#I will forever be haunted of my old twelve year old writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sidhewrites · 6 months

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Twelve!! Listen we are skipping an entire 3 scenes using the bracket method and I don't care, I wrote, I have written, I will write again. The chapter is also 90% Dialogue which will almost certainly be pared down in later versions, so it'll make up for it lol.

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[Josie suggests bringing renfield to the graveyard and holding their own seance, to recreate the ritual that summoned it and see who's haunting them, since weird stuff has been happening in the graveyard lately and at josie's home and nobody can figure out why. Eventually, Kaz lets herself get talked into it. or moreso strongarmed into it when she complains to lucy who thinks it's a great idea.]. kaz finds it completely ridiculous and shows up anyway

Note: possibly change ren to Kaz's kitty, and josie was going to drop thigns off at kaz's apartment and let him out?]

[Scene opens with Kaz and Lucy chatting at the graveyard, josie arrives]

"Who are you talking to?"

[What do you mean?

there's nobody there?]

"What? of course there is. She's right here. Josie, this is Lucy." I gesture vaguely.

[ha ha very funny. can we just get to work? the sooner we do, the sooner you can get rid of me.]

"Are you kidding? She's right here. Lucy, say something."

"Good evening?" she tries.

"Kaz, stop it. There's nobody there."

[and anyway at this point kaz realizes lucy's a ghost,]

"Wait you...actually can't see her, can you?"

Josie shrugs, exasperated.

"Uh... Lucy, how old are you?"

"Forever twenty-one."

"No, I mean...what year were you born?"

[1880s or whatever]

"You're being funny, right? Josie, she's being funny, right?"

Josie rolled her eyes. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, there's nobody there."

"I'm not in the habit of lying," Lucy said.

I don't believe it. I mean -- she can't be, right? She's goth, and she's adorable and spooky, but she's not... She can't be... "You're a ghost, aren't you?"

"I am rather spectral inclined, yes."

"What's going on?" Josie asks. Her frustration has given way to a shocked confusion. "Kaz, who are you talking to?"

"Lucy. She's, uh...Lucy, what's your last name?"

She gives me a smile, either pleased that I've finally put two and two together, or irritated that it took so long. I can't quite tell which. "Blue."

"Shut up."

"I'd rather not."

"You're not Lucille Blue," I say.

"You're talking to Lucille Blue?" Josie asks.

"I always preferred Lucy, if I'm honest."

[Transition]

I'm honestly a little surprised to see it. Josie has never trusted spirit boards, much less an actual Ouija board. She's definitely too steeped in pop-culture. In her mind, not only do ghosts exist, but so do demons or malevolent spirits or whatever.

Oh.

Uh.

Hm.

I glance at Lucy, then back to Josie. I may have to put more groveling on my to-do list.

Reluctantly, I join Josie on the ground, sitting opposite her with the candles and Ouija board between us. Renfield's breathing is unusually quiet as he watches us from his bed.

[Uh Mrs. Blue can you sit over there?] She points to the empty spot to her left.

"Is that meant to be me?" Lucy asks.

"I think she prefers Lucy," I say, glancing over my shoulder.

"Right. Sorry. Uh, Lucy, can you...sit over there?"

Lucy does as instructed. This time, I notice there's no noise when she walks, nor does she seem to disturb the grass at all. I watch her skirts swish over the ground, but there's nothing to suggest she'd ever been there at all.

"And Kaz, you sit..." Josie gestures to the spot on her right.

I can't help but make a face for being pulled into something like this. But Lucy is sitting there smiling at me as prettily as ever, with her dress so black it almost looks like shadows in the night, that I force myself to swallow. "I'm gonna have to do a lot of existential exploration after this, aren't I?"

"I'm not going to say anything," Josie says, while her tone says more than enough.

When the two of us are settled, Josie looks over to the Carrier again, considering the mass of shadows within. Renfield is a skinny cat underneath his fluff, and he's squished himself as far back as possible, looking like a ball of blackness with two gleaming eyes reflecting the dim light outside.

"He okay?"

She nods weakly, and reaches over to unlatch the door and take up the lead attached to his little harness. "Come on, baby boy. Come out." She takes him out carefully and places him in the cat bed, expecting him to curl up and go to sleep like he normally does when confronted with a flat surface. Instead, however, he stands stock still like he doesn't know how to handle four legs. He watches his front paws, and takes a single step forward, off the bed and onto the grass.

She watches him consider the next placement of his foot, then look up and regard us three. His gaze lingers on Lucy, and begins stumbling directly over to her.

"Can he see me?" she asks with delight. "Hello, darling!"

"Where's he going?" Josie asks. "Is he going to Lucy?"

"I think so," I say.

But there's something wrong in how he walks -- something worse than usual. He's getting tangled up in his paws, missing steps. My worry grows, wondering if he's got a neurological issue, up until he stands upright. Suddenly Renfield appears much more confident in himself. His steps are awkward but more confident, and he fixes his eyes on Lucy. There's a focus there that hadn't been present in years. A single-mindedness towards...something that none of us understand.

Lucy reaches her hand out, and I wonder if she would be able to pet him. But once he's just barely out of her reach, his focus wavers. Renfield regains his usual wall-eyed expression, and falls back onto all fours. He regards the grass for a minute, sniffing the cold air, and meeps.

"I'm coming," Josie coos, and scoops him up. This time, when she deposits him back into the cat bed, he curls up like nothing happened. She scratches behind his ears until his wheezy purring fills the air, and she looks up at me.

I don't have anything witty to say. Josie was right -- that was weird. I'd never seen anything like that from any animal before outside of scary movies. If that had been happening for a month now... I swallow around a lump of guilt in my throat. I should have believed her earlier.

"Josie...?"

She doesn't look at me for a moment. "Let's just get this over with so I can put him to bed."

Lucy and I watch helplessly as she sets up the rest of the scene. She [does stuff to set up. Pulling candles and ash and stuff from her bag,] and finally a pendulum -- a small crystal on the end of a silver chain.

"That's quite the toolkit," Lucy observes

"She prides on herself on being prepared."

Josie sits, holding up the pendulum and considering it. She's the one running the show tonight, but I really hope we don't have to sit here watching a shiny rock wiggle back and forth for an hour before doing something more fun.

"If she asks a question, I can't promise I won't tap it."

"You're evil."

"What?" Josie looks up. She must have decided against the pendulum, because she puts it away while looking between me and where she thinks Lucy's sitting. "Are you guys talking about something"

"No."

Lucy places a delicate hand over her heart, the picture of innocence. "It's extremely tempting to sabotage attempts to contact the deceased."

"Lucy-- wait." I run a few calculations in my head. "You're... you're the deceased. Right?"

"My body is enjoying an eternal rest, but my mind still yearns to wander."

"Right. Cool. So doesn't that mean... -- Josie, she likes to interfere with people's seances and stuff. Doesn't that mean ... Lucy, doesn't that mean you're just giving them a successful ghost encounter? If you're -- you know ... that?"

Josie nods. "That sounds right to me."

[But i'm just having a bit of fun, I'm not actually giving them a ghost encounter]

"No...Lucy..." I frown. "Josie can you pick up the pendulum?"

Josie does, confused.

"Okay now...ask a question."

"Like what?"

I gesture vaguely. "You know. Anything. Something you'd ask a ghost."

"Okay...?" She holds her hand out and balances the pendulum. "This is yes..." she starts, letting it swing one way. "This is no," she says, letting it swing the other. "Does anyone... want to talk to me?" She grimaces, looking to me for some sort of hint of what else to do.

I nod, then point at Lucy. "Okay, go touch the pendulum."

She doesn't.

For a moment, nobody moves. Then Lucy shrugs. "Well, now I don't want to!"

"Luce!"

"What's going on?" Josie asks.

"She's got stage fright."

"It's not stage fright!" Lucy frowns. "I simply... don't care for performing just to prove a point. I'm not going to tap a crystal because it can channel energy between worlds. That's not how it works."

"No, you're going to go touch a shiny rock because other people thinks it channels energy between worlds. Please."

"What's going on?"

"I will not!" she protests, indignant.

A breeze shifts around us, swinging the pendulum and sending a shiver down my and Josie's spines.

It's a fight not to argue when Josie says, "Maybe another time."

Lucy nods.

She puts the pendulum down, and shifts uncertainly. "So, Missus Blue -- Lucille."

"Lucy," she says.

"Lucy," I say, so Josie can hear.

"Lucy. Right. I don't know how much Kaz told you, but we're recreating the Ouija board session from the Haunted Archivists video as best we can. Hopefully that will attract the attention of whoever they spoke to that night, since they thought it was you."

"It wasn't me," she confirms.

"It wasn't her," I reiterate.

"Right."

It's about time we get started.

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

#writing #writeblr #nano #mystuff #my writing #graveyard lesbians #wlw #wlw fiction #supernatural romance #original fiction

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marisoft-paint-adventures · 1 year

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Pgs. 70-84

There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. You won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon. A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

most important Egbert fact, commit this to memory now.

OH SHIT IT’S “PLAY A HAUNTING PIANO REFRAIN”-

youtube

listening to Showtime is like a ritualistic tradition to me, man oh fucking man does it still hit to this day. there is no greater joy that popping open this comic again and hearing these notes once more. I would call this The Homestuck Song but there’s a million of equally iconic tracks and some of them are literally called the main theme of Homestuck so I’ll just say that this is The Act 1 Song.

yes I’m considering it over Suburban Countdown, it’s a good song but this just fucking encompasses everything.

little boy John really just sat down while hunting for Sburb just to go:

also the Jonkler is here and I have no idea why but it amuses me.

now I just gotta let the next Flash play out wholesale, it needs this.

youtube

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune. It is your thirteenth birthday, and as with all twelve preceding it, something feels missing from your life. The game presently eluding you is only the latest sleight of hand in the repertoire of an unseen riddler, one to engender a sense not of mirth, but of lack. His coarse schemes are those less of a prankster than a common pickpocket. His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well. It is the most diabolical riddle of all. "Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." -Walt Whitman Yes, you are certain Walt Whitman said that. One hundred percent positive. You have a feeling it's going to be a long day.

this does not get old, never, in all of my years I can still sit down and listen to Windchime Foley rattle on forever. there’s something just completely alluring about this page as a whole, the sudden shift into these thoughtful prose in the narration, the droning ambience of wind, the unmelodic windchimes weakly singing, the slow pan showing the entirety of John’s neighborhood, the heavily iconographic sun, and that fucking title drop, everything here is good, I love Homestuck.

what really gets me about it nowadays is just that tiny bit of characterization you could gleam if you read way too much into it. these empty streets and houses with no life in them, the description of something feeling truly missing from John’s life, the sheer sense of hollowness in this entire town, it really makes you think about what John’s life was like before the game came in and turned everything on its head.

Rose pursues a passion for the grim and gothic while playing weird mind games with her mother, Dave lounges around a shithole apartment eating takeout and playing video games at the same all while his brother trains him to become an epic ninja through the art of mad beatdowns, Jade faffs about on an island without a care in the world.

what does John do?

the idea of an isolationist John is often spurred as a reaction and coping mechanism from the trauma of the entirety of Sburb, after experiencing essentially a sensual and emotional overload watching everything and everyone die multiple times over in a universal reproduction system. not much attention is given to the thought of these tendencies of seclusion manifesting beforehand.

because in a quiet house owned by an idealized American father figure situated in a neighborhood that feels utterly lifeless despite its colorful appearance, what does John have outside of his small group of internet friends?

it’s easy to throw this kind of thought process around for any of the kids in the comic, the writing has them acknowledge no one but themselves when it comes to close relationships, as if everyone else on Earth basically didn’t exist.

but it feels way more apparent in John’s case, because it really feels like this kid pretty much has nothing interesting going on in his life until the launch of Sburb.

a lot of this can be attributed to John simply being more of a blank slate considering he’s the protagonist, but it’s just a thought.

oh and after this introspection someone commands John to shit in the mailbox and it’s punctuated with a gif that I swear is animated like a modern day Vine boom shitpost.

never change, Homestuck.

#homestuck liveblog #hs liveblog #hs reread #liveblog #reread #live read #liveread #homestuck #hs1 #hs #home22tuck #Act 1 #Flash #john egbert #june egbert #Beta Kids

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princesslittleworld · 2 months

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In this post I recommend some books that I think you might like my little princesses, next to each book I will leave you a brief description of the book. Have a nice day and stay hydrated! (most of the books they have strong themes)

ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱ ʟɪꜱᴛ ɪ ᴀᴅᴠɪᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ:

- don't think, dear (Growing up, Alice Robb dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer. But by age fifteen, she had to face the reality that she would never meet the impossibly high standards of the hyper-competitive ballet world. After she quit, she tried to avoid ballet—only to realize, years later, that she was still haunted by the lessons she had absorbed in the mirror-lined studios of Lincoln Center, and that they had served her well in the wider world)

- pride and prejudice ( mr. and mrs. bennett and their five daughters, Jane Austen creates a miniature of her world, where social grace and the nuances of behavior predominate in the making of a great love story.)

- girl interrupted (The shocking true story of a young woman sent to a psychiatric hospital without warning. It's often hilarious, always incisive, and full of deep explorations of what sanity really means.)

- the bell jar (When Esther Greenwood wins an internship on a New York fashion magazine in 1953, she is elated, believing she will finally realise her dream to become a writer. But in between the cocktail parties and piles of manuscripts, Esther's life begins to slide out of control. She finds herself spiralling into serious depression as she grapples with difficult relationships and a society which refuses to take her aspirations seriously.)

- lolita (Lolita is a controversial novel by Vladimir Nabokov that tells the story of Humbert Humbert, a middle-aged man who becomes infatuated with a twelve-year-old girl named Lolita. The novel explores themes of obsession, manipulation, and the destructive power of forbidden desire.)

- the little paris book shop (Jean Perdu is fifty years old and has a floating bookshop moored on the Seine, the "literary pharmacy": for him, in fact, every book is medicine for the soul. For twenty-one years he has lived in the memory of his beloved Manon, who arrived in Paris from Provence and suddenly disappeared, leaving him only a letter, which Jean never had the courage to open. Now he lives alone in a building inhabited by the most varied characters: the solitary pianist who improvises concerts on the balcony for the whole neighborhood, the very young writer in creative crisis, the beautiful melancholic lady betrayed and abandoned by her cheating husband. For everyone Jean Perdu finds the cure in a book: for everyone, except himself. Until he decides to travel to look for the woman of his life.)

- my year of rest and relaxation(our anonymous protagonist is cultured, effortlessly beautiful, filthy rich and terribly bored and annoyed by life. Shortly after her parents die, she decides to quit her job at a New York art gallery to embark on what she describes as a hibernation project: taking pills and sleeping all day to avoid life. The protagonist's goal is not to cancel herself forever, but to temporarily cancel herself, cancel her life until then, and then be reborn, at the end of hibernation, like a butterfly from its cocoon.)

- a little princess ( the story of Sara Crewe, the little girl who imagines shes a princess in order to survive hard times at Miss Minchins London boarding school.)

- my dark vanessa (vanessa attends high school and she loves to write,has a slight crush on one of his teachers very normal for a teenager her age.only that her feeling is reciprocated and will ruin her entire existence)

- acts of desperation (a memory of a woman in love that little by little she loses herself because of an unhealthy and sick relationship)

- the passion of artemisia (Artemisia Gentileschi led a remarkably "modern" life. Vreeland tells Artemisia's captivating story, beginning with her public humiliation in a rape trial at the age of eighteen, and continuing through her father's betrayal, her marriage of convenience, motherhood, and growing fame as an artist. Set against the glorious backdrops of Rome, Florence, Genoa, and Naples, inhabited by historical characters such as Galileo and Cosimo de' Medici II, and filled with rich details about life as a seventeenth-century painter, Vreeland creates an inspiring story about one woman's lifelong struggle to reconcile career and family, passion and genius.)

- a deadly education ( Scholomance is a school of magic unlike any other. Here there are no teachers or holidays, and it is not possible to make disinterested friendships because the only bonds that can be built are strategic. Above all, it is a school where failure is synonymous with certain death (seriously!). The rules, at Scholomance, are dramatically simple: you must never wander the school corridors alone. And you have to pay constant attention to the soul-eaters, dangerous monstrous creatures that lurk everywhere. Surviving is more important than any grade. Once you enter school, in fact, you only have two ways to get out: graduate or die! But the entry into the Scholomance of a new student, El, is destined to change the cards on the table and bring to light some secrets of the institute. Galadriel “El” Higgins, in fact, is extraordinarily gifted. Perhaps, among all the students, she is the only one prepared for such a dangerous school. Despite not having a large number of allies on her side - most of the students keep her at a distance because they are very afraid of her and because she is not what one would call a lovable girl - and not exactly embodying the idea of a flawless heroine, he could without much effort summon a dark power so strong as to raze entire mountains to the ground and annihilate millions of unsuspecting and innocent people. For her, in fact, it would be child's play to use her magic to get rid once and for all of the monsters that infest the school and that wait for the night to attack and kill her classmates. The not-so-negligible problem is that resorting to it could lead to the death of all the other studentsWith impeccable mastery, Naomi Novik has created a school teeming with magic you've never seen before and a heroine so atypical and full of shades that will live long in your hearts and minds.)

- the school for good and evil(This year, best friends Sophie and Agatha are about to discover where all the lost children go: the fabled School for Good and Evil, where ordinary boys and girls are trained to be fairy-tale heroes and villains. As the most beautiful girl in Gavaldon, Sophie has dreamed of being kidnapped into an enchanted world her whole life. With her glass slippers and devotion to good deeds, Sophie knows she'll earn top marks at the School for Good and join the ranks of past students like Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Snow White. Meanwhile, Agatha, with her shapeless black frocks and wicked black cat, seems a natural fit for the villains in the School for Evil. The two girls soon find their fortunes reversed—Sophie's dumped in the School for Evil to take Uglification, Death Curses, and Henchmen Training, while Agatha finds herself in the School for Good, thrust among handsome princes and fair maidens for classes in Princess Etiquette and Animal Communication.)

- the song of achilles (a beautiful love story set in the Trojan War,Patroclus and Achilles, best friends since childhood, I discover the various nuances of a friendship that becomes love but everything will soon begin to end)

#just girly things #im just a girl #girlblogging #this is a girlblog #book blog #bookworm #books and reading #currently reading #self care #mindset

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urmomsspeciallady · 11 months

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⊱ ─{.⋅ Build Me Up, Buttercup ⋅.} ─ ⊰

(No spoilers. :) Also, thank you ChatGPT for making the summary. 🫨 )

Story Info.↴

Rating: 16+ (vulgar language, mentions/depictions of death, sexual content, violence)

Relationships (so far): Bunny (Butters x Kenny), Style (Stan x Kyle)

POV: It switches almost every chapter, always indicated and i use different writing styles for each character. :)

Summary↴

In the peaceful, quaint town of South Park, an extraordinary tale quietly unfolds. This story surrounds Kenny, a 15 year old boy whose existence defies all norms, and his friends.

Only Kenny and his best friend, Leopold "Butters" Stotch, know the truth: Kenny dies almost daily, though Butters believes it's just a never-ending series of haunting nightmares.

Everything takes an turn when a group of childhood acquaintances, snoop in Butters' precious dream journal. What they don't understand is that these pages, in their possession, have the power to either help Kenny or hurt Butters, all while remaining blissfully unaware of the extraordinary reality they have unwittingly stumbled upon.

All the while Kenny, Butters, and their classmates struggle with growing up. Kenny and Butters bear the weight of another secret—they are the town's hidden protectors, cloaked in anonymity as undercover superheroes. Their identities concealed, they silently ward off threats that would otherwise engulf their community, even as they unknowingly become sworn enemies.

Within this tapestry of ordinary lives, extraordinary forces collide. In a world where heroes and adversaries dance a delicate tango, the fates of these characters intertwine, forever shaping the destiny of their town and the lives they touch.

Chapters:

Chapter One: will we ever learn

Chapter Two: we've been here before

Chapter Three: for now I'm only people watching

Chapter Four: running through my head

Chapter Five: all the bad dreams you hide

Chapter Six: it's still no piece of cake

Chapter Seven: i wish i could

Chapter Eight: nobody knows what i see

Chapter Nine: there is something on your mind

Chapter Ten: real sweet

Chapter Eleven: oh my love, i lied to you

Chapter Twelve: ....

Chapter Thirteen: ....

Chapter Fourteen: but i never needed to

Chapter Fifteen: ....

STILL UPDATING!! :D

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lire-casander · 2 years

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forever in a second too short (home is a heartbeat)

here it is! my contribution to @911lsbb! i hope you're ready for a ride! chapters will be posted once a day for twelve days. are you ready?

on ao3

chapters:

chapter #1: intro — on tumblr

chapter #2: first verse — on tumblr

chapter #3: first pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #4: first chorus — on tumblr

chapter #5: second verse — on tumblr

chapter #6: second pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #7: second chorus — on tumblr

chapter #8: solo — on tumblr

chapter #9: bridge — on tumblr

chapter #10: third pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #11: third chorus — on tumblr

chapter #12: outro — on tumblr

pairings: tk strand/carlos reyes, judd ryder/grace ryder, nancy gillian/mateo chavez, paul strickland/marjan marwani

characters: tk strand, carlos reyes, jonah, owen strand, enzo, judd ryder, grace ryder, nancy gillian, tommy vega, mateo chavez, paul strickland, marjan marwani, izzie vega, evie vega, gabriel reyes, andrea reyes, mitchell, alex, original child characters, original characters

warnings: alternate universe — au, alternate universe — with kids, alternate universe — future fic, alternate universe — school teacher, alternate universe — celebrity, alternate universe — movie, alternate universe — marry me (2022), vaguely inspired by the movie, angst, fluff, cheating (not between tarlos), past/reference drug addiction, grief, references to sister act 2, mentions of death, mentions of accidents, breakup, emotional hurt/comfort, fake dating, more tags to be added

disclaimer: the opinions expressed by certain characters in this work of fiction are not shared by the author.

rating: teen and up audiences

summary: tk strand is a famous singer who’s about to marry his beau alex fletcher onstage in front of around twenty million fans. carlos reyes is a teacher whose whole live revolves around his twelve-year-old daughter and his classes. when tk’s wedding ceremony goes south because of a video of alex cheating on tk with his assistant, their lives become a tangled mess. as they wade through life together by a whim of fate, carlos and tk learn to move forward from a past that haunts them both and into a future that could be everything they wanted it to be, if they just allowed themselves to be happy.

fun facts about writing this fic!

i’ve used transcripts for both the movie and some episodes of the show. here you have the links!

* marry me

* 911 lone star s01e01

* 911 lone star s01e03

* 911 lone star s01e10

* 911 lone star s02e04

* 911 lone star s02e14

* 911 lone star s03e02

* 911 lone star s03e04

* 911 lone star s03e07

* 911 lone star s03e08

* 911 lone star s03e18

the duet song tk dedicates to carlos is an english adaptation of ricky martin and reik’s a veces bien y a veces mal. official video and lyrics can be found here. translation/adaptation made by yours truly.

the time difference between nyc and tokyo is 14 hours, meaning that it’s almost always tomorrow in japan, just like jonah says.

some of this was inspired by @dangermagnetstrand’s post

marriages don’t need to be registered in nyc unless the marriage license has been issued by one of their offices.

the monastery of leyre exists, and it’s located in navarra (spain). you can visit its webpage here.

there is a playlist that i kept adding to while writing this fic. if you want to, you can listen to it here.

thank you end notes: this wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support and hand-holding of some amazing people in my life. please take a seat and grab some tissues, because the emotional fest begins right here!

vicky (@tarlos-spain) → ¿qué puedo decir? si no hubiera sido por tu idea de montar un big bang esta historia nunca habría nacido. sin ti, la última parte de esta historia sería muy diferente, y lo sabes; necesitaba una idea para acabar la historia de la mejor manera posible, y tú estabas ahí cuando yo buscaba a alguien que me quitara la idea de la cabeza… aunque lo que pasó fue que no solo no me la quitaste de la cabeza: ¡la hiciste crecer! muchas gracias por tu apoyo, por escucharme cuando necesitaba desahogarme y por estar siempre ahí.

martina → non so cosa dire, davvero. incontrarti quest'anno è stata una di quelle cose che non mi aspettavo ma che mi hanno piacevolmente sorpreso, e sono così grata a vicki per essere entrata nella mia vita e averti portata con sé. lavorare con te alla grafica di questa fic è stato un piacere; poter contare su di te al di là del fandom è una benedizione. grazie mille per essere ciò che sei e per aver condiviso il tuo talento con me!

noxy (@noxsoulmate) → you’re a beautiful soul, my dear friend. you offering to help me with this monster was a nice surprise, because i for once wasn’t planning on asking for help. you know i love to try things without help, and sometimes that’s not good. you were there when this fic hit a low point halfway through writing it, and you helped me back on my feet and encouraged me to keep writing it. without you, without your help and your support and your strength, this wouldn’t be what it is today, and for that (and for you) i am forever grateful.

holly (@morganaspendragonss) -> you truly are the pain to my angst. i love how much you love angst and pain in fiction, and i love how you always encourage me to write angstier fics. you also demand a fix-it from me, which is always good because then you have the full experience. i wouldn’t have finished this without your support and your help during the last stretch. you are a wonderful soul and i am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting you

ll (@doublel27) → thanks for the cheering and the enthusiasm when you learned what this was! your support through all the wip wednesdays and six sentence sundays has been epic! but also epic was your hand-holding when i wanted to give up and leave this project aside because of a rocky middle… you’re an amazing friend.

brit (@moviegeek03) → thank you so much for your endless support, for your words of encouragement and for your editing when it seemed like i was translating straight from spanish into english. and special thanks for your hand-holding during the worst part of writing this, when halfway through it and with 20k+ written i was faced with whether to keep writing it or leave it. i wouldn’t have made this without you.

melo (@meloingly) → there are no words, my dear friend. you’ve always been by my side, ready to cheer me on and call me on my bluff whenever i said i couldn’t do something. you’ve always got an unwavering faith in me, and it’s thanks to you that i keep writing. i would have stopped if i hadn’t had you right at the other side of the screen, telling me that my writing was worth it. that i was worth it. thank you for always being your amazing self.

jillian (@marjansmarwani) → thank you so much for your input on schools in ny and how jonah and leyre could attend the same school while keeping carlos as jonah’s teacher and the advisor for the math team. i’m so glad you could help me and guide me through this particular issue within the fic.

ashley (@alilypea) → i don’t know what to say. you’re just this amazing human being who i am lucky enough to call soulmate. i hope you know that your support means a lot to me, and that your hand-holding while i wrote this (or, more accurately, word-vomited this story into a gdoc) has saved me from scraping the whole story more than once. you saying that my words are good is the highest praise of them all.

antania (@dangermagnetstrand) → thank you very much for the post that started it all! without it, i would have never even thought about writing a story about a singer-songwriter and his lovely boyfriend.

dani (@daniela-bella), jenny (@alidravana), ej (@ravens-words), alice (@aliceschuyler), jenny (@laelipoo) & ac (@breannacasey) → thank you so much for helping me with little details such as news stations and names of songwriters and for listening to me when i ranted about writing a monster, and also for the sprints! half of this wouldn’t have been done without those sprints! you’re definitely the best cheerleaders i could have ever asked for!

jesco0307, didou180386 and the rest of my faithful readers → thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, commenting and subscribing to this monster! it fills my heart with so much love and amazement. you’re the best!

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victorianpining · 1 year

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Rebs! writer ask game for you!! <3

1, 3, 6, 7, 10, 14, 25, 28, 32 (if you want), 34!

Thank you Emrys!

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I go for something that looks "bookish," so my defaults are bookman old style, baskerville, or garamond. Vampire fic is currently being written in the Google font Spectral.

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

I have to be listening to music, either a playlist I am listening to to death so the words aren't distracting to me, or music without lyrics that matches the vibe. I always hope my session will start with me feeling really inspired but that almost never happens so I guess that's where the cursed part comes in. When I am having an absolutely awful time but know I need to get work done, I will break out my 20 sided die and roll it for how many minutes I have to focus before I get to take another break.

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

My greatest fear is that my work will have some kind of fatal flaw in it that I am blind to while working on it but that I will feel like I should have been able to see in retrospect that will lead to people getting hurt. And yet I've decided to go on writing knowing that is a very real possibility (it's happened before).

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

When I'm in a writing session and it's one of those times when it's all falling into place effortlessly and I feel like I'm not even really me anymore, just a conduit for the words, and at the same time more like me than I ever do the entire rest of my life, like that's what I'm always meant to be doing.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

For me, it's an idea that lingers in my head that I either can't quite make sense of, am not willing to come to terms with, or causes me some other kind of lasting sadness, something that feels unresolved to me, basically. I'm learning that the best way for me to become un-haunted is to reclaim those ideas and use them myself (though the story that comes out of that process can become a new ghost).

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

This is an interesting question, and I think I have an easy out as a librarian, I'll be like "oh did you want to read that? Here I'll place it on ILL for you," but I hadn't realized until right now that no, I do not ever lend my books to people ghsahglhds. Listen they don't need to see all my unhinged notes.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

My writing process works in a way that I don't usually *have* details that aren't relevant to the story, because it's so much work for me to come up with details I feel like they all have to have some additional utility. Even if I spend time on something that doesn't end up being mentioned, they still originally had a point I was trying to hint at with them. I really admire people who come up with all these backstory details just to flesh out the world!

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Ooh, I feel like I can't really go in detail on that one, so I'll just say a minor character in the original story I'm still in the planning stages for is an absolute treat.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Oh, there are literally so many. I'm going to go with this part from the One Story interlude in How to Read Literature Like a Professor. I could quote the entire chapter, but the ending is my favorite:

Stories are like that, too. That one story that has been going on forever is all around us. We- as readers or writers, tellers or listeners- understand each other, we share knowledge of the structures of our myths, we comprehend the logic of symbols., largely because we have access to the same swirl of story. We have only to reach out into the air and pluck a piece of it.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

It is small, elegant, and precise. But also, if someone doesn't write with them and it's still clear what they mean, who cares?

#asks

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jacksgreysays · 1 year

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60) things you said as the bottom dropped out; for your OCs or whatever you feel like

I’m gonna be honest anon, I think this prompt fill will actually be more of an outline/planning/ideation.

Because I’m gonna be even more honest, I did have to look up what “bottom dropped out” means. Like… I had a vague idea I knew what I meant but then I second guessed myself and looked it up to make sure because it’s not a phrase I use/hear often. But, for those who are also not sure, the bottom dropping means something ends/goes awry 1) suddenly and with the option of doing so 2) worse than it has ever been before. So not just abruptly hitting rock bottom but also maybe plunging straight through to the crust of the earth.

Which is hilarious.

I also appreciate you for requesting one of my OCs and/or whatever whim may take me which does make this… very open ended on who gets absolutely destroyed and what they say while being so but also means it’s so open ended that I have to ideate what I would write about.

I was also thinking that the particular phrasing evokes the sense of falling, which should be obvious, but… how do I put it… while the bottom of a boat disappearing would put its passengers in a bind the idea of them falling into water doesn’t seem as abrupt. Or, like, doesn’t evoke falling necessarily. Then I was thinking, a step to the side, what about an airship? But that involves a good chunk of world building which isn’t where I’m at for the moment.

And also, I shouldn’t take it so literally.

So, what do you say the moment of the worst thing suddenly happening to you? Let’s see…

If I go through my OCs, my usual go to is, of course, Tetsuki but weirdly enough nothing bad happens to her so suddenly and that she can’t mitigate/recover from. After that is Leanne, but in an equal and opposite problem, bad things are happening to her almost constantly, and also nothing is the absolute worst she’d be subjected to because the purgatory that is her existence is already the bad ending (in as much as a time traveler can have an ending)

And of course I have other OCs but…who has their entire world ripped out from under them all at once…

Ohhhhh, oh noooooo, I know who it is: it’s Curtis/Apex from Twelve Sessions.

It would be about the fight that effectively wiped out the rest of the team—Brian/Griever is dead, Alvin/Silverfang is not dead but definitely unable to continue vigilantism somehow, Leanne/Anachron is lost to time (again), Joy/Jaguar’s fate is uncertain she’s probably not dead but definitely not going to continue vigilantism.

The problem is, while I do know what he says before the fight I don’t know what he would say during the fight and I also don’t actually happens in the fight since the point of Twelve Sessions is the more human/vulnerable side of superheroes having to face consequences of being a superhero. Anyways, he would definitely say something encouraging like “We got this” before the fight and then everything goes bad and it becomes a horrible irony that haunts him forever even when he does eventually heal and forgive himself.

So then is there anyone else?

In the same superhero trend, I was thinking of maybe a Tim Drake fic because he is one of my faves and he truly did have one of the worst years of existence if I’m remembering right in which basically everyone he loved died and then Robin was taken from him, but that’d basically be the whole fic and that’s just retreading old ground?

My brain did then jump to DoS since I had already crossed the fanfiction line even though you had specifically mentioned my OCs, but Shikako so very frequently is hit with extremely unfortunate events that she then so often adapts and lands on her feet if I go back to the falling interpretation as a metaphor. BUT THEN, I remembered I do have my own DoS OCs: specifically Shikako’s genin students. And while they’re learning to be as adaptable as her and as casually irreverent about the most bizarre situations, I think that largely depends on her being there. So for them, the bottom dropping out would be something that removes Shikako from the equation.

But wait, didn’t I just say she always lands on her feet? And yes, she does. At this point I would say recursive fic of her almost always has the implicit agreement that she wins/lives/survives/succeeds/protects the people she wants to. Which I do love and would love to hold to. But then I harkened back to ask box fake fic title prompt, Edge Of The Stars in which Shikadai tries to solve the mystery of his missing aunt and it turns out it was aliens/a Stargate.

Which… I still don’t know anything about the Stargate franchise. But the concept still holds: everyone is still alive and I’m sure she’s kicking ass and taking names wherever in the wide universe she got sent to, but as far as the people who love her are concerned Shikako disappeared and never came back.

So a fic in which her students—whether or not they’re still genin (probably not, tbh, considering their sensei’s fast tracking)—cope with her disappearance and really dig down to the core of what she taught them. Because another literal interpretation of the bottom dropping out is that the foundation is what fails or disappears even before the falling even happens.

But I’m also realizing that fic would just be me rambling about those OCs going from students to adults in the absence of their teacher when the more interesting story would be… where the hell IS Shikako and what is she doing?

Like… maybe I’m just overanalyzing the prompt, but I’m trying to figure out which is the most fun part: is it the foundation disappearing? Is it the person falling? Is it the person hitting rock bottom and then dealing with that?

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #ask box advent calendar #prompt response #brainstorm #twelve sessions #edge of the stars

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thranduilsperkybutt · 3 years

Photo

He’s A Phantom 👻

Gif source

Pairings: Daniel Forsythe x MeeMaw!Reader

Warnings: Crack, this was not written seriously at all. Literally ,,,,, just ,,,,, not at all ,,,, meant to be taken seriously.

Word Count: 2,032 words

Reader Gender: MeeMaw

Author: Meg

Summary: MeeMaw sees a ghost... of her past. And also a literal ghost.

A/N: For my lovelies, @karasong and @bb8sworld, who are undoubtedly chomping at the bit to discover just what I meant when I jokingly said I was going to write a MeeMaw!Reader/Daniel fic when we watched The Spirit of Christmas together. Plot twist, I wasn’t joking. I wrote it. 🏃‍♀️ And now you have to read it, mwuahaahahhaaa---

Fingertips running over the bannister at the foot of the staircase, how long has it been since you last came to this place? The wood was old beneath your fingertips, yet looked in far better condition than the wrinkles that sagged at your own skin.

Once, you came here every year. Clockwork, in your youth, your visits had been.

The Inn had been your second home, up until it suddenly wasn’t.

“MeeMaw?” calls the questioning sound of your granddaughter’s voice, lilting upwards as she catches your distant attention, pulling you back from your memories of this place. You look towards her, seeing as much of yourself in her as the man you had eventually married, long after your time spent at this inn.

“Yes, dear?” your voice is familiarly yours, but the years have made you softer, slower, and your voice reflects that. A more relaxed sound, different from the vibrant excitement that had followed you during your days rushing through these halls.

She glances towards the photograph along the wall, “You never told me this place was haunted, MeeMaw.” There’s a laugh in her voice, the kind that comes with someone who doesn’t believe in such things… the kind of tone you had once held, when you’d first come here, all those years ago.

A sigh is in your throat, as you set eyes on him again, pushing your bifocals up your nose to catch sight of the aged photograph that was even older than you were, “Daniel.” Your granddaughter raises a brow at you, when you hum, “Yes, he’s just as I remember him, in this photo.”

“MeeMaw, don’t tell me you believe in that haunted nonsense,” she rolls her eyes at you.

“Don’t be so close-minded, dear. There’s more stories I could tell you of the time I spent with Daniel than would fill our whole trip here.”

“Sure, MeeMaw,” her sarcastic tone proved she didn’t believe you, and as she bent to grab her suitcase at her feet to tote up the stairs, you think you heard something about a nursing home.

Another sigh, as you glance back towards the photograph on the wall, softer, so that none would hear, as you whispered to the spirit, who had been your first love, “It’s been a long time, old friend. Are you still here, I wonder?”

You would find out soon enough, considering Christmas came in thirteen days.

---

You were never supposed to know about him. Back then, he had been the Forsythe family’s most well-kept secret. Henrietta had gone to great lengths to maintain Daniel’s secrecy when the Hollygrove Inn fell into her ownership, but one overzealous friend coming to call unexpectedly three days to Christmas had ruined all that in one fell swoop.

You had been the overzealous friend, if that wasn’t obvious.

Truly, you’d not thought about it whatsoever when you’d jimmied the lock of the front door upon no answer to your knocking, fruit cake in hand to deliver to your bestie, Henrietta.

The very fruitcake which had wound up all over the hardwood floor upon spotting the tall man lounging in the parlor, and the recognition that he was her long-dead cousin. He hadn’t looked a day older than the photographs then, either, which you’d realized before screaming your head off like you’d seen a ghost--- because you had--- which had resulted in him subsequently trapping you in the washroom until Henrietta returned home.

Swearing you to secrecy had been the easy part, but convincing you to set down the fire poker you’d strategically positioned between you and Daniel for the hour of her explanation had been harder.

Part of you felt pity for him, when she’d told you her father had spent the good part of his years trying to find a way to break the curse. The other part of you wondered just what Daniel had done so terribly to earn such a purgatory of these twelve annual days.

That first Christmas, you didn’t find out.

By the second, you found yourself warming to the spirit wandering the halls of your friend’s inn at yule time.

By the third, you wondered if there wasn’t perhaps some way to break the curse yourself.

So, when Henrietta asked you to watch the inn as she traveled across the country to visit her mother’s family for Christmas, you said yes, knowing you were the only option she had. The only other living person outside her family who knew of Daniel’s state.

That Christmas was truly the Christmas that everything changed between you and Daniel.

“I have no need for a keeper,” Daniel had grumbled as you dropped your bag by the door, removing your winter’s gloves to wave at the back of Henrietta’s cab as it pulled past the edge of the lot, down the road, ever away from the inn. Your smile faded somewhat when he all but ordered, “Go home, madam. I’d much prefer my solitude.”

“And what of last Christmas?” you countered, casting a scathing look over your shoulder as you turned to come into the home, closing the door to cut off the nippy air of winter that seeped through your stockings, “You didn’t say such things when Henrietta was spending Christmas with you.”

“Henrietta is family,” was his only explanation.

“You would truly rather spend Christmas alone, than with me?”

Perhaps it was the slight hurt in your voice, as you lingered there in the entryway, making no move to lift your eyes from the floor where you’d fixated against his shoes, or something else. You were still uncertain as to why he let out a huff and moved closer, boots coming into your vision as he bent to grasp your bag.

Nothing was said, other than, “I’ll put it in your room.”

And you could find nothing to say in return as you watched his back ascend the stairs with your suitcase, though a small smile slipped onto your lips at his acceptance of your presence here. Better than an outright refusal.

---

“Sweet Lord!” you jump at your reflection in the mirror upon the wall of the parlor, breaking you from your remembrance of your times spent here. Wrinkles sagged your cheeks, glasses thick and round along your cheekbones, crow’s feet dragging from the corner of your eyes and laugh lines cascading to your chin.

Proof you’d lived, when he had not.

The furniture was mostly different from how it was back then. A few pieces remained of the original antiques, but new mixed with the old of the inn, until it was just as much something you didn’t remember as much as something you did.

Your hand grips the back of the couch. It was reupholstered, but the same one you had sat in when you’d first come to the inn as a girl.

The bones of this place were familiar, calling out to you in a welcome that only you could hear. Recognize.

You wondered if Daniel would be happy or sad to see that you had done as he told you, when you spoke that last time to him. The first time you’d ever done as he had said, had also been the last.

---

The shift had been gradual, from acquaintances to friends to something more than that. You hadn’t realized the change until it was upon you, and you were left clutching your hot chocolate in front of one of the long windows of this inn, snow flurrying beyond it, beckoning the Christmas that would dawn in a matter of hours. Summoning Daniel back to the state he was in for the rest of the year, between existence and not.

“Is it not good?” he asks beside you, looking towards the cup in your hand and the frown settling into your brow.

“No, it’s delicious.”

“Then why do you look so displeased?”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you say it soft, barely a whisper, in the hopes that perhaps it will not come to be should you keep it secret, close to your heart, as Daniel had come to be. He stands there simply, waiting for you to continue, to explain, “Tomorrow, you’ll be gone again.”

“As I have these past decades, yes,” Daniel’s head tilts, questioning, but knowing all the same. You wonder if he asks, just to confirm his suspicion, “Why does it bother you, suddenly?”

“You know why it bothers me,” you were undoubtedly pouting, tearing your eyes from the snow building outside, to catch his gaze, and you know he can see the hurt building in your chest. “Maybe, there’s some way to help you. I can come back next year, and---”

“No.”

The single word slices through you, worse than anything he’d ever said. Firm, but soft against his lips, was his rejection. His small statement that would rip you to shreds along the hardwood floor, as thin as the tinsel along the tree in the corner.

“No?” you breathe, a shake in your voice.

Daniel reaches up, brushing his fingertips--- warm, alive, if only for a few hours more--- against your jaw, settling soft and bittersweet against your cheek, “No, I won’t let you waste your life chasing after some curse-breaking miracle as my cousin did before you. I won’t have you tied to this place as I am.”

“But, Daniel, I---”

“Don’t say it,” it was as close to begging as he had ever sounded, and the sound of it is enough to silence you forever. “You can’t. Not when you must leave here tomorrow, and never return. Leave this place, marry, have children, live--- live the life I’ll never be able to give you.” You wanted to tell him that no life would be worth anything without him in it, that you wanted to spend it here, with him, even if it meant only twelve days a year, but he must see the protest in your eyes, because he solidifies his request with, “If not for you, then do it for me. Live, for me.” Tears welling in your eyes, spilling down your cheek silently, as he croons and wipes away the salt and water, “Don’t cry.”

“I’m going to miss you,” is all you can manage through ragged breaths.

“We still have two hours until midnight,” Daniel had breathed, before bending to brush his lips against the watery smudge his thumb had left against your cheek. “Don’t miss me until after then. I want to remember you happy.”

As hard as it was, you push the emotion down, the overwhelming urge to sob your eyes out, knowing this will be the last time you see him. For him. For the first man you’ve ever loved, you can at least keep from crying for two more hours. So you do it.

And force a smile upon your lips, deep breath in as you try to remember him like this, too, smiling down at you, with as much an unspoken confession in his own eyes, “Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

“Merry Christmas.”

When he had said your name then, it had sounded like a prayer. Reverent, desperate.

---

When he says your name now, it’s surprise and disbelief. Sharp, on his tongue, as you turn from the kitchen to catch sight of him standing in the doorway, morning light casting through the curtained window. Your granddaughter has yet to wake, and you smile at the sight of him, just as bittersweet as your last meeting with him had been.

He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

You looked much more than that, now.

“I thought I told you to never come back,” comes from his lips, but a lopsided smile rests there.

“Since when did I ever listen to you?” comes jokingly on the tail of a breathless laugh, “Oh, it has been a while, Daniel.”

He crosses the kitchen in few strides, catching you in the warm embrace of his arms, squeezing gently, “You shall have to tell me all about it.”

“Well, for starters,” you lean back, beaming up at him, “they call me MeeMaw, now.”

He laughed, big and wide and more than you ever remember him doing, “My, you have lived, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

----------

I’m not going to add the taglist because this is so not what any of you signed up for.

#im not even going to bother putting this on my masterlist #nor am i going to tag it seriously #also uhh am i guilty that this is the first thing im posting after a long hiatus #kind of but oh well #daniel forsythe fanfic #the spirit of christmas fanfic #the spirit of christmas meemaw reader insert #author meg #fanfic by me

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wincore · 4 years

Text

summertime | wong kunhang

pairing: hendery x reader, side xiaocas

words: 4.5k

genre: childhood friends to lovers!au, first love, hs reunion, practically idiots to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: none

a/n: warmup-ish fic. i don’t know why it’s so long either. loosely inspired by this. also hendery sweetest boy so i had to write something cute for him !!

When Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball coated in sand, you knew it was one way or the other with him. You were either going to fall in love with him or hate him for the rest of your life, and nothing in between.

It’s a little more complicated than that, you realize at twenty-one.

The neat asphalt is now a cool grey, not as pretty and dark as it used to be when you were in eighth grade but still clean and maintained. The stone walls on either side are certainly better off, marking the houses of the beachside town your school trip led to every goddamn year. Not that you were complaining, shining blue seawater has always been a favourite sight of yours. Kunhang was just the smiling bonus you held on to.

The road slants uphill till you can see the sunlight shimmering against the vast blue of the ocean across the horizon, dotted with the tops of palm trees and pastel buildings. It’s mostly at this point you realize that Kunhang’s been talking the entire way, and that you should nod along to add to the pretence, that you’re listening to him and not the loud drumming of your heart against your chest.

But Kunhang’s not here today. You don’t even know if he’s coming.

“Hey, (name), are you listening?” Yukhei asks, steadying the surfboard in his arms when you stop. “Are you thinking about Kunhang?”

The tone of his voice is teasing, but it’s as if you’re still thirteen, trying to come to terms with the first crush you’d ever had. Your cheeks grow hot and you scoff at him, snatching your tote bag from his arms and striding faster down the road. Kunhang can come, not come—you don’t care. For all you know, he’s enjoying his new life out there, as curious and fun-seeking as he is—was. He might even have found himself a lover, you realize as the bitter taste grows on your tongue.

Kunhang has always been special. Summer after summer, he’s only grown better at that.

Your parallel lines started growing distant somewhere in the first year of college. The daily facetime calls to describe the baffling wonders of adulthood slowly turned into weekly phone calls about the strain of assignments and projects and eventually, into faded texts you still look over on your phone. He’s just a friend, so you shouldn’t be expecting any more, right? It’s only ordinary that friends will grow apart. The city downpour that was slowly erasing his voice made you long for summer even more.

When you were twelve, Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball at the beach you always visited as part of the school trip. Somehow, with his weird sense and cutting enthusiasm, he’d offered the corner of his shirt to rub the sand off your face instead of a towel he’d find lying just about anywhere at the beach. (“The towels were definitely covered in sand! There’s no way beach towels aren’t sandy.”) And somehow, with your poor foresight, you’d felt an audible thump in your ribcage, the kind that only comes once. It was fitting, almost.

When you were thirteen, the thump grew into an entire orchestra. They settled in before you knew, and you realized you could neither accept them nor reject them. You suddenly couldn’t comprehend sitting beside him in class without nervously bouncing your legs, or laughing a little less enthusiastically at his jokes. You felt the turbulence of your pulse every time your hands touched as he passed you an eraser or a pen, or when his face split into a grin at you struggling to unscrew the bottle cap—it’s almost as if it were the end of the world whenever he breathed near you. You were painfully honest, so easy to see through and even Yukhei caught on to the fact that you had a thing for the weird yet lovable kid and his ridiculous smile. Kunhang, however, was probably in need of prescription glasses.

When you were sixteen, Kunhang learned how to play the drums and if anything, it made the heat bloom in your cheeks even faster. When you saw him play at the summer festival before the school trip, you wanted to stay there forever, just watch him do what he loves. Focused in the way he breathed and looking incredibly handsome for a stupid crush, you’d wanted to tell him then and there.

You’d made up your mind, or at least part of it, that this summer trip wouldn’t go to waste. Even the short-lived love of a young boy, you wanted to see it reflected in his eyes. That summer, just like every school trip, Kunhang had passed a volleyball to you in the outline of an inside joke that doesn’t get old; and you’d swallowed harshly, choking suddenly only for him to rub his hand over your back in the same gentle manner he did most everything.

When you think about it, you can’t seem to get over how much of an idiot you were back then. Kunhang was almost an even bigger one.

“I wish I’d get better at the drums quickly,” he’d said beside the campfire, tapping his foot impatiently.

It was only the two of you immersed in the night and if that weren’t reason enough for your incoherent thoughts, his knee was touching yours in a way oblivious to him—and the look of complete serenity over his face made you rethink your confession.

“You’re already good enough,” you huffed in disbelief.

“I can play two, er, three songs!” His voice was enthusiastic in the beginning but it hummed out to a mellow ending. He’d added in a determined whisper, “I need to practise so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Before you knew it, you’d let out a short laugh. Wong Kunhang, afraid of embarrassment? It was almost unheard of. You’d never met anyone so open before, so happy to share even the rougher, less tangible parts of himself.

Kunhang only gazed at you wordlessly, and when you met his eyes, the butterflies were let out of the cage in your stomach again. You wanted to lean in a little, kiss him right then and there, the image itself slowly curling around your head in haunting wisps as if something taboo. It didn’t make sense to you, to feel so immensely submerged in adolescent feelings—yet be comforted by his presence oh so easily. You know you weren’t the only one harbouring clandestine feelings. You’d seen them confess, you’d seen the few perfumed letters in his locker asking to meet after class.

Kunhang had turned down all of them. It didn't take solving quantum physics to realize he’d probably do the same to you. And you’d both end up losing a friend.

You’d swallowed whatever garbled confession that might have come out of your mouth that night. It’s better off this way, you told yourself, and you believed it for quite a while.

You wanted to hate him when you turned eighteen. You were going away to start a new life all on your own, and yet there he was, pretending that everything was going to be the same. Did he have to treat you so special? It wasn’t real, after all, the full wave of attention he gifted you, the adoring laughter and the occasional awkward head pats.

(And yet, every time you close your eyes, you wish it was.)

You wonder if Kunhang knows summer the way you do—sand against bare feet, having ice cream under a beach umbrella and most importantly, the scent of young love coating you in a thick layer of nervousness. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even notice the way you struggled to keep your wide grin secret every time he offered you the coconut flavoured ice cream. You wonder if he’s forgotten summer by now.

Yukhei catches up to you just before the narrow stone steps that end in the beach sand. You stop for a second, careful of the rock you always trip over (and the memory of Kunhang there to steady you with a laugh, unless he was the one who tripped face first into the sand) as you breathe out heavily. This is your high school reunion. You don’t have to think of your awkward teenage love right now. You can enjoy the coconut flavoured ice cream all by yourself.

You step onto the sand, taking a sharp breath at the full strength of heat that hits you. The towels and umbrellas are spread across the area, candy blue stripes everywhere your eyes visit, till your name is called by a frantic Dejun trying to get your attention. Summer feels hotter than any year you’ve visited and even sunscreen can’t protect you from the inevitably dazzling view you face.

After all this time, you thought he’d go away but the waves come crashing after all.

Kunhang has grown into a messy sort of handsome. His hair is longer since the last time you saw him, unkempt in the way it falls over his forehead yet still strangely neat. Even under the shade of the giant umbrella, there’s an unmistakable calm over his features—the look he often had on his face and no one would be able to tell what he was thinking, his own respite in broad daylight. The contrast between him and the blue around is crisp, like a sunlit field of pink tulips floating atop blue ocean water. It’s hardly been three years and he looks older, a bit more mature.

Kunhang beams when he notices you, the effect of it almost crushing as you try not to acknowledge the tidal wave of pent-up emotions.

“(name)!” he grins wide, jogging up to you. “I didn’t know you were coming. You didn’t reply to any of my texts!”

They vanished. Your words vanished again. Fidgeting with your fingers, you abruptly clear your throat before you can respond.

“Yeah. I, uh, I changed my number.” You bite your tongue softly at the lie.

He frowns. “Oh. Well, give me your new one.”

“I- I- I forgot my phone. At the- the hotel.”

You feel yourself cringing at your voice. It’s so...so embarrassing, every rise and fall. Kunhang blinks a few times before shrugging.

“Ah. I’ll get it later then.”

You almost immediately excuse yourself and beeline to Dejun sitting by the cooler, trying hard to hold a coconut larger than his hands as he raises a suspicious eyebrow at you. Of course it’s natural you’d go straight to the guy you see everyday at university instead of visiting the boy of your unrequited affections. It’s completely normal. What’s the point of a reunion anyway?

What you don’t expect is to be sandwiched between Dejun and Kunhang, the latter enthusiastically summing up each and every point of his life at university, the lack of control over facial expressions still prominent and you try not to let your heartstrings pull too hard. Dejun hums in intervals beside you, sipping at the coconut water he so struggled to get as Kunhang skilfully ignores the growing tension.

God, he really is an idiot. You feel like telling him you’ve been in love with him for eight years just so he’d shut up.

But after all this time, Kunhang has managed to remain himself. You smile. The sand in your hourglasses might not be flowing so differently after all. He’s still talking about most everything he finds fascinating through the smallest of details and you’re still willing to listen to the sound of his voice for hours. The scent of the ocean breeze that made you think of him, so you kept it safe—it’s overwhelming now.

Your vision is suddenly blocked by a pink paper cup, the spotless white ice cream in it already starting to melt. You turn your head to Kunhang trying hard not to make a face at you, biting onto the edge of an empty paper cup.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?” he asks with a click of tongue, after taking his cup in his hand.

You can’t help your sheepish laugh. “I lost you when you started talking about the campus cats.”

Kunhang scratches the back of his head, smiling. “I couldn’t get a volleyball today. They increased the rent rates by ten!”

“What, you were planning to rent a volleyball just to hit me in the face with it?”

Kunhangs face breaks into a grin, positively glowing from his eyes to the line of his nose to his lips. Maybe you don’t hate this feeling so much.

Dejun suddenly clears his throat beside you, springing up. “I’m- I’m going to go help Yukhei,” he declares, discarding his coconut somewhere over the sand.

“Help with what?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

Dejun coughs uncomfortably before shrugging and speeding off to Yukhei trying very hard to plant the wet surfboard in the sand. Somewhere in your mind, you already know the reason why he ran off.

You turn to Kunhang with a worried look, but there’s no sign of realization over his face. You almost sigh but catch yourself in the moment. Is it pitiful? He probably can’t even imagine you that way, maybe that’s why he hasn’t caught on.

Is it bad that you hate it? That you’re not satisfied with the friendly touches, the innocent smiles. You don’t want to keep it so pure after all—you want to run your hands through his hair, you want to twine your fingers through his, you want to feel the touch of a kiss with him.

Your gulp nervously once Kunhang’s features come into focus, still talking about something vague and nodding along to it at an uncertain rhythm. The sound of the waves come gently crashing, just as they do to the shore and the buzz of this place reminds you of all the time you spent here. What has been, what could have been.

“Kunhang,” you interrupt and he whips his head to you, eyes curious. You take a deep breath.

What value is there to words that you’re desperately trying to throw away?

“I- I’m going to go to the water,” you say, trying to cover up your nervousness. If it wasn’t any other summer trip, it’s not going to be today. It’s not going to be, at all.

If you can’t put it into words, will you be alone? You’re only chewing over your memories hoping they fade.

Kunhang springs up just as you stand, his sudden movement surprising you.

“I…” He begins but shakes his head with a subdued smile. His voice comes out softer than you expect. “Yukhei’s that way, if you’re looking for him.”

You blink back your confusion. “Ah, um, thanks!”

The more you try to lie to him, the less you understand yourself. But if you stay any longer, you might just spill the archived secrets, the words you should have burned in the campfire that night. You can fall out of love. It’s easy, it’s easy, you tell yourself—then why couldn’t you have done it earlier? Can you even do it now?

“What are you doing here?!” Yukhei asks, furrowing his brows as he gets up from the sand. “Where’s Kunhang?”

“I- I don’t know! Why would I know everything about him?” you grumble, hugging yourself.

“You are so stupid,” he states in response.

“That’s- That’s not something you should be telling me!”

Yukhei grabs your shoulder, shaking you hurriedly. “You should go back to him! The beach is one of the top ten romantic places, come on.”

“What makes you think I still like him?!” you hiss, trying to get his hands off your shoulders.

Yukhei stops abruptly, tilting his head to greet Dejun, who makes you jump out of your skin. You move apart from Yukhei, facing him with a sigh.

Dejun tries hard not to pull a face, notifying that your other classmates are here, and it’s a lot more likely some of them are still heart-eyed for Yukhei. The two of them seem to share an inside joke as they laugh and you raise an eyebrow, not even bothering to decode the situation.

The brunch idea was probably Dejun’s, considering how smoothly things run. The whole renting out half a bar idea was probably Yukhei’s, considering how much of a wild mess it is. The place is perfectly snug, warm and just enough for a former high school batch, right by the beach where the sand meets asphalt. The laughter and conversations overpower the low jazz undertones of the music playing through the speakers and you find yourself smiling when someone or the other reminds you of all the high school ventures you’d had under the teachers’ disapproving eyes.

“Remember when Yukhei stole the rabbit from our school garden?”

“That wasn’t even worse than when he accidentally fired the water hose at Mr. Liang!”

“Oh my god, you remember putting on makeup in between classes without getting caught?”

“Or trying to steal lunch from me, you big bully?”

Really, seeing old faces after so long and then the same faces hammered only a few hours later might just be another one of the ‘fun’ things you’ve been missing out on.

There’s Shuhui, Lunmei and Linlin—girls you didn’t get to talk much with during school, but you remember Shuhui’s face from middle school. There’s Yukhei’s friends, Shihao and Taishun, who you think you exchanged a whopping total of sixteen words with throughout high school. Yet now, with everyone gathered here, it feels like some sort of a haven of reminiscence, like you’d known each other all your life (which, to an extent, you did). It’s comfortable and warm, the blanket of old connections.

You take another sip of the punch. It’s not enough to get you drunk but it's enough to shift the gears in your ribs to begin the steam engine you can’t find the brakes on. Your face is hot, Kunhang finally not the reason behind it, and you sigh as you glance around the room slowly.

It would’ve been quieter if Yukhei somehow hadn’t started this chain of confessions. Dejun is still struggling to keep him seated, a warm blush over his face when he has to wrap his arm around Yukhei yet again while the others continue chanting “confess! confess!” to the next unlucky victim guilty of harbouring an unspoken teenage crush.

You shake your head at the whole scene, sighing once again as you lazily swirl the remnants of your drink in the glass. The night will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your own paths. For now, you can pretend it’s all just another summer adventure.

Yukhei clears his throat, everyone’s eyes turning to him instantly. “I’m sure there’s one more confession left!”

There’s a bunch of cheers and you feel your heartbeat quicken when Yukhei shoots you a knowing smile. Your eyes widen, your throat suddenly feeling dry and you turn your head to meet Kunhang’s eyes. He looks at you with no hint or clue about the reality and you look away before it fries your nerves out.

“You’re going to thank me after this, Kunhang,” Yukhei calls, a teasing lilt to his voice and the boy in question simply shakes his head, grinning in polite confusion.

You look around in panic, from Yukhei to Kunhang and wonder if you should open your mouth. You take a breath before a roar of cheers interrupts you.

Shuhui stands up, rosy-cheeked and wobbling at the knees. You catch Yukhei blinking with furrowed eyebrows but nodding anyway, as if the decisive president in a heated debate.

“Wong Kunhang!” she calls before coyly confessing. “I like you! I’ve liked you since eighth grade!”

Is it the alcohol? Or the cruel realization that your mother was right when she said summer makes people fall in love? There’s another round of cheers and applause as you get up discreetly, sneaking out the door a few steps behind you. You don’t think you can stomach the sight of someone else’s arms around Kunhang, his loving attention drawn to them.

The night air is cool, the bushes lining the sidewalk buzzing with cicadas as you step over onto the soft, warm sand. The campfire has been reduced to blazing embers, no one there to kindle it as the night progressed. You hug yourself as you walk, the calm over you strange, uncharacteristic.

Even if it’s not you and him after all, you should have said something. You’re only a coward, slow and naive in a world too fast-paced, unable to face a reality that’s your own. You couldn’t even stay in that room a second longer. If only your chest didn’t waver so easily, your heartbeat didn't grow erratic.

You walk closer to the water, waves lapping quietly against the sand, a hush over them as if they do not know what to say to you. What do you say to someone on the verge of heartbreak? Consoling your friends at university taught you next to nothing, your own seeming beyond your help.

“(name)!”

You feel your breath hitch, hesitant in turning around. There’s a moment’s pause and when you don’t turn, Kunhang tugs at your wrist, pulling you to him.

It’s getting so that your heart can’t even flutter anymore.

Gentle and kind, and so willing to give, Kunhang could never really leave you alone, could he? He looks at you with wide eyes, almost like a puppy lost on the streets. His pale pink overshirt is hanging loosely over his shoulders, unbuttoned all the way over his white T-shirt, his hair tousled by the wind and words yet resting on his lips. You forget to breathe for a few seconds and when you inhale sharply, the onslaught of your feelings comes toppling over you.

“I hate this,” you choke on the words. “You should be in there.”

“They’re still celebrating. And drunk.” He shifts nervously.

“I hate you,” you say, not finding meaning in the words. “I hate you so much because of how stupid I was- how weak I was.”

Kunhang’s eyes shimmer with something unfamiliar, lips quivering before he steadies himself, drawing nearer.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

You purse your lips. It isn't fair—who are you to blame him? He doesn’t deserve the vomit of emotions from your popped balloon of a heart. You bite your tongue before you can spit out the poison-infused words.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice hoarse and still angry, “I wish I told you earlier. How much I liked you. How much I wanted to be with you.”

Kunhang stays quiet, hand not ready to leave your wrist yet, the part where his thumb rests searing hot.

“I thought I could pretend I never liked you at all,” you say, biting your lip. “I thought that if I faked it then it would go away but Wong Kunhang, I- I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like if I don’t.”

Why are you crying? It’s like the emotions you’ve hoarded all these years have somehow found an opening to burst through, in a stream of colours that paint you in embarrassment. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and nose, as you vigorously rub at your eyes so the tears don’t escape in so obvious a manner.

“I- I tried going on dates, I tried- I tried all those stupid blind dating apps, I tried to focus on my major and making new friends and- and still…”

Doesn’t the rain fall in times like these? Yet there’s only the hot blanket of summer, with its swaying sea wind and calling cicadas resting in the vibrant bushes.

“I didn’t want to force all of this on you. I’m so—”

It’s only fitting that the stupidest sequence of words would leave his lips.

“I thought you liked Yukhei,” he says quietly.

You pause, uncertain of what to do and breathe out in annoyance. “Kunhang, for the love of god, where did you even come up with that?”

His cheeks colour ever so slightly and he clears his throat. “I don’t kno- I just- I kept giving myself excuses too. I’m sorry.”

The wind makes his hair sway lightly by his eyes, the stars glowing cool blue in them. Whatever the ebb and flow of your feelings were, they’re crashing against the sand, violent and sorrowful at first till the moon tames them into something warmer.

And then it happens again. Kunhang smiles, shoulders relaxing. There’s a moment’s pause.

“I- I’m not good with this.”

When Kunhang presses his hand against your jaw and leans in a little, eyes waiting for confirmation, the drumming in your veins is so loud you can barely comprehend the movement of his actions. You shut your eyes almost instantly but Kunhang accidentally bumps your noses a little too hard. The two of your wince, your hand flying to your nose as a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips and he looks at you worriedly, his fingertips pressing against your cheek softly.

You choke back a laugh but it bubbles up anyway, his own following after an embarrassed pause.

“I think- I think I was a little nervous,” he admits, looking down and then back up to you.

“We can...we can try that again,” you hum, biting back a smile.

Kunhang’s hair is in fact softer than you’d expected, and when you run your fingers through them, he smiles into the kiss, his hand at the small of your back pulling you closer. Nothing’s like you daydreamed of and yet everything is in place, the shared warmth growing with each passing second.

It’s blissful for a few moments before you’re interrupted by a drunk Yukhei to “get it” and you jump apart from each other, flushed hot in the cheeks. Dejun apologizes for his boyfriend, waving at you guys to continue whatever the hell you were doing before tugging Yukhei along with him.

You clear your throat awkwardly before plopping down on the sand, face buried in your hands. Kunhang follows slowly, legs outstretched towards the ocean. You peek to see him smiling at the sky, leaning back on his hands and the look you love seeing on him.

“Kunhang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Even if you didn’t like me back then.”

Kunhang turns his head to you, eyes earnest as they trail across your face.

“You don’t have to be brave.”

He reaches out to fix the hair from your eyes, a gentle touch to them as ever, but this time there’s a stronger meaning to it, almost as if he’d kiss you again right then. The two of you smile, twining your fingers somewhere along the night as he tells you to rest your head on his shoulder. The waves sing softly to accompany Kunhang’s chatter, the feeling almost unreal when you feel his pulse against your thumb.

What has been, what could’ve been—they’re barely a breeze to what really is.

#wayv #hendery #wayv scenarios #hendery scenarios #nct scenarios #hendery fluff #hendery imagines #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv fluff #nct fluff #wong kunhang imagines #childhood friends to lovers!au #hendery x reader #yes im back with another cheesy as shit fic what are you going to do #moonwrites

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janaeekook · 3 years

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Forlorn;

(a/n: hey guys this is a school assignment I had to write and I based the main male character off Johnny so here this is!)

pairing: 1920’s mobster!johnny x oc

warnings: character death, angsty

word count: 1.5k

1919, the story of a simple farmers girl from Michigan, me, Rebecca Jayne. Though my story is short and forlorning, I'm here to tell it anyway. It was simple the way it started, I was a young girl just starting adulthood and wishing to live out my dream away from my parents. That dream was to live under New York city lights and dance on grand stages and show the world my talent, prove my parents that I could do what they had told me I couldn’t. I wanted to prove them wrong to show them that I was capable of achieving my dream. I wasn’t their sweet and innocent little girl anymore, but a woman who had her own thoughts and beliefs. Though I never believed they’d truly understand, but undoubtedly I knew they couldn’t be mad at me forever.

And So I was on the next train to New York, the morning of September 21st, Headed east. My dream lay on the horizon and I was headed straight towards it. In that moment as I watched the green plains of the fields from the window of the train as I passed by, It truly did feel like a dream. Butterflies erupting in my stomach like a wild explosion of nerves and pure excitement.

“This is it” I mumbled to myself.

I pulled out the last letter my friend whom I’d danced with in Michigan, Jordan, we’d been writing. She had always had the same dream as me, maybe that’s why we became friends. She had moved to New York last year and we’d been writing ever since, she told me of her adventures and everything magnificent of the city. She helped me find a place to stay while I was there, A simple yet quaint lodging house, a small room yet it was perfect for me. The start of my new life began there in that small room

The studio hadn’t been far, just a few blocks away from where I would be staying, so I was able to walk to and from everyday. I settled into the room nicely, a simple wire frame bed pressed against the left wall and a dresser pressed against the right, a window on the furthest wall. I was only able to smile in that moment, because it was my own, my own space. That first day in the city I unpacked my belongings and made myself comfortable. The weeks to come were the days things truly started for me, I had my audition at the studio, though I already had an in which guaranteed me a spot though I didn’t know, thinking that all I needed was my hard work and determination. Which to an extent was true but they’d heard plenty of my abilities.

Everything seemed to rush to a start, I danced, new and old friends at my side as we perfected routines for our performances. Everything was Jazz, decorated in bright lights, and sequins galore. The calendar soon greeted us with the turn to 1920, I had been in the city for 3 months before I finally met my beloved Johnny. He had been tall as he stood at the bar watching the stage, his eyes never fleeting my form. Well put together, his blazer fit him well, He dazzled by himself alone. We eventually got to talking, and it too was simple.

He approached me first, “You’re new.”

“It’s that obvious?”

He hummed, “You out-shine everyone on the stage, darling.” My cheeks heated profusely.

“Well I wouldn’t say that.”

“Where are you from-” He paused, eyes searching yours as he expectantly awaited your name.

“Rebecca.”

“Rebecca,” He repeated and his smile was bright enough to out-shine the sun, “Where are you from, Rebecca?”

“Michigan.”

“And what possibly could have brought you to the city?”

“I’m following a dream.”

“So you are.” He said with another smile.

We met at the club every weekend, he’d watch as I danced with a smile, before greeting me after in conversation. Life went on like that, sharing my life with Johnny, until we were all forced underground. Prohibition had been passed, but it didn’t stop the business, different clubs creating invite only speakeasies. The now illicit activities that I had lived by continued behind closed doors, club managers, bartenders and us Jazz dancers working in the dark, late through the night.

Johnny had gotten an invite, so he still came and watched me dance, speaking more of our lives. We did it for months, just out late talking at the club, months of nothing more than friendship.

“Why don’t we meet up out of this place?” He’d asked suddenly on the first Saturday of December.

I’d quickly said yes. Everything about him seemed to enchant me, pull me into the swells of his boisterous being. Though I never fought it, albeit because I was too weak and his love was strong, or rather we were both simply, madly and truly in love, both a drug for each other. Young love was such an inviting prospect that I looked over who he may really be, seemingly skipping a page in a novel that told the preposterous backstory of the hidden main character. I had only read the good parts, studied them in fact, believing that it was all him and ignoring the shadows.

But the night came and went, Johnny never showed, It was a get together outside of my tasseled dress and feathered headpiece, no dazzling lights or sparkles just me and him as one may call normal. But he never did show. Though you thought, there must be a valid reason for his absence.

He only arrived the next day, flowers and an apology pleading on his pink lips. He had got caught up at work, he’d said, Though in the moment when I let him into my quiet room of the lodging house with a bright forgiving smile-- I hadn’t known that the work that he had spoken of was killing a man. A man who had merely said the wrong thing to the wrong person and paid with his life. It was the work of mobsters, Johnny had never stricken me as the type, it wasn’t even a possibility in my head, because there was absolutely no way he could be a member of the mob. We visited with each other for hours, talking about everything as we always did until there was nothing more to talk about. ‘You should come to my new years party to make up for this’ He’d told me, funny it was, how we’d known each other for nearly a year and he was just now wishing to introduce me as someone he was seeing. He wanted to show me off and get approval from his friends who I had yet to find out were members of the mob. I agreed to his proposal, for I always loved a good party.

Quickly that night came, His party was a wave of people, roaring with intoxicated laughter, dancing as they wished without a care in the world. One may say a party, of the caliber Jonathan would throw them, was extravagant. The type of party people wished to experience at least once in their life. That was my, once, before I'd even known it. How could I have known? Had I known would it have changed anything of the outcome? Perhaps not, because he still would have asked me to dance and I still would have been enchanted by the familiar glint in his eyes and the chaste smile on his lips, I would never decline a dance not from him. So I took his hand, his eyes not glancing away for a second, He merely waved his hand at the musicians and the jazz tune that played, changed to a melodic piano waltz.

I can still hear it- the piano like a ghost lingering in my ear, we were the only one’s left on the dance floor. Do you know what it’s like? Having someone hold you so close in their arms as the world around you seemed to fall away, only to then die in those same arms as he tried to stop the profuse bleeding of your wound, where a bullet had slipped through the flesh of your stomach. I ask again- Do you know what it's like? Have you watched a fair dress become stained from the inside out? Maybe not, maybe you haven’t quite lived an as traumatic life as my own. It wasn’t death itself I had ever been afraid of but rather the aspect of its permanence. Though as screams became muffled as well as the haunting toll of the clock striking twelve, and my eyes drifted from Johnny’s face to the grand ceiling, I couldn’t help but think-- what an adventure death would bring.

I died that night, adding a star to the inky black sky. I had only wished I'd been able to tell my parents about him, and had been able to tell Johnny of our unborn child that left this world with me.

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be-not-afeared · 3 years

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Black Sails fic recs

Working titles: 12 fics for christmas? 12 days of ficmas? 12 fics none of which actually have anything to do with christmas?

OKAY, so I love nothing more than a fic rec post, and I’ve seen a few Black Sails rec posts floating around but they mostly seem to be a couple of years old and they all recommend a similar bunch of fics (and deservedly so! they are all amazing!). But I thought I would make one to highlight some newer or less shouted-about fics, because I may have only been here for a couple of months but jfc there is so much talent in this fandom and more of it deserves to be hyped.

So, here are 12 of my favourite fics for the 12 days of christmas! (i.e. an excuse to put an arbitrary number cap on the list or we’d be here all day)

The majority of these are Silver/Flint and the ones that aren’t still all feature Silver prominently because that boy owns my soul, sorry for who I am as a person.

we should rip it straight out by minormendings

45K (Silver/Madi, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

Madi has always wondered if Silver understands what is between him and Flint as well as she. To her, it has always been obvious, from the way the two of them had fit together, had worried about each other, had acted as one. She had tried to bring it up with Silver back when they were together. But Silver had shaken her off, too enmired in the idea that he or Flint would prove each other’s downfall. Or perhaps just unwilling to open his eyes to the fact that he had loved Flint.

It was, unfortunately for the both of them, even more obvious after the thing between them had broken. Just as Silver had thrown away the war out of love for her, Flint had let Silver take away the war rather than kill him.

God. What a group the three of them were, showing love by betrayal.

Post-canon. Madi and Flint find their way back to Silver.

This fic diverges from canon right at the end of the 4x10; Silver has Flint held in a cell in Port Royal and Thomas delivered to him rather than taking him straight to the plantation. It is a BEAUTIFUL character study of how Flint and Madi could both come to forgive Silver, and has a great FlintMadi dynamic too. It also centres Madi’s struggle between wanting to provide for her people and wanting to experience the freedom of piracy, and fleshes out Julius’ character in a way the show never did.

we can lose and call it living by I_wouldnt_be_one_of_them

31K (Silver/Flint/Thomas, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

It's been twelve years since everything fell apart, and John Silver is settled in New England. He has a nice house and a job he likes, and he's gotten used to the loneliness. It's a good life, he thinks, but of course that's cast into doubt when James Flint and Thomas Hamilton show up to find closure and, apparently, to see whether he's happy.

This is an inverse of the ‘silver arrives on flint and thomas’ doorstep’ trope and has Flint and Thomas instead being the ones to interrupt Silver, who is living a sad and lonely existence post-series. I love the ThomasSilver dynamic here. And this Silver feels so true to canon he makes me want to WEEP.

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more by Craftnarok

21K (Silver/Flint)

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past.

All of Craftnarok’s fics are amazing but I am particularly drawn to this one; it’s set 10 years post-series and is a delightfully angsty exploration of how Flint and Silver could find their way back to each other in a scenario in which Thomas wasn’t at the plantation. It doesn’t let Silver off easy and I love that.

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages

3K (Silver/Madi, Madi & Julius)

The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

Post-series, Julius teaches Madi how to fight. This fic is BEAUTIFUL - give me anything that centres Madi post-canon - and it explores Madi’s relationship with both Julius and Silver so well in so few words.

Always In Season by mycapeisplaid

60K (Silver/Flint, past Flint/Thomas, past Silver/Madi)

Towering sand dunes, crystal-clear water, miles of forest, vineyards, orchards, and very spotty cellular service -- John Silver finds himself in a part of the state he's never been before and decides to take on seasonal work. Meanwhile, back from his yearly wintering in Florida, James Flint thinks that perhaps he'll take on a new business venture, even though it means he might have to interact with people other than his two close friends. Their summer employment fosters a friendship that could become something more. Like construction season in Michigan, the two must navigate through their own obstacles in order to seek an alternative route toward happiness.

This is an AU and so much fun!! Silver finds himself in Michigan and takes on some seasonal work at Guthrie Dunes. The whole cast features and the setting just WORKS SO WELL. And this Flint feels brilliantly in character despite the difference in setting.

to make a life by gone_girl

53K (Max/Anne, Max & Silver)

“What am I going to do with your name?” Max asks, a little incredulous.

“Whatever you want,” the salesman says. “Didn’t you want something real?”

Max heard a story once about the importance of answering questions like that carefully. If something emerges from the forest and asks for your name, don’t give it up, the story went. Offer only what you know you can live without. She’s never heard a story that tells her what to do when something emerges from the forest and offers its name to you.

I literally only finished this this morning but holy shit this fic is amazing, it’s a Max-centric AU set in Missouri the early 00s and it’s all about found family and building community and platonic love and it has a brilliant SilverMadi dynamic. And there just aren’t enough fics out there that focus on Max & Silver!!

the straight walk home by vowelinthug

73K (Silver/Flint)

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez…

Obviously vowelinthug’s fics are recc’d all the time and rightly so as they are AMAZING, but one that I don’t see featured as often as the more prominent ones is this incredible Western!AU. It’s 73K guys!! It adapts the canon narrative into the Western setting SO well!! It has background Vane/Billy which I was not at all sure about going in but just WORKS!! Go read it.

The Truth about Eros by Aisalynn

21K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi, Flint/Thomas)

Silver understood one thing very well.

Being Fated did not mean you were safe.

It did not mean you were loved.

This one is hot off the press! I am not normally a fan of soulmate AUs but this is such an interesting take on the trope, and the world building fits around the polyamory theme of the show really effectively! And it is SO well written.

With Nothing on My Tongue by RosieTwiggs

13K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

"Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore."

An incredibly well written (and angsty! read the tags!) Jewish!Silver character study. This one has really stayed with me.

Maybe in Another Life by samedifference61

31K (Silver/Flint/Madi, Flint/Madi, Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

At the rail of a ship James doesn’t command, they stand shoulder to shoulder.

“John still thinks you’re dead,” James states, because it’s something that needs to be said aloud before they continue.

With eyes unblinking toward the rolling sea, Madi says, “And he still thinks you should be dead.”

James’ lip curls in anger. The wounds of betrayal are too fresh for either to say anymore.

Canon-divergent from 4x09, this is a brilliant MadiFlint centric fic exploring their relationship post Silver’s betrayal, and how he could find his way back to them both whilst acknowledging the weight of his actions.

in a vault of starlight by whimsicalimages

7K (Silver/Madi/Flint/Thomas)

The distance between Nassau and Savannah can be measured as: six hundred and thirteen nautical miles, five thousand pounds’ worth of pearls, or four extraordinary lifetimes.

Alternatively: in the aftermath, Madi writes her own story.

There aren’t enough Madi centric fics out there! This one is a lovely extension of canon with a great MadiSilver dynamic in particular.

the aftershocks remain by pdameron

31K (Silver & Miranda, Silver/Flint)

For as long as he can remember, John Silver has been able to see ghosts. He has no trouble keeping this secret from Flint - until Charlestown. Until Miranda.

Again all of pdameron’s fics are brilliant but I loooove this SilverMiranda centric one, plus who doesn’t love a ghost!au.

#Black Sails #black sails fanfic #black sails fic recs #silverflint #silvermadi #john silver #james flint #12 days of ficmas #obviously this only scratches the surface of the many amazing fics in this fandom #i might do another one of these after christmas i just love making lists #enjoy!

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lire-casander · 1 year

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He compartido 11.207 publicaciones este 2022

¡Son 1870 más que en 2021!

341 publicaciones originales (3 %)

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He etiquetado 4109 publicaciones en 2022

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Longest Tag: 138 characters

#what difference does it make that i ask for gluten-free bread if i can't have it with any of the toppings offered for the breakfast/snacks

Mis publicaciones más populares este 2022:

forever in a second too short (home is a heartbeat)

here it is! my contribution to @911lsbb! i hope you're ready for a ride! chapters will be posted once a day for twelve days. are you ready?

on ao3

chapters:

chapter #1: intro — on tumblr

chapter #2: first verse — on tumblr

chapter #3: first pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #4: first chorus — on tumblr

chapter #5: second verse — on tumblr

chapter #6: second pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #7: second chorus — on tumblr

chapter #8: solo — on tumblr

chapter #9: bridge — on tumblr

chapter #10: third pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #11: third chorus — on tumblr

chapter #12: outro — on tumblr

pairings: tk strand/carlos reyes, judd ryder/grace ryder, nancy gillian/mateo chavez, paul strickland/marjan marwani

disclaimer: the opinions expressed by certain characters in this work of fiction are not shared by the author.

rating: teen and up audiences

fun facts about writing this fic!

i’ve used transcripts for both the movie and some episodes of the show. here you have the links!

* marry me

* 911 lone star s01e01

* 911 lone star s01e03

* 911 lone star s01e10

* 911 lone star s02e04

* 911 lone star s02e14

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22 notas. Fecha de publicación: 26 de julio de 2022

six sentence sunday

the thing is, this is the last snippet i share publicly from the fic™ until it gets posted as part of the @911lsbb challenge. it's done at 108,763 words, only a few loose ends to fix and then the process of proofreading. so yeah, my baby is definitely grown.

since this is the last i'll be posting about the fic™, i wanted to tag some of the people who have made this possible. you guys rock! @tarlos-spain, @noxsoulmate, @doublel27, @moviegeek03, @meloingly, @marjansmarwani, @morganaspendragonss, @alilypea, @alidravana, @ravens-words, @aliceschuyler, @laelipoo, @breannacasey and everyone in our little discord family! this fic couldn't have been done without you, and i'm so grateful for all of you.

here, have the last offering of the fic™ until july... it's angsty, as you might have already guessed.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t have an answer to give Jonah whenever he asks me about why you guys aren’t in our lives anymore,” TK replies, voice tinged with something that’s rawer than pure feeling. Carlos stares at him wide-eyed. “What’s wrong is that I wish you’d be there but I know that I fucked up and I don’t deserve you, or Leyre, or the happiness we had. What’s wrong—” he trails off for a second, looking down at his feet until he seems to muster up enough courage to look back up at Carlos, who’s entranced by the passion that oozes from TK’s words. “What’s wrong is that every morning and every night,” TK continues slowly, deliberately, as though he’s measuring every single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I lie in bed wondering why you’re not beside me. That’s what’s wrong.”

23 notas. Fecha de publicación: 5 de junio de 2022

wip wednesday

i'm presenting you today a new snippet of my 911ls big bang, that is slowly but steadily growing. now over 7k!

TK wakes up on the day of his wedding to fingers jabbing into his skin. He groans; he went to bed last night relatively late after spending most of his time after rehearsals playing board games with Jonah. It's way too early for anyone to be trying to wake him up so unceremoniously.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Jonah says, his childish voice cheery and clear. "It's time for breakfast!"

"Oh, is it now?" TK replies, cracking his eyes open in time to see Jonah hovering over him. "C'mere, Jonah," he coaxes. He reaches out, but Jonah playfully bats his hand away.

"Not Jonah here," he says, faking a deep voice. TK smiles at the giggles that follow.

"Not Jonah? Then who are you?" he plays along.

"The Cookie Monster!" Jonah shrieks, dropping his whole weight on top of TK. For a moment they're both a pile of flailing limbs until TK decides on attacking instead of defending, and he launches himself into tickling his brother.

"Aaaah, the Cookie Monster is attacking me!" he cries out. "Time for revenge!"

It's not long before Jonah is reduced to a panting, laughing puddle over TK's covers. He smiles softly at his little brother, hair spiked in all directions and still laughing. "That wasn't fair," Jonah accuses him.

"All's fair in war."

"This wasn't war!" Jonah sticks his tongue out to him. “You were attacking an innocent child.”

TK tickles him some more before allowing Jonah to just lie down with his head on TK’s chest and his arms pinning him to the bed. He thinks it’s nice to have his little brother around. He should ask Enzo to bring Jonah over more often, even though he knows that his schedule is all over the place most of the time. But maybe now that Alex is finally finishing his tour and they’re starting a new page of their life together, TK can settle down enough for Jonah to start spending more time at the penthouse.

Maybe that way Jonah may get to know Alex and stop hating on him.

24 notas. Fecha de publicación: 9 de marzo de 2022

the dream of someone else

[4,700 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta’ed by @moviegeek03. you're the best, brit. i wouldn't have finished this without you.] [title from you’ve got mail] [carlos reyes, tk strand, original female characters] [alternate universe — college, alternate universe — coffee shop, alternating povs, carlos is a criminal studies major, tk is a health science major, vandalizing of public property, alternate universe — movie setting, loosely based on you’ve got mail au, mentions of past drug addiction, mentions of recovery] [written for @911auweekend, day 1: not your average coffee shop au, day 3: outsider’s pov tinder date au, day 4: writer’s choice and for my good things happen bingo square coffee shop au]

[carlos reyes wasn’t expecting a penpal out of his busy mornings studying at the cafeteria. tk strand hadn’t expected anyone to reply to his message left on a table out of boredom and struggling.]

the dream of someone else on ao3

The cafeteria is bursting with life when Carlos sets foot in the place, ready for a quick break in between his classes. He’s spent the past three weeks holed up in his room trying to finish one of his essays, and he’s made it in time, so he thinks he deserves a reward. However, he would have liked for the place to be a bit quieter. He eyes the tables warily until he sees one free table further inside the cafeteria. He makes a beeline for the table, dropping his messenger bag on top of it noisily. Whatever happens now, this table is his now.

He knows he needs to leave the bag on the table to go order, and he isn’t really so keen on doing so, but he doesn’t want to give up his table and he desperately needs caffeine. He grabs his wallet, checks that nobody would want to steal his secondhand Introduction to Psychology textbook, and runs to the counter. For all the people boisterously chatting across the cafeteria, the baristas are not too busy, so he gets his coffee and a bagel in record time and rushes back to his table. His messenger bag is still on top of the table, and it doesn’t look like anybody has come even close to it. He sighs, falling down on the chair while managing not to spill his coffee, and takes his book out of the bag.

Carlos opens the book at the page he last marked, realizing he needs to take more notes from the book than he initially expected. He huffs; he’s been attending class these past weeks, but the stress of having to hand in an essay on Violence in Society has made him slack in his other classes. He needs to be ready for his class in around an hour and a half — he’s still cursing the planning he made at the beginning of the year, but he thought it’d be great to have such a span of time to relax and do nothing. If he could travel back in time and tell Carlos from three months ago that he wouldn’t have a moment to himself even with the ninety-minute gap between Introduction to Criminal Justice and Introduction to Psychology. He’s grateful that the building where he has most of his classes holds a cafeteria so he doesn’t have to run around campus and waste a lot of time. He skims over the last of the notes he took in class, which should be complementing the ones he takes out of his book, and reads that, according to what he jotted down a week ago, the professor announced they would be paired up for an upcoming project today.

Carlos doesn’t really want to work with anyone these days. He’s a perfectionist, he doesn’t like how other people work, and he ends up taking more than he can manage in order to finish the assignment in time. He’s been lucky to ditch working with peers for the past three months; he guesses his lucky streak ends this afternoon.

With a shake of his head, he focuses back on his textbook. He notices that the paper where he’s been writing down a few ideas is almost full, so he puts the book downwards and sticks his hand into the half-open messenger bag on top of the table. He fishes for a notebook and his pencil case, only to come up with just the former. He mutters to himself, “I know I put it somewhere in here,” before proceeding to turn the bag upside down — careful as to not slosh his coffee out of the cup. The movement makes the few contents inside the bag spill over the table, and as he finally sees his pencil case, falling onto the surface with a thud that gets somewhat lost in the background noises of the cafeteria, he also notices there’s scribble on the table.

He frowns. He isn’t one for vandalizing public furniture, but the presence of whatever message that’s on the surface makes him feel a bit icky about the cleanliness of the cafeteria. “What the—” he refrains himself from swearing, still under the spell of his mother’s words about gentlemen and swearing. He leans in, face almost against the wooden surface, so he can read the black-inked words, so different from his usual chicken scratch.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

He repeats the words slowly in a soft voice, for fear that someone might overhear him and think he’s gone crazy. They roll nicely on his tongue, and the message behind them reaches Carlos’ heart. He’s moved by the force of the verses, which he recognizes are from Henley, and before he knows it he’s grabbing a sharpie and writing in the best handwriting he can muster the following verses to the poem.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

He feels a wave of accomplishment at having followed the poem with the next few verses — conveniently forgetting he’s just written on public property with permanent ink — and sets to re-read his book and jot down a few notes that could help him study for his test.

There's a calmness in the cafeteria right before closing time that TK cherishes. He spends his days running around campus, attending classes or volunteering at the in-campus LGTBQIA+ association he discovered during his very first day of college. And, since about a week ago, he's had to juggle that with having to meet with Carlos Reyes for their joint Psychology project.

Sometimes he hates his life.

He waves at his favorite barista, who's wiping down at the counter, before he approaches her. "Hey, Anne," he greets, leaning onto the surface. "How's the day been?"

"Hectic as always." Anne smiles at him. "Your usual? I can even throw an avocado and Philadelphia bagel in it."

"You haven't run out of them today?" TK beams at her. Those are his favorite treats, but his schedule doesn't allow him to be at the cafeteria before everyone else's gone through the supplies of avocado and Philadelphia bagels.

"Let's say I got one for you," Anne tells him with a wink. "C'mon, TK, I'll bring you your coffee and your bagel to your table."

"You're the best!" He lifts his fingers to his lips to send her an air kiss before turning to his usual table by the far end of the place.

He flops down on the chair, immediately checking the surface for new words. TK knows he shouldn't have done it, but he'd come to the cafeteria one night after his weekly meeting at the local NA — a requirement from his parents in order for him to go to college three thousand miles away from them — and he hadn't felt all that good. He'd taken out his sharpie, and before he'd known it, he'd been scribbling down the first four verses of his favorite poem about remaining whole in the face of adversity. He'd needed the reminder. Anne had almost had a conniption when she'd seen how he'd written on the table.

But, the following night, TK had found the next four verses of the poem scribbled beneath his own four, and his heart had done a giddy somersault. He doesn't know who's behind the chicken scratch, but for a whole week straight he's been exchanging verses and messages. It's been a wild seven days, and there's been some sort of weird comfort in the knowledge that there's been someone at the other end of a sharpie ready to read TK's thoughts and whines.

He checks the surface, but the wood looks pristine — not a single word inked in black and blue.

Anne comes by with his coffee and his bagel, and sighs when he looks up at her helplessly. "Anne—" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I couldn't stop it," she explains with a shrug after she's left his coffee mug and his bagel with so much as a small droplet of liquid sloshed on the otherwise clean table. "I know it's been some sort of escape these past days, but my manager said she couldn't afford having any table littered like that."

"It's not—" TK bit his lip before raising his voice. He's gone to enough anger management sessions to recognize the signals and try to appease them by breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth before continuing, "I didn't think when I started doing it. I'm sorry. But this is the only way I could communicate with this person," he says in a small voice. He doesn't even know if he's penpalling with a guy or a girl, but he knows the other person might as well be his soulmate, be it romantic or platonic.

"What about you stick to post-it notes?" Anne suggests. "You can place it under the table, make sure it doesn't fall down."

"If it isn't on the surface, how will the other person know where to look?" he asks, frowning. He has a stack of post-it notes, but he isn't sure the glue on the paper will hold for longer than a few minutes. "And won't it be taken away anyway?"

"What's under the table isn't checked that often," Anne offers. "Plus, Abigail from the morning shift thinks she knows who your penpal is," she continues in a conspiratorial voice. "She can always explain where to find the next note."

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30 notas. Fecha de publicación: 22 de marzo de 2022

Mi publicación más popular de 2022

the fire within

[1,718 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta'ed by @meloingly] [mateo chavez, judd ryder, captain tatum (house 129), captain andrews (house 122)] [character study, angst, spoilers for s03e02, mentions of collapsed buildings, mentions of rescues, mateo-centric]

[the fire has robbed him of so many things. the fire gave and the fire took, and mateo isn't about to let the flames burning in his soul consume him without having fought back.]

the fire within | on ao3

a sense of family series

Mateo wakes up every morning right with his alarm. He gets out on the bed, steps into the ensuite bathroom in the room that was TK’s but it's now his, brushes the morning breath out of his teeth, and comes back outside ready to make the bed. It's his routine — his schedule for every single day that he's got a shift, no matter his schedule, he never fails. It's simple and yet effective; he's never been late a day in his life, not even when his teachers back at school thought he wasn't the most brilliant pea in the pod and he was lacking motivation. He likes having a structure in his life, and he's been thankful for his ingrained habit ever since the 126 station had been red-tagged for demolition.

He wakes up. He brushes his teeth. He makes his bed. He has some oatmeal and orange juice. He grabs his keys and drives to the 129 firehouse every single shift.

He still feels empty inside.

Switching firehouses — being cast separately from the rest of his friends at the 126 — has taken a toll on him. It'd taken him so long to actually believe in himself, in his abilities, and he'd needed Captain Strand and his northern vision to flourish. He'd found a family in the 126, in the outcasts and the abandoned, in the diversity that painted every single corner of the building with bright colors of acceptance and tolerance. He’d felt like he belonged, for the first time in his life — like there was nothing wrong with him, like he was worthy of being loved. When the 126 got closed, the building fit for rezoning, he thought they had a chance at fighting. He thought they could overcome anything if they stayed together.

He’d been so wrong.

They’d drifted away from the very beginning. Paul, Judd and Marjan had been placed together at the 122, and TK and Nancy had followed Captain Vega first to save the world during a dust storm and then into the private sector so they could remain together. Captain Strand had accepted some position in the higher-up ranks as to be able to get the 126 up and running through a shortcut that, instead of working, backfired on them when Billy Tyson used Captain Strand’s arguments to demolish their hopes and their future.

Captain Strand had demolished Tyson with a well-placed right hook, and that had been the beginning of the end.

And he — he’d become stranded at the 129, with people who hadn’t respected them in the beginning, but who had learned to treat him like a human being after saving his new Captain’s life out of a sense of duty; not because he thought the Captain deserved to be saved when he’d given him so much grief, but because this was — is — who he really is. A first responder. A firefighter.

A damn hero like the movies he loves so much.

Not that he feels much like it right now, in front of the collapsed building that once was Providence Pasture Church, waiting on Captain Andrews from the 122 and Captain Tatum — his own Captain, now — to tell them what to do. He can’t stop replaying the exact moment when the building crumbled around Paul, engulfing his brother-in-fire and sequestering him from the light and the safety of the open spaces around the building. Objectively, he knows the dangers they all face every single day — he’s learned the hard way exactly what they might encounter out there during a call, after what happened to Tim — but it’s very different to see it happening to one of his own. With Tim, he’d been far from the scene, Captain Strand being the only one who actually witnessed the ball of fire impacting against Tim’s chest. With Paul, he’s seen first-hand the collapsed roof giving out beneath Paul; he’s been witness to Paul disappearing in a mist of rubble and dust.

It’s giving him a headache.

“Cap, we gotta get in there before USAR boys put a red tag on the whole building,” Judd is almost shouting at his Captain, who’s having none of that. Captain Andrews goes off about how it’d be safer for all people involved to let the building be red-tagged and start a snail-paced rescue who’d end up being a recovery instead. He sees the moment Judd snaps, the vein in his neck pulsating against his skin as he spits, “Well, with all due respect, Sir, that would take a couple of days.”

“That’s better than the roof of Damocles crashing down on your heads right now,” Captain Tatum retaliates, looking really satisfied at his punch line. His radio cracks to life, a voice requesting his attention, and that’s the moment Captain Andrews chooses to intervene again.

“Judd, you saw what happened the last time we went in. We don't even know Paul or that girl's status. Much less where they are in the pile.”

Judd looks crestfallen for a second, but if Mateo knows him well enough — and he does, because he’s grown up with the old 126 — Judd’s just gearing up for a comeback. “Okay, well, hey, Cap, Cap, Cap, Cap,” he begins, almost breathlessly, gesturing back to where Lindsey’s parents are shivering under the snow. “Hey, look, if we lose their little girl, I wanna be able to look 'em in the eye and say to 'em we did everything we could to save her. And right now,” he continues, “we cannot do that. However, if we go in there and we're quick and we tread lightly, we can take a look around before USAR shuts this whole scene down.”

There’s a pregnant silence, heavy with all the words that are kept unsaid between them, like a wordless conversation that Mateo is still trying to figure out. “Okay,” Captain Andrews concedes. “But if they make the call I want your word, you get your butts out of there right away."

For a moment, Mateo fears Judd's just going to flip off his Captain, but after some tense seconds, he says, "Deal."

Captain Tatum chooses that moment to come back, announcing that the 129 is required somewhere else — Mateo isn't paying enough attention. He's staring back at the building, debris and smoke in equal parts calling his name.

"Chavez," he hears Captain Tatum calling him. "You got a wax build-up? Your house is on the move."

Mateo stares back at him. Suddenly, the whole world has slowed down enough that he can feel the twitching of the Earth under the soles of his boots. He can feel the icy bite of the snow already plummeting from the skies. He dares a glance at the collapsed structure, the broken metal a heap of devastation in front of his eyes.

The fire has robbed him of so many things. The fire took the house he shared with his inconsiderate roommates, but it gave him a home with Captain Strand. The fire sent the 126 tumbling down in between well-placed explosions, but it provided him with a renewed sense of purpose. The fire destroyed Carlos’ condo, but it gave Mateo a new family to come back home to. But when the fire that burned deep within them had finally caught in flames around them — sending millions of sparks igniting around TK as Carlos finally walked out barely hours before Captain Strand made a beeline for Hill Country — then the fire had given Mateo anything but grief and despair.

The fire gave and the fire took, and Mateo isn't about to let the flames burning in his soul consume him without having fought back.

He’s a phoenix rising from the dust that settled in his soul when he got swept away from the place he called home. He’s a supernova ready to explode.

He makes the decision in the split second that takes him to understand the difference between duty and love.

"The 129 may be my house," he says clearly, shocking everyone. He’s staring at his captain straight in the eye. "But Paul's my family.” He takes a deep breath, but he’s not backing down. If anything, he’s soaring. “I have to help rescue him, sir.”

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31 notas. Fecha de publicación: 16 de enero de 2022

Descubre tu resumen del 2022 en Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #resumen del año #mi resumen del 2022 en tumblr #tu resumen del año en tumblr #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

IF YOU LOVE SOMEONE, LET THEM GO: PART 9

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordham. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

A/N: Ayyy, they’re in New Orleans, a place I know well enough to write about.

November 2015

“Tor, where are you draggin’ me?” Sonny laughed, hand in Victoria’s as they made their way through Jackson Square. It was almost eerie past midnight.

“You said you were hungry! We’re a block away from something I think you’ll like.”

“Doll, we’re in New Orleans. We’re always a block from something I’ll like.” What he liked was seeing her so in her element. The city had a soul more like hers, and seeing her pull him through the streets made him feel like he was a teenager with a crush again instead of a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday with his wife. They’d just dropped their bags in the hotel after their flight. She’d found them a place steps from Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral, and in the night, her cheeks were flushed pink from the wind coming off of the Mississippi River and excitement.

“There’s no line at Cafe du Monde at one in the morning,” she grinned, giving an exaggerated flourish. “Louisiana zeppoli sound good? Beignets.”

“You get me.” They sat at the little metal table, and he looked out at the empty square. When they’d come so long ago, her mother had gotten a friend to lend her their apartment, and the pair had taken the trolley to the zoo or aquarium or museum during the day. This trip, he was excited to go to bars and hear live music and have cocktails. Come back to a hotel where they could order room service. He was determined to make another trip to the zoo as well. The pictures from before showed two lanky teenagers pretending they didn’t like each other. Now they’d been together a decade plus.

“You got a little messy,” she grinned, Sonny having exhaled at the wrong time. Powdered sugar was everywhere, but the broad smile as he ate was perfect. Victoria took a picture of Sonny with his crinkled eyes and dimpled grin, covered in powdered sugar with a beignet in front of him. He polished it off, paying before he leaned to kiss her as she laughed. He tasted like airport coffee, pastry, and sugar as he pulled her close on the street outside.

“You know, it’s officially the second now. You’re thirty!”

“I guess I am,” he chuckled, kissing her again.

“Happy birthday, cher. I guess you oughta get me back to the hotel so we can celebrate…” His goofy grin turned wicked as he pulled her down St. Ann’s Street to the hotel, scooping her up bridal style when they got to their hallway. Victoria squealed, slipping the key from her bag to unlock the door for him and he kicked it closed behind them. He woke with her wrapped around him and sun from the courtyard filtering in. Thirty was going to be much better, he could already tell. When she woke, she felt his fingers tracing her spine, and she curled closer into him.

“Mornin’ handsome.” She always developed an accent when she was around southerners. Her mom had given her a little twang, but the Louisiana accent was thick now, and he loved it.

“Mornin’ doll. You sleep okay?”

“You tired me out.” He was rewarded with a crooked grin, and Sonny kissed her softly and pulled her close again. “Happy birthday. What do you want to do today?”

“Order breakfast in? Maybe go to the zoo?”

“You want to go to the zoo?”

“Yeah. It was what we did last time when I realized I had a crush on you. Could be good before we go to dinner and that burlesque show.”

“It’s going to be perfect,” she grinned. “Anything you wanna do. All day.”

“Anything?” The impish smile was back, and they didn’t have breakfast for another couple of hours. Watching Sonny as they made their way to the zoo, she grinned, arms wrapping around his waist.

“You’re cute.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. I like how excited you get about things.”

“Is that why you call me a puppy so often?”

“A little,” she chuckled, buying their tickets and leading him in.

“Better than a lanky noodle,” he grinned, arms around her waist as they watched the flamingos near the entrance. Whenever they planned to take this vacation, he hadn’t really anticipated how nice it would be to have a whole swath of the country between him and all the dark things he dealt with at work. In the city, he would pass places that brought a case to mind easily, even if he wasn’t really thinking about it. They’d walk by a bar and some part of his brain noted that was where the vic in the case last year was assaulted. In New Orleans, he knew there was still crime. He could even guess dangerous spots. But, he didn’t have names and faces and stories. Instead, he had the old independent bookstore with no air conditioning he’d followed Victoria through, the humidity and heat making him sweat straight through his t-shirt. Here, there was the little area he’d sat and stared as Victoria watched the orangutans with a broad grin. They’d definitely be stopping there. And he was excited for the Louisiana Swamp portion. Those were the two he had the strongest memory of. As if she knew, Victoria took his hand, tugging him towards the fountain and to the roman candy wagon just before the path to the monkeys.

“I almost forgot about this,” he chuckled, fishing a dollar from his pocket. “We goin’ chocolate and vanilla?”

“Duh.” She took the long sticks of what was basically taffy wrapped in wax paper gladly. It was as stretchy and messy as he remembered, and they walked happily, pinching off pieces and passing it back and forth. Between the orangutans and gorillas was the same wooden seating area, and they sat.

“Y’know, I think this is where I realized I was in love with you,” he said, leaning back against the tree trunk that grew in the middle. “You were watching the baby orangutan. Got so excited when they told you his name and stuff. And then you were telling everybody that came after the zookeeper left everything like you were the new tour guide. I remember looking at ya in the sun in that flowery spaghetti strap dress and all your hair up and this big smile and knowing it was gonna be you.”

“Really?” she asked, head tilted as he nodded. Now she was in one of his pullovers tucked into jeans, bundled up from the breeze. It was twelve years later, and she was just as perfect in the sun. She leaned to kiss him sweetly, staying close. “Wanna know something?”

“What?”

“I realized I loved you in the swamp part. You were so excited, and I remember already realizing I liked you. Then there’s that statue of the swamp monster? The rugaru when you turn the corner? We were there and a kid ran the corner ahead of his mom and got scared. He started crying and got embarrassed and you just sat down and told him the rugaru scared you too and hung out the minute for his mom to catch up. Knew it then I wanted you forever.”

“We’re real disgusting, aren’t we?”

“Just a little,” she smiled, kissing him again. It was nice to sit in the sun beside him, taking turns pointing out when there was activity in each enclosure. Sonny still smiled just like he did when they were teenagers, but he was more relaxed now that she had him this far from the city. His shoulders carried less tension and his smile always reached his eyes. They’d be taking a yearly vacation from here on out. They needed the time away from the city.

“If your mom had raised you here, our lives would be so different,” he mused as they leaned against the railing in the swamp portion. They took turns looking into the green of the swamp water to point out alligators floating along.

“I’d be a swamp witch.” Her voice was serious enough Sonny couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him.

“And I’d probably have ended up a priest.”

“Good and evil. Are we an unholy union then?”

“Nah. Told ya before, doll. Preordained by the big guy. Might not have found you when I was five. But you’d have ended up stuck with me any way.”

“It means the world to me how strongly you believe that. I ever told you? Even when we were separated, I knew we wouldn’t get divorced, but I’d get scared we couldn’t fix it.”

“Me too. But we’re here. I get to start my thirties with ya. And we’ll have babies and grandbabies and great grandbabies.”

“We will. And short term? We’ll have a lot more trips. Get more breaks.”

“I’d like that a lot. It’s nice being way out here. Wanna do it more.”

They made their way to the hotel in time to shower before dinner and to make it to the bar putting on the burlesque show in time for drinks. Early on, Victoria had figured out Sonny was a sucker for old school burlesque. She’d done a boudoir shoot for him done up with all the vintage trimmings, and one night, she’d convinced him to attend a burlesque show at home, one with a live band. That, he’d liked. There was a bar on Canal Street, Burgundy, that had a local burlesque troupe perform on the weekends. The place was sultry when they walked in, all deep velvets and a glittering chandelier. She’d kissed his cheek, going to powder her nose before she ordered. They’d dressed up, and Sonny leaned against the counter waiting to order.

“This seat taken?” asked a petite brunette, and he didn’t think anything of it.

“Nah. I’m going to a table.”

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

“Visiting from New York,” he shrugged, still watching the bartender.

“And here I was hoping you’d be a local. It’s a shame I’ll only see you tonight.”

“Yeah. It’s the only night they got the show. Came for my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday.” The bartender stopped, and he ordered two drinks, the champagne one with rose water he knew Victoria would like and whatever the specialty was with whiskey for himself.

“That for me?” she asked, and the way she tilted her head told him he was an idiot. He suddenly took in the way she was leaning towards him, eyes going wide. Luckily, he could see Victoria in the background, and she chuckled as he caught her eye. One thing he was grateful for was the fact she knew he could be dumb. He looked at women, sure. Victoria looked at men sometimes. That didn’t matter because they had no interest in doing anything with anybody else. He didn’t, however, tend to realize the eyes a woman was giving him.

“It’s for me,” Victoria smiled, wrapping an arm around Sonny’s waist easily and resting the hand with her wedding ring on his chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize…” Victoria just gave her a smile and a nod, taking her drink gratefully and following Sonny to their table. His cheeks were pink and Victoria couldn’t help but laugh as she slid beside him on the booth side of the table facing the stage.

“Tor, I had no clue,” he said like she was terribly upset. She cared just enough to wrap the territorial arm around him, but not enough to scold him. Hell, it was endearing. “I wouldn’t ever wanna flirt with anybody but you so sometimes I miss it.”

“Dom, I’m not mad. You’re hot as hell, and it’s really sweet how clueless you are. Not your fault other women notice the hot part.”

“Shuddup,” he muttered, ears turning red now. “You don’t notice when guys flirt with you either.”

“I do too!”

“Nah. The guy at the zoo? The one that was friendly until I showed up? Doll, he had been checkin’ you out.”

“What? No. He just wanted to know where the food was.”

“Oh? That’s why he was standing outside the ordering window when he asked you that?”

“Shit.” Sonny laughed, slipping an arm around her.

“It’s okay. I kind of like showing up like ‘Yeah, she’s hot. And she’s my wife.’”

“I like doing the same to you.”

“Love you, Tor.”

“And I love you, Dom. Happy birthday.”

Tags: @cycat4077 @fear-less-write-more

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x oc #sonny carisi x reader #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order

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litwitlady · 4 years

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Love Out Loud

Okay, so I was trying to write the S3 wish fic, but got really frustrated and deleted 1000 words. I wrote this instead. Inspired by Tyler’s scruffy little selfie yesterday and my ferocious need for Michael to be overwhelmed by his desire for the beauty that is Alex Manes. Very slight sexual situations ahead. Set in the near S3 future.

Michael Guerin is distracted. He’s supposed to be working on a new piece of alien tech to keep Mr. Jones restrained outside of the turquoise mines. But Alex is sitting no less than a foot to his left and it’s all Michael can do not to make those twelve inches disappear.

Alex is on vacation. A leave of absence after his father’s death. Bereavement. He hasn’t taken a single day off since joining the Air Force unless you count the time his leg got blown off or that other time his father and his brother abducted him.

Holiday Alex is a wonder to behold. He’s gone several days without shaving. Michael wonders what the overgrown scuff would feel like against his skin. The thought is overwhelming and makes him squirm in his seat. Alex is completely fucking oblivious.

The Project Shepard base had been permanently shut down after Jesse died. So, Alex has moved everything into Michael’s bunker. Which had seemed like the obvious solution at the time, but now Michael realizes new and unexpected problems have arisen. Like the way Alex smells.

Also, his hands. They are beautiful. Even just flicking back and forth through the Caulfield documents and old newspapers trying to find mention of a Mr. Jones. Sometimes, Alex reaches out and touches Michael’s arm, wanting him to read something he’s found. Michael stops breathing every time.

Currently, things are in crisis. Alex is leaning forward on his stool and his t-shirt has ridden up in the back. The merest slice of olive skin is on full display and Michael’s heart is racing. He worries he might actually start drooling. Drawing his eyes away, he pinches the tender skin on the underside of his forearm and tries to refocus on his work.

Because the thing is, Alex is seeing Forrest. Casually – that’s the word Alex had used and the word Michael recites daily like a prayer. Casually means not serious. Casually means off and on. Casually means not forever. It implies a lack of feeling, a lack of investment. But it also implies sex. Sex with someone who is not him. The thought haunts Michael.

Don’t worry; he knows he’s a hypocrite.

For a time, he manages to focus pretty well. There’s a brief moment of panic when Alex has to bend over and retrieve his pencil. Michael recovers quickly. Until the unthinkable happens and Alex slides his stool as close to Michael as possible. ‘Hey, take a look at this. I think Mr. Jones might have gotten captured for a time.’

Michael hears Alex’s voice distantly in some far-off land, but the blood rushing through his body is entirely preoccupied with how Alex’s entire jean-clad thigh is pressed against his own. He swallows and stares at where their bodies meet, burning from hip to knee. He cannot for the life of him recall what Alex asked only two seconds ago. Lord help him.

Something must be wrong with him. He’s spent the past year barely thinking about Alex. Sure, there’s been the occasional dream. And there’s been a few times he’s picked up the phone to call him. Once he drove to his house and even knocked on the door. A time or two he’s jerked off to the thought of Alex’s mouth wrapped around his cock, but that’s perfectly normal. Right?

Wrong.

Everything he’s told himself concerning Alex for the past year is just so many lies. Alex is always the most attractive person Michael’s ever met and sex is always on the table even when it’s not. Maybe even especially when it’s not. Like right now with his criminal fucking thigh.

A memory surfaces. Of Alex home from leave after his second tour. Michael swears he won’t go to him. Will sit in the airstream all by himself no matter how long it takes for Alex to be gone again. But then. A knock at the door. Those sparkling hazel eyes. The freckles scattered across his cheeks. That sweet fucking mouth. Clothes thrown everywhere. Alex spreading Michael’s legs with that same villainous thigh.

Jesus fuck. Michael is in trouble.

Alex is calling his name, shaking his shoulder, concern evident in his voice. Michael tears his eyes away from where their thighs touch and looks up at him. He knows he must look slightly unhinged – eyes heavy-lidded, chest heaving, mouth parted wantonly. But Alex doesn’t seem to notice the sex of it all. ‘What’s wrong?’

Michael swallows several times and clears his throat. ‘Um, nothing. What’s up?’

It’s the best his brain can manage.

Alex is not buying what he’s selling. And before he can stop him, Alex’s hand is on Michael’s thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth in soothing circles doing the absolute most but not soothing a goddamn thing. ‘You’re sweating. What’s wrong? Should I call Kyle?’

Michael is on the verge of doing something ruinous. He is teetering on the very dangerous ledge of want, need, desire. And love. In utter desperation, he stumbles backwards off his stool and ends up on his ass. When Alex kneels beside him in a panic, Michael scoots as far away from him as possible. ‘Stop, Alex. Please.’

They sit there for several long moments. Alex in total confusion. Michael willing his cock to go back to sleep. This cannot go on. Eventually, Michael stands up and moves his stool to another table. Alex watches as he gathers all his various tools and moves them to the other table. He plops back down on his seat, his back turned to Alex’s innocently filthy presence, and resumes his work like nothing happened.

He hears Alex shuffle around. Hears him head to the ladder. ‘I’ll work at home. Didn’t know I was bothering you.’ His voice filled with hurt.

Michael sighs and turns to him. ‘No, Alex, please don’t go.’ Alex pauses but doesn’t turn around, hand still clasping the ladder. ‘You aren’t bothering me. I swear.’ This time Alex does turn back to him. Michael hates the way his eyebrows furrow at him accusingly. When was the last time he’d made Alex smile? He can’t remember. It’s a damning realization.

Taking a deep breath, he gets up and approaches Alex slowly. He wants to buy some time – work out what to say in his brain. Unfortunately, the bunker is not that big and not 30 seconds go by before he’s as close to Alex as he dares. Michael wants to open his mouth and say ‘I love you’. He wants to say ‘stay with me, forever’. But what he does say is ‘I’m sorry’. It’s barely a whisper.

‘Sorry?’

‘Yeah. Sorry that you believe you could ever bother me. That I’ve somehow made you believe that.’ Michael grabs the strap of Alex’s cross-body bag and pulls it back over his head. ‘Stay. I’ll go grab us some lunch. We can talk. I want to talk.’ A distant memory echoes between them. He steps back, clutching Alex’s bag to his chest, and waits for his answer.

‘I’d like that.’ Alex returns to his seat and Michael releases his breath. He smiles to himself and thinks about what a relief it will be to finally love Alex out loud.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #where is all this michael pov stuff coming from?

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torchwoodfanfests · 4 years

Text

Torchwood Bingo 2020 Masterpost

The masterpost is here - browse through every work submitted to the 2020 Torchwood Bingo Fest! You can also find most of the fanfiction in our AO3 Collection. Thank you to everyone who took part in out first ever fest. Your response blew us away; we had a total of 172 fanworks from 32 wonderful participants. Hope you all had a good time, and congratulations to everyone who got bingo!

If one of your works should be on this post but isn’t, please let us know and we’ll add it ASAP.

@shejustcalledmeafish

FANFICTION

To Love a Harkness

Coffee/Coffee Shop

Let’s Do the Time Warp Again

Time Loop, Black and White, Friendship, Secrets

Wrong Face, Wrong Time

Twelve/Frobisher confusion

Kiss, Bang

Bullet wounds

A Soul in Twain

Andy Davidson, Lois Habiba

Just the Messenger

Time Travel, Tarot Girl

Golden Days

Gold

Out of Order

Torchwood One, Prequel/Set Before Canon

Kiss of a Viper

Dancing, Betrayal

I’ve Got a Fascination (With Your Presentation)

Grooming/Bathing, Genderbend

World and Enough Time (Stories From the Loop)

Accidental Marriage, Cold/Warm, Bed Sharing, Plants/Vegetables

Commissioned

Human Monsters

Technician, Free Thyself

Timelord AU

Never Has He Ever

The Hub Goes On Lockdown

@princess-of-the-worlds

FANFICTION

Moments in Grayscale (and Eternity in Colour)

Anniversary, Cultural Differences, Immortality, Gifts, Water, Boeshane

i would’ve followed all the way, no matter how far

Psychic Power/Telepathy, Benign Alien Visitors, Canon-Compliant

silver lining

Fake Dating/Fake Marriage

found you made us in a star

Friendship

sing me like a choir

Kink/Sex Talk/Innuendo

the world is at my feet (i am standing on the ceiling)

Secrets, Torchwood One, Under the Influence (Alcohol, Drugs, Alien Pheromones, etc)

perfect premiere

Red, Pink

@torchwoodbutmostlyowen

POETRY

Photographs filled with Lense Flares

Rhys POV

@toshsato

FANFICTION

I Don’t Even Know What I’m Doing Tonight

Rarepair

the night-time is the hardest

Bisexuality, Friendship, Healing

I ain’t letting go

Music, Benign Alien Visitors, Dancing, Werewolves and/or Vampires

GIFSETS

Martha Jones

The Resurrection Gauntlet

Backstory, Camping

@iianto-jones

FANFICTION

On Family

Bullet Wounds, Domesticity, Immortality

Our Worlds Move On

Friendship

How Much of It You’ve Got Left

Interspecies Romance

@dinodina

FANFICTION

In Which Ianto May or May Not Be Fully Human

Domesticity, Meet the Family, Canon Character is an Alien AU, Interspecies Romance, Betrayal, Cold/Warm, CoE Fix-It, Mission-Related Trip, Myfanwy

Rosy-Fingered Dawn Flipped the Page of Life

Healing, Flat Holm, DW Companion, Crossover, Rarepair, Under the Influence, Amnesia, The Year That Never Was, Original Character

@aellesiym

ART

Canon Character is an Alien AU

Mary, Canon Divergent AU

Domesticity, Based on a Song of Your Choice

Werewolves and/or Vampires

@cxptained + @agent-harkness

FANFICTION

Burn Me

Immortality

Inside My Mind (Trying To Get Things Right)

Disability

@ultraviolet-eucatastrophe

FANFICTION

You’re gonna heal over (someday)

Doctor’s Orders, Hurt/Comfort, DW Companion Cameo

Take it on trust

UNIT

All some children do is work

Kids

By the green you shall know us

Con-man/Grifter, Green

Keep holding on

Team Bonding

Half-lives

Past Canonical Character Death

A place to start from

Torchwood One

But the blues are still blue

Big Finish Audio or TW Novel Tag/AU, Food, Curtain Fic/Ordinary Everyday Situations and Chores

@agent-sato

FANFICTION

I Know Not Everybody (Has A Body Like You)

Genderbend, Team Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, John Hart, Pining

Off The Grid

Harriet Jones/Mickey Smith

Imposters Among Us

Rhys POV, Human Monsters, Doctor’s Orders, Canon Character is an Alien AU, Under the Influence

@moonlightrhosyn

FANFICTION

For I Chose the World’s Sad Roses

Plants/Vegetables, Therapy

An Exile on Lemnos’ City Streets

Mary

My Favourite Kind of Rain

Gold

The Cordiality of Death, with his Metallic Grin

Canon Character is an Alien AU

@currently-very-asleep

FANFICTION

Ianto’s Funeral

Meet the Family, Dead

@captainawesome242

FANFICTION

It’s the Taking Part That Counts (but the winning is great too!)

Water, Fake Dating

If You Should Fall Upon Hard Times, If You Should Lose Your Way

Mental Health

Who Wants to Live Forever

Immortality

You’re the Better Half of Me (you’re the only half I need)

Mickey Smith, The Year That Never Was, Weddings, Family

Meet the Family

Public Displays of Affection, Kids, Confessions

@golyadkin

ART

Dancing

Meet the Family

Werewolves and/or Vampires

FANFICTION

What Comes Next

CoE Fix-It AU

@amlaich

ART

Harriet Jones/Mickey Smith

Under the influence

Martha Jones, AU/Canon Divergence

Immortality

@thirteeninafez

FANFICTION

Lost in Translation

Handcuffs

Porcelain Penguins and Other Such Knick-Knacks

Canon Character is an Alien AU

@asarahworld-writes

FANFICTION

hen night

Under the Influence

Gafr Siafft

Kids

@searching-for-arcadia

ART

Genderbend, Dancing

first, you must be buried (to understand light)

Canon Divergent AU, Mission-Related Trip, Exercise

Plants/Vegetables

Bullet Wounds

Ianto’s Criminal Past

The Hub Goes on Lockdown

@horselover107

FANFICTION

Team Tardis

Secrets

Date Night

The Child

Kids, Alternate Universe

Missing

Missing, Nosy Coworkers, Friendship, Future!Fic

Sibling Rivalry

Family

PLAYLISTS

Broken

Mental Health

Coffee: A Janto Mix

Coffee/Coffee Shop

@chandelle13

FANFICTION

Resurrection of the lost

Torchwood 4

Some secrets

Team Tardis, Family and Domesticity

With some help

Character Do-Over, DW Companion Cameo, Canon Divergent AU

Surprise!

Pets, Big Finish Audio or TW Novel Tag/AU

Once a year

Friendship, Curtain Fic, Blue, Comfort

Expect the unexpected

Anniversary, Doctor’s Orders, Date Night, Hurt/Comfort, Boeshane, Missing, Prequel/Before Canon

Things change

Bilis Manger, Canon Divergent AU

Annoyance

Gwen has some of Gwyneth’s powers

Unexpected Events

Pink, Fake dating/Fake Marriage, Undercover/Disguise

@my-random-fandoms

FANFICTION

The Animals Always Know

Pets

The Devil and the Time Traveler

Rarepair

EDITS

Weevils

@mathemagician7

FANFICTION

Returning to Torchwood

Old Friends, Big Finish Audio Tag

Physical Therapy

Therapy

Haunted By You

The Ghost Machine

To The Letter

Clothes, Gifts

ART

Almost Perfect

Genderbend

Mary

@itneveroccurredtomeatall

FANFICTION

Undercover On The Bachelorette

Undercover/Disguise

Black and White

Missing

Sabbatical

Future!Fic

Pollen

Sex Pollen

@garknessandbones

COMICS

Domesticity, Secrets

Dreams, Music

@celstese

PLAYLISTS

Heartache and Pain Tracklist

Diary, Betrayal, Friendship

A Different Doctor (Time Lord Owen AU Tracklist)

Music, Timelord AU, Prequel/Set Before Canon, The Year That Never Was

FANFICTION

Congratulations its a doctor!

Character(s) of Your Choice is/are Trans

Gwen and Rhys garden

Plants/Vegetables, Domesticity

Gwen Cooper gets her groove back

De-Aging/Aging Up, Date Night, Old Friends/Chance Meetings

ART

Clothes/Outfit

Fantasy, Undercover/Disguise

Grooming/Bathing

Bisexuality

@agent-jones

EDITS

Holiday Celebration

Domesticity

Family

Martha Jones/DW Companion Cameo

Rhys POV

Exposed (NSFW)

Human Monsters/Suzie Costello

Amnesia

Old Friends

Stars

Camping

Torchwood One

@i-really-should-be-writing

FANFICTION

Surrender my everything

Immortality, Based on a Song of Your Choice

Always With You

Psychic Powers/Telepathy

Lights in the Darkness

Hurt/Comfort, Family

@toshsatos

FANFICTION

poenitentia

Alternate Realities, Interspecies Romance

shining, she was, like moonlight

Anwen, CoE Fix-It AU

roughneck

Undercover/Disguise, Benign Alien Visitors

ART

Timelord AU

Crossover of Your Choice

@samantharyderthelionqueen

FANFICTION

Barbecue

Cooking, Interspecies Relationship

On Romance

Big Finish Audio or TW Novel Tag/AU

Sam’s Vision

Future!Fic, Psychic Powers/Telepathy

Serves You Right

Bullet Wounds

Skeleton-Knapper

Kidnapping

Slow Tango in Saint Lucia

Dancing

The Perfect Present(s)

Gifts

We Catch Aliens

Crossover of your Choice

What Families Do

Authority

ART

“Aunt Mei! Mama and Daddy are being gross again!”

Public Displays of Affection

Lust Flower

Sex Pollen

Myfanwy is Trans!

Myfanwy

“This Time I Won’t Let Go…”

Boeshane, Episode Tag/Missing Scene

Torchwood Said Nonbinary Rights!

Genderbend

Torchwood vs UNIT

UNIT

MOODBOARDS

“FRIENDS” moodboard

Friendship, Based on a Song of Your Choice

Janto blue moodboard

Blue

Towen black & white moodboard

Black and White

@this-is-quite-homoerotic

FANFICTION

Joke’s On Me

Anger

I’m holding tight cause it feels alright, my love, when I’m with you

Cold/Warm, Vegetables

Don’t You Know You’ve Haunted Me For Years:

Gwen has some of Gwyneth’s powers, Gifts, Bisexuality

You Got Me On Edge (Any Minute I Might Jump):

Exercise, Rarepair, Cultural Differences

EDITS AND MOODBOARDS

Blue, Gold

Black and White, Gold

Prequel/Set Before Canon

Clothes/Outfit

EDIT AND PLAYLIST

The Bad Old Days

Music

@hotchocolatedictator

FANFICTION

Little Green Men From Mars

Green

@violetmessages

FANFICTION

Sustenance

Plants/Vegetables

Clairvoyancy

Canon Character is an Alien AU, The Doctor Meets the Team

Tales from the Filing Cabinet

Mission Related Trip, Flat Holm

the hands on the clock keep ticking

De-Ageing/Ageing Up

#torchwood fan fests #torchwood bingo fest 2020 #2020 bingo fest fanworks #2020 bingo fest masterpost #torchwood fan fests masterpost

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