest friend since he could remember found himself struggling to connect the same Remy who he had known – if he could still say that? - all his life with the same being who gleamed dangerously before him.

The magic wand danced in a quick flick and a trash can came of what seemed nowhere to hit the wobbled and absolutely terrified robber, who fell with a soft thumph in the ground, unconscious.

“-man, Roman!!! Don’t just stay standing there like a tree, help me here, gurl!” Suddenly the called snapped from his own sea of thoughts, submerging and astonished blinking in Remy’s direction. The rain started to fell on them again, and when their eyes met, when Roman saw the same guy who spent afternoons climbing trees and pretending they were knights and dragons attacking or saving the world, when he recalled the silent sleepovers where they just sat near of each other enjoying the mutual company, the grumpy mornings in their apartment, the comfort hugs, the looks full of words, the smiles filled with meaning, the friendship stuffed with so many, many memories...

Nostalgia. The feeling that everything was changed albeit something… something important always stayed. Roman felt, truly felt it and fixed his glare into that brilliant – quite literally - glare adorned with a ‘I’m about to punch your cocky face if you keep fucking narrating every freaking second of your life, ya bitch’ he realized...

It was Remy.

He took a deep breath, moving closer and gradually relaxing as the aforementioned focused in trying to lift the guy, swearing more frequently than raindrops fell from the sky.

“Remy?”

“Yeah?”

“First crush.”

The other stopped, frowning confused. Roman didn’t quiver, feeling he deserved some sort of answer. At least about this. “What?”

“My first crush. Who?”

“Kovu.” Remy maybe was a bit cold hearted, maybe he wasn’t the best with human interactions or knew exactly what Roman wanted with that… but he knew Roman enough to realize this was important. Essentially when the said seemed to relax, his form untensing itself and being allowed to get closer of the magic being.

“Okay. Okay, okay…” Roman took a deep breath, grounding himself. Their gaze met, his next words coming a little calmer. “Okay.”

“Please don’t make me sing that serenate you made for him. I’m gonna fucking quit.”

“Oh, shut up!! Our first love is something special, mister I-Can’t-Choose-Between-The-Beast-And-The-Beauty.”

Remy decided to ignore the words, slightly lowing his sunglasses with his special Judgmental ‘Bold of you to assume I have enough shame to be mocked’ Look. Roman just flipped in his direction, taking advantage that the other’s hands were occupied.

It was still Remy, with a whole more of style and glitter – Why are there so much glitter here?? - but it was just Remy. Like just any other day.

Before he even realized, Roman was already at his friend’s - and as it seems a magical being - side, helping him to carry the robber’s body to somewhere dry so he wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

“Why don’t you- Ouch!! My feet, dammit!” His breaths came out as puffs, the effort leading to his already exhausted muscles only protest even more and very much probably curse him later with sore movements for the audacity to transport anything heavier than a pen. “Why don’t you use your... Wizard magic or something to carry him??”

“Oh. My. Gosh. Roman, you are sooo intelligent, why aren’t you in Harvard? Ow! Ow! Ow!!” Remy’s sarcasm was cut when the other kicked, or did his best to with their actual position, him in protest. “Homophobic.” He exhaled a mix of irritation and a snort, receiving a playful punch in his arm by their inside joke. “I’m your Fairy Godmother, brainless. Unless it was you laid in this stupid, cold ground I can’t use my magic anymore... Except if this is someone of your family but I doubt-”

“Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!!! YOU ARE MY FAIRY GODM-”

“No, no way, nope, we are NOT having this conversation right now.” Remy, the Fairy Godmother let go of the unconscious body in a way that probably will make the guy wake up sore, perhaps with a concussion even, directing his index finger in Roman’s direction in a deep, determined stare full of darkness and things that Roman could swear would make Remy be expelled from the group of Friendly Fairy GodmotherS or whatever... thing he was inserted. “Let me tell you what we are doing right now: We are going to home, change our clothes then I’m getting coffee and you will get sleep so I don’t have to face nor care about the freak consequences of my damn actions.”

...

“That...” Roman stop, as if was considering his next words. Remy’s face just scrunched in a bigger, firmer frown. “That would be hella scary if you didn’t look like someone who just stole a store of glitter and got attacked by the gay, glitterly, shiny fairies who protected the place.”

“Go fuck yourself. I’m locking you outside when we get there.”

“Noo, please don’t! My evil stepmother didn’t let me go to the prince castle and now I need help! Crying emoji, crying emoji.” Roman mocked, imitating sad sobs and sniffles as quick his pace to follow the other, who flipped him.

“I’m this far from knock you out with my magical wand and then you will see who is the evil stepmother.” His wand gleamed in warning, the red color getting mixed and trembled by the fast movements of his veils, one of them getting dangerously next to Roman’s face, who cleverly got silent for some heartbeats, the sound of the rain slowly calming their heartbeats and rocking them, the tiredness gaining the space which, piece by piece, was being unhanded by their adrenaline.

They arrived home, both still quiet, feeling free as a relieved sign left their lips. Remy threw his soaked jacket in some dark corner, the bed being the only thing which was allowed to take over all his thoughts and will.

An awed gasp echoed behind him and he immediately regretted his move.

“YOU HAVE WINGS????”

Before his eyelashes closed, the shiny of the wand disappearing gradually as an ungodly amount of sleepiness gained complete control over his body, relaxing each one of his fibers and as a warm, magic good feeling fills every single cell in his being, Roman wondered if ‘Fuck it’ was the name of Remy’s spell.

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darkmindsotome · 4 years

Text

Risque Rouge pt15

Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 15

As plans went this had been perfect. It was an accident that could have happened at any time and in any part of the city. He was lucky to already know exactly where he could find a coach without its driver, all he needed was the perfect moment. Everything was arranged and it would have been considered simple bad luck that someone should be fatally crushed under the sheer force of the runaway horse dragging its carriage. It would have worked, should have worked.

Latour looked at the failure of what should have been a gloriously devastating demise. His eyes burned with hatred as he watched the female interact with the two men from his hiding place.

“Curses!” He hissed as his fist pounded the wall of the building before, he spun on his heel snarling as he walked away.

---

This had to be an out of the frying pan into the fire moment. Evie watched the two men in a silent standoff feeling completely useless. It was true she had run and she was scared. Yes, Comte had been part of the reason for that but he hadn’t hurt her. She did wonder about his approach when they were at the café but not once in all the times, they had been together, was he anything less than pleasant and kind.

Evie was more than aware he had every right to be upset with her right now. Acting the way she had must have truly hurt him. She saw the pained look in his eyes when she reflexively slapped his hand away. There was more there though, he had a melancholy look that was complete forgiveness. It was as if he would accept anything no matter how much it hurt him as long as it was what she wished. It hurt.

While her chest constricted in the grip of a coiling serpent intent on crushing her the man blocking her spoke.

“What sneaky games are you trying to play with this girl? Are you not entertained enough?” There was a tangible threat from the man shielding her from Comte. He was speaking without formality which could have meant he didn’t care to be polite to a potential menace but the fact Comte called him by name must mean they knew each other.

“I am not playing games, sneaky or otherwise. Genevieve is my charge and in my care.” Comte was smiling that same smile he had on his face when talking to Arthur.

“Then why was she so terrified of you just now?” Napoleon moved slightly and Evie had visions of this entire situation going bad fast. She didn’t know if Comte was aware of the look on his own face or if it was a miscalculation on his part because right now it was more taunting than intimidating. For all the mistakes made so far, she didn’t wish to have one result in a fight in front of her. She broke free of the human barrier, with pain lancing up her leg and placed herself between the two men.

“Please stop.” She gave a quick glance to Comte over her shoulder before turning to Napoleon. “Thank you, Monsieur, you rescued me.”

To say Comte was stunned would have been a very accurate description right now. This woman really did seem to swing on a pendulum to the point where she was hard to predict. He thought he had scared her and she would not go anywhere near him so why was she standing as if to protect him now?

“I only did what anyone would do.” Napoleon seemed to be equally perplexed looking at the sudden change in the woman who was basically a trembling mess only minutes before. His green eyes looked behind her quizzically towards Comte who didn’t know what to say.

He had felt and still did feel terrible for how he handled everything back at the café. Hindsight has a way of making every situation seem like a bad move and he already was well aware even without the help of reflection that his approach was a terrible choice.

“No, you did more because you were the one to risk yourself on my foolishness.” Evie lowered her head the trembling in her body was still very likely to make a repeat appearance but right now she was determined to make sure nothing else happened. “What this man says is true. I am in his care, he is my sponsor. It was true I was careless and running but…”

“Evie.” Comte’s voice was quiet. His eyes fell on the back of her lowered head in awe.

She was hurt she had been scared and still suffering the aftermath of everything that had been said and done. He could feel it, he felt her swirling emotions as strongly as if they were his own, the pain in her taking grip on his own body. Still, she was trying to smooth over a situation that was nowhere near as drastic as she thought it was. A wry smile formed on his face and his expression softened as he watched her. She was stronger than she knew and so beautiful. Napoleon didn’t miss the subtle interaction and looked at the young woman in front of him as if he just remembered something.

“So, you are the Mademoiselle from the mansion?”

“You know me?” Evie looked up her emerald eyes finding his clear jade green ones.

There really was something about this man, it was different from Comte and also different when compared to the other soldier in the mansion. It was a quiet dominance that gave subliminal weight to anything he did, even standing still talking with him projected the idea you were talking to a born leader.

“Of you. Sebastian informed me of a new guest and said that they were a lady.” The air around Napoleon felt much friendlier as it seemed the misunderstanding from before had all but been forgotten. Evie looked back at Comte. He said he would tell the rest of the guests himself, not that she wanted to pry into why Sebastian had been the one to inform this man instead.

There was obviously a little tension between the two men, it wasn’t bad, but it was certainly one that came from a place of respect rather than blind trust. It was very hard to explain and she didn’t even understand how she could feel something so slight from people she had just met.

Uncle had always said she was very sensitive and observant but this was more, it was a feeling that she instinctively didn’t question. People talk about intuition but that had always seemed a little off to her. Even with a strong intuition it was easy to second guess and lose yourself. This was a profound sensation and it was strange because it felt a lot like being more than one person at once in her own body.

“Genevieve this is Napoleon, he is also a guest of mine.” Comte issued the late introduction after the conversation finally seemed to allow for it.

“Is there anyone in Paris who is not a guest of yours?” Evie’s question was out long before her good sense could talk her out of it. Her eyes went saucer round and she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Erm…”

By this point, Comte was used to her little outbursts. Whilst they still had a tendency to catch him off guard, he was inclined to look upon her fondly rather than feel the desire to chastise her. Besides judging by her reaction and the way she was currently looking she was giving herself a much harsher lecture than he could. While Comte and Evie were looking at each other a loud eruption of laughter burst forth from Napoleon.

“Pff -- Bwahaha!”

“I’m sorry.” Evie muttered her apology flinching when Comte placed a hand on her shoulder. Noticing her reaction, he retracted his hand. The brief touch of warmth he felt freezing over as he felt the penalty strike him as he feared it would if he hurt her. He tried to ignore the way that information sat like a steel weight in his chest. Convincing himself he should be content with simply watching her.

“No don’t be I – hahaha – I’m glad to see the shock didn’t do any damage to your body or conviction. Haha pardon. I like how honest you are.” Napoleon was struggling to stop himself from continuing his peel of laughter his shoulders were still shaking as he tried to stifle it and speak.

“If we are finished here, I think it would be best to return home.” Comte interjected which seemed to help Napoleon gather enough power to get his laughter under control.

“Home?” Evie asked curiously before taking an interest in the people around them. The gathering of onlookers was a little smaller but she was very aware that even if they had returned to their previous tasks they were still glancing in her direction.

Still, when Comte said home he meant the mansion and there was a feeling of chilling dread that filled her chest as she thought of that. Could she go back there and cheat what she feared most in her mind? Would she avoid being the source of someone else’s pain or would she fail and have another torment to add to her collection?

“Yes, we need to tend to that ankle of yours.” Comte drew a little closer, sensing of her rising anxiety.

He wanted to take her hand as he had always done but she recoiled at his touch and he did not wish to be an added source of her discomforts. He hoped that his words could be enough reassurance to her and she would choose to come back. He tried to ignore the selfish desire he had to be alone with her once more. He wanted to apologise properly and allow for dialogue to once more be open between them. He knew how detrimental the passage of time could be as it passed by removing the opportunity to speak freely. The only survivor of the situation being the air of extreme awkwardness that hung like a cloud.

“I don’t really…” Evie hesitated and winced again the pain in her ankle silencing her.

Napoleon hadn’t pushed for details and he was not stupid enough to get in the middle of a lover’s quarrel. He could see the concern in Comte’s eyes as he watched the young girl with black hair. He had seen similar looks in the eyes of men on the battlefield. It was a look of understanding your fate is in the hands of another and acceptance that their actions would define the world to come.

The woman was curious, it wasn’t that he was immune to her charms he felt them keenly drawing him in. It made him instinctively wish to help her. It was strange and he had felt something similar when he had experienced meeting Comte for the first time. He took a certain level of pride in being a good judge of character and he found her to be interesting, honest and trustworthy.

“I’ll join you as well as I was on my way back anyway.” Napoleon spoke up in response to the idea of returning. He had been on his way back anyway so it was of little concern to him if he travelled alone or with companionship. If his presence meant that the young lady should feel more settled than if she were to travel with only le Comte for company then he considered it his duty to do at least that much.

“Did you not ride into town?” Comte enquired feeling a deflated sensation taking hold of him.

“Not today.” Napoleon didn’t seem to care or notice the shadows crossing the amber eyes of the pure blood Count. He did, however, slip his arm around the waist of the injured girl. He did it in such a way that it was completely natural, a silent declaration of the fact this is where it should be. Evie could not find the words to protest and found her weight naturally leaning on the strong arm around her as Napoleon guided her towards the carriages.

Comte knew it was to support her and help her. He knew it was a purely platonic motion and there was nothing meaningful about it. Logically he knew all this and still a dark whisper in his mind had him questioning every small glance and muscle twitch between the two now walking in front of him.

“Well isn’t that splendid?”

---

“So, it failed.” Amos sat mulling over the ill-fated news as he watched the foam dissolve on the head of beer in his glass.

“Yes. There was interference and the female found protection at the most inconvenient time.” Latour had appeared like a tempest and was working his anger out on a bowl of nuts crushing the shells in his bare hands, placing their contents to the side. He didn’t really like nuts, he didn’t really enjoy any human food anymore. It was all ash in his mouth.

Blood was all he craved to slate his thirst and fill his belly. Alcohol provided a change in pace, whilst providing natural cover from the passing observer. Cigarettes helped keep him busy, it was a throwback to his time as a human. Watching the curling smoke from the lit shredded tobacco, how it filled his lungs. It helped him focus, it helped him think and it blocked out some of the atrocious scents of the cattle around him.

“Not by the Reo’s doing?” Amos asked watching the bowl of mixed nuts grow empty. He was a little pleased that his disciple had learnt to vent his anger in a way that drew less attention to him. He remembered how troublesome it had been in previous years during training when he had been forced to keep a tight leash on him or risk exposure.

“No, it was another. One from the mansion although they are not part of the familia.” Latour reached a particularly stubborn walnut and after squeezing it towards its obliteration he finally seemed to relax.

“Did they suspect foul play?” Amos drank the dregs of his pint and scooped up a handful of the freshly shelled nuts on the table.

“No, My Lord” Latour confirmed what was possibly the only saving grace of the misadventure. Failure was not an option Latour knew it would spell the end of everything for him. His master had no use for tools that could not fulfil a task.

“Good, then there is still a chance we can approach the matter again.” Amos smiled the lamplight caught the very tip of his exposed fangs before he expertly moved his head playing it off as a trick of the light for anyone who might have seen it.

“What would you have me do?”

---

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ladykateofledfordpark · 5 years

Text

In the Coffin (Parker x MC)

OMG this fic is so angsty. XD

Basically I wrote two fics, for both of the possible endings in ILB: the good ending, where Harper survives; and the bad ending, where Harper is murdered.

This is the fic for the bad ending. You can check the one for the good ending here.

Well, Mar (@brightpinkpeppercorn ), hope you enjoy this one. XD

@nitta-jaeguet Hope this is what you were looking for! =)

And to all my other friends- @choices-fam @pbmychoices @mariaoz -can't wait to hear what you think!

Notes:

I wrote here all the characters as surviving in order to explore how each one will react to Harper's murder. That's why Parker, Tom, Imogen and Danni are here as well as Elliot and Arthur.

This turned out too long so I divided it into two seperate posts. XD

Pairings: This doesn't touch romance too much, considering Harper is dead, but this scenario takes place with the Parker x MC pairing. It doesn't make much of a difference to the plot, though.

Summary: After Harper disappears, Parker and the rest of the gang head out to search for her. Once they find her, though, things become much more complicated.

Warnings (in case it wasn't clear): Violence, talk about death and murder.

Words: 2,750-ish

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

It was early morning when Tom ran into the police station, a frantic look to his face. He ignored the surprised police officers, heading straight to Parker's office.

He entered hurriedly, his breaths erratic. Parker watched him, a questioning look to his face. Tom opened his mouth, knowing that the following words may ruin Parker's life.

But he had no choice.

He swallowed, his eyes betraying exactly how worried he was. "I don't know where Harper is. Elliot called. She's gone."

Parker's face whitened. "What do you mean?" A million thoughts raced through his head. His shaking hands desperately gripped the table, as if it could save him from his crumbling world.

No. It couldn't be. Not Harper. Not the girl who, less than a day ago, promised him the world.

Tom's voice wobbled. He shifted uneasily, his charming smile now forgotten. "We don't know. Elliot tried to contact her, but he found her phone on the floor, its glass screen broken. The kitchen was a mess, and there were signs of a struggle. The only clue we have to her whereabouts is a puddle of water, but that could've come from anything."

"What about Danni or Imogen?" Parker knew that by now he was clutching by straws, but he couldn't give up. Not yet.

Tom shook his head, and Parker's heart stopped. It couldn't be. It couldn't.

"The worst part is…" Tom paused, not daring to meet his eyes, "Harper would never just disappear like that."

Parker clenched his jaw against the uncoming tears. He remembered how, in one of his first conversations with Harper, he told her that he could never imagine being in Ned's place. But now… he worried he might be.

It was impossible to imagine a world without Harper. Ever since they met, she was his anchor, and she was hers. Maybe it started with the mystery of Pine Springs, but soon Parker found himself waking up every morning to the thought of seeing Harper. She was the girl who turned his life around, the girl who helped him find who he really was. After Abe's death shrouded his life in darkness, she became his light.

Harper had to be alive. Parker just needed to find her.

He pressed on the intercom. Immediately his secretary answered, but this time there was no time for pleasantries.

"Taylor? Assemble the forces, and send a search party for Harper Vance. Search the whole town and the lake. Leave no stone unturned."

"Yes, sir."

Parker backed into his chair and closed his eyes. They had to find her. They had to.

****

Once the search started, Parker, Tom, Imogen and Danni split up. Parker and Danni searched every alcove of Pine Springs, while Tom and Imogen scoured the sea. Elliot and Arthur joined the search, their worry turning into determination.

Parker didn't know how long it was before Tom called. By then he and Danni already finished looking through the town, but they kept searching nonetheless. Who knew if they missed something?

"What is it?" Parker inquired.

Tom hesitated. In the background Parker heard Imogen's voice, but he couldn't make out the sounds. "We think that we found her."

Parker ignored Danni's expectant look. "Where? Is she okay?"

Tom whispered a few hurried words to Imogen, before turning back to the phone. "We'll meet you at the station."

Before Parker could react, Tom hung up the phone. He stared at it, an unbidden feeling of dread crawling up on him. Was Imogen... sobbing?

"Well?" Danni asked. Her arms were crossed, her gaze prodding, but there was an unbidden sense of urgency about her.

Parker gulped. "They found her."

"And? Is she okay?"

He looked back at his phone, not capable of meeting Danni's gaze. "I don't know."

Her frown deepened, but she didn't offer any input.

The walk back was silent. Parker's heart sunk so low it nearly drowned, its frantic beating its last attempt at survival. He didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was- he hoped it proved he had nothing to worry about.

Tom met them at the entrance to the police station, his slim frame blocking the wide doors. Danni pushed him aside, her strides long and determined, when his voice froze her in her tracks. "Don't. Harper… she isn't there."

Danni looked between him and the police station, her eyes as frantic as ever. "What do you mean-"

Tom didn't meet their gaze, his body rigid and cold. "This way."

He led them past the front of the building and to the back, pausing at the vast entrance. "She's here."

Parker stopped in his tracks. Danni glanced at him, desperation clouding her voice. "Parker… what is this place?"

He couldn't answer. His throat clogged up, his heart drowning at the unbidden knowledge.

Tom forced the words himself. "It's the morgue."

Danni's face whitened, her plea now clear as day. "Tom… please tell me..."

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back and walked through the front doors. Danni rushed after him, leaving a forlorn Parker trailing the two.

The morgue was always heartless and cruel. It was a place of death: its cold seeped through any who walked in, different shades of gray the only color to find. Stepping into it was never easy, but now it was nearly impossible. And yet Parker had to take these cruel steps.

Elliot, Arthur, and Imogen didn't glance at them as the doors opened. The only sound in the room was their crying, and now… Parker's footsteps joined the chorus.

Danni rushed to the large wooden box at the middle of the room. She froze once she reached it, her determination giving way to shock. "No…"

Harper lay inside there, her eyes closed and her beautiful curls coated in dry blood. The remaining signs of water were tinged red, the color growing darker the more blood seeped out. It was impossible to tell what killed her first: the sharp nail at the back of her neck or the water that once reached the very top of the coffin.

From the corner of his eye, Parker saw Tom hurrying to a sniffling Imogen. His warm hands held her to him, his voice soothing and gentle. Imogen didn't object, but held onto him as if her life depended on it.

Elliot and Arthur stood far away from the others. Elliot was sobbing uncontrollably while Arthur listened quietly, his back shaking with the effort of holding back his own sorrow.

"Grandpa, why did it have to be Harper? After Mom and Dad, she was the only-"

Elliot's crying intensified as Arthur pulled him closer. "I know, son."

Elliot sniffed. "Harper never left me. She wouldn't leave now, either. Do you think maybe she'll come back? Like Grandma Josephine did?" His voice was nearly hopeful, gripping desperately for any way out.

"Maybe she will?" Imogen sniffed.

Tom bit his lip. "Genny.."

Danni didn't meet any of their gazes, her attention still focused on Harper's cold body. Her fists were clenched, and her voice shook. "She's dead."

The room was utterly silent. But then Elliot pushed aside Arthur's hold, his forceful steps heading towards Danni. "Harper isn't dead! She'll come back!"

Danni pointed at Harper, her face on the verge of breaking. "Do you even see her, Elliot? She's as dead as dead can be."

Elliot stopped next to the coffin, an his face now as blank as ever. He studied Harper, his eyes searching, before turning his back on them all. "I need air."

He didn't wait for an answer. His needy body ran toward freedom, but from what it was hard to determine. Elliot couldn't stay anymore in this awful place, and neither could Parker.

But neither could he leave.

Arthur sighed as the doors closed behind his grandson. "I better follow him. He shouldn't be alone right now."

Once the Vances left, no one dared speak a word. Tom was hugging Imogen, warm tears filling his eyes. Danni still stood by the coffin, her jaw set against the onslaught of tears.

And Parker just felt… empty.

"Danni, you shouldn't have said that." Parker said, his words breaking the spell.

Danni gaped at him, before the familiar anger arose in her. "You talking to me, boy scout? I just told the truth. Harper-" her voice cracked, "will never come back to us."

"Don't say that!" Imogen cried. "She can come back. She will."

"But-"

"If Elliot said she could, she will."

Finally, Parker's patience broke. Every second he stood there was torture. The smell of rotting meet, the haunting sight of Harper's body, the constant sound of her name…

He couldn't take it anymore. His heart could only break so many times.

He didn't notice he was already walking, but soon enough his hand was already on the door's cold handle. Parker ignored the others' silent gazes. The door opened, the cold air a welcome retreat from the stale air inside.

"I'll be back soon." He had no choice.

His body led him to the dock, the last place that was solely theirs. Parker stopped, watching the lapping waves- more at peace now that their bloodlust was finally satisfied. The colors he once saw were no more, now dull and colorless.

A cold breeze blew, its touch eery and strange. It was almost as if Harper's ghost hugged him, urging Parker to move on and overcome also this death.

But he couldn't. He became a cop to protect people, but how could he do that if he couldn't protect even the ones closest to him?

He took a deep breath. The air was saltier than normal, but not salty enough. The water, or maybe even The Power, shared in his grief, but nothing could equal the salty taste of his tears.

He hated this cruel world. This place that stole everything from him.

For a moment, Parker wished he had Josephine's powers. He wanted revenge on this horrible place, needed to unleash the crazy mix of emotions he felt.

But then he remembered all the lives the ghost took, their bloody corpses etched in his mind, and he sobered up. This wasn't the way.

Parker sighed. This place held so many wonderful memories, but all of them were overshadowed by the last moments of Lake Day. He still saw Harper's beautiful smile, her eyes shining in the light of the sun. The way she looked at him then, right before he tried to kiss her, would always be etched in his memory. He never saw someone looking at him with so much affection, so much love. Even then he knew that she was the most important person in his life.

And now she was gone.

--------

The second part is up! You can find it here.

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kbstories · 6 years

Text

Uhhh so... RDR2, huh? I’m very excited about Charles. Here’s a fic.

Only Lost The Night

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Violence, Choking, Cowboys being SOFT

Minor spoilers for Chapter 3, specifically the mission “Magicians for Sport”.

>>Read on AO3

>>Second Chapter

Arthur Morgan is no stranger to sudden, violent escalation.

One moment, you're quietly observing golden beams of light spill over the far horizon as the sun rises from her slumber; the next, you're pushing your horse to the limit, chasing your own shadow across the plains, with gun fire behind and a long run ahead. It turns out shit creek is very much a real place – and whoever holds the universe's reins loves to send Arthur up all the way, no paddle, not even a damn boat in sight.

Which is why, when rough hands tear him off his saddle and his neck burns under the coarse scrape of a rope, he's not exactly shocked. Surprised, yes – even after the week he's had, it'd take a stone-cold, dead heart for it not to skip a beat or three – and yet.

Yet, Arthur clings to the ever-tightening noose, to that crucial inch of space he pried free with bruising fingers and the fractions of a breath he can draw, blinks past the black spots in his vision and catches sight of worn blue–

Suddenly, the sounds of a world gone dim return in an overwhelming rush, and Arthur holds his throat, gulps in precious air through the mix of pain and hazy panic clouding his brain.

“Arthur? Hey, hey, easy. It's me.”

Charles, Arthur recognizes, deliriously; without conscious thought, his body slumps, almost limp in the grip of strong, steady hands and a touch grown so familiar over the past months.

“That's it, breathe. You with me?”

“Yeah”, he says– wants to say, but the word rattles between his lungs and his mouth and loses its vowels. Fuck, his neck hurts. Still: Arthur meets the calm steel in Charles' gaze, and the ghost of a smile on the other's lips sets Arthur's rabbiting heart at ease more than he cares to admit.

It seems like mere moments later that Charles slides his arms under Arthur's and pulls – “Come on, up you go. Trelawny's waiting” – and Arthur sways, near-drunk with vertigo. He swallows in a failed attempt to wet his scratchy throat.

“'m up, 'm up.”

Once his legs are somewhat firm and less akin to a young colt's, Arthur kicks his downed assailant in the face, taking some satisfaction in the dry snap of bones under his boot. “Fucker got m'good”, he spits. The hot flare of anger in his stomach momentarily distracts him from his woozy mind.

Behind him, Charles is dusting off a hat against his thigh. Holding it out to Arthur with a mumbled “here”, he shrugs. “Happens to the best of us. I'm just glad I got to you in time.”

A little smug, and touched by fondness. Arthur hums a grateful tune and pulls the brim of his newly-regained hat lower, feeling less vulnerable in its shadow.

He should've realized, then and there, that a gesture of kindness is like pulling a trigger – it shifts the course of fate just so, and things will never be the same again.

Dying embers flutter into sparks at the touch of brittle wood. Arthur plants his ass on a pair of folded shirts and scoots as close as he dares to the meager flame flickering to life in the dark.

Around him, the camp breathes in loud snores and the snorts of grazing horses, falling into cadence with the chirp chirp of the first stubborn crickets – a comforting song reaching decades back and, usually, it guides Arthur back to sleep better than any lullaby he knows.

Usually, his neck doesn't hurt like a motherfucker, and things as basic as eating and drinking and breathing come easy. Usually.

With the tip of his boot, he pushes the log further into the smoldering coals, silently willing it to catch properly. Even this far south, the winter's chill still clings to the early morning hours. “Fuck off”, he grumbles quietly, and squints up at the moon as if she's to blame for any of this.

He didn't think of putting on a jacket, or even bringing his sorry excuse of a blanket. Arthur sighs, deeply.

“Might want to consider lightening up a little. You're starting to look more miserable than Swanson.”

A warm weight lands on Arthur's lap. Sheepskin, fleece intact and clean. Arthur huffs, “Don't think that's possible”, and ignores the sting in his throat. He draws the pelt around his shoulders, nodding once at the outline of Charles in the faint firelight.

“Thanks.”

“That's more like it.”

“Also, bite me.”

“You're welcome.”

Arthur meets Charles' raised eyebrow with a small smirk and pats the tree stump beside him. While he gets comfortable, Arthur throws another scrap of wood into the fire, and watches it glow bright with heat for a while. Finally, the tell-tale crackling gains strength, and smoke starts rising in an uneven haze. Arthur tries not to cough, fails, grimaces as it pulls at the sore muscles of his neck.

"This whole gettin' choked to death business? 's really no fun–"

The brush of careful fingers against his jaw is unexpected and anticipated at the same time, like the logical solution to a puzzle left unsolved for too long. Before he's fully aware of it, Arthur trails off, holding his breath, holding utterly still to stop himself from leaning into it.

Charles draws back a little. He rumbles, “Let me see?”, voice low. Hesitant, for the first time since they've met.

Arthur opens his mouth, 's not that bad, the words are on his tongue. He clenches his jaw shut, tilts his head back, and hopes the dark will hide how fast his pulse is going.

Charles' touch is feather-light, barely putting pressure on the bruised and swollen mess that is his throat. Arthur tenses regardless, the burst of pain and sudden realization of oh fuck, this is how I die too fresh on his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at Charles' deepening frown.

“Hurts?”

“Not... Earlier, yeah. Been better. 's okay now.”

“Earlier?”

Charles leans closer, thumb moving below his adam's apple. Arthur's breaths grow shallower, physically forcing himself not to swallow. “Uh”, he tries to round up his scattering thoughts. “Tried to eat. Bad idea.”

“Mh.” The searching prodding smooths out to gentle strokes, up and down the delicate skin over his pulse point. Arthur's eyes go half-lidded, his hands limp in his lap. “Not the worst you've had, though.”

There it is again, that wry fondness that Arthur has started, to crave in the lost hours of the night when his tent feels too cold and his cot too empty. Something in the back of his mind is trying to remind him why indulging... this – whatever simmers between them, has been simmering since the very beginning – is not good.

It's getting harder and harder to pay attention to it, though.

Arthur hums, a soft sound just between them; he reaches for Charles' hand, flattening the other's palm against his neck, and the quiet thrum of pain lingering there relents to his warmth.

"Maybe”, Arthur admits, a hopeful whisper in the dark.

>>Read on AO3

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #charles smith #charthur #y'all i'm hooked #dunno yet if i'll write more hhh i'm like 30% thru the game #i just... wanted to share some love for charles because damn #we stan one boy #my stuff #rdr fanfiction #RDR

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real-life-sucks-ass · 7 years

Text

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

*All answers should be about works published in 2017.

I’ve been tagged by @inrainbowz! Thanks for giving me an occasion to blab about my writing to the world :D

1. List of works published this year:

So, according to AO3 I wrote 224132 words in 2017. But tbh I’ve not been very productive, I only wrote a few chapters for two WIP (still unfinished) and a single one-shot. The rest is the exact same stuff, but translated into english. Take a look:

One Video Man (One Vidéo Man in french): This is a Youtube!AU fic for the One Punch Man fandom. I had this stupid idea about a AU where everyone is human, in our world, and every character runs a Youtube channel. That’s all. I just describe videos so the reader feels like they’re watching this on Youtube. I have no plan, no scenario, no nothing. But the thing is, I encourage my readers to post fake Youtube comments for the characters to answer, and to give me some ideas about what should happen next and what kind of video I should write. So yeah, it’s kind of a fun experience, and I like trying new stuff and interact with my readers (I did something a bit like this for a spn fic a few years ago). But I’m so slow at updating, my readers are dying with frustration lol.

Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french): This is a BBC Merlin fic, and actually it is a sequel for my fic Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah I have yet to translate into english. It can be read separately, though. It is a resurrection fic in Arthur’s point of view. He comes back to life in our world today and realize he’s lost his kingdom, his wife, everything, and Merlin looks like an old man and is obviously not so happy about his return. I wanted them to struggle to get their relation back. I wanted Arthur to feel lost and alone. This fic is filled with angst and is merthur. I still have about 5 chapters to write & translate to complete it.

A cheap spell (Un sort au rabais in french): I wrote this short Merthur OS just for funsies and I also made a drawing here. Basically Arthur went missing and everyone is worried sick (especially Merlin) and looking for him everywhere... but Arthur is right there under their noses, only turned into a toad and frustrated because no one recognizes him. Well it’s not much, but it was fun to write.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Definitely Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french). You have no idea. This fic is my precious, my everything. I’m pouring my whole soul in it. I could talk about it all day. This is the fic that made me want to get better in english just so I could translate it at some point.

Why? Because CloudFactory and I have been thinking about it for years before I even started writing it. I do all the writing, but we made out the story together, we thought every little detail through, and she’s my betareader both in french and in english. Because we worked hard to get the characterization right. Because I had been dying to read a resurrection fic in which Merlin has been deeply changed by centuries of living in a changing world, so I decided to write it myself. I wanted a Merlin who went through some rough stuff that had nothing to do with Arthur at all. I wanted a Merlin living like an hermit, but not because he’s waiting for Arthur to return, but for a totally different reason. Because I wanted Arthur to grieve for Camelot, for Gwen, for his past life. Because I wanted Arthur to return for a very serious reason, because Albion truly is in danger. Also, because dragons. In this fic, Merlin has a bunch of dragons, including a baby one, I love writing them.

So yeah, I’m so fucking proud of this fic and I will cry tears of pure joy once I complete it.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

Well I’m kinda proud of everything I wrote in 2017, but if I really have to pick one, I’d say A cheap spell (Un sort au rabais in french) because, well, I wrote it quickly and I felt the merthur was bit rushed and OOC. But that’s because I’m the kind of author who usually needs at least 10 chapters to bring some romance, so... Also, writing crack is fun, but I’m way better at writing angst.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing: Okay so I’ll follow @inrainbowz‘s example and show one in french first, then one in english. But only for my fic Albion’s last bulwark (Le dernier rempart d’Albion in french), because yup, I’m really really proud of it.

Voilà un petit extrait en français, du dernier chapitre en date pour Le dernier rempart d’Albion :

- Et nous nous sommes rencontrés ?

Freya esquissa un pâle sourire qu’Arthur n’aurait su qualifier d’amusé ou triste.

- Oui. Tu es celui qui m’as tuée.

Arthur eut une inspiration de surprise et ses yeux s’écarquillèrent.

- Quoi ?

- Laisse-moi te rafraîchir la mémoire…

Lorsqu’une main creva la surface du lac, suivie d’un poignet gracile et d’un bras nu, Arthur se recula vivement et tomba assis, le souffle coupé. Le reflet de Freya soulevait la nappe d’eau et sa tête émergea à son tour, ses cheveux ruisselant sur son visage, ses épaules et sa poitrine à peine couvertes d’une robe en lambeaux. Le cœur battant à tout rompre, Arthur déglutit et s’efforça de rester calme et de ne pas dégainer Excalibur face à ce spectacle aussi terrifiant qu’époustouflant. Car ce corps qui avait surgi jusqu’à la taille et se penchait à présent sur lui la main tendue, il était translucide, uniquement composé d’eau.

And now another one, in english this time:

Merlin steadied his stance and turned a dark and hateful glare at Arthur. His cheeks seemed hollower and his cheekbones sharper now that he had turned back to his young self. The look on his face was frightening, full of rage.

"Merlin, pull yourself back together!" Arthur ordered, striding right to him. "Don't make me knock you out!"

There was a heavy aura surrounding Merlin when he raised an open hand toward Arthur.

Everything happened very fast. The shock wave that hit him threw him back with a staggering blow, tearing his feet away from the ground. He crashed into the glass doors, smashing them to pieces, and pain flared in his back. He might have lost consciousness for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the concrete strewn with sharp glass fragments and the wounds on his back had reopened, soaking his t-shirt with blood.

He cut his palms on the shards trying to get up, but he clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. There would be plenty of time to worry later about how dizzy he felt and his vision starting to blur. For now, the urgency was Merlin.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Okay so I had never once received a comment on AO3 for my fic Le dernier rempart d’Albion because well, french readers are pretty rare on this website and most of them prefer to read in english anyway. And when I started translating it into english, I got a very enthusiastic comment of someone who loved it. And she wanted to know what happened next so bad, she couldn’t wait for me to translate, so she went and read the next chapters in french, even though her french was rusty and she couldn’t understand everything. I had never been so happy reading a comment. That someone enjoyed the story so much they made the effort to read it in french... Yeah, this made my whole year :D And she still reads both the french version and english translation, waiting for each new chapter. Best reader ever. I love her. <3

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

From august to december, biggest writing block ever. I had no motivation, no inspiration, no energy and I think it had to do with work and real life being crazy, but also because CloudFactory was very busy, so I had no cheerleader to force me to write lol.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Probably ever character in One Video Man? I control nothing in this fic, I just get carried away by my readers’ ideas and the inspiration of the moment.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think I started to understand that I should not be so hard on myself. I’m a perfectionist, so sometimes it blocks my writing when I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself to get it perfect on the first draft. I think I made a lot of progress in descriptions too.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I hope I’ll be able to write faster and to stop procrastinating. I need to use less adjectives too.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

CloudFactory ( @less-life-and-more-dream ) and Jackallh ( @geek-trough-time-and-space ) are the best. I just have to chat with them about my fics, and yay! Ideas! Inspiration! Motivation! Also tumblr and the Merlin fandom inspire me every day new ideas :p

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

When Merlin brings Arthur in London, I used some real life experience, since I’ve been in London for my 30 years birthday with @less-life-and-more-dream, @geek-trough-time-and-space and @dupond-and-dupont. The fish n’ chips I described in the fic, also Hyde’s park and its geese, all came from my happy memories :D

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Don’t thrive for perfection. Just do your best, and even if you hate it, you can still edit later. You WILL get better by writing, it’s a slow process, but for this to happen you have to write.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

First, I have to complete Albion’s last bulwark and One Video Man, both in french and english. Also in a few months I’ll post my translation in english for Albion’s last bulwark’s prequel: Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah. Then, I plan to write a prequel to Le dernier souffle de Kilgharrah, about the days, months and years just after Arthur died. The whole story will be a trilogy in the end! :D

I consider taking back one of my old abandoned WIP too (I have a Supernatural fic and a Whitechapel ITV fic uncompleted), but I’m not sure I’ll have the time for it. I have AT LEAST three other Merlin fanfics I really reaaaaaally want to write.

14. Tag five writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read.

@creepywonderland-pony @dupond-and-dupont @andersandrew @istadris @always-keep-writing and whoever wants to do this!

#fanfiction #writing is hard #about me #bbc merlin #one punch man

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mandelene · 7 years

Text

Rereading my old fics and reviewing them so I can make my former self cry: Part 1

It’s the middle of the night and I should be sleeping, but I’ve decided to torture myself by reading some of my old fics that I haven’t looked at in years, and when I say old, I mean old. I want to do this for three reasons. Reason 1: To remind myself that even though it feels like I haven’t made any progress in my writing, I have. Reason 2: I like finding new ways to make myself cringe and stay grounded. Keeping it humble over here. Reason 3: To prove that no one becomes a good writer overnight. It takes practice. We’re all mediocre at first, and that’s okay. It’s part of the learning process.

So without further ado, let’s get into it. I dug up my very first Hetalia fanfic ever: “America and the Tale of the Banished Ice Cream.” I believe I had just turned 15 when I wrote this.

Strap yourselves in. This is gonna be a messy one. Okay, here goes.

AN: WARNING! Beware of extreme fluff and the melodramatic hysterias of a young teen.

Ugh, I’m so pretentious. I’m sorry, guys

Everyone had their fears. For some it was spiders, public speaking, or death, and for Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.

But if there was one thing in the entire universe that was almost as bad as ghosts, it was dentists.

Going to the dentist was as bad as being told that you could never eat jellybeans again. It was simply heartbreaking. A fat old man would stand before you and scold you for indulging in the world's sweet riches of chocolate, lollipops, cookies, and soda. It was enough to make anyone distraught, let alone Alfred Jones; the soon to be hero of the world.

Honestly, I’ll take a spoopy ghost over a dentist any day. Also, I don’t know why I wrote that first part in the past tense, as it suggests that people no longer have fears. “Everyone has their fears. For some, it’s spiders, public speaking, or death. For Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.” Makes more sense.

"Alfred!" Arthur called from the downstairs kitchen. "You have five minutes to come downstairs willfully and with gentlemanly dignity before I come up there and force you to comply."

Alfred grumbled some unfavorable words under his breath that would most certainly not be considered "gentlemanly".

Arthur, great parenting. Everyone knows threats always work when someone’s scared. 10/10

Of course, Alfred was a firm believer in the fact that this was all Arthur's fault. He was sure the man had hired these people to walk around and torture young teens like Alfred's innocent self. No one in their right mind would consider becoming a dentist voluntarily. Only sick people would choose to torture people for a living. No doubt they were all sadistic communists and-

"ALFRED," Arthur bellowed warningly, obviously becoming annoyed at the lack of movement taking place upstairs. "Time to go, young man!"

Alfred sighed in a very put-out way. There was still the small chance that he would be capable of guilt tripping Arthur into bringing him back home, or at least into taking him for some ice cream.

I’ve met a lot of communist dentists in my time, haven’t you? The adverb “warningly” is unnecessary as “bellowed” already gets that point across. Also, “bellowed” is kind of a cringey dialogue tag to use here, but okay. I can live with it.

Ah, ice cream. It was yet another wonderful indulgence that Alfred had been denied of lately after his last appointment to the dentist. Oh, pistachio, chocolate, strawberry, cookies and cream, rocky road, and even just plain vanilla. He missed them all so much. They had been very close friends indeed.

Needless to say, his last appointment hadn't gone too well, which was why he was making a return visit to the office today in order to get a cavity filled. Arthur had blown a fuse at the announcement of Alfred's lack of oral hygiene and tossed out all the foods in the house that could be remotely considered junk food. No more chocolate covered biscuits, barbeque chips, gummy bears, cotton candy, popcorn, and not even those "Jaffa Cakes" that Arthur had been rather fond of at one point. They were pretty gross, but still. The thought that he couldn't even have those was jarring news.

The pretentious tone here is killing me, but I like how I added a little background to Alfred’s last encounter with the dentist. That’s a sign I was thinking about putting things into context, which is great. Also, what are you talking about, 15-year-old Mandelene? Jaffa Cakes are god damned delicious.

He had protested, begged, and gotten down on his knees one day to plead his defense, but Arthur was having none of it, not until Alfred would learn to take better care of his teeth.

So, Alfred had set out on a mission after that. He made sure to floss after almost every meal, and brushed his teeth each morning and night, hoping against all odds that he would be granted the privilege of merely seeing his ice cream again along with its glorious icy bursts of flavors.

And thus, today became known as Alfred's Judgment Day. After getting this one, bastardly cavity filled, he might finally be set free into the beautiful world of candy once more.

However, he most definitely didn't enjoy the idea of some stranger prodding and poking at his teeth today, but he would do it for the sake of his ice cream. His blessed ice cream deserved it. He was more than determined to grit his teeth and pull through this horrible day with a proud sense of triumph. After all, he was the hero, and no damn dentist would strip that title away from him.

The diction in this whole section is over the top and tries too hard to have flair. There are also some problems with tense here, which is very common in writers who are just starting out.

"Alfred," Arthur growled, now standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. "Downstairs. Now. I've had enough of this ridiculousness."

Alfred tried not to whine, he really did, but Arthur had no idea how painful this entire experience had been as of late. He simply couldn't help releasing a small whimper of discontent upon his older brother's ears.

"I won't be falling for your sorry little pouts today, Alfred," Arthur stated resolutely. He gave his little colony a nudge to keep him moving down the stairs and out the front door.

I say “colony” in that last sentence, but this is supposed to be a human AU, so I’ve just mixed up my worlds.

Alfred dragged his feet to the car with no evidence of a smile plastered across his usually carefree and joyful demeanor. He grumpily plopped himself into the backseat, determined to remain discontent with Arthur's presence. He refused to sit up front next to the "git". What a jerk, and his ice cream had to be the one to suffer his wrath.

Arthur sighed exasperatedly as he drove down the road. "You know, I only want the best for you. I know your still upset that you can't have any candy, but your health is more important to me than that gunk you used to consume on a daily basis."

"It's not gunk! It's the savior of horrible tasting English food," Alfred countered, furious.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ENGLISH FOOD!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. His cooking skills (or lack of) were an extremely sensitive topic.

Okay, there are lots of problems here. First, the diction is over the top and unnecessarily flowery. “Demeanor” doesn’t really make sense at the end of the first sentence and should be replaced with “face.” My use of “git” here is just a blatant attempt to insert some stereotypical British slang to sound cool. “I know your still upset” should be “I know you’re still upset.” Also, “It’s the savior of horrible tasting English food” is a poorly written sentence, and a boy of Alfred’s age in this story would never say something like that, realistically speaking. The capital letters as Arthur gets frustrated are unnecessary. And Arthur, calm the hell down. You’re in the car with a child. Stomach the insult and be a responsible driver. It’s not that big of a deal.

"You wouldn't even let me have a scone, and you know how bad they are. You shoulda been happy that I even offered to try one!"

Arthur refused to respond to that comment. He swore under his breath and continued to drive, refusing to give in to the youngster's attempt at pity play.

"We're here," Arthur announced, pulling the car to a stop after a grueling amount of silence.

Alfred moodily stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the door closed, lagging behind his brother as they neared the dentist's office.

"Sit," Arthur ordered when they had entered the office. He walked up to the receptionist's desk to sign in while Alfred found a seat in the back, slumping down over his knees. This was so not cool. He didn't deserve this kind of endless punishment.

Arthur couldn't help, but feel a little sorry for the young colony as he approached his slouched form. The boy had been keeping up a grudge toward him ever since he had tossed out those horrendous snacks, and England missed the bright smile usually present on Alfred's face.

I’m mixing up my worlds again.

"Don't fret, lad," he soothed as he sat down next to the distressed teen. Alfred's leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, frightened at the type of torture the dentist would come up with this time.

"I don't wanna do this, Iggy," Alfred admitted sadly, a horribly adorable pout working its way onto the boy's face. His blue eyes retained the same puppy dog look ever since he had been told he was no longer allowed to eat his ice cream. The jellybeans and gummy bears were just the frosting on the cake. His ice cream had been the breaking point.

Arthur sighed once again and patted Alfred's shoulder, "I know, lad. It'll be alright though. Would you like me to come in with you?"

Alfred gave a pathetic nod.

Arthur couldn't help but smile, and ruffled the teen's hair affectionately. "Very well, then."

I can sympathize, Alfred. Dentists suck. Also, awww. This is where my descent into shameless fluff began, haha.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Alfred watched as various children entered the office and began playing with toy trucks.

"I'm the policeman!" the youngest boy of the group exclaimed, smashing his patrol car into the leg of an adjacent chair.

"Fine, I get to be the firefighter!" another boy called out, but just as he was about to pick up the truck, the first boy accidentally smashed his car into the other's finger. The effect was instantaneous, and the boy playing the firefighter burst into tears.

"I'm sorry!" the other cried out in apology.

Then, Alfred stood from his chair and put his hand on the crying boy's back. "Hey, firefighters don't cry. You're the hero! You have to get back up and keep fightin' the bad things that get in the way. You can't let anyone stop you!" Alfred encouraged, flashing the boy a cordial smile.

Arthur smirked at Alfred's need to implant his ideal values of courage and heroism at every possible opportunity.

A little preachy and unnecessary, but okay.

The boy stopped crying as hastily as he had started, and turned back to his game, renewed with a sense of strength and invincibility.

"Alfred Jones?" a nurse called.

Alfred groaned, but Arthur stood up beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to being the hero? I thought heroes didn't get scared," Arthur teased.

"Pft, who said I was scared?" Alfred said with feigned confidence. "Heroes aren't supposed to get cavities either," he mumbled as an after thought.

Arthur chuckled and guided Alfred down the hallway and into the empty room as directed by the nurse. There, Alfred took a seat in the rather comfortable looking torture chair, and watched helplessly as the nurse tied the paper bib around his neck. When she was finished, she smiled and said, "The doctor will be back in a moment," before walking out.

Afterthought is one word. Also, those torture chairs definitely aren’t comfortable. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t had her wisdom teeth yanked out yet, so her view of dentists is still idealistic. She’ll learn, don’t worry.

As she shut the wooden door behind her, Alfred got the sudden urge to jump up and run out.

"Not so fast," Arthur admonished, sensing Alfred's urgency to escape the scene. He stood in front of the door and tried to look as menacing as possible.

"Be a good patient, Alfred. Sit back and relax. Everything will be just fine."

"Iggy, can we come back another day? I'm really not feelin' so good right now," Alfred feigned a pained look.

"You look perfectly healthy to me," Arthur said firmly, but palmed Alfred's forehead anyway just to be on the safe side. "No fever. Now, sit down."

I’m gonna be nitpicky here, but I have a huge pet peeve about “Iggy” being a nickname for England. But first, let me address that I’ve mixed up my worlds yet again because England shouldn’t be England here, he should be Arthur, and when he’s Arthur, he can’t be Iggy. Second, “Iggy” only makes sense in the context of England’s Japanese name, so in a fic that’s been written in English, it seems very out of place.

Alfred grumbled unhappily again, hesitantly sitting back down on the edge of the chair. Arthur walked over and pushed gently on his chest to get him to lie down properly and took a peek at the instruments laid out on the adjacent tray resting on the table.

Arthur picked up the small drill and pointed it at Alfred. "Be a good boy, Alfred, or I just might have to drill all your teeth. MWAH HA HA HA!"

Alfred glared at his brother seriously. "That's not funny, Iggy."

"Stop calling me that."

Alfred ignored him, but couldn't stop his leg from bouncing even harder than before.

I actually like this little part here. It’s what distinguishes Arthur as being Alfred’s elder brother rather than his father, which is apparently what I was going for. The brotherly teasing develops their relationship.

Arthur frowned and walked around the chair, observing the various stickers and cartoons plastered on the walls in order to calm the children who came in here. After all, it was a pediatrician's office. He doubted Alfred could be comforted by the smiling dragon opposite him.

"Stop shaking, lad. I told you it would be alright. I was just joking before," Arthur tried to soothe, but he had never been an expert on this whole parenting ordeal. He stood behind the chair and rubbed the boy's head, then tickled his neck.

"Iggy, stop! Y'know I'm ticklish," Alfred fumed, but let out an involuntary giggle.

Abruptly, the dentist entered the room and shut the door behind him. Alfred just about jumped out of his boots, startled by the sudden intrusion. He shook Arthur's hand off of his head and gripped onto the armrests surrounding him for dear life.

I should have said pediatric dentistry office. Pediatrician suggests it’s a primary care doctor. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t gotten around to practicing her medical AU skills yet. Forgive her. Also, A+ to Arthur for trying.

"Ah, Alfred. How are you feeling today?" the dentist greeted.

"I'd feel better if I could have my ice cream," Alfred pouted, and Arthur shot him a look that plainly said "behave".

The dentist laughed, "You don't say? Well, then, let's see what's going with those sparkly whites of yours, hmm?"

He took a seat on the rolling stool next to Alfred and lowered the torture chair.

"Now, open wide," the dentist said gently.

Alfred thought he might literally be sick this time.

"Nnhmhm" he protested, shutting his mouth tightly.

"Alfred," Arthur scolded, "Don't cause the doctor any trouble."

The teen sighed a very long sigh, and parted his lips just a fraction.

"I know you can do better than that," Arthur urged.

Idk, Alfred. You should get out of there. This dentist seems like a creep.

"But Iggy-" he whined.

"No buts."

Alfred would do this. He would do it for his ice cream. Anything for ice cream. So, he accepted his fate and wore it proudly. He shrunk back and let out a small yelp when the sick tooth had first been picked at, but managed to squeeze his eyes shut and distract himself as the dentist performed the necessary evil.

He would never admit it, but he felt much better when Arthur grasped his hand midway through the procedure, giving him some encouragement to keep fighting for that ice cream.

Oh ho ho, he could almost taste it.

Cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, and butter pecan. Just a few more minutes of prodding. He could do this. He would do this.

No novocaine? Oh, god, Alfred. This dude doesn’t know how to put in a filling. How are you not screaming?

It felt like centuries, but at last the beloved words registered and resounded in his ears.

"All done!"

Alfred hopped out of his seat, released Iggy's hand and fought to remove the paper bib from his neck. In the end, Arthur had to help him eradicate the atrocious thing, but as soon as he was free, he stormed out the door and nearly skipped into the waiting room.

The receptionist smiled and asked, "Would you like a lollipop?"

Alfred turned around and was relieved to see that Arthur had stayed behind to talk with the dentist.

"Hell yeah!" Alfred practically cheered, tearing the cherry lollipop's wrapper away and sticking the candy into his mouth before Arthur would come barreling down the hall to take it from him.

What could Arthur possibly be talking about with the dentist anyway? Hopefully, it’s about the fact that Alfred got a filling without an anesthetic and now he’s gonna sue for malpractice.

He sighed contentedly as the sugary flavor dissolved from the heavenly stick of salvation.

"Alfred? You've just had your teeth fixed and cleaned, and you're already sucking on that monstrosity?" Arthur shook his head in disappointment.

Still, the elder was happy to see that his brother was smiling gleefully again, his tongue now red from the artificial coloring of the lollipop.

"Maybe we could go out for ice cream. Just this once," Arthur surrendered, regretting the statement as soon as he had uttered it.

"YES!" Alfred whooped in excitement. "Let's go, bro!"

The taste of victory in all its splendor was apparent when Alfred took his first bite of double chocolate fudge ice cream with oreo cookie crumb toppings. It had been almost too good to be true.

Arthur watched in disgust. "I wouldn't be too happy if I were you. You have another check up scheduled in six months, and if I see that you've obtained more cavities in that span of time, I won't be pleased."

Man, I made Arthur into such a party pooper in this story. He’s so extra. Also, the diction is still killing me.

Alfred groaned inwardly.

He wouldn't be able to survive the agony again. So he would enjoy this cone of ice cream while it lasted.

"Don't worry," Alfred assured his ice cream, "I won't let the mean jerk take you away from me again."

And thus, Alfred and his ice cream lived happily ever after.

For now.

“Happily ever after,” did I seriously use that cliche? *vomits*

All in all, that was only half as cringey as I thought it would be. The word choice was sloppy, there were some grammatical errors, and I kept messing up my setting, but for a first attempt at a Hetalia fic, it could have been worse. I’ll give it a 5.5/10, 15-year-old Mandelene. You tried.

I’ll be looking at some of my other fics soon (once my nausea from this one dissipates). I think I’ve tortured myself enough for tonight.

#old fic #review #hetalia #writer #fanfic

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thenewtdimension · 8 years

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It all points to you - pt.1

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader Prompt: Soulmate AU requested by anon. One shot(x) or Chapter (x) pt.1/2 || (next part) Word count: 2.3k Warnings: none Genre: Fluff? Maybe a Tiny Speck of angst? A/N: I’m tremendously sorry for all the tardiness!! University has started so it’s all gotten pretty hectic.. to make it to to you, I’ve decided this is gonna be a two chapter fic! The next chapter will be probably uploaded next week tho, as I have yet to finish it. Also, this isn’t some of my best work.. it really isn’t...so please bear with me. Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors!

The world seemed to work in odd, surprising ways. For every person existed another, tied together by an inconspicuous red string of fate. Those, no one could see, though they had no reason to. On each person's wrist lay imprinted a compass, working restlessly all hour of every day of every year, hoping for the bearers' attention to glance their way just at the right moment, just at the right second the string's ends could intertwine.

At least half of the population was a result of this, of having been aware at the time their half crossed their path. They were, mostly, the married and the bearers of children.

Some say it destiny proven to be true. Yet in the back of most people's minds flashed a thought very possible. That is, while they say that, one way or another, pairs will have more than one chance to meet, there are those who never stop wondering.

The world didn't play on destiny, it played on chance. And being a horrible gambler yourself, you decided to ignore all thoughts of attempting to find the person at the end of your shared string. If you were to meet, so be it. You believed it was better not to force it.

If voiced aloud, some would call you mad - you see, no one wanted to end up alone. No one. So everyone, or almost everyone, tried their very hardest - obsessed, actually, over the burden the compass ensued.

Eventually, you came to hide such a thing. You became negligent to the idea, completely absorbed in your own little world instead. Being a witch left little time for those types of worries to cross your mind, either way.

You had developed a love for Herbology and healing since childhood. After graduating Hogwarts you were thankful to have gotten a permit to open up a small herb shop - while also being able to operate as an emergency healer if needed. As of late, however, you had planned to close the store for the time being and restock on some fresh herbs and fungi.

It was a routine you had created thus far. Each month the shop would be closed for a few days and you'd go around either Britain or a wider range of European land in search for this fungi or that plant.

Dusting your apron, already used to the various shades of green and red and other variety of colors splattered on it, you went to help the last costumer of the day.

"Dearie, you will be back by Monday won't you?" A feeble old lady, Mrs. Hobbs, asked. She was a regular, often coming to you instead of St. Mungo's (something about long procedures and lack of patience) for a checkup and some remedies. She was sweet, and you were grateful for the conformity she brought to your life.

You smiled, "Yes, Mrs. Hobbs. Monday at 8 o'clock, as per usual."

Returning your cheeky expression and holding on to her cane, you escorted her as she made her way out.

"I will see you then, dear. Oh, remember to let your compass breath before something bad happens, understood?"

Midway, her words began fading with distance, but you waved and chuckled before the words sunk in. Right. The compass. She must have noticed you had it concealed.

Closing the door with a click, activating the shudders and putting up both a lock and a protection charm, you took off your apron before giving your second home a last look and apparating in your apartment. You had tuned your actions to 'automatic,' truly lacking a desire to think about such things, about soulmates and the myths around them.

But after being days without seeing it, you couldn't help but take off the think piece of silk that covered it. And you stared. On your wrist it glared, arrow still moving lethargically erratic and without rest. It was always like that. Not just for yourself, but for the people that hadn't found their halves as well.

Sighing, you covered it again.

It wasn't that you were against soulmates or finding 'the other half,' you were just too tired to make it your whole life's purpose or sole ambition. So you hid that 'part of life' away and continued onward. At that age, however, people had begun to ask questions. Why weren't you trying to find that person? You could just ignore it, why hide it? You were constantly told to not mess with destiny and whatever it had in store for you. To not hide it for it was central to one's being. Which is why you understood why Mrs. Hobbs said what she did.

After having it hidden for so long, your nights and dreams had become dreadful and dark in a literal sense. Lately it even seeped into your days, a sense of gray overshadowing the passing hours. You suspected it had to do with lack of interest and chase in the matter, but you hadn't put such theories to the test. Not even at night did the silk band come off.

Of course, you weren't going to put it to the test now, for you didn't want to stare at it. Instead, you went and packed some important instruments in your favorite comfy leather bag.

Then, in a manner of seconds, you were far from home again.

The forests of Scotland were amongst your favorites. The different shades of greens soothed your eyes, the barks offering solace and ground when their branches took you too far, be it by imagination or distance. Even when they got thick and the fog reached your knees, you wanted to explore and often kept going. Every new discovery was appreciated and fawned over, from every new herb found to the creatures that scattered about and sometimes hid from your presence.

You apparated into one of the forest's clearings, and carefully got to work. Your feet swiftly took you towards the well-known trees and bushes, while your eyes scanned around for the fungi spots already imprinted in your memory.

It didn't take long to get to your favorite tree. It stood right before a clearing's pathways and the beauty it displayed could leave anyone breathless. The evergreen leaves and the hanging moss swayed in the wind, while its white flowers peppered the air.

You neared the tree, hoping to take its beauty in for a second longer before leaving to find some aconite. But as you went to pick one of the flowers mid-flight, a strong gust of wind suddenly shook the branches, the moss almost entangling your body as it trembled and shivered.

As another wave of wind hit you, your arms instinctively went to shield your face as you heard the whistling sound pass by and… was that someone… talking?

Intrigued as to who would be so deep inside a place people seldom ventured, you lowered your arms and went in the direction of the sound.

That was, until warm hands cradled your head, your face pressed against some man's chest. He wore a vest, soft and mustard colored, and you thought it a bit odd before realization settled in. And your body quickly began to protest, but pushed with little force because of your evident confusion.

"Excuse me! Who-"

But the man held you tighter, although with hesitation, and brought you through apparation behind your favorite tree. Just a few seconds after, the wind picked up. It still managed to shake you slightly.

"Shhh," he whispered, somehow stupefying you enough to drown out your protests. Then, the sound of nasty snapping - of trunks splitting in half - and branches crunching as if under feet soon erupted all around you.

Once your eyes were unshielded, and the man gently pushed you away, both the breeze and sounds had practically stopped. But before you could try and talk to him and demand answers, he apparated back where he held you before. You moved around the tree, hurriedly following him. How dare he- Who- what?

"Who do you think you are-" you began but quickly stopped. Your eyes had gone from hard to soft after locking with his own and understanding what was happening. Because you see, right behind the man, and a few feet from you, stood a dragon.

It was a Hebridean Black, with sleek black scales glistening in the dying sunlight. The sheer size of it, cramped in a rough patch of forest and broken trees trunk and branches, and its overpowering aura left you breathless. Now you knew where the cacophony of sounds had come from. The dragon has just landed.

Letting out a surprised yelp, your hands quickly covered your mouth, as the dragon's amethyst orbs pierced your own - and so did the stranger's blue-green ones.

"I'm actually - ah…. W-would you mind bowing a little? He was a bit hard to calm down, you see," the man asked, and almost instantly your body did as he asked. Clearly, you did not know proper dragon etiquette. Besides, considering the situation, you were almost sure he was not there to hurt you - you were more like a casualty.

And that voice… the hushed, amused yet respectful tone… the longer you heard it, the melodic it turned, and your cheeks colored beet red. You had never, ever in your life heard such a beautiful voice. Of course you wanted to comply, at least this once. The thought was slightly concerning, and you decided to lock it away for the moment.

"Thank you… Arthur is rather prideful, he is," he said, voice piercing you despite the low tone. As an afterthought, could have sworn you heard a quiet "not dangerous."

You straightened just in time to see him move swiftly, but with grace, towards the creature before them. He raised his hand, and you resisted the urge to yell that it might not be the best idea. Yet without any problems at all, the dragon nuzzled his head under a man's hand.

It was an odd sight. They were said to be aggressive so you never neared them. But there he was, a curled haired man, cuddling a dragon.

Weren't they supposed to be looked after by a Scottish clan?

"Isn't he supposed to be in an open space?"

The man's curls bopped slightly as he nodded, freckled hand caressing the creature before him. It… started to look more like a dog, truly.

"Yes, but Arthur seemed to have escaped," he murmured, appreciating how you didn't run away screaming at him for being a 'lunatic' or other dreadful names, "When I heard, I- I couldn't stop myself from helping. He's not dangerous, you know…" And he wasn't sure why, but he couldn’t help but reveal his actions to you, either. He figured you deserved it, after being intruded on what he figured was a once peaceful walk. Yet you stayed, and you didn't yell… on the contrary, you had turned curious.

"I see…" you began, "Is it… alright? Are - are you alright?"

Blinking at both questions, he looked at you as if you had gone completely mental. A woman. Asking about the well-being of a dragon - on that day and age. Not only that, but asking the strange man with it if he was alright after he had held her without consent, without asking - even if it was for your protection.

A burning sensation gathered at his cheeks, and he wondered why the question tugged at his heart and warmed his chest, "y-yes... We're both fine, miss…?"

"Oh," you jumped a bit, surprised at your own rudeness and ears heating in embarrassment, "I am (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N)."

You had begun to move about, picking up a few mushrooms that the wind managed to get out of your bag. It was a distraction, for you knew your feet would lead you closer to them if they had a will on their own. And oh did they lead you closer.

"I've already met.. Arthur, was it?" you asked, gesturing towards the dragon. The man nodded. "But.. What's yours?"

Now only separated by a few feet, you could see him properly. He was very tall and lanky, and you appreciated how it suited him so. The curls atop his head stuck out in every direction - he must have been hit by the wind earlier as well. And his skin, adorned with freckles and light visible scars, was as captivating as his eyes.

His eyes wondered to the ground as he caught your stare, "I'm Newt Scamander," he said and quickly offered his free hand.

You shook it lightly, frowning at the electric current that passed between the touching skins.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Scamander," you said and he scrunched his nose a little.

"Please, just Newt is fine," he murmured, a smile twitching slightly and a hand going for his pocket watch before pocketing it once more.

"It's time to continue now, Arthur. The Macfustys are waiting," he nudged the creature a little, carefully. The dragon let out a grunt like sound that seemed rather whiny, and the man turned back to you.

"Thank you... For your concern," he smiled "and I am deeply sorry for startling you earlier - couldn't have you knocked off your feet now,"

He took a step closer to the dragon before continuing, "Also, seeing as it'll be windy again.. You might want to apparate a few meters out of this area,"

You nodded before moving back, "Yes… and thank you, for shielding me."

The last thing you saw of him was his ghost of a smile, as both of you apparated before Arthur could take flight again. You had left without some of the ingredients.

Once back at your apartment, you let out a shaky breath. The day had been too weird, and you were too tired to do anything but relax.

You were only halfway through the kitchen, with your tea already being prepared in the air, when you noticed your wrist. Its protective silk was gone. And your compass, which once moved incessantly, stood absolutely still.

#Newt Scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt x reader #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander imagine #fbawtft imagine #fbawtft fic #soulmate au

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holmesandhouse-blog · 8 years

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Fanfiction and Additive Comprehension: The Question of Canon

Fanfiction has been a steadily growing medium, to the point that it sometimes threatens producers’ intent for the original text. Through additive comprehension, fanfiction strongly influences how an original text is interpreted, while simultaneously providing an opportunity for alternative representation within the storyworld. This strong influence brings up questions surrounding the concept of canon, and what that means for the audience. This is specifically highlighted in the Sherlock Holmes transmedial storyworld, in which the fanfiction “Two Two One Bravo Baker” by abundantlyqueer has shifted the overall fan viewing of the BBC’s show Sherlock (especially within the narrative of “A Study in Pink”) in regards to both Sherlock and John’s relationship, as well as John’s military experience.

According to Jenkins, “[g]ame designer Neil Young coined the term, ‘additive comprehension,’ to refer to the ways that each new texts adds a new piece of information which forces us to revise our understanding of the fiction as a whole.” The concept of fanfiction arguable arose from that general definition. Fanfiction exists to add new understandings and fill in missing plot holes, which often leave the readers feeling as though the meaning of the original text has been shifted. The fanfiction “Two Two One Bravo Baker” (which will be affectionately dubbed “221BB” for the purposes of this essay) does just this, by filling in the plotholes of John’s military experiences (albeit in an alternate universe in which Sherlock meets him in Afghanistan) and following Sherlock and John’s relationship to a romantic conclusion. As in all fanfiction, there exists a certain suspension of disbelief within the plot of “221BB,” however the author is quick to try and draw her audience into the pseudo-canon by explaining her artistic choices within the chapter-end notes. The first note, reading “[t]he names I've used for the members of John's section are names of men who fought with notable distinction and died at the battle of Maiwand in 1880, the battle in which ACD's Watson was wounded,” (abundantlyqueer, chapter 1 notes) tells the reader that abundantlyqueer has done her research and, similarly to BBC’s Sherlock, is drawing resources from the original Arthur Conan Doyle canon. It’s the second note, however, which truly begins to make the analysis of additive comprehension interesting. The author writes,

ACD's Watson was attached to the 66th Berkshire Foot, which (after a tortuous lineage of amalgamations) ended up in The Rifles regiment. However, in TGG John wears the regimental tie of 1st The Queen's Dragoon Guards. There is a point of intersection between the two regiments: in 2009, the Guards’ mission in Afghanistan included supplying reconnaissance and other support to 3 Commando Brigade, which also draws support staff from The Rifles. If John initially served with the Guards and later transferred to 3 Brigade, that would explain the regimental tie and place him equidistant between the ACD and Moffit-Gatiss canons. (abundantlyqueer, chapter 1 notes)

With this additional information, abundantlyqueer complicates the question of the fanfiction’s interpretation. She is explicitly trying to work in both the ultimate urtext (Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes”) and BBC Sherlock’s canon into “221BB,” while simultaneously convincing the audience that it works. And somehow, it does. “221BB” has, since its publishing, become something of a reference for BBC Sherlock fans wanting to know more about John’s military past. This acceptance of the fan text as “legitimate” additive comprehension is largely due to the meticulous research which has gone into the fiction, and the care with which it was molded to fit multiple canons. This, perhaps, is the most important element of fanfiction. The ability to incorporate canon in a way that would be frowned upon in an “official” production. A final example of abundantlyqueer’s melting pot of canon comes from the author’s notes in chapter six. “One of John’s lines, and the good-humored sangfroid of British soldiers under fire, were lifted whole from the documentary Inside Afghanistan with Ben Anderson, which was also the source of John’s flashback footage in A Study in Pink” (abundantlyqueer, chapter 6 notes). With this, abundantlyqueer is technically lifting text straight from the canon, since the footage is included in episode one of Sherlock. This deepens the influence of the canon (and of the fanfiction on the canon) because the flashback is a point of interest for many fans wondering about the context of John’s canon PTSD. BBC’s Sherlock shows this PTSD, but never explains it further, opting for the air of mystery over examining John’s history. “221BB” jumps on this plot hole with abandon, giving us a scene which fits like a puzzle piece into a specific memory, and allowing fans to further cement their belief in the pseudo-canon of the fanfiction.

This cementing of pseudo-canon and additive comprehension allows abundantlyqueer to then have greater control over other aspects of the fanfiction’s influence on the show. A key element in “221BB” (and in many other Sherlock fanfictions) is the relationship and blossoming romance between Sherlock and John. The fanfiction starts out with the base the audience is given in the show; a complicated deduction of John’s life by Sherlock, followed by “‘[t]hat’s - amazing,’ John laughs. / ‘You think so?’ Sherlock frowns, drawing his chin in slightly. / ‘Incredible,’ John grins” (abundantlyqueer, chapter 1). This scene is immediately recognizable to fans of Sherlock as the original meeting scene of Sherlock and John, and the basis of their relationship. However where the show Sherlock only teases the audience with romance, “221BB” dives in head first. The natural flow of an accredited fanfiction such as “221BB” from casual friendship to romantic relationship is bound to influence audience interpretation of the show, especially when the show is already queerbaiting said audience, complete with meaningful silences and soulful eye contact. In fact the argument exists that “[t]he same-sex partners…are already working and living and fighting side by side, so a sexual relationship is all but an extension of the canon. And if it is inherent in the canon, then a slash reading is not resistant” (Hellekson and Busse 79). By that logic then, it is easy for the fanfiction’s interpretation to be carried over to BBC’s Sherlock without much fanfare. The relationship is explicit within the pseudo-canon of “221BB” because the setting allows it to be so, and if the characters would have a relationship in one setting, then why not the other?

Much of fanfiction analysis still consists of unanswered questions. For example, if a popular fanfiction such as “221BB” has such a large sway over fan interpretation, is there then a possibility for fan texts to truly influence the canon? Referencing back to slash readings as being additive, “[w]hat happens when slash is considered not as ‘resistant’ but instead as an actualization of latent textual elements” (Hellekson and Busse 119)? If we remember the author’s notes in “221BB,” it again becomes clear that the fanfiction can't be canon in BBC Sherlock, because Sherlock and John just simply don't meet in Afghanistan (not to mention the wonky timeline). And yet the information within the fanfiction is consistent and calculated to make the reader believe it could be canon (somehow in both of the very different worlds of BBC and Doyle’s Sherlocks). So while “221BB” is technically an alternate universe, it could still be used to interpret the urtext(s) under the assumption that the only major change in the universe is the setting, could it not? These are the concepts and questions which complicate the additive comprehension of fanfiction, and they are largely still up for debate. The question of what is “true” canon is a difficult one, and is made more difficult within the Sherlock Holmes storyworld due to the original copyright having expired. Technically, one could argue that all fanfictions are canon in their own universes, but what does that mean for a fan work such as “221BB” which has a large and impactful influence on a meaningful subset of the audience? How much do the producers of Sherlock have to accept, and how much can they ignore without repercussions? In some ways, this question has recently been answered. The most recent season of Sherlock has lost both viewers and ratings, and many critics say that this is largely due to a large subset of viewers being upset that John and Sherlock didn’t end up romantically involved within BBC’s canon. Did fanfiction have a part in this? Absolutely.

One then has to ask a final question: what about works such as House, M.D., which are undoubtedly influenced by Sherlock Holmes? Is this a type of fanfiction? Does it influence the media in the same way? The relationship between James Wilson and Gregory House has certainly been influenced by the additive comprehension brought to the show by fans who see Holmes and Watson as a couple, and one must assume it goes both ways.

In the end, one thing is certain: fanfiction has a significant influence over how a text is interpreted, and allows for representation which isn’t always realized in the urtext. In some cases, such as “221BB” and BBC’s Sherlock, this results in a lasting impact on the original text itself. This topic will be more and more relevant as fanfiction becomes more and more mainstream, and may force producers to more seriously consider fan interpretations when planning their storyworld. Perhaps someday the “alternative” representations in fanfiction will influence canon representations on screen. One can only hope.

Works Cited

abundantlyqueer. “Two Two One Bravo Baker.” Sherlock fan fiction. Sherlock

Holmes/John Watson slash. Archive of Our Own, 04 August 2011.

Hellekson, K. & Busse, K..The Fan Fiction Studies Reader. Iowa City: University of Iowa

Press, 2014. Project MUSE, 2017.

Jenkins, Henry. "Transmedia Storytelling 101." Blog post. Confessions of an Aca-Fan. 22 Mar. 2007. Web. 2017.

Moffat, Steven, and Mark Gatiss. "A Study in Pink." Sherlock. Dir. Paul McGuigan. BBC. 24 Oct. 2010. Television.

#original #fanfiction #two two one bravo baker #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock and house #additive comprehension

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