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kingreywrites · 3 years

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to treasure that heart like I do

Prompt: “You almost died and you’re making jokes?” for @royygbivv

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2237

Summary: Rapunzel bites her lips. Looks away. The silence is tense between them, and he wants to reach out but he's not sure if that'll help at all. He can't… He can't recall what led them here, with him wounded and her upset with him but- Whatever he did, he wants to make it right.

Note: i finally manage to write something and of course it’s self-indulgent new dream hurt/comfort.... i’m a happy one trick pony :’)

Read on ao3

His return to consciousness is slow. Like his mind is working through a thick fog, unable to focus on anything, to grasp anything except the emptiness. He's aimlessly floating for the longest time - or no time at all? And then, it starts. A dull ache emanating from the back of his neck; the feeling of something soft under his fingertips; the heaviness of his body, solid and real; and a caress, a hand trailing down his skin, murmurs he can't hear around him. Little by little, the fog smothering him lifts, and Eugene blinks his eyes open, met by the familiar sight of Hookfoot's hammock above him, and the welcome sight of that same hammock being empty. (He always worries that Hookfoot is gonna fall on him one of these days, with how much he wiggles at night.)

Eugene's vision is blurry. The room is too bright. He feels exhausted which, considering he literally just woke up, is a little worrying. And his head hurts a lot, though he draws blank as to why.

Slowly, he tries to raise his hand to his head, his limb clumsy and uncooperative. Eugene tenses, and his pain spikes, making him groan under his breath and close his eyes again. His head is swimming, and suddenly, he remembers that weird feeling of floating, away and away and away.

"Eugene?"

A whisper, from the only voice he wants to hear right now. And a hand, small but holding his own without any trouble, slowly bringing it back down to his chest.

"Sorry, you shouldn't touch your wound."

"Hey Sunshine," he says quietly, breathing deeply to try and get his pain under control.

After... a minute, or maybe ten, Eugene opens his eyes again, a smile on his face when he sees the bright blond hair and the very green eyes peering down at him. She's frowning. Belatedly, his mind catches up to her words, and this wound he shouldn't touch - how did he get hurt?

Thinking is hard. His mind is still sluggish, and he's parched, which Rapunzel seems to guess since she gently helps him up to drink. The change in position is nauseating, but Eugene does his best to hide it, hating the worry clouding Rapunzel's eyes. She puts a glass of water to his lips, and though he tries to hold it himself, he's too aware of how his hand shakes, and how it would fall if she let go.

"Thanks," he mumbles when she takes it away, too worn out to feel ashamed. It's okay; it's Rapunzel with him. He trusts her with everything.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, strangely quiet through it all.

He looks at her again - wishes he could read her expression perfectly. Beyond the expected concern, he thinks he sees anger in the way her mouth twitches, but Rapunzel is better at restraint than most people expect, and because he knows her, Eugene also knows that loving her doesn't always make it easier to guess what she's feeling.

"Sore," he says finally, and it's the truth, though it should come after the various aches and pains he can feel in his bones. "My head hurts a bit," he adds reluctantly, when her expression doesn't change.

Rapunzel bites her lips. Looks away. The silence is tense between them, and he wants to reach out but he's not sure if that'll help at all. He can't… He can't recall what led them here, with him wounded and her upset with him but- Whatever he did, he wants to make it right.

"You should rest," she says, in a tone clearly implying this sentence to be a conclusion, even though they barely talked.

Eugene's heart is beating loudly in his chest, and he grabs her hand when she moves to make him lie down again. She raises an eyebrow, and he honestly didn't think that far - he doesn't know what he wants to say, to ask, and he feels like he should at least apologise but he can't even be sure about what. Rapunzel looks as exhausted as he feels, her clothes wrinkled and her hair in more disarray than she usually allows.

"Are you okay?" he asks, because even when he doesn't know what to say, or do, he always wants to be sure of that.

Rapunzel laughs. He hadn't expected that. She laughs, puts her hand in front of her mouth and turns her head to the side, and laughs again, the shake of her shoulders resembling a sob. All of the sudden, she's crying, desperately muffling her tears as she hides from him, and there's no pain in the world that could prevent Eugene from straightening up - no dizziness that could keep him from leaning forward and touching her. She doesn't react, not to his touch, not to his scared and babbled reassurances that he's fine, she's fine, they're all okay, so please breathe Sunshine, for me-

She shudders. Heaves. Turns towards him finally, and hugs him, a force in her grip that she can't contain. He thought that he was going to hold her together, but it feels like she's doing that for him, holding him tight so he can never fall through her grasp again.

Fall… There's an echo of his name being yelled in his mind. Of an outstretched hand he couldn't take, and of falling and falling, the moment quick and eternal at the same time.

"Of course he asks me if I'm fine," Rapunzel bites out wetly, interrupting his thoughts. The third person is a bad omen, even if she's holding him in his arms. "Of course Eugene 'I've got a death wish' Fitzherbert asks me if I'm fine as if I'm the one who fell down a cliff and right onto her head!"

Her voice gets higher and higher as she talks, and Eugene winces, fragments of the story falling into place. He doesn't say sorry. He won't say sorry because he was worried about her. So he nods quietly, knowing she needs to say that.

"Is it too much to ask you to worry about yourself? Why do you- Why do you keep doing that!" she exclaims, frustration and fear choking her, head still on his shoulder (which he guesses wouldn't make the situation look as serious to anyone else - but he hears in her voice something scared and little that he isn't used to from her, and her holding him doesn't change that).

That. Why does he keep doing that. His memories are still muddled, difficult to navigate through, but he sees her smiling next to him. They're alone - a date, he remembers, she took him on a date that day - and they're having fun but… He's not sure about that part. He remembers being scared. Looking at Rapunzel from far away, and knowing he had to get to her. He was scared, and she was too when he pushed her; he remembers her expression, the shock and the realisation, his name on her lips as he felt the ground under him give and-

He fell. He pushed her - fell to save her?

Eugene doesn't say sorry there either. Because he's not. His head hurts, everything is blurry, but he'd sacrifice himself a hundred times over if it was to save her. She knows it, just like he does.

"I'm okay," he repeats softly, and she snorts.

"Do you even- Do you even know what I- fuck," she cries, gripping him tighter as he startles. Rapunzel doesn't swear. She doesn't like it, and prefers to steer away from it, which is endearing in his opinion, but makes the occasional swearing so much worse. Her voice is wrung out, hoarse, and the guilt he was keeping at bay slams into him full force, because she's miserable and it's his fault.

He cranes his head around to try to look at her, and it's his worst idea of the hour - he's not quick enough to swallow his own grunt, and suddenly Rapunzel is letting go of him, trying to get him back in bed. Her eyes are red, tears staining her pale cheeks, and he wonders how long she had waited for him to wake up before now. Had she slept? He thinks Cass would force her to leave his side, (and for all that they bicker he's grateful Rapunzel has someone that dedicated in her corner), but even she couldn't push Rapunzel to really sleep if she wasn't able to.

He doesn't allow himself to be laid down just yet, resisting the hand on his chest easily. She's being careful with him. Rapunzel can't meet his eyes, and as he's about to say… Anything, really, to try and make her feel better, when she whispers, voice heavy: "I thought you died."

She doesn't say again. He hears it anyway. The weight in his throat triples, and he holds her hand like an anchor, unsure as to which of them is lost in the storm.

"You- You fell," she stutters painfully, "and then you weren't moving. There was… a lot of blood, around your head. From where I was, I couldn't be sure- I thought- I thought-"

"I'm sorry," he says this time, without hesitation. He's not sorry for worrying about her, not sorry for saving her, but he's so deeply sorry for putting her through anything like that, for making her worry and cry and relive the tower and- He's sorry, and he repeats it again, because he feels like he's choking with remorse. "I'm so sorry Sunshine, I- I never wanted-"

"I know." Soft. Resigned. Loving, too, accepting his apology because she really did know that.

When she pushes him back on his bed this time, he lets her, and lies down again. His head is pounding, and he's tired, but- he feels like he should apologise again, and knows he shouldn't. He raises his hand to her cheek, and she holds it here, closing her eyes.

"Head injuries bleed a lot," she explains, voice quiet. "I- Cass said your wound didn't seem deep and that you were lucky."

"How did Cass get there?"

"I… may have carried you all the way to the caravan. While crying." She rubs at her nose uneasily, but there's a small smile on her lips he's so glad to see again. "It wasn't my proudest moment."

"Can't believe I wasn't conscious for this," he grins. "I like it when you carry me."

"It was very romantic," she says, playing along as she strokes his hair. "A princess has to rescue her dashing rogue from time to time."

He laughs at that, a speck of pride at her agreement that yes, he was indeed quite dashing. "You save me all the time, though."

"So do you," she answers. She's smiling, but it dims as her eyes fall on his bandage again, and her shoulders slump. He saves her, and puts his life in danger, and that's the problem here, isn't it?

He knows she's scared of losing him. He knows, and understands, because he's just as scared of losing her, just as afraid that what happened with Gothel will happen again. It's a terror that used to keep them up at night, that never truly left, and he can't- he can't imagine what she felt, when she saw him down there and thought he died. Silently, he vows to make it up to her, any way he can.

"It's all good, then," he says after a while. When she looks at him, a question in her eyes, he smiles, hesitant and honest. "You save me, and I save you, again and again, until we just keep saving each other. That way, no one has to get hurt."

She considers his words, and chuckles. "I guess that's true."

A beat. His eyes are heavy, and Eugene feels exhaustion drape over him gently, trying to drag him down to sleep again. There's something else he wants to say, though, so he resists as best as he can.

"Sunshine?" he whispers, and she hums quietly. "Next time… I'll try harder to not get hurt if I save you. I promise."

He sees how she bites back her usual protests. She doesn't answer with optimism, or anger - doesn't tell him that there will be no next time, that he should stop all together. Instead, she breathes in deeply, and says "Thank you". It's honest, and relieved, and Eugene knows she means it.

The moment passes, and Eugene knows, now, that they are okay again. As good as they can be.

"Can't promise I won't ever fall off a cliff again," he notes, words garbled when he yawns in the middle of his sentence.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, because - no matter how much time passes," he says, a wide smile on his face, "I will never stop falling for you."

She stills. He wiggles his eyebrows. Her mouth twitches, not in anger this time, but announcing the full body laughter that follows suit, Rapunzel hiding her head in her hands to try to contain it.

"That was terrible!" she announces loudly, though she's obviously still laughing in her hands. "You- You almost died and you're making jokes?"

"Well, was it funny?"

"No!" she exclaims, laughing. He'll take it.

This time, when he falls asleep, the last thing he sees is the brilliant smile on her face, and he knows she'll be there when he wakes up.

#tangled #tangled the series #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #New Dream

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jtrbluv · 3 years

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tag game !

tagged by the lovely linh @latetaektalk ,, thank u soso much! this was so fun omg

tagging: @allurain @koushiningg @dreamystuffers @jinpanman @dulce-pjm @suhdays @pjmsdior @bangtans-peaceful-piegon @sugacouture

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

um i didn't rly write for any fandoms when i was younger, but i knew my 12yo self was probably conjuring harry potter headcanons in my head D:

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

for now, and for a long time, i've been writing for bts. i've like always been a multi from the moment i got into kpop but i've never actually fleshed out any of the wips i had for any other groups LMFAO. honorable mentions are got7, skz, haikyuu yup

3. how long have you been writing?

a longggg time, i think. i enjoyed writing fiction as a kid a lot. most of it would be like off-brand spy kids/harry potter/hunger games type beat stuff. and it was awful. but i was literally like 9 so cut me some slackLKSDFJSLKDjf

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

primarily tumblr and i only recently made an ao3 acc. the only fic i have on there is a tae drabble that's already posted on here LOL. i think it's 'resolutely, yours.' but i don't even remember bye. i remember i drafted drivers license on there but i literally forgot to post it so it's probably gone HAHA.

5. what is your favourite genre to write?

e2l even though i have no e2l fics on this blog i think

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

i used to never plan my fics, like at all. but then i was so unsatisfied with the flow of things and like idk lack of clarity. drivers license was the first time i actually sat down and planned out an entire fic as i was writing it. it rly does make things easier when u have an idea of what u want. and then just having the idea can help you possibly expand on it and get even better ideas off of it. the events of drivers license and the order it was all written in changed like 20394803 times. but yeah, does that make sense... LMFAO

7. one shot or multi-chapter?

one shots because i can never fucking get myself to finish a series. i love reading them tho

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

no clue. i love long stories and slow burn tho, it's just so satisfying and $wag when it's well-written and the characters are well-written too.

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete?

the fic i'm about to post is nearing 20k, and it might even surpass that which will end up being the longest story on this blog. insane! drivers license is around 10k i think, and then if u combine the wnrs couple's fics it's like 15k? im too lazy to look tbh SRy

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

oh drivers license for sure! i don't think i've ever immersed myself and put so much effort into a story before. it was truly an amazing experience, and i just know that i'll probably never be able to write anything like that fic ever again. it's rly one of a kind for me.

11. favourite request you've have written and why (if any?)

most of the requests i had on this blog got taken down bc they were so bad. i'm not sure if the yoongi superhero!au is still up on here, but i'd choose that one since i really had to branch out of my writing style for it. regardless of it being like barely 2k.

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

miscommunication, so much banter, i used to see this a lot but i would take it out but... head bonking ??LSKDFJHAHA, my side characters being dumbasses and then my main characters being even bigger dumbasses (oc probably being the biggest dumbass)

13. current number of wips?

during the course of writing the current fic i plan on posting this week, i created like 5 wips and they all hit 5k, and then i straight up abandoned them. and then the endless idea bank google doc. so if i count the wips i for sure want to finish by like this year or summer... like 3 or 4.

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing?

i feel like i repeat stuff a lot throughout all my stories LOL,, it irks me so bad. i think i relate to all my ocs in at least one way or another.

15. a quote you like from a published story

alrighty this is a lil snippet from 'drivers license':

this is from the second letter oc wrote to jk:

"The same delusional daydreamer hopes that one day we can talk and laugh like old pals. Like nothing ever changed between us. I hope you achieve your dreams that you always thought seem too far-fetched, yet in the back of my mind I always knew you could easily grasp. I hope someday you can live a life of lesser worries and insecurities, because you rarely had any to start off with. I always hoped the world for you, because you deserve it. And despite everything, I still believe you do."

this paragraph seems pretty simple but i think it did the best job of like describing oc's emotions and realization of things,, its kinda cliche tew yas love that

16. a quote from an unpublished story

alr this is from the e2l jimin series that is going to take me forever to write bc the outline for it is SO LONG

“Would it kill you to at least show up with a shirt on?“ You sneer, patting your forehead with the back of your hand due to the sweltering sun. The event hasn’t even started yet and you can already feel your hair sticking to the back of your neck.

Crossing his arms, he scoffs, his biceps bulging out as his arms bend. Not like you were staring at them. “Sorry couldn’t hear you, too busy boosting the school’s morale.”

17. space for you to say something to your readers

i feel like i don't show enough appreciation to my readers and mutual on this blog. i have met so many lovely people and have gotten so much support, i hope u all know that it does NOT go unnoticed. i always tend to go back and reread all the comments and asks that i get on my stories bc it rly does make my heart soar. it makes my day!!! thank u all for sticking with me thru all my 3am shitposts and inconsistent writing schedule LOL,, you all have my whole heart and some more <3

#tag game

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myonmukyuu · 4 years

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hot milk tea, thoughts and feelings

I’ve only mentioned it briefly, but I’ve said that I’ll be taking a break from my SetsuAyu series - mainly because of my uni workload though.

But for now, I have a lot of thoughts about the entire thing as a project as well as myself as an artist. So I figured that I’d write a reflection of sorts (warning: it gets kind of personal).

Can you believe it’s been 3-4 months since the series started? I can’t, and I’ve been the one drawing all of these!! If you’ve been reading my work, I’ll say it over and over but I really appreciate it!!! Like I’m dead serious!!! Completely!! Utterly!! Without a doubt!!! I love all of you!!!

When I posted that first comic, I didn’t think it’d get the positive reception that it did get. Like, I’ve been producing basically entirely Muse content for years and suddenly decided to tap into Nijigaku? You could argue that it didn’t get that much attention, but either way, the attention it did get surprised me. I was so happy that people were engaged (and it still makes me stupidly happy, like on a level where I’m almost embarrassed to admit HAHA)

Recently I’ve just uploaded the bonus for the 3rd update which wraps up that part, and it really just clicked - that I really have invested soooo much time into this series. 36 pages now! And we’re only 3/10 main updates in!! I have so much passion for this - like a fire that can’t be put out. Every single update has something that I want to communicate/show so I always feel fired up. Heck, if you’ve spoken to me during the process you’d catch me always saying “I’m excited for the next one!!!” while working on it LMAO. It’s been my longest string of non-stop work. Usually I feel burned out more quickly but I was always so excited that I couldn’t stop! You’d find that I’m usually in a state of conflict bc I alwaaaays want to talk about it but at the same time I don’t want to spoil anything. (THE NEXT UPDATE JUICY)

I think it’s a clear reminder of why I draw actually. The answer between each artist always differs, but I think it’s something important to be aware of. And well, for me? I’ve realised I’m a passion-monster. Passion keeps my blood pumping 100%. As a result... you could say I might be a more selfish kind of artist. Maybe it’s burn-out from running all those ask-blogs/RP when I was like 13-16, but I’ve realised that I’m having the most fun drawing what I genuinely love. It’s kind of why you’d rarely see me do requests and why I no longer do commissions. That isn’t to say that I hate drawing for other people. It can be fulfilling! But it’s more like - I barely have the time to draw for myself, so drawing for others is kind of a lower priority in general. It’s also why I’ve decided against studying graphic design when I graduated highschool. It’s just not happening as a career.

When I ask myself, “what kind of artist do I want to be?” I always think “Somebody who marches to her own beat and works hard to make content that she loves.” It’s also why I never delete anything - even my oldest art that makes me cringe. Because the me from 5 years ago put her love into that too. It’s really cheesy sounding but that’s how I see it LMFAO. I couldn’t do that to her. And also, just because I don’t like something anymore, it doesn’t mean that no one else does. So I’ll continue to never delete my old work. As a bonus, we get to see how far I’ve come too~.

I feel a little vulnerable admitting something like this and I’m pretty sure I’ve only told like 4 humans, but I think my #1 goal as an artist is that I want people to be able to look at my work (that I actually put my heart into) and think “this person loves this” or “this person works hard”. If you can do that, and sincerely feel the feelings I put into my comic, then I’ve already reached my goal. Can people tell how much I love these characters? The series? The concept? Can people tell how much work I’ve been putting into these updates? Can people tell when I’m having fun? It’s something I think about a lot. The idea of that people might think so makes me tear up HAHA - I get really sappy thinking about these kinds of things. And well, if people can’t tell then I’m not working hard enough!

That isn’t to say that I’m always putting my life-blood into everything I make. I’m mainly referring to the stuff where I do. I think it’s pretty clear when I’m pumping a lot of love into something. In general though, there’s always an intention for me to like communicate some idea or feeling and doing something like that requires maybe a bit of love~.

I feel like that as a character, Setsuna really resonates with me a lot. In personality? Not at all LMFAOOOO (she’s such a nice girl!!). More because of her ideals and principles. After typing like everything that I did up until this point, I bet you can guess why. I’ll keep it short and simple though, since this post is getting stupidly long.

Basically, I really resonate with her drive and passion as both an artist, and just in general actually? I’m a believer in that if you’re passionate about something, you can spread that passion. That’s the mentality I have with my art. If my love shows, then maybe other people will understand why I’ve come to love something. And maybe they’ll come to love it too. If I’m having fun, maybe they will have fun too! Very cheesy, I know, but that’s just how I roll!!!

Like rare pair? New fandom? Still applies. It might take awhile, but eventually either the people who love that thing will find me, or I’ll help people come to love something new (or at least see where it’s coming from lolol)!

And as Setsu says:

You tell ‘em girl !!! That devotion is my driving force!!

Of course I know this is idealistic, but I think that’s fine. It’s no bother to me if someone feels indifferent/ negative towards my work because that’s just natural.

I think it’s a form of communication and that’s what drives my art. I’ve been intending on writing a guide/ or talking about my art process for comics for some time now and I think that’d be the first thing I’d mention? I’m always trying to communicate some sort of feeling/tone/idea and that comes from a place of love y’know.

I feel like I’m saying “love” and “passion” a lot - you can really tell I’m vibing with Setsuna huh LMAO. There are other reasons I vibe with her too, but I won’t touch on that.

Coming back to my SetsuAyu series. You can tell why I’m so happy about it right? The story, the pairing dynamic, I feel like that people are understanding what I’m trying to communicate - that people are receiving my feelings of love for it and that makes me smile so widely. I really put a lot into it!!

This series is the first large project I’ve ever taken you see and I’m so so happy that I’ve been able to get this far! It really means a lot to me. But it wasn’t actually the first comic series I’ve tried to do. I actually had a Muse long-running comic planned years ago - a Dancing Stars on Me! AU but it never came to life. I think it was my lack of confidence that held me back. It might be weird of me to pat myself on the back, but I’m proud that I managed to get going this time!! I’ve actually written the SetsuAyu series in a way that for the first half, I could drop the series if I really wanted to at any point (each part is pretty independent, and that description I always copy-and-paste is all the explanation you really need), but now I know for sure that I don’t want to drop it! I wanna keep going!! Even if it gets tough. Although it might be a little early for me to make such bold declarations, I’m only 3/10 through LOOOL. But that’s just the way I feel right now!

I know it’s irrational and it’s something I’d rather not admit, but an anxiety that’s always looming over me is the idea that I’m not working hard enough - or that people think I’m not? Each comic update...takes like a month right? And a month is a long time. There’s this part of me that is convinced that people think I’m lazy for working so slowly. And I know it’s not true!! It doesn’t make sense for it to be!!! But like I said it’s irrational.

I’m really proud of this comic y’know. It’s a really big commitment and I’m proud of myself for being able to commit. I work full time 9-5, and I also am in my final year at university. I’m... kind of busy lol. So the huge factor in that month-long update turnaround is just that I don’t have the time to always be drawing. But I try to draw as much as I can! If you have me on discord you might notice me work on it for like 2-5 hours, almost daily before I go to bed (1am). Of course I’m not only drawing, but after I get everything plotted out sometimes that’s all I do. This comic is super time-consuming LMAO - and I try my best to work on it a little at a time.

So yeah, the entire month of comic-production is me drawing every almost every night.

Yeah it, - it’s kind of exhausting. Even though I’m itching to work on my next update, I’ve decided to take a break for uni crunch which is why I say the next one might be two months. It’s really odd though. The other night I was in bed feeling restless. It was so weird not drawing till 1am that I felt like I needed to be doing something. This comic series might have weird effects on my habits...

It makes me anxious thinking that it’d be so long till next update. But I’ll do my best to push that aside ! Hopefully I can get uni done and dusted ASAP! I want them to date dammit...

I've decided that I want to see this series through to the end. It’ll probably be May next year when that happens though LMAO! Please bear with my slow turnaround time. It’s only been 3 updates, but I can already see that I’m improving with each one. With each update I feel like I really learn from the previous and I always feel this sense of excitement with trying out new techniques and trying to create different feelings. I really want to see how the last updates will look compared to the first! Technically we’re 3/10 (10 is an epilogue), but after 6 I actually stop doing bonuses? So teeechnically I’m like 40% of the way through~.

It might be a little over-ambitious, but I kind of want to print it out and make a hard-copy when I’m done. I’m not sure about what the demand would be if I were to sell it, but I definitely want to print it for myself first and foremost (after touching up the earlier updates of course LOL). It’d be like a physical representation of my achievement. I hope I can make it there.

Anyways, I’ve rambled for far too long. I’m not sure why I suddenly felt like talking about uh, everything but yeaaaah. If you’ve read this far, kudos to you! You now have a window into my soul that I’m still not sure if I’m comfortable with revealing (but I’m comfortable enough because I’m posting this so...)!

After reading all of this, can you tell why I always get so so happy after each update? It’s the fruition of what’s usually 2-3 weeks of non-stop hard work! Seeing people connect with it always sends me to another realm of bliss and I always feel soft like putty LOL.

#myon speaks #HOLY MOLY #ITS 2K WORDS #no pressure for anyone to read all of this #its just me rambling into the air~#if you've been keeping up with my series: i just want to say thank you #this series is really important to me (i explain why in the post im not aboutta start rambling again)

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narniaandplowmen · 4 years

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The Wild Embraced

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 6773 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

When he arrived back at the foot of the mountain, Geralt most decisively went in the complete opposite direction of Jaskier’s smell. He didn’t hear the animal following him at a safe distance.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t necessarily plan on following Geralt. They just happened to be travelling in the same direction, that was all.

[Read the first chapter here]

CHAPTER 3 - The Wild Embraced

Jaskier was dead. And clearly not through an accident either, if the carefully stowing away of certain possessions was anything to go by, although why some items were thrown in the water was unclear. Not that it mattered, not that any of it mattered. Jaskier was dead, Jaskier was dead and it was his fault. All the stones, the curses, the attacking fans had been right in their judgements. Geralt had killed the bard, even if the weapon wielded hadn’t been a sword, or an arrow, or a carefully placed Sign. Instead, the poison of his words had been the thing that had extinguished one of the only sources of light in the Witcher’s life. And why wouldn’t it, for a man who held words in such high esteem?

Geralt barely felt the pain in his knee as a jagged stone pierced through his skin when he collapsed onto the ground. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

‘I’m sorry,’ Geralt sobbed to the ground, to the slowly rising sun, to nobody in particular and the world around him. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I never should have-’ his voice broke as the wolf jumped down and licked his tears. The creature that had followed him for so many miles, for so many days, through all kinds of weather and was still there, still here. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, I don’t-’ he reached out his hands to push the wolf away, to yell at it, to stop its foolish pursuit, but when his fingers touched the soft fur he instead held on tight, pushing his face into the grey hairs and breathing in the pinewood smell. ‘Why are you following me? I- I’m a monster. I kill everyone close to me. Renfri, Jaskier... You’re not safe here.’

The wolf didn’t free himself from the Witcher’s grip, didn’t bite and wriggle and squirm itself free, didn’t scratch or run or bark or howl. It just rested its head on Geralt’s back as the man sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. ‘I’m sorry Jaskier, I am sorry.’

* * *

Have you ever met somebody and you didn’t quite catch their name, and now you have been friends for the longest time but you still don’t know what they’re called? Or have you ever not been paying attention to a conversation, leaving you at a loss for words when someone asks your opinion about the subject matter? Or have you ever changed into a wolf, followed the embodiment of home around until he thought you were dead, whilst you were very very very much alive? It was exactly like that that Jaskier felt when Geralt’s hand dug into his fur, apologising with a broken voice to what he believed to be a dead friend.

The first time Jaskier had seen Geralt pet a street dog with his strong, callused hands, Jaskier had wanted to turn in that exact moment, wanted the man to thread his fingers through his fur, curl up against him during cold nights, ran with him through the endless wilderness connecting the Continent’s cities and stretching far into the unknown.

When Geralt, later that night, had returned with the head of a rabid werewolf he had been hired to kill, Jaskier took the stage and performed his song, avoiding the curious stare of the innkeeper’s guard-dog Geralt had pet on his way to their room.

The next time he dreamt of fingers threading through his fur, he knew it was a dream that never could come true.

* * *

Jaskier knew he had to free himself, knew that the tight grip he was in now would squish any human, break their bones and their possessions.

It wasn’t till Roach’s loud whinny broke through the Witcher’s silent sobs that Jaskier wriggled himself loose, jumped from rock to rock until he was standing on top of the cave Geralt had exited, and let his bones and skin turn into the familiar shape he had inhibited for twenty long, long years.

* * *

If there is one thing a Witcher knows, it is that nothing lasts forever. No love, no life, no happiness nor even the Path is everlasting. Eventually, every Witcher grows slow and dies. It is the individual’s task to cherish the moments whilst they last and move on when they don’t.

Geralt had never been very good at that last part.

When his tears dried up and the wolf wrestled free, he was tempted to hold on to the beast, force it into his embrace for even a moment longer, but he knew it wouldn’t do. Reluctantly, he saw the animal jump up over rocks and bushes until it was seated out of his reach up high on top of the grave of the person he once refused to call home.

The wolf closed its eyes, tensed its muscles, and changed.

* * *

It was tradition for his kind to live and study amongst the humans once their minds and bodies had grown sharp and strong enough to make the journey to where the people lived. Any Lupinis, for that is what they had called themselves, could then choose where to roam, whether to walk the earth on two or four or either feet. Jaskier was the only one of his litter born a human, so his parents weren’t surprised when their son did not return and reports of his success amongst the bipeds reached their home.

Jaskier had returned once, warming the winter with stories of his adventures travelling through the Continent and spreading his songs. Both his forms had grown strong and fast and wise.

That winter, the Haakland mountains had echoed with song and strums and howls.

* * *

One of the features of his kind was that they never forgot a face. The Haakland caves are covered in mirrors brought back by travelling wolves visiting home. As long as you knew exactly the shape you were in, the clothes you were wearing, the items you carried as you turned, they would still be with you when you changed your fur back to skin, paws back to hands and fangs back to teeth. When Jaskier looked down at the baffled Witcher below him, he knew he looked exactly like he did the last time he had seen his own human form: a satchel on his hip, his lute on his back, and a bright red leather jacket covering his smooth skin.

‘Hello.’

His voice sounded rough, broken, apologetic and ashamed.

* * *

His voice sounded heavenly.

The faint buzz of his medallion, the distant aching in his knee and the biting cold of the breeze on his soaked skin were the only things that proved to Geralt that he was still alive, that he hadn’t drowned in the dark pool below and joined whichever afterlife awaited for those whose journey in the living world had ceased to be.

Either the heavens and hells were different than the priests proclaimed, or he had finally gone completely barking mad.

‘I’m sorry,’ the voice continued. ‘I know I should have left when you told me to,’ the blue-eyed form stated. ‘I know I should have said something earlier,’ the young man’s mouth uttered. ‘But I was- I was afraid. And I swore an oath to keep me secret. Our kind is hard to kill, but it is not impossible. I- If you want me to, I will leave.’

Geralt stood and stared at the figure, his face almost as broken as it had been when his words had cut through his lips straight into the heart of the man who had been his companion, his friend, his home. The man who had cared for him when no one else would, who had laughed at his jokes, understood his grunts, had literally sung his praises as they walked through the wilderness across the known world.

It wasn’t till the vision turned around and started to leave when Geralt found his voice.

* * *

‘Wait.’

Jaskier halted in his steps but did not turn to face the source of the sound.

‘Wait,’ the man behind him repeated. ‘Are you real?’ he continued, after a beat.

‘As real as any of us ever are,’ Jaskier replied, trying to keep his voice steady, trying not to betray the sadness in his throat, the pain in his heart, the dreadful echo in his head reminding him of the finality of this moment, of the end of the future he had never dared to imagine, of the long trip ahead of him to rejoin the family that wasn’t his anymore across the mountains ready to accept him with open arms and melodic howls and endless hunts.

‘Were you the one that followed me?’

‘I am.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Jaskier sighed, turned around and looked down into the yellow, hopeful eyes below. ‘Because you’re my territory. You’re my pack. An Alpha never abandons his pack.’

‘Even after all I did?’

‘Even after all you did.’

* * *

They sat and spoke, that day. Geralt below next to a small fire, Jaskier above basking in the sun.

They spoke of the mountain, of their fears and their worries, their pasts and their present and, as the sun disappeared behind the trees and down where none could follow, whether mortal or monster, they discussed the future. Their future, and all it could bring.

The first thing it brought, was forgiveness.

The second thing a peaceful rest.

In the weeks and months after that, a slowly rebuilt friendship, one based on talks and trust and helpful treatments.

During their first contract, the kikimore stood no chance between the white sharp teeth of a large, grey wolf and the cutting silver wielded by the man in black. A colourful bard and a smiling Witcher came to collect the bounty.

That winter, a fifth wolf stayed in the Witcher’s castle, filling it with song and warmth and freshly-hunted meat.

The next, a village on the foot of the Haakberg mountains sold supplies to a strange, white-haired man with yellow eyes travelling into the wild with a large, grey wolf the people knew was neither wolf nor man, but something in-between.

* * *

Through the years in the Continent, on cold spring and autumn nights, the rabbits and squirrels and deer avoided the strange camp where a fire burned and a Witcher cradled his closest friend, his home, his companion, his everything and more.

Jaskier’s dreams of callused fingers threading through his fur, of careless kisses on his tanned skin, of watching the wild fly past him as Geralt’s legs tried to match his four-legged speed in the endless chase for freedom and happiness and love were dreams no more, but blissful reality.

And, Geralt considered, as he, many years later, watched from the shadows of the inn as his husband performed, although all may not last forever, there was nothing that could stop him from enjoying the memories of happiness, the moments of contentment, the love-filled days and futures full of forgiveness and grace. For even when the fights were rough, the nights were cold and the Path was cruel, they were fought and spent and walked together.

Later, as his fingers traced the soft skin of the man asleep next to him, Geralt realised that not all impermanence led to sorrow.

And if embracing impermanence meant embracing the Wild, this was a damned handsome Wild to embrace.

#geraskier #geraskier ff #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #The Witcher ff #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #q #onceuponadisneyqueue

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genderless-consul · 4 years

Note

Top 5 glee ships?

Straight to the live wire, huh?

Ok, so:

1): Brittana - The fact that I really struggle to write them doesn’t change the fact that this is the one they got right, and I can still barely believe it to this day. The original joke in Season 1 was so obviously a throwaway lazy gag from a writing staff that consistently wrote women with absolute contempt, but Naya pushing them to take it seriously changed the course of the entire show. Their arc in Season Two is Glee at its absolute best (they even made Gwyneth Paltrow tolerable!), they have some really beautiful moments in Season 3 even if that whole season and Santana’s coming out arc in particular is kind of a disaster, and as much as we love to make fun of Santana’s gay panic in Season 4 (don’t act like it’s not highly relatable) even their break-up is legitimately beautiful - Naya turning Mine into a breakup song with nothing but her voice is the moment that cemented her as the GOAT Glee vocalist in my book (also Hand in My Pocket/I Feel the Earth Move is my second ranked mash-up of all time and I’m so angry the awful Santana/Kurt scene right after overshadowed it). And I have....complicated feelings about A Wedding as an episode (and we’ll get to that) but their part of it is absolutely everything it needed to be. “I would have suffered it all, just for the tiny chance to be standing up here marrying you.”

2): Faberry - No surprises here, except maybe that it’s not number one (canonicity was the tiebreaker, sadly). My favorite thing about Faberry is that there’s a million ways to ship them and all of them are great - obviously I’m more than onboard for an alt-version of Glee where theirs is the slow burn unlikely love story, but I also really love the tragedy you can read into them just from the canon, especially spinning out from the Quinntana one-night stand: that Quinn probably does have feelings for Rachel but either realizes it too late or just buries it out of self-loathing, and by the time she’s comfortable with herself the chance for storybook romance has already passed her by. Like seriously - if they had made that characterization explicit instead of retreating to the laziness of the Biff/Quick disasters in the anniversary episodes, I would have been just as happy with that as a Faberry endgame, both because the latter was always probably impossible given the centrality of Finchel to the show’s core structure and because Sad Flameout Lesbians deserve representation too, goddammit! And of course they’re a gold mine for fanworks, because there are so many “could have been” moments where their story has the chance the take a different direction, the best being their confrontation in Original Song: “you can’t hate me for helping to send you on your way” is the best use of Glee’s existential sadness since the Pilot. Oh, and their one and only duet is a fucking Red/Blue sequence and also one of the best songs on the entire show - enough said.

3): Finchel - My ultimate hot take, at least as someone from the Faberry side of the fandom, is that Finchel is Good, Actually. Keep in mind, I never watched Glee as it was airing, so I never experienced the frustration of Finchel’s inevitability; I knew from the very beginning that they weren’t going to get their happy ending. And as irritating as some of the on-again/off-again drama could be and as choppy as the pacing was at times, it really was one of the few relationships on Glee to be developed with consistent care and effort. I love that they have a genuine friendship and push each other to be the best versions of themselves (however inelegantly) even when they aren’t together, and the dynamic where the guy is the willing sidekick to the female protagonist and knows what they have might only be temporary was really refreshing to see, especially in a high school show. I’ll always be heartbroken that they couldn’t end it the way they were supposed to even if I wouldn’t have liked it, and they’re the reason the final scene of Season 3 makes me sob every time.

4): Tike - The ultimate “THEY DESERVED BETTER” ship. And yes, I know it’s off-brand for me to put two m/f ships on the list, and yes, I know RBI basically had to make Tartie endgame as a courtesy to Kevin and Jenna for sticking it out until the absolute bitter end, but I’m still mad. Tina was always used as a joke, and Mike was never used at all, but when they were together they got the briefest taste of actual storylines, and they were so. goddamn. cute together. Sing! and L O V E aren’t the first Glee duets that most people think of, but they captured the magic of just being straight up in love with someone better than a lot of the more over-the-top numbers from other characters. And look, I don’t actually need my ships to stay together forever on a high school show (or any show), but given that they had the longest run as a continuous couple on the entire show I will never forgive RBI for using them as the one “no”in A Wedding in a disingenuous attempt to pretend they were at all interested in realism and weren’t just throwing bones to the fanbase. Like, I don’t know how to explain this to you, Ryan Murphy, but it’s not subverting expectations to kick the shit out of Tina one more time because THAT’S LITERALLY ALL YOU’VE EVER DONE WITH HER (Sorry, what was I talking about?)

5): Klaine - my ultimate love/hate ship, and the ultimate victim of Glee being consumed by its own hype machine. The initial arc - the staircase, Teenage Dream, Blackbird - was magical even at its corniest, and beats like the GAP Attack and Blame it on the Alcohol were desperately necessary moments of complication that kept Blaine’s character more interesting than “Kurt’s perfect boyfriend” (also, real quick, fuck Ryan Murphy’s biphobia). But the second Blaine transferred in Season 3 it became clear that they didn’t really have a plan for Klaine in the same way they did for Finchel - Blaine gets a different personality every single season, Kurt gets to a completely different place in his life that makes his inability to move on from Blaine really hard to buy, and Blaine as the New Rachel in 4/5 is every bit as insufferable as that conceit implies. Even with all that, though, they kept winning me back, because Darren can sell the hell out of over the top cheese and Chris Colfer is the world’s greatest exasperated Straight Man (thinking especially of Teenage Dream Reprise and that absolutely batshit Beatles proposal, both of which worked for me way more than they should have). I also weirdly like the messiness of late Season 5 Klaine - the episodes aren’t good, but I appreciate their willingness to confront how much of a terrible idea them living together at that stage of their life actually is, and they even managed to win me over to the idea that they would find a way to make it work anyway. But the Karofsky thing in Season 6 was just one reversal too far, and to get them back together again after that in the most contemptuous, smug, “nothing matters so just give the shippers what they want I guess” insincere way possible (I really hate The Hurt Locker, can you tell?) was the last straw for me, to say nothing of how disrespectful it was to Brittana and Klaine to have one couple’s wedding coopted at the last moment by another so that it was no longer about them as characters but about how much Ryan Murphy has done for The Gays. So yeah, Klaine: My favorite canon ship that I wish didn’t actually end up together, at least not the way they did. But they were at their best when Glee was actually relevant and changed a lot of lives as a result, and that timing alone earns them a Top 5 spot.

#Glee #top 5 anything #long post

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

The Swan that fell for the Sea (1/3)

To @itsfabianadocarmo ♥ It is me, your Secret Santa!

You've been the most lovely giftee and gave me LOADS of free reign on this one and, as a result, you're receiving one of the longest works I've ever written! I went off your love of Captain Duckling and Silver Fox!Killian, wove in some Christmas elements and a sweet epilogue and sprinkled in some ~drama~ and here we are! You're a fantastic part of this fandom, my love ♥ Here’s to a wonderful Christmas and I hope that 2020 brings you love and joy and lots of good times! also, this monster is the reason I haven't got around to posting the drabble prompt you requested yet ;)

Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this event! You’re a star and have brought so many people joy! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ♥

And, finally, a HUGE thanks to @thisonesatellite for whipping me into shape and helping me mould the idea of this into a story. I owe you a million hugs and a bottle of something nice. ‘Tis the season, after all!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 2 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma had never wanted for much in her life.

A sunny day, here and there, perhaps. A brief reprieve from the mundanities of her duties, now and again.

Here, now, there is nothing she wants more than for time to stop.

It’s selfish, to want one moment to last an eternity, not to mention impossible. At many points in her twenty-one summers, she’d been told falling in love was an impossibility too.

Yet, here she is.

The far off crash of the waves and the gentle ebbing of the ship had awoken her far earlier than anticipated. Sleep still grips at her lids, her wrists, her ankles, and though its draw is ever so tempting, to bathe in the ignorant bliss of it all, she wills away its tendrils and lets the familiarity of worn sheets keep her company. Through the cabin window, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and the stars still stand prominent between scattered clouds, the collection he’d named for her glinting softly. A reminder.

He hadn’t named it after her, he’d named her after it.

Cygnus.

Swan.

She’s already forgotten the moniker she’d used before that. Her true name, she remembers, and, more than anything, she longs to tell him. Just once, she wants to hear him say it, to hear it fall from his mouth in the throes of passion, to hear it whispered in her ear when there’s no one else around, to hear it spoken proudly in front of an audience at their wedding.

But there’s no time; no time for questions, no time for confessions. There’s only time for this.

Killian holds her tighter, his arm tight around her bare waist as his solid chest presses to her back in the same way they’d spent all previous nights that summer, with the scruff of his beard catching at her temple along with the brief softness of his lips. It’s sweet, reverent, and it takes everything in her power not to meet him in a fierce kiss and resume their activities from the evening before and somehow sear his touch into her flesh so she’ll never truly be without him.

He’s leaving in the morning.

She cannot stand to see him go.

It had been early summer when The Jolly Roger had first made port in Misthaven. The solstice celebrations had come and gone, but the cool ocean breeze and promise of excitement coaxed Emma to the docks each night, visiting taverns in tattered skirts, drinking from bottles of cheap wine and cheaper ale, dancing barefoot in the streets around glowing embers of what were once fires and just being in a way that was so foreign and yet so familiar that existing among it made Emma’s heart swell. By beggar and thief, soldier and sailor, wench and widow, she’d found a place for herself.

That’s where they met.

Ruby, her friend, barmaid of the tavern closest to the shorefront, and always dressed in shades of red, had brought it to her attention first.

“It seems you have an admirer.” She noted, toothy smile parting her red-stained lips while slamming an overflowing tankard on the table beside where Emma sat, tucked into the corner just enough to avoid unwanted attention while still being able to see the commotions of the crowded inn unfold. “This is from him.”

“Ruby–”

“Trust me on this.” Flashing the five gold she’d taken as payment, Ruby smirked. Five gold. To most people, five gold would fund an entire week of celebration with a few silver to spare. But not Emma. She flashed her friend a smile, bringing the tankard up in thanks before taking a sip. She let the flavours dance on her tongue before swallowing. Wiping the foam that had escaped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, she looked in the direction of her admirer.

Candlelight painted him in a warm glow, catching on his worn leather overcoat, embroidered crimson waistcoat, and the chain around his neck that lay nestled in the dark hair of his chest. Dragging her eyes up, she caught sight of his face. He was older, significantly so, but he still held a youthful essence in the strength of his jaw and the quirk of his brow, it caught her off guard in a way she hadn’t expected. Grey and white teased at his temples and in the stubble of his beard but despite it all, he was captivating. In fact, it enhanced his appeal.

In his eyes, blue as the summer sea, a brewing storm.

With a knowing smile, he raised his tankard and took a deep gulp, mirroring her as he wiped the moisture from his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. Her eyes followed the movement intently, transfixed on the brass buttons and definitely not on the softness of his lips. She didn’t even realise she was staring until he winked and she abruptly turned to focus on her own drink.

Surrounded on all sides by crowds of drunkards, cowards and fools, the only sound in the room was the beat of Emma’s heart and the rush of blood in her ears. The tingle of a smile creeping to her lips.

She’d avoided looking his way again that night, knowing that she’d find him looking right back, with eyes dark and dangerous. It didn’t stop her thinking about what his lips would taste like.

The next few nights were more of the same. She’d dance in the late evening with the children out way past their bedtime, sing with the sailors sat atop empty barrels, drink and laugh inside the tavern on that same little table tucked away in the corner, but he never came over. He sat a fair distance away, sending her a tankard of the sweetest ale each night along with smiles, winks, stolen glances and nothing more.

His friends each had a woman in their lap most nights, sometimes two, but he never did.

It was five days before she even learned his name.

“Captain Jones.” Ruby yawned, on a rare break from her duties, sipping a cup of something with a sweet and spiced scent. “Story says he’s moored here all summer but one of his men let slip that he’s waiting on an important contract from the palace.”

“So they’re sellswords?” Hiding her surprise, Emma finished off the dregs of her brew. It’s not likely that anyone in the palace would stoop to such levels. They had armies, navies, dedicated men who would lay their life on the line for the crown. They had no use for pirates. That’s not how they do things in Misthaven.

Two tankards thunked to the table, catching both women by surprise.

“Pirates, actually.”

It’s an accent she couldn’t quite place but there’s no mistaking who it belonged to. Her stomach dropped as he took a seat beside her, not imposing on her personal space but still close enough that the scent of the sea air rolled off him, enveloping her in its comforting embrace. “It seems our favourite maid is taking a reprieve, so I took it upon myself to bring this over in person. I gathered it’s well past due that I make your acquaintance.”

Up close, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes were unmissable, but they didn’t distract from the intensity of his gaze. His whole look had an ageless and yet ancient quality to it, like somebody who’d seen too much and yet still longed for more. Emma searched his face for any sign of threat, ill will or nefarious intent but found none, only met with a soft smile and eyes she could drown in. She wanted to.

“I do believe you have my name already.” Honey. It’s what was in the beer, and what coated his voice, thick and deep and teased with a sharp edge. Her name sat on her tongue, heavy as lead, and she reluctantly swallowed it back. Here, Emma did not exist. Here, she was someone else.

She allowed herself to smile, or really, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. There was something about him, something intriguing that drew her in deeper each time their eyes met. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know him and, more worryingly, she wanted him to know her. Lifting up the drink he’d provided in thanks, Emma responded.

“Leia.”

His focus shifted from her eyes to her lips and, instinctively, she darted her tongue out to wet them. Averting his gaze with a smile, he shook his head, dismissive.

“No, that’s not it,” Emma’s kept her face blank, fighting the urge to react to his observation. How had he seen through her so easily? How had he been able to hear one word from her mouth and know, instantly, that it was a lie? His eyes still held no trace of malice, a softness coming over them in a familiar understanding and she wanted to trust him. “but your secrets can be yours.”

He didn’t push further and Emma didn’t offer an invitation to, but the conversation flowed comfortably, well into the night, until the shimmer of dawn lightened the horizon as they walked along the empty beach and he, Captain Jones, pointed up to the barely visible stars, reciting long forgotten stories of men that lost themselves in the sun and their lovers who mourned them.

“Swan.” He said, with an outstretched finger pressed to her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Had it been any lower, she’d have given him a playful smack but, as it was, the contact made her smile, warmth emanating from his touch. The smile he wore in return was free and open, with straight white teeth and lips pink as middlemist petals. How he managed to captivate her, with the threat of sunrise rapidly approaching, was beyond her comprehension, her alcohol-addled mind thinking far too deeply into things better left unsaid.

“Pardon?” She started, looking up from his finger into his eyes, dark in the predawn haze but kind in ways she didn’t then understand.

“That’s what I’ll call you.” His eyes lingered for a second too long on her lips, something he’d been doing a lot, not that Emma minded.

She found herself doing the same thing.

“Why?” She hummed, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. She could’ve danced to it, a waltz at a masquerade ball, with full skirts and sharp suits and masks slowly slipping. A memory of another life.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The words reverberated through his chest beneath her fingers and, more than anything else, she wanted to kiss him. The alcohol was probably to blame, and the rush that comes with welcome attention from a handsome stranger but, above all else, it was the ease of their conversations that night, how no matter what subjects or topics they veered down, they were there together, unravelling each other in a much more intimate way than ever expected.

She wanted to be Emma with him. Just Emma.

Maybe one day she’d allow herself that privilege.

She wanted to kiss him, drunk on ale and good conversation and something else.

So she did.

Rum and salt. A calloused hand holding her cheek. Stubble teasing at her chin. Soft hair beneath her palms. Heart hammering against her chest.

It was gentle, a press of lips before the rising sun bathed them in an angelic glow. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers to catch his breath, eyes closed and still smiling, but Emma leaned in for more, catching his lips again in something deeper, only satisfied when his other hand found its way to the small of her back and he pulled her close until not an inch of space was between them. She was on fire, from the tips of her fingers, one with a fist full of hair and the other still over his heart, right down to her toes, where the ocean lapped at her bare feet, shoes forgotten in the sand.

The next night was a similar evening spent enjoying the summer festivities, and when she found him at Ruby’s tavern, he greeted her with a slow kiss. She leaned into it, deepening it with a press of her tongue against his lips until her breath was short and his hands made their way to her hair. Before he could take control, she pulled away, catching the end of a quiet curse under his breath. His men cheered on and the Captain threw some colourful expletives their way, all the while following Emma to her corner table. They spent the night there, drinking and talking and laughing and existing until need got the better of her and she pulled Killian by the sleeve of his coat out of the tavern and towards The Jolly Roger.

She held onto him the whole way, fearing that losing his touch would cause her newfound courage to dissipate into the sea. She wanted this, this spark of elation that had overcome her so suddenly, and the anticipation of what it could bring, no matter how temporary. Emma knew that summer romances weren’t meant to last – she’d heard as much from the hushed voices of maids and servants when no one thought she was listening, stories of hope and desire, falling with the umber leaves come the first touch of chill – but she couldn’t not chase this feeling.

It was something new, dangerous and it left her soaring, light as a feather, released from all the burdens of the life she’d have to return to in the morning. It was escape in its basest form. She had not felt anything as intoxicating in her life.

She had not known him long, less than a day, really, but her mind was made up.

He tasted of laughter and smiles and the sweetness of summer wine when she kissed him on the deck. The moon their only audience.

“Swan,” He sighed, her name a whisper on his lips, as Emma let the cloak around her shoulders drop to the wood below and reached to unlace her bodice, urgency coursing through her, a fire in her veins. Her dress was simple, only slightly nicer than what she would’ve usually worn, with fewer tatters at the hem and tighter lacing that enhanced her chest. It was a world away from what she would have worn at home but then again that’s exactly where she was. A world away.

He caught her hand in one of his own, untangling her fingers from the leather ties as he brought them to his lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t truly want to. I don’t want you to think I expect this from you.”

Confused, she searched his face, finding a conflicted frown there. Did her inexperience show that badly? Yes, the nerves were there, simmering within her as he kissed the pad of each finger but, at that moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to be one with him. She’d waited a long time to feel that way about anyone. No pressure, no expectations, nothing guiding her other than her own agency.

Reaching for him, she let her thumb trail his jaw and trace his lips. He smiled, focused on the path of her thumb as she stepped into his space.

“I do want to, Captain–” His eyes snapped up to hers and she almost lost herself in them, their depth threatening to swallow her whole. If it was his intention to devour her with one look alone, he’d succeeded.

“Killian. Please call me Killian.”

Below deck, two pairs of hands worked at Emma’s bodice.

His and hers.

Naked together, exploring each other, she felt part of herself slip away, finding its home in the gaps between his ribs, in the scars of his back, in the hair below his navel. She felt a part of him too, in the hollow of her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine.

It was slow, exhilarating in a way that had the hairs of her arms standing on end, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs as Killian caressed her in all the places she’d craved to be touched. He built her up to a precipice she’d only ever reached by her own hand and encouraged her over the edge with his tongue. Her legs trembled as she fell, clenching around his ears, orgasm overtaking every atom of her being with a rush of energy emanating from her core. If she screamed out, it was lost to the crash of the waves and, later, Killian’s greedy kisses stealing her breath.

“You’re divine, my Swan.” He whispered the words against her mouth, lips slick with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tang. It took her a second, world slowly becoming clearer through the haze of her orgasm, to realise that the unfamiliar taste was her own.

When he finally came to enter her, she was beyond ready, begging for his touch with nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders from sheer want alone. Gasps of please fell from her parted lips as he pressed kisses into her skin, some delicate as butterfly wings, others fierce and sharp that she hoped would leave bruises, some kind of token that the pleasure she gained at his touch was real.

He built a rhythm, gentle at first, easing her through the discomfort with words of encouragement and languid kisses. Emma felt as the uncomfortable stretch of him faded away with each slow entrance of him, replaced only by her own urgency to reach her peak. When her hips bucked up to meet him, unsatisfied each time he wasn’t fully seated inside, he knew she was ready.

One finger trailed over her breast, circling her peaked nipple and teasing the pebbled flesh there, and in his eyes was pure lust. The touch of it enveloped them both in a fog that had her reaching out for him, a single whine falling between them as the angle of them shifted and he met her in a kiss that ignited fire beneath her flesh. He rocked deeper, faster and soon they were both clinging to each other, awaiting release on each thrust, gasping with the sensation of it.

They fell apart together, with Killian using two fingers to stroke at the apex of her thighs as his rhythm became quick and uneven, and Emma not able to hold back the moans that tore their way out of her throat, rough and broken but oh, so good. It was blinding. Emma couldn’t help but arch against him, hair frayed from its usual braid and eyes squeezed shut as the entire world flashed white behind her eyelids.

She awoke in the dark, sore, sated and happy, not quite remembering how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, only knowing that she didn’t want to leave.

“Cygnus.” With a kiss pressed just below her ear, Killian started, his voice deep and husky. The roughness of his beard tickled her skin and sent promising shivers down her spine, her body already anticipating where his touch might lead her.

“Cygnus?” Emma prompted, turning in his arms so she could look upon his face, see the satisfied smile and unruly hair and know that it was all her doing. Her own smile followed and she pushed herself up from his chest to greet him with a kiss, languid and warm. He tasted of her and his hand fit just right against her lower back, stroking soothing patterns with his fingers. Two unlikely puzzle pieces slotting together so perfectly. The Pirate and the–

“It’s a group of stars above this realm. You can see it so clearly in these parts.” He nodded towards the far side of the room where the window was and the stars beyond it. “There, can you see?” Through the wind-beaten cabin window, a cluster of lights shone back at her, a stark contrast to the canvas of black. She knew nothing of the stars but he told her anyway of the stories that predate the histories of all realms, the love and the loss and the pain they’ve suffered and yet, through it all, how they still manage to shine. He told her how it was his favourite, with heavy lids and a slow smile. How, whenever he saw it, he felt a little more at peace.

Emma let herself fall again into his arms, dragging him with her by the chain around his neck for a kiss that sent heat to all her most intimate parts. A boldness the had taken root in her, the nerves from earlier were nowhere to be found, and she revelled in it, taking advantage of the feeling while power still fizzled in the tips of her fingers. Killian let her roll him onto his back, sat astride his hips as she kissed him with a passion she’d always craved to possess. She only came up again for air, softly gasping as his smile against her lips sent her heart fluttering, pace as erratic as a rabbit escaping a fox.

“In the common tongue,” He said, quiet as a whisper, free hand making its way to pull out the braid in her hair, letting the blonde fall from its restraints and unfurl in a curtain around them. “Cygnus means Swan.”

She kissed him again.

And again.

Until the stars were no longer their witness and Emma left his bed with a soft smile, reluctant to leave but dreading the consequences if she stayed, as she laced herself back into her dress and made her way through the back streets, trailing in the dim morning shadows until she reached her home.

The Palace.

In the months between then and now, something changed. Whatever tied her to this earth before; her father, her mother, her people, her responsibilities, none of that matters now. She’s never felt more whole, more at home, than she does with him.

And that worries her.

He doesn’t even know who she is, not really. He knows her, body and soul, he knows his Swan with her love for seashells and the acquired taste of sweet rum, he knows she carries more secrets than she lets on and more than she could ever tell, but he doesn’t know Emma.

Princess Emma, sole heir to the Misthaven throne.

Future Queen.

No one does.

Between song and dance and kiss and touch, Emma had convinced herself that she was only Swan; that she was born of normal birth and had no ties to the crown, that the money lining her purse was from adventure and gambit rather than allowance, that the dresses cinched to her form were her best and not stolen from the maid’s quarters. In his arms, surrounded by a brand of adoration and care she’d never known before, she believed it too.

She can’t lie to him forever.

He shifts behind her and she turns to face him, to take him in, perhaps for the last time. His beard is longer, what once was trim to his face now developed into a thicker scruff streaked with grey and ginger, and his face glows with the kiss of summer sun, but it’s more than just that.

He’d shown her more of herself than she ever thought she could know.

He’d taught her to seek freedom and rebellion and excitement and love in all its many forms. He accepted her in rage and fury at the truth kept locked behind the prison of her teeth, bitten off before she can reveal it. He never pushed for her history, or how she knew so much about what occurred behind the palace walls, or how occasionally she’d hide behind his form when the King’s soldiers drank themself stupid on the shorefront, with kisses to her knuckles and a wisened smile saying only “when you’re ready, my Swan, I’m here.”.

She fell for him somewhere between their first kiss and now, slowly coming to the terrifying realisation that, her life would be bleaker without him in it. The docks would become the dirty, sullen place they were before his time here, the taverns sapped of their joy, the beach a place of driftwood and windburn.

And she would be alone.

No matter her company, loyal subject or bar rat alike, without him, there is an emptiness, unlike anything she’s ever felt. It’s overwhelming how she’s let herself become so dependent on the presence of another person in her life in such a short amount of time that, without them, she is destitute.

No.

She can, and will, survive his absence. She will come through it stronger and when he returns she will tell him her name.

Because now, with his sleeping face mere inches from her own, she is a child in a glass house preparing to throw a rock, willing the glass to not shatter and for her heart to not break. The confession is stone, jagged and true, and in her hand, it draws blood.

There are tear stains on her cheek when he opens his eyes. She pretends they’re not there, letting a smile fall into place while she’s greeted with the sleep-darkened blue that she’s come to look forward to every morning. She’ll miss them the most.

He smiles sadly at her, bringing a calloused thumb to wipe the wetness from her cheek with such reverence she could swear he was savouring it.

“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper, carried on the borrowed breath between them but it hits Emma like a punch to the gut.

If she were anyone else, if she were just ‘Swan’ or ‘Leia’ or any of the countless personas she’d curated, there would be no doubt about her answer. His eyes are hopeful and honest and open and it breaks her heart to see how much he wants her to accept.

She can’t look at him directly, choosing instead to bury her face in his chest, the soft hair caressing her cheek, listening out for the comforting beat that lulled her to sleep many a time before. Tears come but they do not escape.

She has to be strong for this.

“I can’t.”

Quiet falls, as if not even the sea wants to disturb them, and Emma counts the seconds before he responds, his arms winding their way around her back and holding her there. She’d come to associate his embrace with good things, safety and protection and warmth and peace, and she wants to melt into it, forget about her responsibilities and agree to his request, setting sail by his side.

But she can’t.

Fifteen.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

“Swan–”

“Killian,” She pleads, unable to stop her voice from breaking. It’s too much. It’s all too much. “Please don’t, I won’t be able to say no again.”

The weight of the crown sits heavy on her head; a chain she can’t break, a burden that only she can carry.

Killian lets his fingers tangle in her hair, the same way he does before drifting off to sleep only now he’s wide awake and tense in a way that Emma wishes she could smooth out. She wants to kiss him and feel as the tension bleeds out of him with the pressure of her tongue.

But it’s too late for that now.

“I don’t know what keeps you here, lass,” He hums. She can’t see his face but she can hear his frown – a mix of concern, frustration and something else, something more. His lips press to her crown and her stomach flips at the feeling. “I wish I did. I don’t trust half the bastards in this kingdom.”

Emma leans up until she can meet his eyes, wearing a matching frown. “I can take care of myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” He laughs, and Emma wishes she could trap it in a conch shell and listen to it forever, light and carefree and hers. He kisses the crease from her brow and she lets him, leaning into it before pressing their foreheads together.

He loves her.

He loves her and she can see it in his eyes, how they’re creased with a smile but still fogged by sadness at the thought of distance between them.

“I think what I’m really trying to say is… I don’t want to be apart from you.” His lips are so close, slightly parted, his warm breath ghosting her own.

“And I you.”

The kiss itself is smouldering and inevitable, fire and passion and so much more. It burns away every modicum of doubt in her mind, everything that had tried to convince her against this man who held her as if she was someone to be cherished and celebrated.

She pushes everything she can into it, a goodbye passed between their tongues in a language no one else can speak.

Time passes as it does, each grain of sand in the hourglass bearing the weight of a thousand things left unsaid.

“My Swan,” He sighs, pulling away to bury his face in her hair, inhaling as if to commit her scent to memory. Emma does the same, breathing him in. “I will show you the world one day. That is a promise.”

“You’ll come back for me?” She asks, softly, shifting so she can see his face.

“Aye, Always.”

Emma has always been able to decipher lies, being such a compulsive liar herself, but there’s nothing short of the truth in his voice. Her heart hurts all over again.

“I’ll be back when solstice comes.” Her blood turns to ice at his words. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Four months away.

If he comes during solstice, there will be no hiding. He’ll see her paraded through town, the prized jewel of the kingdom, and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that.

“When I see you again,” Her voice begs to crack under the weight of her promise. She does not let it. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Now, that’s one way to guarantee a man’s return.” The chuckle catches her off guard, it’s short-lived as he brushes the stray hairs that managed to fall in front of her face so gently she barely feels it.

“And what’s the other?”

“I do believe we’re already quite familiar with that particular activity.”

She bats at his chest, only causing him to laugh more before he pulls her close again, any distance between them proving too much. “You really are a dirty old man.”

“I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” Raising an eyebrow in his typical fashion, he takes a sniff of his own underarm. She can’t help but laugh as he does so, peels of laughter cutting through the silence of the night.

It’s this that she’ll miss. The effortlessness of their relationship. There’s a piece of her in Killian Jones, it snuck beneath his skin while she wasn’t looking and now it lives there, staring back at her from his eyes, wearing his smile.

“I’ll miss you.” It’s out before she can stop it.

She watches the smirk die on his lips, replaced with only a sad smile. This is the oldest she’s seen him, ocean eyes dark and misty and filled with so much love she feels her own tears spring from where they lay dormant.

He shushes her sobs, in the safety of his arms.

“And I you, my Swan.”

There’s a shallow clink of metal before an unfamiliar weight falls to her chest. His chain, it’s pendant the thick iron ring that once belonged, as Killian put it, to a far better man than him, rests heavy between her breasts. In the starlight, it glints, the robust scarlet gem reflecting dull pink facets on her skin.

“Look after it for me.”

#itsfabianadocarmo #cssecretsanta19 #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #ficminds #the swan that fell for the sea #merry christmas everyone!

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homosociallyyours · 5 years

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2018 Fic Year in Review

I know I’m ridiculously late with this, but here we go. I was tagged (weeks ago! yike!) by @horsegirlharry -- thank you, dear!! I appreciate it <3

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: 34! 11 of those are from the seasonal drabble fests, and 8 are short little ficlets under 1k, but that’s A LOT more than I’ve ever posted in a year before.

2. Word count posted for the year: 118,598. I know this is nothing for a lot of folks, but this is easily double what I’ve written in the entire time I’ve had an AO3 account up til now. I have always said that it’s important to keep writing if you feel like it even if you only have a few readers, but this is change in stats is all down to people liking, commenting on, and sharing my works. It really makes a difference to have other writers rec your work and be excited about what you’re writing, so...support your fellow content creators, people!

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting) I’m not gonna link drabbles, but they’re easy enough to find if you wanna! -Are You Gonna Be My Girl -In 36 Questions or Less -This Opening Monologue Studies Rainbows -4am -One of Those Days When You’ve Got Nothing On -I’ll Say It Everyday -Talk That Talk -I Love It When We Play 1950 -Mudpies -Just Swipe Right -Ready to Run Away -The World It Turns, No Matter What -These Days I Don’t Even Know Myself -Half of the Story -Just to See That Smile -In the Cards -Can’t Beat the Heat/Taste on Your Tongue/Cool Cool Cool -I Believe it This Time -Our Own Little French Club -I’m Half a Heart Without You, Baby -You Shine Like the Real Thing -On the Road Again With You -A Love So True You Don’t Have to Be Afraid -Our House (It’s A Very Fine House) -Are You Thorny, Baby? -When Everything is Perfect -Our Friends Keep Talkin’ About Us -The Christmas Lift -The Cold/Comfort/Christmas Cuddles -You Bring Us Together (Can’t Tear Us Apart)

4. Fandoms I wrote for: All the fic I published on AO3 was for One Direction, though I did publish a few ficlets for Sherlock (this is my favorite of those, a little parentlock featuring genderqueer Ro Watson)

5. Pairings: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn, Sherlock/John

6. Story with the most hits: Talk That Talk with 3531 hits

7. Story with the most kudos: The Christmas Lift with 264

8. Story with the most comments: The Christmas Lift with 22 comment threads

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why): Probably “You Bring Us Together (Can’t Tear Us Apart)” because it was ot5 and I really struggled with working out some of the plot points near the end.

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why): None. Writing isn’t easy and I do the best that I can with everything I write :)

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: UGHHH THIS WAS TOO HARD. So eventually I gave up and picked this little bit from “Our Own Little French Club” because I love Harry’s sweet gay fantasy moment. “Maybe next semester. I requested it, anyway,” Louis said, clicking to the red ink of Harry’s four color pen and doodling in the margins of the notebook in front of her. With anyone else, Harry would’ve requested they move to a new page. But Louis? She could leave her mark wherever she liked.That thought spurred on a fantasy of Louis drawing a line up from Harry’s bare knee and under the soft fabric of her skirt, the pen skidding over her skin until Louis held it taut with her free hand. A free hand that could slide up, too. Up and--“Hazza.” Louis’ voice interrupted Harry’s reverie and she closed her eyes to clear the images from her head. “Did you hear what I asked?”

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received: The reviews on “You Shine Like the Real Thing” are my absolute favorite because a lot of people have said that they’ve struggled with what Harry struggles with in the fic--figuring out their identity and expression as they come out as LGBTQ+ As someone who struggled to find the femme identity that feels like my home, I’m glad to be able to share some of that through fiction.

13. A time when writing was really, really hard: Always, honestly! I’m struggling with fatigue and chronic illness, and some days I just don’t have the ability or energy to focus and get words out coherently.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Writing as Louis in my 5 days of Louis series (incomplete, but the final fic is actually pretty much finished and just needs a little polish) was surprising for me, because I think it was one of the first times I wrote from Louis’ POV and I found it so comfortable.

15. How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote longer fics than I ever had before--that’s probably the main thing. I also signed up for the big bang and am working on a fic that will end up being twice as long as the longest thing I’ve written so far, so that’s pretty big for me too!

16. How do you hope to grow next year: I’d like to maybe set word goals for myself to meet every month and do my best to publish fic more regularly (in addition to doing challenges)

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): My beta, @statementlou, has been my number one cheerleader and inspiration, always giving me prompts when I need them and encouraging me to keep writing when I felt like walking away from something. @harryincamp has also been there for me and always supports my fics in the best ways. I’m glad we met on here! Also, the community of writers in the 1d fandom has been such a positive influence!! I’m gonna tag a ton of people, though I’ll probably leave some people out. Basically I felt welcomed and included by so many people right from the start of joining this fandom. So. Massive thanks to: @lululawrence, @horsegirlharry, @gaycousinlarry, @fullonlarrie, @suddenclarityharry, @disgruntledkittenface, @crinkle-eyed-boo, @rosegoldhlfics, @allwaswell16, @a-brighter-yellow, and @helloamhere I KNOW I AM FORGETTING PEOPLE. FUCK!!!

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: Yeah, basically writing girl direction has allowed me to bring a lot of my life to my writing. Lesbian not-dates? Femme identity issues? Definitely my life. Also my last fic of the year, the ot5 reunion fic, was set in the Bay Area, which let me use some of my experiences living here. I’ll probably do that more this year, tbh!

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: If you like something another writer has done, comment and subscribe to their work and don’t be afraid to message them. Most people want to talk about their work, and having people to message with when you’re struggling to feel inspired is immensely helpful.

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: MY BIG BANG FIC OMG!!! It’s a girl direction AU set in a lesbian bookstore in 1970s NYC, and I’m loving writing it so far. After that’s done, I’m thinking of tackling the Sherlock/1D crossover fic that I’ve been scheming over for a year now. It’s time!! Beyond that...I’ve no idea!

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. OK, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this thing from a lot of people in the 1d fandom, so I’m just going to tag some writers in other fandoms and folks I don’t *think* have done it. If you haven’t done it yet and want to, please do!! Tag me in so I see your answers :)

@aprillikesthings @velvetnoodle @zooeyscigar @perpetuallyvex @ennisgarlaend @pendragoff

This was a lot of fun! Thank you for giving me the chance to look back over the year <3 I hope some other folks will do the same!!

#about me #my writing #1d #long post #text post #year in review #i am so proud of how much i've written #and how much i like what i've written

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the-digimon-tamer · 5 years

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Chapter 20 - New Meets Old are out now on FanFiction.Net and ArchiveOfOurOwn! Going to do something a little different and actually post the chapter here too. Find it after the break!

Title: The Tamer v2.0 - In HIs Name

Fandom: Digimon

Rating: T

Synopsis: In the next adventure of the Digimon Tamer, the lives of Juri, Rika, and Henry change forever when digimon begin crossing over into the human world. But it’s all just a story, right? Just a book series by an author no one has seen in a long time. Why are they here and can they save their world before something worse follows the digimon?

Chapter 20: New Meets Old

It was around eight in the morning when, Yamaki walked into Izumi's hospital room. The lead scientist was sitting upright in his bed, chowing down on a tray of hot food: steamed rice with spam, a bowl of miso, some eggs, and a cup of fruit. It looked like he woke up just in time to get an order in the breakfast menu, and he could only imagine how hungry the man must be after being out for so long. The bewildered agent assigned to guard him was on the far end of the room, trying to ignore the munching noises of the ravenous Izumi as shoveled the food into his mouth. In fact, the man hadn't even noticed that he was in the room. For a brief moment, Yamaki wondered if he was even aware that he was missing a leg. He knocked on the door to get the man's attention before closing it.

"Izumi, it's good to see you're awake. We need to talk," Yamaki greeted, taking care not to rush the issue.

"Did you close the gate opened by the Juggernaut?" Izumi asked first. Gate? What gate? He probably meant the juggernaut. At least he wasn't going to dance around the issue. Yamaki ran a hand through his hair, "That's what I'm here to talk about. The Juggernaut program worked only briefly. But now, there are more of these wild ones crossing over into our world. And they're larger and more aggressive than ever. We don't have the means to contain this. At this point, it's the world's worst kept secret. What the hell happened?"

Izumi sighed, putting down his spoon and fork in a disgruntled fashion. He was obviously famished, having gotten by off IVs for the entire time he was unconscious. The scientist then removed his blanket to show the sorry remains of his leg. He appeared smaller without his leg, but seemed so much more dangerous for it. Only Izumi could've pulled off a threatening look from a missing leg.

The surgeons did a good job cleaning up the amputation, but he was obviously agitated about it and didn't hesitate to let Yamaki know, "THIS happened. I haven't seen my wife or daughter since you dragged me into this...program...this government bullshit. Months of my life dedicated to something I wanted no part of, and now my leg is gone! I almost died! You want to know what happened? You tried to control something you couldn't and you dragged me into it!"

Yamaki maintained his composure, waiting for Izumi to finish venting before saying anything. It seemed the computer scientist had a back bone after all. Once he calmed down, Izumi spoke more calmly, "The technology I used to build the juggernaut wasn't from this world. It was from theirs. The Digital World. Technology from their side. But it's written in a language that I barely understand with a level of technology I've only scrapped the surface of. Do you know how much more advanced they are than us? We needed a whole building and the city's power grid to do something they needed a device the size of a pocket watch to accomplish."

Izumi paused and Yamaki waited for him to catch his breath, well aware of Izumi's love of rambling, "The juggernaut...it doesn't just remove digimon from our world. It opens a gate into the Digital World and creates a special kind of electromagnetic field. It was the only way I could guarantee that it would only affect digimon and not humans. Once the digimon get close enough to the gate..."

Izumi paused, "You know what happens. But there's a catch to this method - gates work both ways. And when...whatever digimon came through, it left that gate wide open. So whatever problems you're having are because that gate is wide open and letting any of the big ones through!"

Yamaki had his explanation now. Then Izumi went on, "But the method I used to open that gate was messy. I got the idea from someone else a long time ago. They brute forced open a gate between worlds, too. But that method tore a hole in reality and destabilized the worlds around us. It was only by a miracle that we didn't all die, then and there."

"What are you saying?" Yamaki, alarmed by whatever Izumi was trying to say. Izumi looked up grimly, his voice shaking as he spoke the next line, "I'm saying that we're lucky it's only been digimon coming through and not anything else. I don't know what other worlds it might have blown open a path to, but I can guarantee that it's only a matter of time before something else shows up. And you better pray we can do something about it."

The air felt heavy all of a sudden. Yamaki didn't like the implications of what he'd heard. They were having enough trouble with the wild ones. He frowned and urgently asked, "When can you return to work?"

"When?" Izumi gestured at his leg, "Are you going to get me a wheel chair and a team because I'm not going to be able to walk around any more. And you better believe I'm not coming back just like that, either. I'm pissed."

"I saved your life!" Yamaki reminded him, only to be met with, "You ruined it!"

"The world is in danger," Yamaki pointed out and Izumi spat back, "If it's a world where I can't see my wife and daughter, I don't give a fuck."

It was then that Yamaki knew what he wanted. It was a hard ask but he was walking a very fine line as it was. The minister of defense and the Prime Minister were hounding him for results. Not to mention the fact that there was supposed to be a press conference about all of it later. The cat was practically out of the bag at this point. He had to deliver. With a heavy sigh, he replied, "You can see them as soon as you're cleared to be discharged."

"Fuck that noise," Izumi said, pushing his bedside table aside and adjusting himself in bed to face the exit, "We're going now."

...

Kari set her stuff down on her desk and turned to face the class. It wasn't hard to miss the dazed looks on some of her students: Juri Katou, Hirokazu Shiota, Kenta Kitagawa, and Takato Matsuda. Takato especially. Like they'd been up all night even though they'd spent all weekend camping. But when she thought about the chaos that followed their return, she couldn't help but be anxious. If she'd spent all of the afternoon dealing with rampaging monsters, she'd be burn out too.

That would have to wait until later though. She sighed and picked up her lesson plan to start the day's lesson. She would handle her students after class. But that didn't stop her from fixating on Takato, although she tried her best not to.

The idea that her brother had been just a few feet in front of her after all this time weighed heavy on her. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him. Not the least of which was why he never said anything. Then she remembered how the last time they'd met, he said she wouldn't recognize him. How she shouldn't wait for a brother who isn't coming back to return. But that would have to wait until after she confirmed it.

After what felt like the longest day, she dismissed her class but made a point of announcing, "Except for you Takato. We need to have a talk."

There were a lot of oohs from the rest of the class - kids being kids when someone got into trouble. It didn't help that he remarked, "That's okay! I wanted to talk to you too!"

There might just be trouble in this case. Any time her brother showed up, it was because the world was in danger. And after seeing all these digimon running around on the news, the fact that she hadn't been to the Digital World in years or seen Gatomon in some time. And if he wasn't her brother, then that just meant he was about to announce some crazy plan of his to cause trouble.

She waited by her desk as Takato came up to her, holding his backpack in both hands and looking so dazed that he was probably going to to fall asleep standing up. At least until he was up in front of her. Then he suddenly appeared alert and awake. He appeared to swallow a lump in his throat and asked, "So what's up, Miss Kamiya?"

She wasn't sure what to say now. The possibility remained that he wasn't The Digimon Tamer. How would she phrase it and not sound crazy? No, the whole thing was crazy. She sighed, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

He paused, "Actually yes, there was something I wanted to tell you. I was hoping I wouldn't have to beat around the bush too much but I'm running out of time so I needed to-"

That was enough for her, "Tamer?"

He paused, then the smallest of smiles drew itself on his face, "Oh, good. This saves me a couple of steps. When did you figure this out?"

It really was him. The Digimon Tamer was here. She often wondered what she was going to say to him when they met again. But nothing she could think of felt right. But any emotion would've been robbed by the fact that there were other things they had to worry about. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath, "I started to figure it out after that thing with the snake in the subway. You've been gone a long time and there's a lot to talk about."

She paused for a moment before adding, "For starters, why didn't you tell me?"

"I spent the first few months in this body in a daze. I didn't really realize what was going on until I was already here. Besides, would you have believed me?" Takato looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "Not to mention my memory's are fuzzy after reformatting. I remember a talking cat, clothes, a stage...and...a nice lady?"

She thought about it and it came back to her. The night of her college graduation, Matt had given her tickets to a return concert his band was doing. After the concert, they ran into a boy in ill fitting clothes who was rambling about nonsense. It was hard to forget, especially since he passed out the moment after Gatomon opened her mouth. The memory brought a smile to her face, reminding her of better times, "I think I remember that. It was after my college graduation. Matt played a song at his concert for me. Afterwards, some kid appeared back stage. He was really loopy and out of it. He passed out after Gatomon talked to him."

"That was you?" he asked before bursting into a laugh, "I see you did alright. Graduated from university, became a teacher like you wanted."

She returned the smile, realizing that they'd run into each other quite a while before now. But this wasn't the time for memories. There were things to do, "The others will want to see you. There are big problems: the digimon-"

He interrupted her, "I know. I'm working on it. Well...we."

"We?" she asked softly, alarmed by his choice of words but recalling that there were others kids involved. Two from this school and another girl she didn't recognize.

He still continued to smile that stupid goofy smile of his. Even after all this time, he still had that smile and the knowing look in his eye. Then she thought about his friends: Juri, Kazu, and Kenta. They all looked exhausted today. Even more interesting, she noticed them standing just outside the classroom through the hallway window. Of course they were there. She looked back at Takato, "Did you drag them into this?

"No," he shook his head calmly, "Well, not intentionally. I didn't pick them and I have no idea where their digivices came from. Whoever is doing this, it wasn't me. For most of them. For the rest of them, it was because I can't keep my mouth shut. Although, in my defense, this new mouth apparently can't keep a secret. Which makes it a miracle I didn't tell you sooner."

She stared at him in disbelief, wondering how much of what he said to believe.

"So what's going on?" she asked, wondering just how much he actually knew. He shrugged, "The same thing that's always happening: reality is compromised, worlds that shouldn't be touching each other are, and I'm stuck trying to fix it all. The big difference is I have an arm tied behind my back m because my head is still kinda fuzzy all the time and my old digivice broke and I can't figure out how to use the new one. It makes things more interesting, though. Check this out!"

He fiddled through his coat pockets and produced the oddest thing. A new digivice. One that made no sense to her - it looked kind of like her modified digivice only more centered. Then he began excitedly explaining, "They're real marvels if I'm being honest. They have a lot of the same features: scan, digivolution, possibly open gates to other worlds - still can't figure out how - OH! And these have card readers in them! And the cards modify digimon! It's really cool. It's kinda...I don't know, not stylish like the old one. You can't beat a classic. I'd modify this one if I could figure how it works but it's like someone made a banana but had only ever heard of a banana. So when they tried to make it yellow with a hard skin, and a flavor not everyone likes - they made a lemon. And that metaphor doesn't really work. Forget the banana and the lemon."

She found herself smiling at everything he said. She wanted to be upset. To be angry. To feel some kind of insult after he'd continued to keep his secrets. Then he put it away, "Never mind me, though. I'm doing fine. Kind of...where are the others? I've been trying to track them all down but this world has made it too...difficult to concentrate."

"We're meeting up later at Mimi's," she explained, "You can come with me."

His face lit up excitedly, "That works out for me just fine because we were going to have a team meeting with her daughter. Real quick ask, if you don't mind: do they go by any weird names right now?"

"Weird names?" she repeated quietly, blinking in confusion. No, that wasn't the important part right now. She shook her head, "Wait, how do you know Mimi's daughter?"

"It's a long story and I'll explain that part later," he dismissed her, "Does any one else go by weird names?"

She blinked again. It seemed they had a lot more to talk about than she realized.

...

Juri, Kazu, and Kenta waited patiently as Takato finally emerged from the classroom with Miss Asaji just behind. Or Miss Kamiya. It was still a weird thing to think about - that their teacher had a completely different name that they couldn't hear until Takato pointed it out to them. It was just...too much to process. He smiled from ear to ear cheerily, "Thanks for waiting guys."

"Students," Miss Asaji...Miss Kamiya greeted them. They all nodded and Kazu leaned in to ask, "Takato, did you open your mouth again?"

"Well yeah. I need to talk. Sometimes to eat. Occasionally to breathe when I'm out of breath," he replied matter of factly, "I haven't mentioned this yet, but we're going to Rika's place tonight."

"Rika?" Kazu repeated, glancing back at her teacher, "Dude, is it alright to talk about that in front of Miss Asaji?"

It still hadn't clicked for him. Juri frowned, wondering if this is what Takato…Tamer must've felt like for months.

"I already know, Kazu," she explained, alarming Kazu, "DUDE! YOU ARE THE WORST AT KEEPING SECRETS!"

Takato waved it off casually, "Don't worry about it, Kazu. Things are mostly under control. More importantly, how would you like to meet the digidestined?"

Kazu's worried expression changed to delight. He was practically bouncing with excitement, thrilled at the chance to meet his own personal heroes. Kenta was a bit more subdued, but she could tell from the way his face had turned bright red from potential embarrassment that he was excited too. He didn't want to look stupid in front of them. Juri wanted to feel happy for them but couldn't muster the energy to feel excited. Truth be told, she was still anxious about a lot of things. Their teacher's real name, telling their parents the truth, going to the Digital World. A lot of this seemed to be happening really fast.

She snapped out of it when Henry appeared beside her, startling her into jump which he quickly apologized for, "Sorry about that. What did Takato do now?"

"Is he a part of this too?" Miss Kamiya asked, pointing at him wearily. Takato nodded, "Yeah, he is."

"Don't drag me into your mess Takato. Whatever it is you did, I had nothing to do with it," Henry threw up his hands defensively, hesitant of whatever was about to happen until Takato insisted, "It's okay, I told her."

"Oh, never mind. Then yes, I am a part of this," Henry gestured to himself and the rest of the group. Takato nodded, "That's right. Now let's go meet the others!"

"The others?" Henry repeated, slowly following Takato's logic until he finally understood, "You don't mean-"

"Dude, we are going to meet the digidestined!" Kazu punched the air excitedly, until Takato covered his mouth and shushed him, "Not so loud. We don't know who's listening and the last thing I want is for another government agent to show up with his gun!"

"Government agents? Takato, what exactly have you kids gotten yourselves into?" Miss Kamiya asked anxiously. It was hard to miss the disapproving look she got from Miss Asaji, especially when it focused in on her. Juri had to look away to avoid cracking under the gaze. Takato waved it off, "Like I said, I'll tell you guys everything once we're at Rika's."

Kazu groaned, "What? Dude, you said we were going to go meet the digi-"

He paused, realizing how loud he was being and lowered his voice, "I mean, you said we were going to meet the digidestined!"

Takato and Miss Kamiya were both looking at Kazu quizzically now and it was his turn to start feeling the pressure. Miss Kamiya pointed at herself, "Kazu…I'm a digidestined. Miss Kamiya? As in Kari Kamiya? That's been my name all year. Did you not notice or do you just not do your homework? You would've had to have read my name every day for months if you were."

Kazu stared at Miss Kamiya quietly, his face stumped by what he'd heard, "Okay, are one of you pulling my leg? Because I'm getting really sick of all this Nami Asaji crap. It was funny before but now I'm getting mad."

"What did he just call me?" Miss Kamiya asked, looking to the others with an equally confused look. Takato groaned, "It's a long story and I don't want to deal with it right now. So, let's head over to the Rika's already!"

Miss Kamiya adjusted her bag and her took the lead for them, "Just as a warning, you kids better behave yourselves while you're there. Don't treat Mimi's like you treat the school."

"I don't recall you being so behaved when you were their age," Takato commented, only to be met with a snide, "How would you know? You weren't there for most of it. Besides, you have a penchant for getting into trouble mister 'brings-a-bag-of-smoke-bombs-to-school'."

Takato promptly shut up. This wasn't the usual scolding he received from Miss Asaji…Miss Kamiya. Their dynamic became less teacher-student and more like the playful banter between two people who hadn't seen each other for a long time. It was odd how quickly they started acting that way. Still, Juri was just glad he was starting to talk to people more.

...

Impmon landed with thump, observing the humans as they made their out of the school. The half sized squirt wasn't with them. Which was a problem for him if he didn't find Calumon. He got as close as he could without alerting them to his presence and listened carefully.

"So where's Calumon, Henry?" Takato asked, "Still safe with your sister right?"

"They'll be fine," Henry sighed, "Assuming they don't drive my dad crazy first."

"With his sister and his dad, huh?" Impmon repeated to himself quietly. But where the hell was the sister? It had to have been the little girl with them the other day with those crazy digimon. And going by her age, she was at home. Wherever home was. He'd have to keep a closer eye on the blue haired kid until he was on his way home. Then he'd know where the little twerp was.

"And where is that exactly?" the woman with them. She was new, probably another addition to the ever growing number of humans getting themselves involved in something that wasn't their business. Henry gestured off into the distance, "Apartment complex that way."

Maybe he wouldn't have to wait that long. Impmon shook his head, wondering how these humans kept anything secret when they talked so openly like that. Then again, they were just kids. Well, that would be their problem. Not his. His problem was getting Calumon.

...

Rika sat at her desk, finishing up the rest of her homework and cracking a very tired yawn. Because of what happened yesterday, all she could think about was the fact that they were all going to be showing up at her house soon. Those guys with the guns also kept popping into her head but that wasn't as important as far as she was concerned. Once she finished the last problem, she quickly double checked her homework to make sure everything was correct and neatly put back into her bag for school. Then it was off to the races - those idiots would be showing up any moment now and she wanted to be ready for them.

Once she had her deck pouch ready and her digivice, she made her way out to the living room to see her mom had set the dinner table with coffee and home-made snacks. She was tempted to sneak one away and leave but didn't want to get caught by her mom. As much as her mom was consumed with work, she was also a hell of a great cook and knew how to make a lot of really delicious dishes. Just as she was tempted to grab one of the brownies, her mom called out, "Ruki? Is that you? Aw, did you want some of my homemade brownies? Help yourself honey, there's plenty more where that came from."

Rika retracted her hand in protest. She didn't want to take it as an invitation from her mom. She shook her head, "No thanks. What's with all the food anyway?"

Her mom poked her head out of the kitchen, "I have some friends coming over! You might just like to meet some of them."

"No thanks," she turned to head back to her room only to run into her grandmother blocking the hallway back to her room, "Oh no you don't, young lady."

"Grandma?" Rika gasped in surprise as her grandmother spun her around and pushed her back to the dinner table where the snacks were. Her grandmother wagged a finger, "Don't think about sneaking out again tonight, young lady! I know what you did last night! You're staying home today. You can play with your friends later."

"Crap," Rika scowled, trying to get back to her room only to have her grandmother block her at every attempt. Her grandmother added, "Go say hi to your mother's friends. Then you can go back to your room. With me. Because you're not sneaking out again."

Now that she was stuck here, she decided she may as well help herself to some of her mother's brownies. As soon as she heard the first knock on the door, she tried to make her way back to her room only to get blocked by her grandmother again, "No, you don't young lady."

Rika groaned, resigning herself to staying in the dining room. She may not be able to avoid meeting all of her mom's friends but that didn't mean she had to talk to them. And if any of them tried to talk to her, she planned on ignoring them. In a huff, she stuffed her mouth full of the brownies as her mom's first friend came in. Her mom happily offered the man a seat, "I made brownies, cookies, some cake, and anything you can think of! Help yourself! The tea will be ready any minute, Joe!"

"Thanks, Mimi," a dark haired man in glasses smiled, taking a seat in the dining room and helping himself. When he took notice of Rika, he smiled, "Hey there. I'm Joe Kido. You must be Ruki. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She nodded, remembering him from the book and the show. She recalled Joe being something of a worry wort if cautious. He didn't seem either - appearing more relaxed than anything. She stuffed another brownie in her mouth to ignore the man as he spoke, "Your mom speaks very dearly of you. I'm sorry about your dad by the way. I knew them both when we were your age. I gotta admit, it's incredibly out of character for someone like your dad to just disappear on you guys."

She still ignored him, but that didn't stop him from going on, "Not a talker, eh? That's fine. I can do the talking for both of us. That is what I do, after all. You look like you had a rough day - either that or you had a long night and haven't gotten much rest. Y'know, it's not healthy for kids your age to stay up too late. It'll make you short. And I wouldn't eat too many sweets. You'll get a cavity. Or even a root canal."

Annoyed at that remark, she swallowed the mouthful of cookie she had just bitten and asked, "What's your deal?"

He continued to smile at her, "My deal? Well, I'm a doctor and a good friend of your mom. So naturally, I notice things in the world that most others wouldn't when it comes to health. I notice you're kinda tall for your age which is good because that means you have a healthy lifestyle. But if you're not careful, that may not be the case. You don't want to peak as a kid, do you?"

She rolled her eyes, relieved when the door knocked and two more of her mom's friends came in. She recognized them immediately as Sora Ishida, her mom's fashion designer friend, and Matt Ishida, that rockstar/soldier/astronaut husband of hers. The digidestined of love and friendship. One was kind, compassionate and cared deeply for those around her. The other was abrasive and rough around the edges, but she recalled the small rampage he went on when he thought his was brother was hurt in the first book.

Sora hugged Joe, "It's good to see you Joe.'

"Likewise," he hugged her back and nodded at Matt, "How've you been, Matt? Any luck?"

Matt eyed Rika wearily and frowned, "Not in front of her daughter. I don't want to talk about it."

It seemed like he wasn't going to talk to her. That was fine by her. She didn't want to talk to him either, anyway. Joe went on to add, "I saw your new fashion designs the other day. Beautiful work as always, although I think you're getting a little too risqué with some of your men's clothing."

Sora put her hands over Rika's ears and said something she couldn't make out. But she could see Joe's glasses slide down his nose a little while Matt turned his head in shame. Once she removed her hands, Joe adjusted his glasses and snickered, "I hope your fans appreciate what your wife does for you."

"Sometimes I don't," Matt replied. And it didn't take long for the rest of the friends to show up from there - some weird private investigator name Ken Ichijouji and his wife Miyako. But for some reason everyone called her Yolei. Then there was a mustached lawyer named Cody, and some lanky looking cook named Davis who showed up still wearing his apron and cooking bandana. Soon she was surrounded on all sides by a bunch of adults she didn't want to talk who wouldn't stop chatting. She was about to go into the living room when she overheard the one called Davis ask, "So when's Kari getting here?"

"Aren't you married?" Yolei asked. There was a small laugh from the group before Davis reasoned, "Yes I am. And I'm asking because she's the one who wanted us all to meet up."

She moved to the living room and turned on the TV, hoping to drown them out when there was another knock on the door. Davis threw up his hands excitedly, "Finally!"

She heard the door open and a lot greetings happen, followed by a familiar and annoying voice, "No way, we're going to Rika's house?"

It was that stupid guy Kazu. Which meant it was her friends. She got up, relieved to finally have an excuse to not be around her mom's friends when she heard her mom say, "Oh, do you know my daughter?"

Of course Takato had to answer, "We kinda hang out a lot with her."

"Oh, I didn't even know she had friends in her own age group," her mom said excitedly, "Especially not boys. Then again, she always was a tomboy."

Rika groaned, wanting an out of this conversation while she could. She walked out of the living room to meet them, hoping to get them out to her room before things got more out of hand for her. Out in the entry hall were none other than Takato, Henry, Juri, Kazu, Kenta and that weird teacher she remembered from the other day - presumably the Kari Kamiya from the original draft.

"My room's this way," she said to them, gesturing for them to follow.

"Rika, that's no way to talk to your friends!" her mom scolded her only for the goggle head to add, "That's alright. It's weird to us if she's not talking like that. To be honest, I'm surprised you didn't notice yet, Mimi. Rika did, so I figured you would too."

"Notice what? And how do you know my name?" her mom asked perplexedly. Miss Kamiya smiled at her and greeted, "Hi there, Ruki. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Miss Kamiya, but you can call me Kari. I'm a friend of your mom's and their teacher."

"It's Rika," she corrected, keeping her eye on goggle head as he made his way into the kitchen. Then she heard a very loud smack followed by something hitting the floor. She made her way into the dining room to see Takato on the floor massaging his cheek, Matt standing over him with a raised fist. Takato looked up and grimly replied, "I really should've expected that. Hello to you too, M…erm…Marc? No, that's not…Matt! Yes, Matt!"

"What the hell happened?" her mom demanded as everyone else made their way back into the room. Matt pointed at Takato on the floor, "You know he deserved it."

"Oh, is that him?" her mom raised an eyebrow. Before anything else could happen, the cook and the private detective helped him off the ground. With the chef quietly saying, "Sorry about that. He's under a lot of stress. Well, we all are. So…you're-"

"Yup," Takato nodded, straightening himself out, "Sorry, my head's a little fuzzy still so I might get a lot of this wrong. But if I remember correctly…it's…Matt, Skye, David, Yolei, Wotkin…and um…sorry, I can't remember the rest. Head's still a little dizzy."

"I want to say I'm offended but I'm not sure what else I expected," Joe said from the table, taking off his glasses to clean them, "I mean, you're not right, but you did call every one of them by at least one of those names at least once."

"I think I am offended," Davis scratched his head while Matt cracked his knuckles, "I think I'm going to deck him again."

Before anything else could be said, Kazu jumped in the middle of the room and excitedly called out, "No way! It's really you guys! It's gotta be…Sora, Matt, um…Joe…or are you Ken? Wait, you've gotta be Ken, which makes you Joe. Then that means you're Yolei! And you're Davis and Cody and…this is so cool!"

At the mention of their names, each of the adults frowned, and one of them could be heard muttering, "Dammit, Takeru."

Rika frowned. It seemed that the goggle head had told them who they were. Although she was madder at Kazu for his next remark, "Which makes you Mimi! And…wait! Rika! Your mom is Mimi! Your mom is…wow, the apple really fell far from the tree."

She promptly kicked his shin, making him jump in place in agony. Kenta patted the boy's shoulder, "You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?"

Once he stopped massaging his shin, Kazu looked up at the teacher, "Wait…wait…oh you've…I'm an idiot. You're Kari Kamiya! You're-! Guys! Do you know who that is? That's Kari Kamiya!"

"Oh good, he's finally figured it out," Henry laughed.

"It's like I said. Different worlds, sitting on top of each other causes your minds to process it in a way that makes sense," Takato explained matter of factly, "It's not until you notice the inconsistencies on your own, or someone points them out to you, that it starts to unravel. In his case though, his mind must've been subconsciously trying not to notice. How else could a fan of the digimon franchise like you miss what was right in front of them the whole time?"

Rika barely followed any of that, but she was sure he just called him dumb. Then she heard Ken groan, "Because of course Takeru had to publish his books."

"He asked our permission so it's not like we can be mad," Cody said, quickly adding. Then he noted Henry, "Hello there, Henry. Find your answer?"

"Yes, sensei," he answered, "Don't tell me you're a digidestined too."

"Indeed I am," he nodded, looking back to the rest of the group, "Takeru may not have changed our names but he changed our descriptions enough that most people wouldn't identify us. Besides, before any of us gets mad: I'm a public defender so anyone can look me up, Matt's a rockstar, Sora's a top fashion designer with a huge following, Mimi's got her own fanbase with her modeling and acting career. If anything, Davis is the only who had a bright idea by becoming a ramen cart owner in a city full of ramen cart owners."

"Had to follow my dream," he said matter of factly, "But we can all catch up later. We have serious problems."

"Right, the digimon," Henry began. Matt pointed at him and began, "Okay, seriously Kari. Who are the kids and why'd you bring them?"

"Because this," Henry pulled out his digivice and unzipped his bag so that Terriermon could hop out, "Finally! I thought I was going to suffocate in there!"

Rika did the same and produced her own digivice. Takato followed their lead and produced both of his. Her mom gasped, "Ruki! Have you been a-"

She quietly made her way to the garden door and slid it open. Then she called out, "Renamon! It's alright. Come out."

Her partner appeared quickly, arms crossed and staring into the room, "Rika, are you sure about this? You've tried so hard to keep me secret."

"Oh wow," her mom said. Rika waited for her to say something about how she didn't like her partner being so cold looking but instead heard, "She's gorgeous! Just look at this fur! And that look! So cool. Sora, you have to make a dress after her. Or a jacket. Tell me, Renamon! Who does your hair?"

"Don't ruin this for me, mom," Rika snapped quickly, dragging the woman away from examining her partner too closely, "She's not gorgeous, she's cool! And don't you dare make a dress after her!"

Then Rika noticed that aside from her mom, the mood in the room was somber. All the adults looked disappointed or alarmed and Terriermon sheepishly stated, "Don't all get excited at once. Did someone die or something?"

"Not yet," Ken explained, "The last few months have been difficult to put it lightly."

"Don't you mean weeks?" Kenta asked them all, stuttering like he was about to pass out, "I mean…all this started only a couple of weeks ago."

"I already explained this Kenta. Well, maybe it's time I reexplain this whole mess. Guys! The world is screwed, reality is combining worlds that shouldn't be near each other and it's making time become convoluted," Takato pointed at Kenta before going over to a wall and taking a pencil from his bag, "It may have been a few weeks for us since this whole mess started but it's been months for them. Like I said, worlds sitting on top of each other."

Then he started drawing on the wall - curved lines, wavy lines, straight lines and more that just kept intersecting each other while all going in the same direction, "Time for your world, your version of reality is moving like this. But now it has to occupy space with another world - one similar enough to yours that you miss the little stuff, but different enough that they're not compatible. Then you have the Digital World trying to enter the mix and…well, you get the idea."

"Stop drawing on my wall, goggle head," Rika smacked the pencil out of his hand. She was glad to hear her mom add, "You better clean that up."

Takato ignored her and turned to the others, "Right, any questions?"

"Okay, start that whole thing over again but without the parts where I have no idea what you're talking about," Davis asked with a raised hand, examining the wall with all the focus that Kazu must've put into anything.

"Forget that, what have we missed from your guys side? Eh? You all look well! Except for the sour moods, which I guess is bad."

They all gave him skeptical looks, and Sora asked, "You mean you don't know?"

Ken added, "Yeah, you're usually on top of all this stuff. So either you're lying or we're royally f-…I mean in serious trouble."

Rika knew what he was going to say and said it anyway, "So we're fucked?"

"RUKI!" her mom snapped until Takato interrupted, "No, I'm not lying. Hand on my hearts, blaster to my head. I've been a little confused since getting into this face. I remember I'm supposed to find someone to help me sort it out but I can't remember who. And the different worlds with different destinies sitting on top of each other makes it hard to tell what's supposed to happen at any given moment. Think like being in a party where everyone's talking to you at once. But there's only three people so I guess that's not a party. Forget the party!"

A pause followed before Kazu said, "Yeah, we're just as confused as you guys are about anything he's saying."

"I don't get the two worlds thing. There's our world and the Digital World. What else is there?" Davis asked, examining the lines on the wall carefully, "You mean the Dark Ocean?"

Takato looked at them like they'd all just drooled, "Don't tell me you guys haven't noticed either? Come on! After everything that happened? You don't remember?"

"Explain it again. Slowly this time," Joe asked calmly.

Takato sighed, "Okay, this worked for the others so maybe it'll work for you guys. Mimi! How old are you? Don't hit me, just answer the question."

"Twenty-six," she answered. Rika blinked. That wasn't her mom's age and she interrupted, "Mom, you're not twenty-six. What, you had me when you were a high schooler? Then again…"

Her mom gasped and slapped the back of her head, "Don't make me wash your mouth, Ruki. Of course I didn't. Your father and I…were both out of high school when…wait, that can't be right. I'm…twenty-six. But you're…does anyone else have a headache?"

The adults all looked at each other with alarm. This must've been like what they were doing when Takato broke the news to them. Each of them were quietly scratching their head. Davis added, "That's right…the girls had a baby shower but that was…"

Takato sighed, "Come on. Concentrate. Think about it! Let's try this. Kari, how long ago did you graduate from university?"

"Not that long ago," Matt answered, "She graduated, started teaching at your school. I played a song for her at my concert."

"So you finished your military service since then?" Takato asked. Matt nodded, "You're damn right I did! It was the roughest five…wait…no, I didn't…Sora?"

"I'm noticing it too," she nodded, "When did we get married? We were dating then. But it's only been a few months and…I don't remember you proposing or a wedding or…"

The adults were now all dazed and confused. Rika looked over at Kari who was massaging her head. Takato patted her back and explained, "Two worlds with different paths. Two different truths, occupying the same space at the same time. They can't both be true, and yet they are. Reality is compensating by making two different people the same person."

Kari paused before saying "So what you're saying is-"

"-in another time, you were born Nami Asaji to the Asaji family," Takato answered with a frown, then turning to Rika's mom, "You were born Makino Rumiko. So on and so on. Your lives have become intertwined."

"Does anyone else know what he's talking about?" Davis asked, "Because none of that made any sense to me. I know I'm not the smart one, but this is making my head spin."

"All our heads are spinning," Ken added.

"I think it makes perfect sense," Joe said, "It also explains a lot. But maybe we should compare notes to make sure we're all on the same page."

"AWESOME!" Kazu sat down, "So what happened after the last book!? You guys go to the Digital World again!? I bet you've fought a lot of bad guys since then."

"A lot happened. Mei still barely talks to us after what happened with her," Sora explained sheepishly, "But the broad strokes are that our digimon all disappeared one day and we haven't been able to get into the Digital World to look for them! Around the same time, Takeru vanished and we have no idea where to. Not to mention Izzy ran off without a word. We've all been worried."

"I wouldn't worry about dad. He walked out on us and I don't care if we never see him again," Rika spat out angrily. The adults began looking at her and she realized she was being angry again. She took a deep breath and added, "Still, I'm sorry about your digimon. That must suck."

Sora frowned, "It does. We're worried."

Takato patter her shoulder, or tried to with how short he was, "I'm sorry. Couple of questions: Who's Mei? What do you mean your digimon are gone? And who's Takeru?"

A beat followed where Matt cracked his knuckles and the rest of the older digidestined shifted uncomfortably. Then Takato asked, "Wait, was Takeru the one who wore all the hats? Aw, I liked him."

"Oh yeah? And what about us?" Ken folded his arms disapprovingly. Takato quickly added, "No offense to you guys but he was the only one willing to wing it and go with the flow. Y'know, let destiny sort it out."

Matt slammed his fist on the table, "Well that could've been the reason he went missing so you'd better help us find him."

Takato apologized, "Sorry, sorry. I'll add it to the To Do List."

Matt was already off the desk with a raised fist, looking ready to deck Takato when there was another knock at the door. Henry looked towards it, "Are you guys expecting someone else?"

"No, we're all here," Mimi said, "Hide your digimon. I'll go see who it is."

Renamon was already gone while Henry was busy stuffing Terriermon back into the bag. As soon as her mom opened the door, she heard a soft gasp. Rika groaned and went to go check on her. Why was she running at all the loud noises today? When she got there, she saw a man in black suit with sunglasses pushing another man in a wheel chair. She felt her heart stop in shock at the mere sight of him, "Dad?"

"Hey Ruki," he said with the biggest smile.

...

Author's Notes: A surprise reunion! How will Rika react? What will happen when Takato is in the same room as Yamaki? And just what is Impmon up to? Find out all this and more in the next chapter of The Tamer v2.0 - In His Name due out next Friday, July 19th 5 PM CDT!

Yamaki wanted to feel happy for Izumi, finally seeing his wife and daughter for the first time in a long time. However, there were urgent matters pressing in the back of his mind that he knew took precedent over this. And the sooner they got out of here the better. From the moment his wife hugged him, Izumi never once let go of her. He noticed a girl standing in the entry way too - a girl with red hair tied into a pony tail that resembled a pineapple. Presumably his daughter.

He'd seen her somewhere before - where?

As he tried to recall, he could vaguely hear Izumi's wife asking where he'd been and what happened to him. He couldn't hear whatever answer Izumi gave, but it made his wife walk up to him and slap him across the face. That cold hard smack was something new to Yamaki - he'd never been slapped by anyone's wife before. Her fury was clear on her face too, "How fucking dare you."

#Digimon Tamer #fanfiction #archiveofourown #digimon tamers #chapter 20

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darkpetal16 · 5 years

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The Bucket List: Ambiguous Morals

A/N The other HP fanfiction that I might choose to finish once I wrap up a couple more of my stories. This one does feature a reincarnated student, and a very heavily morally gray OC.

Reborn as Harry’s twin sister at the start of his story means a completely fun, and relaxing life.

Not.

Genre: Adventure / Fantasy

Rating: T (involves breaking the laws, and child endangerment)

For the longest time all I felt was pain. There was no singular thought, no coherent feeling. Only pain. I felt it all throughout my body, and yet I felt like I had no body. I was flattened; spread out and steamrolled over repeatedly. The pain was unlike any I had ever experienced, and when I was finally given a relief I wanted to sob with gratitude.

The relief, unfortunately, was painfully brief.

And then the pain started again, but this time it was focused on my head. The worst possible migraine in history, I believed. Nothing - absolutely nothing - could be compared to that pain.

My body felt loose, wobbly, and utterly helpless. I had little to no motor control, and I could do nothing but cry and cry. At times I felt a rush of cold and the pain vanished instantly, but it only lasted for a minute, or two.

And then, one day, the pain abruptly stopped.

I woke up.

My eyes stared at the painted ceiling of the night sky. Stars twinkled, and I saw a comet shoot across the sky. There was a single waning moon to the far right corner, and when I turned my head to look at it, I realized that I was surrounded by wood bars on all sides of me. Confusion entered my mind, as I struggled to understand why I would be in a cage without a ceiling.

After another moment of staring at the bars, I began to look around and I realized how proportionately large (and blurry) all the furniture were around me.

I was inside a child’s room.

A… a baby’s room.

Fear, with more bewilderment, shot through me and adrenaline forced my body into action. I flailed around, unable to find the strength to do more than roll a little to the left and right. I looked down in horror at my tiny, chubby hands that I knew were not mine. The hands before me were pale and pink, and most certainly too tiny to belong to any adult. My arms were covered in fat, and stubby. I was wearing some kind of footie pajamas.

Impossible.

I tried to think back on my previous actions. I tried, desperately, to remember past the pain.

My head throbbed sharply for second, causing my brow to furrow as I winced.

Then I remembered.

I died.

I died. I know I did. There was no possible way for me to have survived what had happened. I was in my third year of medical school, I knew it was impossible for me to have survived. I remembered thinking how utterly disappointed I was about my life as my heart stopped beating and I could no longer breathe.

Then pain.

So how was I here?

I died - but now I’m alive?

I was -

I mean.

I was reborn?

How?

Why?

I was no one special. I was a groomed child who did everything right. I wasn’t mean to anyone. I had no grudges. I went to prep school, boarding school, absolutely everything my high-powered lawyer mother had me do. After graduating from high school with many university classes under my belt already, I tested in early to medical school and did everything expected of me. I studied. I pulled all nighters for the longer shifts at a chance for more experience. I practiced my sutures religiously.

I did everything right, so why do I have to go through it all again?

I didn’t want that. That would be a special kind of hell if I had to do it all again.

Wasn’t death supposed to be the end?

“Rosie?”

My gaze turned towards the front door of the room as the door slowly creaked open. A woman entered with startlingly bright green eyes and a halo of dark red hair. She approached me, her gaze warm and loving as she looked at me. There was a hopeful light in her eyes and her lips slowly upturned. “Rosie? Are you feeling better, sweetie?”

I didn’t know what to say. Hesitantly, I reached towards her, stretching my tiny fingers up in the sky.

Her eyes watered, and she swooped down and picked me up with ease. “Oh. Oh, my sweet little flower. Is the pain gone? James! James!”

Then a man appeared at the door way as the woman held me close and began to kiss my forehead and cheek. James, I assumed, had shaggy dark hair and deep blue eyes behind round glasses. A strong sense of familiarity hit me upon seeing him.

In his arms was a baby - perhaps three weeks, I would guess - who was sound asleep. “Lily? What’s - Rosie isn’t crying anymore?”

Lily was crying quietly by that point, kissing me over and over. “She’s safe now. She didn’t hit the one-month mark. Her magic finally stopped building in her head.”

Magic? Wait… Lily? James?

No way.

James choked back a sob as he stepped towards us and - and placed the baby in his arms in the middle of the air.

I stared in shock at the floating baby before James pulled us both into his arms and began to kiss Lily and I each on our cheeks. “I knew she would be okay. I knew it. Our little rose is as tough as they come.”

“Yes, love. Oh, Rosie Lily Potter you had us so worried.”

Rosie Lily Potter.

Potter.

Lily and James Potter.

So, in addition to being reborn, I was reborn as the daughter of Lily and James Potter. Likely twin sister to Harry James Potter, protagonist of Harry Potter.

Death is the next great adventure.

About a week later, I had mostly everything figured out. I had died and been reborn as the fraternal twin sister to Harry. I was (by that point) a month old.

Typically, a month old child would not be able to remember sentences, let alone an entire past life.

It would appear that all that pain I had felt after Lily gave birth to me was my brain having repeated aneurysms and the magic inside of the body constantly fixing it. My tiny brain was forced into rapid development to accommodate all of the memories and knowledge I possessed. In a typical sense, that would be impossible.

But in a magical sense, it was apparently entirely possible. The doctors had told Lily and James that my magic was building up inside of my head, and if it didn’t relieve within a month, they would be forced to cripple my magical core and turn me near-squib, or I would become brain dead. The phenomenon was called Death’s Kiss. It occurred in newborn magical infants, with a fatality rate of eighty percent, squib rate of fifteen percent, and everything becoming a-okay five percent.

The sheer luck I had was unprecedented. Not only was I reborn into my all time favorite series, but I survived the process, and I got to be Harry’s sister.

I could not have asked for a better “next adventure.”

How many times had I dreamed about being able to effect the Potterverse? And here I was with the greatest opportunity of lifetimes.

I was not going to mess this up.

I had a bucket list. And I would complete it before I was forced onto the next great adventure.

Lily was a wonderful mother. Although, she clearly was new, and at times seemed at lost with how to ease Harry’s cries. My darling baby brother (even if he was born ahead of me, given my true age he would always be my baby brother now) cried easily, like all newborns. He couldn’t yet sleep throughout the night and if for an instant he was left alone in the room, he would ball hysterically.

Lily did her best, though, and James tried valiantly to help. Lily would rock her son, while murmuring sweet nothings, while James would do odd bits of tricks to coax a smile or laugh. It was endearing to watch, and I felt incredibly affectionate towards the duo.

While they loved Harry, they never ignored me or showed favors between the two. The young couple showered us with love and attention in between every moment they could spare. When Lily wasn’t attending to us, she was working on complex and alien-looking schematics. James, though, would try to fix non existent problems around the house.

It wasn’t hard to surmise that we were already under the fidelius charm, with Peter as our secret keeper.

The thought made me sick. Peter was easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom. His slimy nature on top of his betrayal was simply unforgivable. I wished I could voice my thoughts, but what could I do? I barely had control over my own body; and there was simply no way they would believe me when I said that Peter would betray them. I could try to tell them I “dreamed” about Peter betraying us, but I knew in my heart that would never work.

Still, I would try. I had to at least try. When I was old enough to say words without drawing suspicion, I would tell them I dreamed of a “scary man” following “a rat” to us. That the rat opened the door to our home and the bad man came in. I couldn’t get more obvious than that short of telling them all I read about everything to come from a book.

That could have dire consequences that I didn’t understand.

But, that was still a solid four months (if I wanted to push it) to five months (to be safe) away. For now, it was watching the world around me, learning to control my body, and trying to get a hold of the magic inside of me.

I always thought, you know, that it would be painfully obvious I had magic inside of me if I was ever magical. Considering I had no magic in my first life, I thought for sure I would be able to notice the distinct difference between the bodies. Alas, the difference was not obvious enough I could easily detect it. In fact, the magic inside of me was so “quiet” I had to strain and focus for nearly an hour before I could properly feel it. I hoped that in time that would be easier (both from practice, and that my magic would grow alongside my physical body).

Only time would tell, though.

There was a crackle of fire, and whoosh of green flames before Sirius Black stepped into our living room. I raised my head up from where I sat in the playpen in the living room. Harry was snoring quietly on a pillow beside me, clutching onto a patchy stuffed deer. I had been playing with soft cubes for the past hour or so, attempting to force my fingers to pick them up and move them over, and over, in hopes of obtaining my previous life’s dexterity as soon as possible.

Lily looked up from her pages of work - she nearly covered half the living room floor with her pages and floating books. A smile lit up her face. “Sirius!”

“The one and only,” Sirius said with a grin and a gleam in his eyes. “How’s my favorite newly mother?”

Lily laughed. “I’m fine. James is upstairs if you want to see him.”

I squealed out loud.

Sirius turned his head, and his gaze widened. “Little Rosie isn’t crying anymore?”

Lily beamed, levitating herself up so she could stand up and hop over her papers. “No. Everything is fine now. She hasn’t cried all week.”

I squealed again, reaching up my hands, trying to grab the attention of one of my favorite - ah, can’t really say character anymore, could I? - person ever. Sirius’s smile stretched widely over his face and he hurried over to me to pick me up. Large hands grasped me and swung me up high. “Look at you, Rosie! Look like a little princess in that dress.”

I giggled with delight, reaching out towards his face and patting his cheek. Lily smiled at the two of us, reaching over and tucking behind a strand of dark red hair behind my ear.

“She looks exactly like you, Lily,” Sirius said, readjusting me in his arms. “Got your hair, eyes, nose, mouth - mirror image.”

“She has James’s curls,” Lily corrected.

Sirius patted the top of my head, running his fingers through my unruly hair. “That she does. She’ll be beautiful.”

The thought made me laugh. Beauty was something I had never associated with myself. Scrubs and dark circles were all I could see myself with for the past three years of my life. Even with gorgeous parents such as Lily and James, I still couldn’t imagine myself as one of the pretty girls in school. It would be neat if that happened, but I certainly wouldn’t hold out hope.

“She’ll be the most beautiful girl in the whole world,” Lily bragged, kissing my forehead.

“James and I are going to have to beat the boys away, huh,” Sirius joked.

“Or girls.”

“Or girls,” Sirius corrected.

“Padfoot?”

James’s voice drew our attention towards the stairs where he hopped off the last stepped and beamed at his best friend.

Sirius grinned. “Prongs! Been too long.”

Sirius handed me to Lily in order to man-hug James, the two men laughing and already starting to whisper mischievously to each other. Lily rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to help me keep them in line, Rosie.”

I patted her cheek. That would be an impossibility.

At five months old I had finally achieved control over my body. I still lacked the strength and stamina to do many things, but I was greatly relieved that I wasn’t quite so helpless. Since I had reached the standard age (albeit a month early) for most children to start speaking, I decided to begin talking.

It was getting dreadfully boring squealing, pointing, and crying to communicate. Although, I had to hand it to Lily, James, and Sirius for picking up on my cues relatively quickly. Sirius came by about once a week when he could. He only stayed a handful of hours - enough to play with Harry and me, and update the Potters on the warfront. I had yet to see Peter, thankfully. I wasn’t sure I would be able to not scream in rage at him for what he would do to this loving family.

And it was a loving family. It was absolutely nothing like my previous homelife. I felt no obligation, or expectation placed upon me. Lily and James were doting parents, and tried their best to keep us happy in an obviously dark time. It was admirable, and it made my heart ache even more so at how Peter would betray them.

I would do my best, though. I had to let them know without giving on how much I knew. I had no idea what would happen if someone else got their hands on all of my knowledge, so I had to be absolutely careful to not overtly give anything away.

Oh, and of course study Occlumency as soon as I was able. I was certain I would be able to have quick grasp on it, since I already had the self-discipline from my past life instilled in me.

I played with Harry’s hair in our playpen. Harry’s bright green eyes lit up while he tried to fit a cube into a circle. His hair was soft, fluffy, and bounced back up when I patted it down. Harry enjoyed having his hair played with, and we quickly found that it soothed him when he cried.

Lily was preparing dinner for us (plus Sirius), with James’s help. She waved her wand, and potatoes began to peel themselves before being placed into a boiling cauldron. James, meanwhile, was mixing a cake batter (who knew he loved to baked?) while telling Sirius to “watch his damn language”.

My stomach rumbled, and I stood up from the playpen. I leaned heavily onto the red gate, watching the trio of adults. I cleared my throat and then said (squealed more like), “Mama!”

Everything froze. All adults turned towards the playpen, and Lily’s face morphed into sheer excitement. “Rosie?!”

“Mama!”

Lily screamed, leaping up into the air and then shooting across the room towards me. “Rosie! Did you say Mama?”

“Mama! Papa!”

James dropped his bowl of mix, his face bright as can be as he ran towards us. Lily picked me up into the air, twirling me around before James then picked both of us up. I repeated their titles in a chant, warm feeling of happiness bubbling inside of me that I could make such wonderful people so happy. When the spinning was done, James picked up Harry and ruffled his hair. “We have the brightest kids.”

“Papa hungry.”

“Look at that,” Lily exclaimed. “Her first words and sentence! She’s so early - so bright!”

Pretty sure this constitutes as cheating, but the compliment is still appreciated.

“Let’s feed the pups, then,” Sirius said, giving me a wink. He had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during the commotion.

“Paddy!” I declared, pointing at Sirius.

Our godfather gave us a splitting grin and eagerly stole me from Lily’s arms; she whipped out her wand and threatened to hex him into tomorrow if he didn’t give me back, but he danced around the house and essentially played monkey in the middle (Lily in the middle, and I as the ball) with James. Harry squealed with delight, watching the game and sparks of magic around the house.

By the time it was done, dinner was well over burned and they had to start again, but nothing was able to shake the smile on their faces for the rest of the evening.

The next night, when Harry woke up screaming, I screamed alongside of him. It wasn’t hard to coax tears out - the hormones in my body were as powerful as puberty - and when the parents came to the bedroom Lily picked up her soon and began to rock and calm him while James picked me up and rubbed my back.

“Shh, shh,” Lily soothed. “It’s okay Harry, Mama’s here.”

James began to rock me in place. “It’s okay now, Rosie. It’s okay.”

“Rat,” I hiccuped. “Bad. Bad rat.”

James kissed the top of my head. “Bad rat?”

“Bad rat. Bring bad man.”

“The bad rat brings the bad man?” Lily murmured, taking Harry over to the changing table.

James kissed me again. “There, there, Rosie. There are no bad rats. You’re safe.”

“Bad rat brings bad man.”

“Do you think - ?”

“Of course not, Lily,” James exclaimed. “It’s simply a bad dream. The doctor told us she could have recurring bad dreams after recovering from Death’s Kiss. They’ll go away in a month, or so.”

Wait, what?

Shit.

Every night Harry woke up crying, I would cry alongside him and tell them about the bad dream. With stubbornness only a wizard could possess, James continuously dismissed the dream and reassured Lily it meant nothing. After a month passed and I continued to have the dream, James became a bit more hesitant.

The next time Sirius came by, he carried armfuls of books. I wasn’t able to see the titles, but James and Lily became engrossed in them for three days.

Upon emerging from their readings, they both looked immensely relieved.

My next nightmare of Peter betraying them, and they had me drink an odd white potion that bubbled down my throat.

Again, and again it happened. They never mentioned thinking for an instant they believed my dreams. As time went on, I got a bit more elaborate in my dreams, describing Peter as best as I could, but they never faltered.

(Later on, I would learn they would discover that children affected by Death’s Kiss were plagued by worse-case-scenario nightmares. They picked up on the worst possible outcome that could occur every night and for many years they would dream about it. It happened less than one percent of the time, but given that I was already in the five percent margin for surviving Death’s Kiss without being turned squib, they figured I was in the one percent, too. So no matter what I said, what I described, they would only ever view it as a dream and force-feed me a dreamless draught.)

I was fearful of what was to come. I wished Dumbledore would come by, but he never did. I even tried to drop hints that I needed to see him (I dreamed about him coming by, and that it made me “very happy”), but nothing worked.

Short of telling them the absolute truth, I was running out of ideas.

As we neared our one-year birthday, my mind was becoming more, and more flustered. My magic lashed out accordingly, and Lily and James were forced to put me to sleep frequently so I didn’t accidentally hurt myself or Harry.

I feared I wouldn’t be able to save them.

But, I had to keep trying.

On our one year old birthday, Harry woke up first with an excited squeal. He was levitating in his bed, slowly drifting up towards the ceiling from a burst of accidental magic.

It brought a smile on my face to see my brother so happy in the morning. He didn’t have a lot of accidents with magic, unlike me, but when he did it usually revolved around levitating or summoning items to him.

My bursts had died down the couple weeks leading up to the birthday, as I was able to get a very vague hold on them. Thankfully, I could sense my magic a lot easier after months of practice, but it was far from perfect. I still couldn’t command it to do as I wished, but that was to be expected. Apparently witches and wizards developed their magic up until the age of ten rapidly. Their magic would steadily grow, along with spurts of significant growth spurts that caused the magic to lash out. It was why children did not attend magical school until ten, because their magic would be unreliable until it leveled out in its growth. There were instances where people had bursts throughout puberty, as well, but nowhere near as common as childhood.

Magic during childhood was unreliable. It struggled to fit inside the growing body, and fought to stay calm. At times, it really seemed like it had a mind of its own. The only thing in tune with its desire, and my desire, was to keep the physical body safe and healthy.

But, I was stubborn.

If I wanted to do the things I wanted to do, I would need a hold on my magic sooner than ten years old.

So, every night after Lily and James tucked me in and fed me a dreamless potion, I laid in bed and tried to call forth my magic.

I tried to bring it towards my hand and push enough of it out of my body to see it. It took nearly an hour every night (sometimes two, if unlucky), but I had faith that dedicated practice would fruit success.

James was the first to enter our bedroom, laughing at seeing his son floating in the air.

Harry clapped his hands. “Papa!”

James reached up and plucked Harry from the air. “Morning, Harry. Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday, Harry,” I chirped.

James waved his right hand towards me and I felt the tug of his magic. I floated out of my crib and into James’s right arm. Harry, in his left, reached towards me and hugged me. I kissed his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Rosie,” James told me.

“Happy birthday,” I echoed, patting Harry’s cheek. “Cake?”

“Later,” James promised me. “How about we head downstairs? Paddy is here!”

“Paddy!” I squealed with delight.

James carried us down stairs, and we found the living room to be lovingly decorated with banners, posters, pictures, and presents. A shaggy black dog laid on the carpet in the middle, his belly up in the air. I screamed with joy, squirming to play with Sirius in his animagus form. James laughed and sat me down on the living room floor, and then headed to the kitchen with Harry to work on our birthday cake.

My tiny toddler legs moved as quickly as I could towards the happy dog who playfully growled at me. I leapt onto his belly, hearing the soft umph from him before Sirius rolled over and grabbed my the back of my shirt before tossing me up into the air. I felt his magic coil around me, levitating me in the air before gently lowering me down. I fell onto the soft carpet onto my bum before scrambling to stand back up and proceed to chase Sirius around the carpet.

He would playfully catch me again, and again, tossing me into the air and then levitating me down.

It was an absolute delight, and I relished it.

I hadn’t gotten around to writing out James / Lily’s death. For the most part it follows canon, but when Sirius attempts to give Rosie and Harry to Hagrid Rosie throws a massive fit. She uses her magic to stick to Sirius with such stubborness Sirius ends up having to go with her to Dumbledore instead of confronting Peter. This results in Sirisu never getting sent to prison, Peter marked as the traitor, and Sirius taking guardianship over Harry and Rosie. However, Dumbledore is insistent that they live out of society, for their safety.

The following scenes are life for the quiet family, and are pretty choppy.

Sirius sighed quietly, and Remus poured each of them a glass of firewhiskey. I hugged my blanket around me, as I sat on the top step and peered through the railing into the living room below. The two friends sat on the couch, Sirius looking over an official-looking parchment and muttering. “Why? Why would she do this?”

“Who can say,” Remus murmured, taking a shot. “What are you going to do?”

“What can be done? I’m Lord Black now, now that that bitch died,” Sirius grumbled, then snorted. “The family I tried so desperately to escape, and now that title is bonded to me until death. That spiteful bitch.”

Remus patted Sirius on the shoulder as Sirius took another shot - that was his four that I had seen. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not a lot can be done. Want an estate?” Remus gave Sirius a weary look. “No, thanks.”

Sirius winced. “If I leave it to rot, as an official Lord, I’ll be charged fees for abandoning a Noble and Ancient home. I can’t move the kids there, shit’s filled with dark magic.”

“Won’t Kreacher be able to maintain it?”

“That bastard is too old. I would have to purchase another House Elf to help him, at the very least.”

An idea popped in my head. “Paddy? Moony?”

Both adults turned up towards the staircase, and Remus stood up. “Rosie? What are you doing up?”

“I don’t sleep well sometimes,” I said, squeezing through the bars on the stair and tumbling into the air. Sirius immediately cast a slow-falling charm on me, and then levitated me over towards them. He caught me and placed me in his lap.

“We should get you to bed, though.”

“But, I have an idea,” I protested.

The adults chuckled at the idea of a three year old having an idea that would be prudent to their predicament.

“Bring Kreacher here,” I said.

Sirius shook his head. “He’s not someone to have around kids.”

“Bring Kreacher here,” I repeated stubbornly, “and hire a new elf to clean the old place. It’s filled with Dark, right? We might need some of those stuff later. I bet Grandpa would agree.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. “Did this come from one of your dreams, Rosie?”

“Yes,” I lied. “I dreamed about Kreacher being here. We will need him. He is a good boy.”

Sirius grimaced. “I don’t know - ”

“Sirius, remember what Dumbledore said - ”

What did Dumbledore say?

“Yeah, I - ”

“Would it hurt to try?”

A sigh. “No.”

“Kreacher?” I called out, sitting up in my bed.

Kreacher appeared in my room with a snap, tired yellow eyes glaring hatefully at me. “How can I help the young mistress?”

“Regulus’s locket.”

The elf froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

“The locket he told you to destroy - it’s very special. It can only be destroyed through basilisk venom, a dementor’s kiss, or fiendfyre. Understand?”

Kreacher gaped at me. “Y-Yes.”

“Will you be able to destroy it now?” I asked him. “Give me an honest answer.”

“Yes,” Kreacher said.

“Good. Go do it.”

And he was gone.

EMPs were not overtly difficult to make. Anyone could make them, really. They required lithium batteries, wires, soldering experience, and time. After confirming, and reaffirming, that I could use technology under the wards (but at the very edge, and not inside the heavily magicked house), I set about at creating a makeshift treehouse to use as my workshop. I needed a safe place to create several dozen EMPs for the first step of my plan.

Plus I always wanted a treehouse.

It didn’t take much asking for Sirius to get some wood and make a treehouse for me within a day. It did take a little arguing on my part for him to not put any enchantments inside of the treehouse, but he relented soon enough.

It was a small, cute little thing. He built a ladder into the large oak tree, and put together a small house-looking abode. It was big enough to accommodate children, but once I hit puberty I would have to squat and crawl around to get around the room. He put in a couple tables, and we brought out an abundance of blankets and pillows and anti-flame-spreading candles.

Harry adored the treehouse, and he frequently went up there to read his beloved books. Sirius, thankfully, consented to our rule that no adults would be allowed inside of the tree house, and when the two of us went up, he would pull out the radio and sit outside listening to our laughter, and the music. Despite being a man child, Sirius was at loathe to let us out of his sight completely.

After obtaining the treehouse, I had to get the supplies to create an EMP. The hardware store had everything I needed, and thankfully Kreacher was more than capable of obtaining the items discreetly and dropping them off in my treehouse. I also had Kreacher pick up leather gloves, as a precaution against forensic evidence.

Then, it was time to create.

I headed up into the treehouse in the early morning, Harry quietly following behind me and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He had another nightmare, that night, and had crawled into my bed. I didn’t particularly want him to see what I was making, but it wasn’t such a big deal that I felt the need to hide it. Harry was good at keeping secrets, and if I asked him not to tell anyone else, he wouldn’t.

We crawled into the treehouse, and the candles flickered alive upon us entering. Harry immediately went towards his corner of pillows and blankets and flopped down. I pulled up a tiny chair to the bench, and dumped out the supplies from the first bag Kreacher placed upon the bench. I rummaged through everything before I pulled out the soldering gun, and numerous battery packs. I would need to use quite a few of the batteries to power the soldering gun, since we had no electrical outlets.

I set to work creating the first EMP. The process took nearly two and a half hours (because I had to be meticulous, and double check everything. It would become faster after practice, but for now it was slow-going.

Harry stopped reading his book after I finished the first EMP and looked over at what I created. “What’s that, Rosie?”

“Secret,” I told him. “Can you keep it secret?”

“Yeah,” Harry said firmly, nodding his head as his eyes grew wide. “What is it?”

“An EMP. It disrupts electricity.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what Muggles use in place of magic.”

“Why do you need that?”

“To help keep the stature of secrecy.”

“Why?”

I turned around and pinched his nose. “Ask me when you’re older.”

Harry’s nose crinkled in distaste, but he did not ask further. He always was such a good boy.

“Kids?” We popped our heads out of the treehouse’s window as Sirius stepped outside the backdoor.

Harry grinned and waved. “Up here, Uncle Paddy!”

Sirius waved back, smiling at us. “Want some breakfast?” Harry nodded eagerly and dropped down the tree house hole onto the thick grass below.

I didn’t need the EMPs. All I needed was the cloak of invisibility, a broom, the spells Wingardium Leviosa, Silencio, and Alohomora down pat. I had spent the past three years perfecting the past three spells to the best of my ability. I could perform them without the wand, but it took great concentration, and unfortunately I still needed to speak them.

The EMPs were to provide an explanation as to why the security cameras didn’t work. I would activate the EMPs when I reached the goal, and in the thirty seconds it took for security to notice the error and call the police, I would levitate as many of the items I could under the cloak and into the expandable pouch.

With the camera’s down, they wouldn’t see the levitations, and the statue of secrecy wouldn’t be overtly violated. While they swarmed the place, I would hide in a corner on my broom under the cloak. Even if Aurors came, the cloak was far too powerful and would hide me from them. Then, I would make my escape and return home.

I had to place the EMPs around the museum - even in parts that I wouldn’t go to - and set the timer on them to trigger in ten minutes after placing them.

It wasn’t a lot of them, but I figured this would have to be fast.

If all else failed, I had the emergency portkey Sirius gave each of us. I hoped not to use it - because it was a one-time use, and explaining to Sirius why I had to use a portkey would be tricky. But, it was there.

I descended upon the V&A museum in London, adrenaline and anxiety chorusing through me.

A part of me was thrilled - I was a thief! I was stealing! Like from Skyrim, or GTA.

In my previous life, I would have never considered it. I hadn’t even shoplifted before, yet here I was about to commit numerous illegal acts for the sake of a plan that I wasn’t even sure would work.

But, I needed the money. I needed the money and power fast if I wanted to do the things I needed to do.

I couldn’t access the Potter vault any time soon; nor was I talented enough to steal from Death Eaters (as I plan to do later).

All I had was my previous life’s knowledge of technology, and magic at my disposal.

And an undeniable urge to have no regrets this time around.

At least I could hopefully cross off Become an Art Thief off my bucket list after tonight.

I hovered before the back door of the museum before I raised my finger and went through the motions of Alohomora. It took three tries, but I finally got it and the door swung open. Then, moving as quickly as I could, I began to place the EMPs around each corner. I flew around the patrolling guards, and none of them noticed.

When I reached my goal: the crown jewelry room (filled with old royal crowns, uncut diamonds and other precious jewels, as well as antique and priceless jewels). I pulled out completely ordinary rocks from my expandable pouch, and took a deep breath.

1986: before bullet-proof glass was implemented in all museums, and perfect computer security.

My timer for the EMPs went off and I threw as many rocks as I could at the cases. I urged my broom forward, grabbing what I could and stuffing it into the expandable pouch, while levitating what was too far away towards me with my other hand. I heard shouts, as security officers sprinted through the hallways.

“Security is down! I can’t call for backup?!”

“We must have intruders, someone get the police!”

“Phones are down!”

When an officer came into the room I was in, I stopped everything, pulled the cloak tighter around me and began to make my escape. Thankfully, the EMPs worked a bit too well and the prevented the gates from coming down.

I was out the backdoor and soaring through the night sky again.

It wasn’t right, what he did. No matter how bad things got, deliberately harming children to get back at their parents was never going to the answer, nor was it forgivable. It was an awful, and cruel, thing to do.

But I could understand it.

Strictly from the psychological standpoint, at least. Shunned and forced into self-loathing isolation would permanently damage anyone’s psyche. Spending years alone, longing for acceptance but mercilessly turned away at every attempt would break even the strongest men. In addition, society itself would go out of its way to harm him for simply existing. Werewolves were the snubbed-ilk that society perpetually spat upon and conveniently looked the other way when it suited their needs. Anyone would grow bitter from that. Anyone would want justice, would want someone to know how unfair society was.

Fenrir Grayback made it his life goal to convert as many as he could, to force society to acknowledge werewolves and force them to accept them.

For someone left uneducated, alone, and consistently spurned, it was the only idea he had; the only hope he had.

So while his actions were deplorable, and unforgivable, I could understand them.

And I detested the magical society more so for it.

I didn’t understand how I knew where to find him—didn’t understand how I knew to send the owl addressed to Fenris Gray. It was one of those odd things that floated in my mind and I had to wonder if maybe I read about it on Pottermore, or something.

I made a little basket with food, water, and basic medical supplies. I added a thick blanket because it was cold, and I knew he would be sleeping outside. Then I made a little letter:

To Fenrir,

You do not know me, and we will not meet for some time. You may call me Enáretos, and you should know that I am on the side of the werewolves. I hope the basket helps you.

Your friend,

Enáretos

A small and simple gesture, but it was the first step I had to take.

If I wanted to fix the prejudice in society, I had to acknoledge its mistakes and try to make it right.

There would be about a years’ worth of stealing, with Dumbledore growing suspicious. During this year the MC would continue to send care baskets to Fenrir, who would distrubute them to over werewolves on her behalf. A sense of trust is built between the two, and more of Fenrir’s backstory is explained.

At long last I had the money.

A part of me still felt a built guilty from stealing—especially from perfectly nice places—but the guilt was shoved aside in favor of how the end justified the means. I had never put my stock into that saying before, but I honestly believed my cause warranted a little flexibility with the law. I was, physically, a child. The idea of sharing my knowledge with the “adults” of the world sent me into a quivering mess that I knew I would never be able to reach out for help willingly. I could—I supposed—wait until I was physically an adult, but the idea of waiting around and letting others suffer for decades because I couldn’t handle a little rule breaking made me sick. It seemed like a pretty flimsy excuse to me, especially since I could always purchase back the items I pawned off with my Potter inheritance as an adult and give it back to the museums. Or donate their value anonymously.

Returning to the point, however.

I had the money.

Using Enáretos I purchased a large stretch of land—nearly a thousand acres of land—and began to put well over half my sum of money into putting up defenses, and building empty homes and shops inside of it. I hired people to build large concrete walls with barbed wires to discourage muggles from trying to enter, and I ordered them to pave roads and plant trees. I ordered the construction of several dozen greenhouses, and hired a handful of magical herbologists to begin growing the ingredients necessary for wolfsbane potion. I hired Gringotts to put up the best wards money could buy—and boy did they cost me a pretty sum, but I hoped it would be worth it.

The whole project would take a year, which would give me time to bribe the officials and press in preparation of what was to come.

I only hoped it would work.

The first party I bribed was one of the neutral parties, led by Lord Greengrass. They sat square in the middle of most of the debates, barely swaying to either side unless it benefited them directly. I sent them pretty things, and dangerous things. I sent Lord Greengrass precious gems I had personally stolen, and I knew his daughters would adore them. The party treated my bribes with no obvious response, likely waiting to see what I wanted from them. Through letters as Enáretos I only hinted at wanting to build a sanctuary for several months. It wasn’t until the leader of the party himself asked me directly what I wanted that I answered with care.

A sanctuary for werewolves.

I would pay for it, provide security for it, and handle the distribution of wolfsbane. It didn’t need to cost their party a dime, and it would do nothing to harm them to support me. The party didn’t care for what was right or wrong, they only cared about self-serving, and their families. So I painted them pretty words of how it would put their families at ease if all the werewolves were kept in a safe place, and not forced to run wild and risk random attack. I waxed gentle pictures of how my sanctuary could—in a few years of production—turn into Britain’s largest provider of rare herbs, and save Ministry a small fortune in having to important.

I told them I would consider it a favor if they supported its construction.

And after a total of nine months of bribing, and wheedling, I had their support. Lord Greengrass even offered to be the one to put forward my proposed bill since I—Enáretos—would not be able to attend.

I accepted his offer with gracious thanks.

The next party I curried favors to was not nearly as hard to persuade. It was Madam Longbottom’s party, the more Light-Conservatives. I knew she would take offense to bribes, so I skipped straight to a long-winded debate that lasted five months. Madam Longbottom wasn’t adhered to her prejudice of werewolves, but she didn’t see the value in assisting them, either. Eventually I was able to wear her down by arguing about how it was the ethically right thing to do in a manner that made her think of her lost son.

Low-blow, I knew, but a necessary one.

Next I courted Amelia Bones and fellow law-lovers, using how practical it would be for her aurors if the werewolves lived one place; of how safer it would make the public, etc. She only took a month.

To my friend,

I’m sure you have already heard the whispers of my plan.

Yes. It is true. I hope to create a safe haven for all werewolves to live in peace. I know it will take time for me to change society to fully accept those afflicted with the curse, but in the mean time I wish to give your fellow brothers and sisters some peace. I will personally provide security for the establishment until such a time that they can provide their own law-enforcement inside. I have already set up several businesses that are more than happy to relocate and provide merchandise. I have two healers who are happy to follow their families into the sanctuary and offer their care, and one potions master—so far—who will brew the wolfsbane potion.

I know it is not the solution you want, but I hope it will provide a safe space for until the time I have fixed society.

I must thank you for your patience and belief in me, my friend. I have sent several more blankets and basic first-aid to help those you come across. Please enjoy the cookies I baked, as well.

Your friend,

Enáretos

PS: Dolores Umbridge is a viable threat to my haven. It would be helpful if she could come to understand your situation better.

To my friend,

Elena sends her thanks for the food, and my pack expresses excitement in the prospect of having a home. It feels strange to say, and had anyone else but you told me about it I would not have believed. I have scouted the land, and watched them work for a few months now. I know those wards were not cheap, and the gardens look nice.

Have you thought of a name yet?

Your friend,

Fenris

I think Umbridge will see our view in a new light on the fifteenth.

To Rita Skeeter:

My dear, we haven’t had much chance to talk, but I thought you might want a little tidbit of juicy information. Umbrdige has been ramping up bills against werewolves for the past few months for a reason.

I think you’ll be able to find that wonderful reason if you catch her on the fifteenth this month, after the moon has risen.

Happy hunting,

Enáretos

End, for now.

By the time Hogwarts rolls around I plan to establish Enáretos as a powerful political figure in support for equality. MC will be sorted into Slytherin with the express purpose of "saving” the house. She’ll use intimidation, bribes, and blackmail to rule over Slytherin and slowly convert others to her side. That’s the plan, at least.

#Fanfiction #Harry Potter #OC #Slytherin #fenrir greyback #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Werewolves #Pro Equality #Thief

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femslashy · 5 years

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2018 fic year in review

thank you so much for tagging me @homosociallyyours !! this was really fun (and also a bit hard haha) to do ^__^

1. number of stories (including drabbles) posted to ao3: 19 (6 100 word seasonal drabbles, and out of the rest 4 are under 1k and 2 are chaptered but one of those is still a WIP)

2. word count posted for the year: 142,383 which is def more than i’ve written in previous years but my initial goal for this year was 200k and then i lowered it to 150k and then decided i should focus less on word count and more on actually finishing the fics lmaooo

3. list of works posted this year in order of posting:

the tesco fic (although i didn’t make the tumblr post until recently)

three spring drabbles (100 words each)

begin again [timestamp] (my only snowbaz fic in 2018)

we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown

SPHERICAL

got me an appetite, now i can taste it

Take a Chance on Me

Getting Naked on Camera (NOT CLICKBAIT)

my favourite colour is you

louis tomlinson’s completely 100% foolproof guide to snagging the fit bloke next door (3 100 word drabbles)

no better place than right by your side

days gone by (WIP)

love the cronch

zero to sixty

where the love light gleams

4. fandoms i wrote for: mostly one direction and by that i mean i posted a timestamp for a carry on fic from 2017 and the rest was one direction lol

5. pairings: harry/louis, simon/baz (ONCE)

6. story with the most hits: Take a Chance on Me with 10975 hits :o

7. story with the most kudos: Take a Chance on Me with 426 kudos

8. story with the most comments: Take a Chance on Me with 52 comments threads

9. work i’m most proud of and why: well Take a Chance on Me was both my first time doing a big bang as well as the longest thing i’ve ever written (twice the length of the previous longest!) and i’m still completely in love with the art for it courtesy of @vulpixlou and i def don’t go back to stare at it ever nope 👀👀

10. work i’m least proud of and why: i mean i could nitpick the hell out of my stuff and i know there are certain bits i would write differently now but at the same time i created something with my brain that didn’t exist before and that’s just too cool not to be proud of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing:

this is from Take a Chance on Me (shocker) and i was having trouble thinking of my fave but then i was skimming through all of my fics and ngl i had forgotten about this bit but y’all i’ve been trying to work a Dramatic Airport Reunion into a fic FOR FUCKING EVER and i finally did it and i actually don’t hate it? (spoiler for the ending of Take a Chance on Me)

“See…” Louis starts. “See, there’s this guy. And, oh god, he’s an absolute twat. Wanna know what he did to me?” Harry nods faintly, and Louis, emboldened now, goes on. “So, I already knew who he was, right? I knew him, because he’d been in this god-awful boy band for years, and even if me bloody sisters hadn’t been so bloody in love with him, I’d still have known him, because he was just that famous.”

“I wasn’t that famous.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Louis chastises, and Harry mimics zipping his lips. “So this guy, I knew him, but he didn’t know me, but, fucking hell, I think someone forgot to tell him that, because there I was, minding my own business, when this kid just…” Louis giggles then, because the memory is just so ridiculous, “he just starts fucking singing to me, can you believe it?”

Harry shakes his head. “What a weirdo.”

“Right? The weirdest.”

“What happened next?”

“I fell in love with him.”

“What? That soon?”

“Of course not, Jesus, Harold. I’m not that pathetic. I waited the appropriate amount of time to fall in love, thank you very much.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Harry whispers. “Is it because you love him?”

“That’s part of it, yeah. I love him, and I love the way we just fit, and I adore his daughter, and our pets are friends now, and I think our sisters are best friends now, so they didn’t actually give me a choice, but do you want to know the biggest, most important reason?”

Harry nods quickly, so hard his chin bumps his chest, and Louis’ so fucking in love with him at that moment that these are the easiest words he’s ever said.

“I’m here,” he tells Harry, “because I was lying in my own bed, in my own house, surrounded by all my things, and all I wanted to do was go home.”

He’s yanked forward then, Harry’s fingers digging into his shoulders, and he barely feels the pain because it’s Harry, and everything’s good when it’s Harry. He’s babbling into Louis’ neck, and the only words he can make out are his name and “love you” and he shivers with the feeling.

Harry’s hair has grown out enough since the night Louis snuck in to see him that he can tangle his fingers in the strands. So he does, pulling Harry’s face away from his neck and pressing their lips together. Every kiss feels like an apology. Every kiss feels like home.

12. share or describe a favorite review you recieved: so this miiiiight be cheating but i received two comments on a fic i wrote in 2015 and it was kind of a surprise that something that old still held up and people still enjoy it? def made me feel better about my current writing and also anyone who quotes my fics back to me has earned my undying love and affection

13. a time when writing was really, really hard: i have adhd so p much always ahahaha

14. a scene or character you wrote that most surprised you: the entirety of “we’re swimming with the sharks until we drown” ngl because i struggled with the like… morally gray criminal-y elements? and portraying the two of them in such a different way while still staying in character which i like to think i nailed? hopefully lol

15. how did you grow as a writer this year? i don’t feel like a i have? but i’m also bias and hypercritical so maybe i did and just didn’t realize ahaha

16. how do you hope to grow next (this?) year: i want to enjoy writing again and i want to finish more fics and not let them rot in my docs because of self-doubt

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: okay so first @amandaisnotwriting is the real MVP as she bears the brunt of my whining/complaining/drama queen moments as well as the fact that she listens (some would argue is forced to :p) and reads over fic for a pairing she doesn’t ship for a fandom she doesn’t care about 😂😂😂

@rainbowbaz always makes time to look over my fics even when she’s crazy busy and is honestly amazing and saves my fics from americanisms ahahaha

and FINALLY we met p late in the year but but @livingatthelairport ‘s comment on “the tesco fic” helped me out of a writing slump and now she’s become my cheerleader (and friend 💜) and that’s make a huge difference in my attitude towards writing! it’s also easier to write a fic for a specific person than worry about the opinion of a crowd which is def something i’ve been missing in this fandom rip

also to everyone else who has read my fics, listened to me rant about them or just helped the process along in any way at all this is a GIANT thank you!!

18. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year? i mean i can’t think of anything off the top of my head but a lot of my inspo comes from the world around me so probably lol

19. any wisdom you can share with other writers: there’s nothing wrong with feeling jealous of other writers because i’m not a fan of hiding feelings just because they’re ugly as long as you don’t let it fester and turn into resentment or make you bitter. there are a lot of factors that go into a fic becoming “big” in a fandom but honestly most of it is just random chance so don’t beat yourself up because someone else’s success is not your failure and it’s nice to get recognition for your hard work but if you’re writing solely for the feedback then you’re writing for the wrong reason and that will lead to the resentment and bitterness mentioned earlier

also if you compliment someone you say you like their outfit but if you complement someone then you complete them

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

I’M GLAD YOU ASKED

these are all the things i didn’t start and/or finish in 2018 that WILL be completed this year

the cat fic

the doctor fic

the final three chapters of days gone by

penpal AU

Space. Florist.

teenage fanboys who are also best friends

baking blog fic

a short follow up to tacom

twitter drama fic

80’s/’high school’/secret admirer!AU

something based on yawning grave by lord huron

part three of the alien harry series

chocolate orange holiday fic

LA fic (wtwm)

70’s fic

monkey fic

i’m also planning to do the @larryabroad challenge again because i had so much fun with it last time :D

21. tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

p sure everyone has done this but if you haven’t then do it now! and also tagging @cosyblack k bc you’ve had a really good year even if i have beta bias 😂

this took waaay longer than i thought it would omg but it was nice to take a look back!!

#me a writer writing all of this: i’m not good with words

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innusiq · 6 years

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Get to Know the Writer (meme)

Get to know the writer meme

@isabellajack tagged me, which I thank you for. I won’t be tagging anyone else, but I wanted to answer this for you. Any other writer who may be in a funk is welcome to grab, post and pass along.

Rules: Answer the following questions & share about yourself!

#1 Poetry Or Prose?

I’m leaning towards Poetry… though I’ve have to admit, haven’t read any in most recent years…

#2 Dialogue Or Description?

In regards to my own writing… it could go either way, but I do lean towards dialogue first and then build around it. Sometimes… if the dialogue is done right and the voice of the character captured, that can sometimes lend to an unwritten description of a moment in regards to Fanfic. As a reader and writer of fanfic, I know what to expect of the characters… how they act, move, expressions… But I must admit, when reading… sometimes there are those fic authors that get waaaaaaay too descriptive… when that happens I tend to check out before I can get into the fic too deeply because there’s too much “colorful verbiage” being thrown together in an effort to try to stand out that I loose what the writing is trying to say. I don’t need 6 types of metaphors/similes in one paragraph to tell me how a person feels. Don’t beat me over the head with words please. I try to steer clear of beating readers over the head.

#3 Favorite Character You’ve Ever Written?

*Clutches Chest & Gasps* That is like asking a parent to choose a favorite child! There was a time where I didn’t have too many to choose from… but that was (holds breath) nearly two decades ago… and so many fandoms ago… BUT, if I really had to choose, it would be when I wrote TeniMyu RPS TutixNagayan. OMG I was smitten with those two.

#4 Least Favorite Character You’ve Ever Written?

I don’t think I really have one? I don’t tend to write fics with characters I’m adverse to. Life can be a drag in and of itself, I prefer to write characters I love. Sure there are characters I use that are antagonist, but they serve a purpose and I don’t feel any true negativity towards them, or struggle with writing them. Even writing those characters that are unsavory, there is still something to like about getting their characterization accurate.

#5 Favorite Character Trait To Write?

Specifically Pre-Serum Steve’s stubbornness, that is always fun. Generally, I tend to strive for realism of the characters, tangibility. Providing a snapshot in their lives that is 100% believable built off of the traits we know and love.

#6 Favorite Character Name You’ve Come Up With?

Rosalie… she was a niece of Ray Vecchio’s from a Due South I wrote. Man, that was too many moons ago…

#7 Biggest Weakness In Writing?

Bringing a fic to a close. Sometimes it feels like I am forcing it, and it’s writing the ending that can take the longest for me. I don’t want to beat a dead horse as I know, all fics must come to an end, but I struggle in keeping them from sounding/feeling cheesy and short.

#8 Biggest Strength In Writing?

My love of the characters I am writing. It’s my love for a character/pairing that spurs me to write in the first place. There has to be a love for the characters for any writer, a desire to examine what we are given further than a given canon because it’s connected with something in outselves.

#9 Favorite Trope?

There can never be enough Coffee Shops AUs... Well written Mpregs… A slow build/burn that has the lead up to a pairing’s first kiss feel more intense than the explicit scenes that may follow.

#10 Least Favorite Trope?

Trash Parties… I just don’t get that. Dom/Sub isn’t my go to fic, either. I can handle “light” versions, but even then just seeing it tagged Dom/Sub can make me scroll right on by an author’s work.

#11 Author You Look Up To?

Will I be looked down upon if I do not have an author to list (even professional)? History of me: growing up… I detested reading. This caused a huge struggle for me in school because if I had no interest in the subject matter, I was reluctant to read it. Nothing really appealed to me. Graduate, add fandoms, and now I can’t stop reading. I know there are people who follow fanfic writers and everything they produce, but I can’t really pinpoint a specific author. When I read a piece, it’s subject matter I pay more attention to, not the name of the person who wrote it. I’m an Equal Opportunity Reader.

#12 Favorite Book/Piece You’ve Written?

I’m not one to toot my own horn usually, and it can be hard to single out one specific fic overall, so here are a few more recent ones:

The Social Network - https://archiveofourown.org/works/875838 (Missing Transition)

RPS-The Social Network – https://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/10450.html?thread=19299026#t19299026 (Hiding in Plain Sight - WIP)

Merlin - https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454626 (It’s You and Me Against the Odds)

RPS-MCU - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8294710 (No Longer a Place)

MCU - https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906372 (They Say Love is Pain…)

#13 Favorite Line You’ve Written?

They always say home is where the heart is, and before Chris’s heart has always been settled and well rooted in the city of Boston, but now… this is the first he realizes that home, his home, is no longer a place, but a person.

#14 Fanfiction Or Original Work?

FanFiction. I like the feeling of immersing myself in a world I already hold dear to my heart. It’s a bit like coming home, a comfort, of knowing what to expect of characters even when I may not know where a story is going and still get surprised by them all the same.

#15 Favorite Genre To Write In?

I tend to write romance. I just want to see people happy.

#18 Heavy Description Or Little Description?

As I mentioned earlier, I don’t like seeing what is being said getting buried in colorful, disjointed ramblings of an author trying to prove their artistic flare. I used to challenge myself with 100 word drabbles to help myself figure out ways to tell a full fledge story in few words. Description is totally necessary, but not to the point to losing focus.

#17 First Person, Second Person, Or Third Person?

Definitely third person. I may have written one first person POV fic eons ago, but I generally skip reading anything that is First Person, unless it is by an author I might recognize and love.

#19 Multiple Point Of Views Or Just One Point Of View?

I lean towards one point of view, but I also like multiple points of view if it is done right. If a writer is jumping between POVs within a paragraph/part/chapter, that tends to get a bit muddy (especially when using pronouns). When I write multiple POVs, I choose a POV per section/part/chapter and make it clear in the beginning of each whose POV I’ve changed to.

#20 Multiple Protagonists Or Just One Protagonist?

I can barely handle one… so just one please.

#21 Favorite Villain You’ve Ever Written?

I have no answer for this.

#22 Longest Piece (Word Count) You’ve Ever Written?

Individual Piece: A work in progress that has stalled out called “Hiding in Plain Sight.” It is a Real Person Fic of Andrew Garfield/Female Jesse Eisenberg and it is presently 49K words. I, personally, am not a fan of reading fics where a character’s gender it changed… I’ve read a few definitely, I’m not adverse to them, but it’s definitely not something I do. This fic started via a challenge group and it just drew me in to write. I really need to get back to it…

Series: A four part Fraser/Vecchio Due South series that reached over 100K words. Man that really was a long time ago…

#23 Where Do You Get Your Inspiration From?

Life in general, really. It could be hearing a new song on the radio… watching something on TV… a personal occurrence in my life… and the characters themselves that draws me in.

#24 How To Deal With Writer’s Block?

Don’t sweat it. I write for my own pleasure really. If I write, I write, and if I don’t…. I can’t say it doesn’t get me down, but it’s not the end of the world for me. I used to write rather prolifically when I first started, but as the years moved on and available writing time lessened, it’s been hard finding a moment to just sit and write (or stare at the blinking cursor). I haven’t given up, I still do write, but it may be one piece in a year, that I open monthly and plug away at. Patience is key.

#25 Writing One Book At A Time, Or Multiple At A Time?

One… for the most part… but I have more WIP’s left open than I like…

#26 Planning Out The Book Before Writing, Or Just Writing It On The Go?

For the most part I do write with a singular idea that in the end, I sometimes find myself surprised by where the characters took me. There have been occasions where I’ve drafted an outline, but I’m more of the fly by the seat of my pants author.

#27 Picking Chapter Titles Before Writing Or After?

I do not usually name chapters of longer pieces, but in general… I usually start writing and name the piece something but in the end I usually change it to a final title. Sometimes it’s easy, other times I struggle to figure out an official title, but it always works out in the end.

#28 Picking Character Names Before Writing Or After?

Most of the characters I write already have their names, but anytime I’ve introduced an original character, it’s during the writing process I decide on a name. It’s like I can’t write the character if I don’t know their name.

#29 Simple Or Complex Plotlines?

Simple, plain and simple.

#30 Multiple Different Characters Or Just A Few?

I tend to narrow my focus on a few characters. Less people I can screw up with the better.

#31 Sad Or Happy Endings?

Too much sad in the real world, I must write happy. Angst is ok as long as it ends happy.

#32 Rhymed Poetry Or Free Verse?

I really don’t have a preference here. Either works for what is being written if it’s called for it.

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lurkinmerkin · 6 years

Text

So I’m doing some math (I’m terrible at it) but nonetheless, I did some thinking and then some subtraction and realized that it was in about 1998 that my family got a computer with Microsoft Windows installed along with a dial-up internet connection. And so this is technically my 20th anniversary of reading fanfic and being a part of internet fandom. I figured I should celebrate it a bit.

I don’t remember the exact date or time or whatever, I can barely add or subtract, so June seems like a good in the middle of the year kind of time to recollect and think about what I’ve been doing with my life. Think about why I read so much, why I reblog things, why I am the way I am.

This ask meme was written by @mabel-but-slytherin and I decided, I’ll just answer the whole damn thing. I’m sure absolutely no one is interested in this info but I don’t give a fuck. 20 goddamn years of my life in fandom, do you seriously think I give a fuck anymore? I don’t care about you or your eyes. I officially left the give a fuck building a long ass time ago.

If you have seen a fandom ask meme about being a lurker (which I was for a good ten years) or about reading fanfic instead of just writing fanfic, send it my way and I’ll answer it too. I have stories.

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

It was Thursday Night Routine and it’s readable but I find it a bit repetitive and out of character. Although, with Glee, how was I supposed to know who these people would become, lol. ;A;

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

My most recent was Vesper Lynde for the Spy fandom and I think I’ve grown as a writer but my characterization is still clumsy and my comedy isn’t as sharp. I think I was funnier before. I also have issues getting to the sex scene that I never had before. It drives me batty.

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

The thoroughly depressing and out of nowhere for me fic, Ozma. That night was a eureka moment, it was bliss writing that fic. It flowed. I probably got the closest to american gothic and poetry with that fic--which is my usual goal when I do creative writing off the internet.

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

So much of what I wrote was done anonymously before AO3 and Tumblr so it’s hard for me to say but I’m gonna guess Everybody’s Pickin’ Up on that Feline Beat because the cat!boi thing really slapped. Like people loooooved the cat!boi thing in 2010.

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

Third is the One With the Treasure Chest. It has some issues but I still can’t believe I wrote it, like that was my third fanfic ever and it was a muppet babies’ orgy. I have no idea how I did it, :D

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

Not really? I’m not embarrassed by what I write (I can’t be, I write weird shit), but I don’t necessarily want people to come up to me in real life and start describing my fic to me. Like I don’t want my realities to intersect. That’s what I’m really sure would embarrass me.

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

I’m not gonna finish it, like it’s not happening, but I kind of wish I had finished Look What You Made Me Do. I still noodle a about Sarah Plain and Tall Klaine story. I did a lot of research into Gilded era hair and fashions.

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

Probably the epically awful and creepy Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a Match where Sandy and Karofsky kidnap and assault Kurt. I was fascinated by how absolutely horrific Sandy Ryerson was as a character. He’s the worst. I’m not doing a sequel though. I’m not.

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

Read? Yes. Written? No. I don’t think I’m the best at characterization but I do feel a need for a basic grasp on it before I start writing anything.

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

I wrote Vesper Lynde before I read any of the fic which was probably a good thing because there are some really good fics out there that already cover the subject I did (and did it better). But I’m glad I wrote it anyway because I have so many feelings about Rayna and Susan.

11. Have you ever written a fic for a concept you know someone else has done before? How did it impact your writing process or feelings after posting?

I honestly don’t know so I’m going to say no. I have seen these stories after I wrote what I wrote and have thought, Oh I should have done that or why didn’t I think of that?, but I have never seen a fic beforehand and thought that I could do it better or different enough. I wrote fic in order to fill a gap of weird skullfuckery that was missing before I showed up.

12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?

Yes. It was bad, I wrote myself into a corner and had no interest in fixing it. The writing felt dull and flat. If I post an unfinished work, I do it because I think the writing has merit.

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I write more original work now, I write poetry mostly nowadays. And fanfic I do write has been smaller vignette pieces, has had way less sex in it and minimal wacky shenanigans. I kind of want to go back to wacky shenanigans honestly.

14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?

I’m riding a girl swing this year so I’m way more interested in stories that involve cunnilingus and strap-ons, boob devotionals and short fingernails. I sort of got into that in the middle of my Glee career (the Golden Age) before swinging back to boys and their balls (the Modern Age). In this new Age, I’m back to ladies.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?

I think I tried to do that once but then I failed because my niche is being an off-beat weird motherfucker, not popular. I thought that I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman would go awf but instead it fizzled. So I stuck with dickpunching.

16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?

No. I didn’t really get a lot of attention outside my circle anyway.

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

I guess the Cat!Kurt fic? I think it’s a good story, I just think that I wrote some that were better.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

And if the world runs out of lovers, my Blaine/Finn fic. I had a lot of fun with that one and I think I got some really funny lines in.

19. If you had to pick one fic/scene/chapter of your work to describe your entire portfolio to a stranger, which would you pick?

I would say, They’re Both Just Full of Feelings, OK? which is a story were Puck and Mercedes get very drunk, complain about their homosexual tendencies and then motorboat each others tiddies. I feel like that about covers the gist of my aesthetic.

20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?

I am doing a slow ass sloow rewrite of As Needed, just some clean up of tense issues and little nudges here and there of some of the wording. And I will take down the original when I do that. It needs better grammar, it does.

21. If someone starts kudosing and commenting your fics in a spree and has a few works of their own, would you go look through theirs?

Yes. I love spying and I love other people’s bookmarks. I keep mine private because I’m a hypocrite and I don’t know how to make them public en masse. I am not doing that individually.

22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?

No, but I freak out at every follow/favorite/review regardless. There are people who I love love love but they aren’t in the fandoms I write in so I never expect to have an insane fangirl moment like that.

23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?

When I wrote Ozma, someone on the kinkmeme said that it read like a contemporary short story and I was flattered!

24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?

25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?

Gosh, that’s tough. I’m gonna go with criticisms that question your intent? Like when someone goes, “Did you mean to say this or that?” but not because it makes me feel bad but more because it makes me feel like I didn’t get my point across clearly enough that the reader could make their own conclusions about what was happening. I am very much of the author is dead style and part of that is leaving enough there to satisfy the reader without giving it all away.

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

My humor. I like it when people find me funny. I don’t feel like my humor makes sense a lot of the time. Also, when people say that they re-read my stories. That’s always a heart warmer.

27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?

I prefer single-fandom fics as a writer. Crossovers get messy for me, too many locations to choose from.

28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?

Schitt’s Creek. David/Patrick 4eva!

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

Absolutely not, LMAO! I have done way more reading than writing in any fandom. My participation is a pebble on a mountainside.

30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?

I wrote Glee fic (and I am still working on As Needed) after I had moved on from the show but a lot of us did. My attention span allows me to multifandom.

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

Susan Cooper. She’s an enigma.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

Puck, I feel like I wrote a very solid Puck.

33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?

I would guess Brittany but I don’t think the quality holds up. I liked writing Brittany but I don’t think I captured her essence.

34. Was there any fic that you wrote that really surprised you in the fandom reaction? Was it just by the numbers or did they take it an entirely different way?

I get a lot of requests for a sequel to Sex Bomb even to this day and it surprises me.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

No, I was ready to write anyone with anyone in any fic. I love it.

36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?

Don’t support? Well, I don’t support Kurt/Karofsky but I write non-con fic so...

37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?

I would only in an in-character sense, like the character would be against that pairing because of the show dramatics. At least, that was always my intent.

38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?

Because that’s how the glee_anon meme worked sometimes LOL. Sometimes, you gotta have the anal worm lay the eggs.

39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?

Not anymore lol, if I ever did. I don’t write enough.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

I peaked with the Muppet Babies’ orgy, that was my third fic. Everything else was gravy.

41. If you cross-post your fics on multiple sites, do you have a favorite? Are there certain fics you would only post on certain site?

I want all my fics on AO3 largely because I think livejournal is gonna die soon and tumblr is unsearchable and lacks a forum function.

42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?

(Based on AO3): Ozma at 28672 Hits

43. Your least popular?

(Based on AO3): There’s a Lobster Involved at 38 Hits

44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?

Oh gosh, I never thought of it that way but I hope I at least kudos more than I’ve received! I don’t have that many bookmarks and I don’t review and I rarely comment (I’m more like to DM you) but I do leave kudos a lot.

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

With my original works: poetry. With my fanfic works: absurdism

46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?

Yeah, I think I covered a wide range of topics and styles along with a lot of different characters. I had humor, drama, horror, angst, slice of life, porn, I covered a lot of ground.

47. If someone you know in real life who isn’t involved in fandoms asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

NO.

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

Yes, they know and they were also Glee fans but not necessarily fanfic readers. Just how much they know will remain a mystery between us because they won’t tell me and I won’t ask them to tell me. I don’t need that knowledge and I don’t want it.

49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?

NOT THAT I KNOW OF AND I DON’T WANT THEM TO TELL ME IF THEY DID. KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

I have an absolutely incredible circle of friends that I would not have had without fandom. So many people that I know out of fandom don’t spend as much time on the internet, they aren’t as easy to reach as my internet friends. You guys give me your time and your energy and that means so much to me. It really does.

I wouldn’t say my time in fandom has been 100% positive. There are always downfalls to being in a large group. I have had my moments of internet drama, on anon trolling, and bad feelings. But my friends make it all worth it. You guys are the best.

#fandom #fuck glee #merkintosh #lurkinmerkin #ask meme #anniversary

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forestwater87 · 6 years

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yo got any tips on how to get my gwenvid fic out there?

Ah, this is tricky, and I gotta be honest I think I only lucked out because I wrote the first real Gwenvid fic out there and no one had any other options. But since “go back in time” isn’t really plausible, I can offer some things that I think might be helpful:

1. Make sure you’re tagging them correctly! On both Tumblr and AO3, it’s really useful to make sure you’re using the most-viewed and/or official tags for your content. For example, “campcamp” is the official CC tag, and as far as I can tell “cc david” is more successful and widespread than “david cc” … but that might not be as important as I think it is. But definitely be smart with your tags, especially those first 5, since according to Tumblr Lore those are the ones that … do something something algorithm idk. As for AO3 tags, I’m not really sure how they work, like if the site lumps “Gwen/David” in with “Gwen (Camp Camp)/David (Camp Camp)” – ah, what we had to use when the fandom was still so young and tiny – but I’d err on the side of over-tagging, personally. As long as you’re not one of those people with 30,000 tags it takes ages to scroll past, why not?

2. Reblog a lot! I always feel really really self-conscious resharing my own stuff, but it works! It introduces the work to a new crop of readers and makes a big difference.

3. Use your friends! Use people you barely know! Seriously, if I didn’t have @ciphernetics and @hopefullypessimistic84 aggressively stanning my work I don’t think anyone would read it. XD And I’m always happy to give someone a shout-out, as long as it’s not something that makes me uncomfortable.

4. Get involved in the fandom! This is a more general thing, but answering asks, doing memes, participating in appreciation weeks, and just generally filling up the tag with content is not only super fun, because we suck up CC and especially Gwenvid content like we’re starving in the desert, but it also helps to get your name out there and get people interested in your stuff. I know I’m considered “the Gwenvid person” by a lot of people who’ve never read my fics and don’t even know I have fics, because I just have so goddamn many screenshots to fling in every direction and ramble about my love of the ship. You can also use that involvement to plug your writing, like the many wonderful fanfics I’ve written that you can check out if you like my other stuff!

5. Credit people! This sounds weird, and may have a tiny bit to do with the fact that I’m salty about this issue, but if you use someone’s AU or headcanon, or even if they just got you inspired by enjoying their work? Tag them! Not only will they be happy that you liked their ideas and are acknowledging their contribution, but it gets them to pay attention to your fic. And hey, if someone inspired you so much you used their ideas, it feels amazing to have them pay attention. (This is also how you make friends in the fandom. Seriously.)

I’m also gonna give a few more types of advice, ranging from making an awesome fanfic to attention-getting. But since the world is kinda unfair, entertainment is very unfair, and fandom is an impossible beast, I also wanna give you some thoughts that I’ve developed over the course of being in this fandom. Under the cut since it’s only tangentially related …

I’m starting with what I personally think makes a fic worth reading. It might not guarantee kudos, but it might be worth thinking about:

1. Get a beta reader. Honestly, having someone comb through your work for things like consistency, characterization, and grammar is hugely important. There are a ton of great fics that suffer for not having someone run their eyes over it, and the fandom is one big happy family; you could throw a rock in any direction and find someone who’d be happy to help you out.

2. Figure out what makes your story worth reading, and emphasize it. This is gonna sound kinda dumb, but I swear half the stuff on AO3 is the same fucking “David adopts Max and may or may not be a serial killer” fic. I realize this is kinda petty of me, but I do think it’s a good idea to know what about your fic is special and worthwhile, because that’s going to be what makes people enjoy and recommend it. (This doesn’t mean don’t use popular tropes or plots, but just to be aware of what you’re bringing to the table, what cool twist or je ne sais quois it is that made you wanna write it. It’s also a great way to prop yourself up when you’re getting down on your work, because it reminds you that you’re doing something original and special.)

3. Consider short chapters (3,000 words or less) and a regular updating schedule. I don’t do this. It’s a problem. But seriously, people enjoy bite-sized content, and regularly adding to it keeps your work at the top of the tags/queue while also keeping the people who like your fic from forgetting about it.

4. Use small paragraphs. No one wants to read a giant block of text, and I know more than once I’ve clicked away after seeing the entire chapter was one big paragraph. Again, bite-sized. Getting people to read a fic is difficult, because it’s asking for an investment of time and mental energy they could be spending on something else. So do what you can to make reading as easy and enjoyable as possible for them.

5. Be mindful of standard grammar. I’m not trying to impose my Western-centric ideals on other people, because there are a lot of valid ways to talk/write and using “proper” grammar doesn’t mean you’re more intelligent by any means; I’m also not trying to discourage the creative and poetic use of nonstandard grammar (lord knows I abuse my artistic license to mess with grammar all the time). But in the name of making things a bit easier to read – especially, as I understand, for ESL readers – adhering to generally-accepted rules of “good” grammar is worth considering.

Unfortunately, your story still might not get the attention it deserves, and I’d like to start by saying I’m very very sorry about that. (I went from the only Gwenvid writer to being, like, that former high school football player who reminisces about the good old days before all these talented whippersnappers came around to upstage me; I’m just saying that I know how much it hurts to feel like your work isn’t being appreciated, whether you think you deserve the appreciation or not.) It sucks, and it hurts, and I’m sorry. I wish more people saw your stuff.

But some thoughts about dealing with those feelings as well:

1. Get a cheerleader. This is another super useful thing about having a beta, btw. Sometimes you’re going to feel like crap, and you’re going to need someone to prop up your ego and tell you that they think you’re amazing and that they believe in your story. Get as many of these as you need and feel comfortable leaning on them when you’re feeling down.

2. Beg. I make posts begging for compliments on like a twice-a-month basis. It’s kinda pathetic, but it really really helps, so if you have followers, there’s no shame in asking them to say nice things when your self-esteem has taken a beating.

3. Know that attention =/= quality. Like, okay, there are some incredible fics that are rightfully getting their due (fucking Netics and Mouse, talented bitches). But legit, the second-most-kudos’d fic on AO3 is also one of the worst ones I’ve ever run my poor undeserving eyes over, and only the fact that this is under a cut and unlikely to be read by many people is giving me the pettiness to say that. My longest fic, the one I’ve poured the most of myself into, has fewer kudos than a masterpiece called “Camp Campbell’s Cum Dumpster.” I wrote an entire post enumerating just a handful of CC fics I think deserve more attention, and if being well-known and -loved correlated with talent, they’d all be topping the leaderboards in my worthless opinion. But seriously, sometimes your stuff won’t be appreciated. Maybe it doesn’t have enough fluff, or enough angst. Maybe it doesn’t have enough dad//vid. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing will ever grab positive attention like dan//vid and there’s nothing we can do about it. Fans are picky and tricky, and sometimes trying to figure out why something becomes blisteringly popular while something else doesn’t is impossible, but it doesn’t mean your writing isn’t amazing. Believe in the story you’re telling, and that it’s worth telling.

4. Don’t compare yourself to other writers. I feel compelled to put this one on here because it’s good advice, but ahahahahahahahaha I’ve never done this and I’m pretty sure I never will.

5. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your writing is worth reading, and some things are out of your control, so just cut yourself some slack. Ahahahahahahahahaha fucking I’m such a piece of shit I don’t think I could do this if there was a gun to my head

#ask forest #not sure any of this is useful #a lot of it's me rambling and being salty #but listen #sometimes that's part of the writing process #especially when you're a petty competitive bitch #Anonymous

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redvanillabee · 7 years

Text

Musings on A Study in Pink (3)

Part 3: ‘Who’d be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?’ – The biggest obstacle to Johnlock

TRIGGER WARNING: discussions of homophobia, including negative stereotypes of gay people; passing mention of suicide

ASiP Recap: the Cabbie’s sponsor

During the confrontation, the Cabbie informs Sherlock that he has a ‘sponsor’:

JEFF: I ’ave a sponsor.

SHERLOCK: You have a what?

JEFF: For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think.

SHERLOCK (frowning): Who’d sponsor a serial killer?

JEFF (instantly): Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes?

(They stare at each other for a moment.)

JEFF: You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that.

(The side of Sherlock’s nose twitches in distaste.)

SHERLOCK: What d’you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?

JEFF: There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter.

…

SHERLOCK (furiously): The NAME!

JEFF (agonised): MORIARTY! [x]

In ASiP, we find out that ‘Moriarty’, whoever that is/they are, is a sponsor of a serial killer, a fan of Sherlock Holmes, and could be more than one single man.

In review: fandom theories about Moriarty

Ah, Moriarty. The longest standing enigma of the fandom. Below I will sum up a few more common theories regarding who Moriarty may be, and analyse their implications in relation to A Study in Pink.

In cahoots – Jim, Mycroft, ‘Mary’, and M Theory

The M Theory is arguably one of the fandom’s cornerstone discussions on Moriarty’s identity and motivations . One of the key proposals in M Theory is that Jim, ‘Mary’, and Mycroft are in cahoots.

M Theory – Jim Moriarty the criminal mastermind

M Theory asserts that Jim Moriarty as we see him since TGG is the criminal mastermind that he claims to be, while ‘Mary’ and Mycroft are both his underlings. According to the theory, Jim’s unhealthy obsession with Sherlock is his sole motivation. Jim has an unhealthy sort of ‘romantic obsession’ that ‘defines all of his actions throughout the series’ [x]. His ‘fatal attraction’ to Sherlock entails a desire to ‘mould Sherlock into his psychopath boyfriend, or failing that, break Sherlock’s heart trying’. This is a plan that John and Sherlock must fight to end up together.

ASiP, then, is pretty straightforward and is as the Cabbie has described: Jim, obsessed with Sherlock, sponsors the Cabbie to go on a killing spree, hoping to grab Sherlock’s attention, thus putting himself on Sherlock’s radar.

Jim in subtext – Sherlock’s repressed sexuality and internalised homophobia

Aside from being Moriarty, Jim has also featured in Sherlock’s imaginary. In both His Last Vow and The Abominable Bride, the Jim we see in Sherlock’s mind represents ‘all the things and feelings that Sherlock fear’ [x]. The ‘things and feelings that Sherlock fear’ is his romantic and sexual desire for John, and we can tell from the state of Moriarty in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. Jim in both scenarios symbolise Sherlock’s repressed sexuality—his fear that his desires are unwanted and perverted, and a fear of intimacy, presumably caused by a childhood of learning ‘caring is not an advantage’ from Mycroft.

Jim in Sherlock’s mind is heavily associated with Victorian imagery—perhaps one of the most homophobic times in western history—even before TAB. In His Last Vow, Moriarty is put in a straitjacket and a padded room that looks like it came straight out of a Victorian mental asylum.

Moriarty, who we have seen in The Great Game and The Reichenbach Fall as being quite blatantly and invasively sexual, is cast away by Sherlock as someone unstable, out of control, and needs to be locked up in the Victorian way. In TAB, Jim goes even further. In a signature move, he fellates his gun right in front of Sherlock:

In Sherlock’s head, the romantic and sexual desires (for John) are repressed in the Victorian manner, so out of control that it has to be tied up, and is horrifyingly perverted. Sherlock sees his sexuality as someone like Moriarty. For a while, especially around the time of The Reichenbach Fall and The Empty Hearse, he must have seen his love for John as something destructive to the latter. To Sherlock, John prefers and would be better off with ‘Mary’. In TEH, he apologises for coming back into John’s life:

JOHN: I wanted you not to be dead.

SHERLOCK: Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for.

(John sighs.)

SHERLOCK: If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and ...

(Baring his teeth, John turns away, shaking his head.)

SHERLOCK: ... you’d still have a future ... with Mary. [x]

And indeed, in TAB, one of Sherlock’s greatest fear, his ghostly skeleton in the grave, is that John prefers his life with ‘Mary’, and would willingly let her take him away because he is tired of Sherlock:

JOHN (loudly): No, everyone always lets you do whatever you want. That’s how you got in this state.

SHERLOCK (straightening up again): John, please ...

JOHN (angrily): I’m not playing this time, Sherlock, not any more.

(He steps back, flexing his left hand, then speaks more calmly.)

JOHN: When you’re ready to go to work, give me a call.

(He takes Mary’s arm.)

JOHN: I’m taking Mary home.

MARY (instantly): You’re what?

JOHN: Mary’s taking me home.

MARY: Better. [x]

While Sherlock knows, perhaps theoretically, in ASiP that ‘it’s fine’ for him to have a boyfriend, He is increasingly doubtful of whether he would be a good boyfriend and a good future for John. Mycroft’s teaching of ‘caring is not an advantage’, and seeing John getting into different life-threatening situations because of him surely makes Sherlock question whether he is right for John, whether his desire and love for John should be allowed.

Subtextually, in Sherlock’s head at least, Moriarty is everything he fears he is to John: perverted, invasive, disgusting. In short, while less serious than John, Moriarty can be read as a representative of Sherlock’s internalised homophobia.

Moriarty as a title – ‘Mary’ as ‘Moriarty’

Since S3, people have been speculating that Jim as we see him is not the real Moriarty. Since the release of the Sherlock adult colouring book, it is basically confirmed that ‘Mary’ is present at the pool scene in The Great Game. Some, such as @deeepfield, thinks that Moriarty is just a title, and ‘Mary’ is the real ‘Moriarty’. If ‘Mary’ is the real Moriarty, and Jim is just the public face, this adds a whole new dimension to the subtext.

‘Mary’ is heteronormativity. ‘Mary Morstan’, in both ACD canon and BBC Sherlock, is the reason why many people insist John and Sherlock are not in love with each other. She stands in the way of John and Sherlock. The recently devised Heimish Test, started by @heimishtheidealhusband and elaborated by @sherlock-overflow-error, has actual numbers on how ‘Mary’ has impeded John and Sherlock’s relationship.

Roped into it all – Mycroft and Sherlock’s perceived brand of masculinity

I have not come across any theories saying that Mycroft is Moriarty, but it is generally accepted that Mycroft is roped into Moriarty’s scheme. M Theory, amongst other theories, suggest that Moriarty has Mycroft under his control, just as we see in The Reichenbach Fall. However reluctant he may be, Mycroft is indeed in Moriarty’s game, so let’s take a closer look at him.

Mycroft serves multiple purposes in the show’s narrative. Often he is a stand in for the show’s writers, such as at the end of ASiP, or at the beginning of TFP. In the story, to Sherlock at least, he is apparently the British government. As part of Moriarty’s group, on a more superficial level of subtext, Mycroft in BBC Sherlock is the Sherlock Holmes that has been envisioned in so many other adaptations.

In the ACD canon, Holmes is hardly an unfeeling machine. He flushes at Watson’s compliments, he beats up a criminal for wounding Watson superficially (heart-eyeing Garridebs), and apparently he ‘chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits’ [x]. Yet for years, readers and adapters of the Sherlock Holmes stories believe he is a robot, a machine. They believe that ‘all emotions are abhorrent to [him]’ [x]. Dare I say, for quite a while, Holmes is the pinnacle of stoic straight British masculinity.

In the BBC adaptation, Mycroft seems to fit this common perception of Sherlock Holmes more than Sherlock himself does. He is coolly detached. He values logic and deduction above all else. He proudly proclaims that he ‘not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion’ [x]. He is the one who taught Sherlock – and keep reminding him – that ‘caring is not an advantage’ [x].

But as we know, in both ACD canon and BBC adaptation, Sherlock Holmes is none of that. Mycroft Holmes, in this reading, becomes a stand-in for the kind of straight masculinity that readers through history have projected onto Sherlock Holmes.

Whoever the real Moriarty is, this unholy trinity – Jim ([internalised] homophobia), ‘Mary’ (heteronormativity), and Mycroft (toxic masculinity) – are in cahoots, and together they stand in the way of canon Johnlock.

If you need assurances that S4 is fake, then this reading provides one, too. The modern scenes of TAB ends with Sherlock saying this:

SHERLOCK: Moriarty is dead, no question. But more importantly ...

(He raises his head and looks to one side.)

SHERLOCK: ... I know exactly what he’s going to do next. [x]

Then we get the clusterfuck that is Series 4. And the supposed ‘happy ending’ of S4? It is one narrated by ‘Mary’ ‘heteronormativity’ Morstan. S4 is what would happen if all the ‘Moriarty’ forces take control of the narrative: dramatic death scenes, forced I Love You’s to minor characters, fake tans galore, NO CANON JOHNLOCK, etc. And they won’t be around forever; Moriarty must be stopped.

Fan and Sponsor: Moriarty blocking the way to Johnlock

This brings us back to M Theory. In M Theory, the ultimate goal of Moriarty (partly) is to change Sherlock – from a soft, caring man who cares for his landlady, his flatmate, and hates people like Magnussen, to a real heartless psychopath. The other part of his goal is to tear him away from John. Is that not what the unholy trinity of Moriarty is doing, throughout the show? Driving John and Sherlock apart, telling either of them that they are not good enough for each other, telling them (in particular to Sherlock) that love and intimacy are weaknesses?

The Cabbie tells us that Moriarty is his sponsor and a fan of Sherlock Holmes. A ‘sponsor’ is ‘a person or an organization that pays for or plans and carries out a project or activity … in return for advertising time during its course’ [x]. By killing John mirrors and attempting to kill Sherlock – killing their real selves as we see in the BBC adaptation, and killing the possibility of Johnlock – is Moriarty not advertising? Is the absence of Johnlock not the triumph of heteronormativity and homophobia and toxic straight masculinity?

By saying Moriarty is a ‘fan’ of Sherlock Holmes, the writers are also lowkey dragging self-proclaimed ‘fans’ of Sherlock Holmes who fail to see the true nature of his and John Watson’s relationship. Take a look at the other fans of Sherlock mentioned on the show. Nurse Cornish in TLD, who says she is a fan of Sherlock Holmes’ adventures, does not even know whose blog (storytelling) she is reading.

NURSE CORNISH: I love his blog, don’t you?

JOHN: His blog?

NURSE CORNISH: Oh, don’t you read it?

JOHN: You mean my blog. [x]

Kitty Riley, who claims to be a Sherlock Holmes fan in TRF, turns out to be a fake fan, a reporter who is only interested in ‘helping’ Sherlock ‘set the record straight’ [x].

Even Culverton Smith, a dark!John mirror, says he is a fan of Sherlock. By the time of TLD, John Watson is still so plagued by his personal issues we discussed in Part 1, that he casts himself as a creepy serial killer, and sarcastically calls himself a fan of Sherlock Holmes.

But wait! Isn’t the Queen a fan of Sherlock Holmes too? Are Mofftiss dragging the Queen?

That’s one way of reading it, certainly: that the head of the institution, the symbol of British decorum, is one who is a fan of the straight, public façade of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. But I think there’s more to it.

In ASiB, the Queen is not simply a fan of the ‘frankly ridiculous adventures’ of John and Sherlock, oh no. She is very aware of what she is reading:

EQUERRY: My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.

JOHN (looking startled): Your employer?

EQUERRY: Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch. [x]

The Queen is very aware that she’s reading John’s blog, John Watson’s own sometimes-fictitious representation of what actually happened.

When Harry tells John that his employer likes his stories and has particularly enjoyed one of the stories, it is a callback to The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, the closest we ever got to an openly gay Sherlock Holmes to date.

The case that the Queen particularly enjoys, The Aluminium Crutch, is beautifully loaded with subtextual meanings too. The Aluminium Crutch is a case writeup that gets us the closest to the real events. The case writeup is actually a very long text Sherlock has sent John, with only very minimal editing done by the latter. The Queen is enjoying a story that gets us past the embellishments and rewriting John would usually slather onto a writeup.

On top of that, in the same long text, Sherlock claims that he has no time to explain the case to the police, but apparently has the time to type it all out to send to John. He, seemingly, always has time for one John Watson. I hope the Queen has enjoyed that little fact.

The Aluminium Crutch is also a play within play – a theatrical show within the BBC Sherlock show itself. In this play, the actor who plays Detective Sidney Paget – same name as the illustrator for the ACD stories in The Strand – accidentally gets himself killed on stage in what he thought was a clever ploy to incriminate his colleague. Sidney Paget the illustrator is (in)famous for taking quite a lot of artistic liberties with his illustrations, adding features that were not in ACD’s original stories. Some of these added features have somehow become staple characteristics of Sherlock Holmes throughout history, such as the deerstalker. The Deerstalker, in the BBC adaptation, is a symbol of a fake public persona, more specifically the public illusion that Sherlock is straight. And in this show, ‘Sidney Paget’ gets himself killed. The one who has ‘saddled’ Sherlock Holmes with the ‘improbable costume’ accidentally dies of his own plans.

The 1954 American adaptation

Is there more to the Queen? Yes there is. In Mycroft’s bunker in TEH and TST, there is a painting of the Queen.

This portrait of the Queen was painted by Pietro Annigoni in 1954. Incidentally, 1954 sees the first American television adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes stories, and was the only one until Elementary in 2012. This 1954 adaptation, produced by Sheldon Reynolds, approaches the ACD source material in a way similar to how Gatiss and Moffat claim they are approaching it. Reynolds said he wanted to portray a younger Holmes and Watson than seen in most other adaptations:

I was suddenly stuck by the difference between the character in that book and that of the stage and screen. Here, Holmes was a young man in his thirties, human, gifted, and of a philosophic and scholastic bent, but subject to fateful mistakes which stemmed from his overeagerness and lack of experience.

Besides, like BBC Sherlock, the 1954 adaptation feature mostly non-canonical original stories, with a few based directly on the ACD canon, and a few others loosely inspired by the canon. The main difference between this adaptation and the BBC version, as far as we know, is that while Gatiss and Moffat think Sherlock Holmes became a bane for ACD in his later writing career because ACD could not make Holmes explicitly gay, Reynolds simply bemoaned that in the later stories, Sherlock Holmes has become a ‘literary monster’ for Doyle.

On the one hand, this can be taken to mean that the Queen—the head of state, the symbol of British history and decorum—stands for an adaptation of Sherlock Holmes that is essentially the BBC version but not gay. On the other hand, we can see it as the public façade Mofftiss are putting on regarding Johnock.

When they mention ‘the Queen’ on the show, it is not always a reference to Queen Elizabeth II herself. She is Mycroft and Harry’s employer in ASiB. In the same episode, we even see Mycroft himself being jokingly called ‘the queen’:

JOHN: Here to see the Queen?

(At that moment Mycroft walks in from the next room.)

SHERLOCK: Oh, apparently yes. [x]

Mycroft is an established stand-in for the showrunners. In both episodes where we see Mycroft in this bunker, Mycroft is trying to save Sherlock’s life from getting involved with Moriarty and his minion’s evil plans. Mycroft – the reluctant accomplice in Moriarty’s game, the stand-in for the showrunners – is trying to save Sherlock from falling victim to Moriarty. The 1954 portrait of the Queen, standing in for the 1954 American adaptation, serves as both a shadow and a reminder – a shadow and a reminder of what is essentially the non-gay version of BBC Sherlock. Under this, Mycroft – the showrunners – is working hard to save Sherlock from heteronormativity, homophobia, and toxic masculinity.

If we are to read very deeply into things, we can even say the Queen stands in for the BBC commission of this show. Remember, the Queen in the show is an employer of Mycroft. As far as I know, when a portrait of the Queen is placed inside a government/public office, it usually carries the meaning of ‘by royal appointment’, or rendering services to the crown. We see this portrait in a secret bunker – the showrunners are secretly trying to save Sherlock from Moriarty. On the outside, however, the showrunners and their employers will vehemently deny that they are making Sherlock gay. They will only make references to TPLoSH, to the 1954 adaptation – two versions of the Sherlock Holmes stories that has every potential of becoming something like BBC Sherlock (with a canonically gay Sherlock), but did not because of various reasons.

We always hear that a good book must make the conflict clear in chapter 1. In A Study in Pink, the main conflict of the show has been laid bare for us – the media’s failure to recognise serial suicides as murder, John’s (implied) issues from childhood, and Moriarty, all attempt to kill John and Sherlock. They stand for the oppressive forces in our society – heteronormativity, homophobia, and toxic masculinity – that try to sto canon Johnlock from happening. Don’t worry though; in ASiP, John shoot the Cabbie and save himself and Sherlock. In TAB and TLD, we see glimpses of Sherlock and John rising to face their own demons. John and Sherlock will get their happy ending and make it down the last step, like it is foreshadowed in ASiP.

Acknowledgments

This meta could not have come into being without the works of meta-writers that have come before me. It is thanks to the groundwork they have laid that I am able to further the analysis and create this piece.

Honorary mention: this piece by @toxicsemicolon four months ago put the idea of the show being about LGBT suicide prevention in my head, and when this idea met the Sherlock bot tweet in Part 2, this meta was born.

I can’t say thanks enough to Amanda @SisterEdgelord, Carol @yesiamTHATcarol, Lin @lomes123, Tara @HeartDuct, and others on Twitter. They have all been incredibly supportive throughout the writing process, and keeps me going when I am questioning my own reading.

I hope you have enjoyed this ridiculously long three-part meta.

Part 1: Shot in the left shoulder – the Cabbie as a John mirror

Part 2: ‘You can’t have serial suicides’ – media, chain suicides, and social problems

Part 4: ‘I that am lost, oh who will find me?’ – John Watson’s Final Problem

#meta #sherlock meta #my meta #moriarty #jim moriarty #mary morstan #mycroft holmes #a study in pink

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