#and if i feel like writing mountain wip at any point during this month i can | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nbrook29 · 4 years

Text

💞 My ultimate Sobbe fic recs 💞

Recently, I have gone through Robbe/Sander tag on ao3 and I decided to compose a list of fics that are absolute gems for me. A few disclaimers first:

✔ I didn’t include works in progress (WIPs), however I did include fics that are only on tumblr

✔ the order of the fics below is random

✔ this is the list of my personal favorites so if your favorite fic is not on the list it doesn’t mean it’s bad or that I consider it bad - we just vibe with different things :)

✔ if there’s a fic on this list that you decided to give a shot and loved it, please remember about leaving a comment under it to let the author know that

✔ I’ve been trying to add the “read more” thingy but it doesn’t show, I’m sorry, I know long posts are annoying af

under 1k

we’re keeping it simple by noobishere | G

Summary: Sander comes over unannounced and attacks Robbe’s very person (a.k.a the one where Sander teases Robbe on Eenvoud)

This is a guaranteed mood lifter. It’s short, sweet, to the point, and oh so funny. The banter. And I’d die to see that in the show.

1k - 5k

Fizzy Colas by Foxsake5 | M

Summary: Let’s say this is a clip (hopefully not as short as the standard 1:40 of this season) with Sander as the main on a ‘bros night out’ 🍻

This author is my queen/king alright? They take a simple idea and turn it into the most lovely/cute/soft story. This fic is exactly that. Sobbe’s chemistry here is out of this world and the banter is to die for.

high for this by flowersmaze (@bowieskam) | G

Summary: In which Sander remains a Flirt™ and in love with Robbe even when he can’t feel his face after a medical procedure

The summary says it all. Loopy Sander is the cutest and funniest thing.

Pull Me from the Dark by TheOceanIsMyInkwell (@theoceanismyinkwell) | T

Summary: Sander discovers that Robbe has recently been prescribed antidepressants, and Robbe opens up to him about the night he almost stepped off the bridge. Only love will show how much they’ve grown and pull them through.

This time, the boys talk about Robbe’s mental state which is unusual in fics. This oneshot is communication 101. And this line is just 👌🏻 “But after the dust of their first kiss and their first vows of commitment settled around them, Robbe took a look at the space in which he floated and realized, somewhere along the line, that finding the love of your life doesn’t fix you.”

diminuendo by noobishere

Summary: Waking up feels like an ordeal. His eyes are heavy, arms a dead weight, he isn’t sure if his limbs are even in the right places, but eventually, Sander comes to. (a.k.a a take on how Sander fairs after Robbe left for school.)

Sander’s POV after Dinsdag 7:27. It’s a great insight into his headspace during that time. This could be a scene in the show because it fits so well.

you’re wonder under summer sky by nothingbutniall | M

Summary: Two city boys go camping. What could go wrong? (Everything, apparently.)

Those boys are a chaotic mess okay? They’re such dorks. This fic has the best kind of grumpiness there is and sobbe is written so in character here.

if we can make it through december (maybe we’ll make it through forever) by nothingbutniall | G

Summary: Robbe and Sander at the Christmas market.

Can you imagine those two dorks at the Christmas market? Well you don’t have to anymore because this fic is everything you need and more. And this line “Couldn’t,” Sander sulks. “You can’t hold hands properly with mittens on.” makes me go all gooey inside every.single.time 😍

A New Sunday Feeling by Foxsake5 | M

Summary: Sander before Robbe: Ugh, Sundays 😒 Sander after Robbe: 😏🥺🥰

The way this author writes sobbe’s intimate moments is just pure talent. They have such way with words.

memories painted with much brighter ink by nothingbutniall | G

Summary: Saint Nicholas is the perfect excuse for an evening of gifts and banter with the flatshare. (Basically all five of them being cute together, and then Robbe and Sander being cute with just the two of them.)

This is the perfect fic for an October evening, when Christmas is just around the corner and you’ve just made yourself a cup of coffee and want to read some heart-warming well-written christmassy fluff.

5k - 10k

Let’s Dance by msleviss (@sander-driesen) | G

Summary: Robbe and his friends go to a club to check out Amber’s DJ cousin.

THIS PERSON PREDICTED DJ SANDER Y’ALL. And Robbe thirsts over him. And there is an instant connection. And Robbe dances. And it’s so cute.

video phone by tokyometropolis (@luludemauryyy) | E

Summary: AKA OH MY GOD, THEY WERE QUARANTINED…except not together, because life is cruel. Thankfully it’s 2020 and when Robbe has an…er…intense dream about Sander in the middle of the night, all he has to do is press one button and Facetime him about it. Thing is…sometimes FaceTiming isn’t enough.

Look. I get that smut fics are not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s totally fine. But. If you’re looking for a well-written smut that’s in character and where you can feel the love between the characters, this is it. Hands down. Sorry not sorry 💁🏼‍♀️

10k - 20k

our camp of dreams by robbesanderx (@robbesdriesen) | M

Summary: a summer camp!AU where robbe and sander are both co-counselors

Misunderstandings lead to pining. Teenage angst at its finest. I really like camp stories, it’s my thing.

Falling For You by silver_etoile (@azozzoni) | T

Summary: Robbe only knows one thing about football: that Sander Dreisen is the hottest player on the FC Utrecht team. When Jens drags him to a match, the last thing Robbe expects is to meet someone so perfect, and it’s all he can do not to mess it up, but will he succeed?

Sobbe in a different setting with a bit different dynamic yet still having that special something. It’s a nicely written story of the development of their relationship, first meeting, falling in love, ups and down, all the best things in fics. And Sander as a soccer player is a pretty 🔥 concept (and I think Robbe agrees).

This isn’t our first time around by noobishere | E

Summary: One moment they are in the kitchen of their shared apartment, the next, they’re in this strange but familiar room.(a.k.a the au in which they accidentally go hopping through multiple universes)

The universe takes matters into their own hands and shows those silly boys that they are meant to be. Sign me up for the ride.

Coffee and Croques by peaceoutofthepieces (@peaceoutofthepieces) | G

Summary: Sander works at the on-campus coffee shop with Eliott, and he might just have a crush on the cute boy in the brown coat.

I’m a sucker for coffeshop fics. There is just something so good about them. This one is the coffeshop!AU that sobbe deserves. Oh the pining, and the secretive looks, the silly boys, and a pinch of Elu. Me likey ☕

The finest of the meadow by allforyoumylove | M

Summary: The universe brings two lonely boys together in a flowering meadow. They fall for each other fast and hard among delicate daisies, warm summer breezes, and shooting stars.

This is magical. My comment on the work was “So soft, so beautiful, so THEM, ugh.” and I MEANT that. This is just the right amount of sweetness. This is a must read. I’m not messing around.

two side of the same coin series by MajorAccent (@acespaceacepilot) | E

Summary: the valleys and mountains of sander’s bpd

How the boys handle Sander’s ups and downs. Robbe being the best boyfriend ever. I love how good he is for Sander, being there for him, not treating him like a baby, and not controlling him. How much he tries to make it at least a little bit easier for him. If you don’t want to read explicit stories, at least give the first part a try since it’s not E rated.

Zaterdag 9:58 by Foxsake5 | M

Summary: What happened after the croissants dropped to the floor 🥐🤭💕

I meant it when I said Foxsake5 has great way with words. Every single piece of theirs is just “chef’s kiss”. This fic is a definition of a domestic fic. Oh, and it happened. Totally. It’s my headcanon now.

its an unrequited love by eggsntoast | G

Summary: Sander works part-time at a museum every Sunday. Robbe is a frequent visitor.

A Sander POV fic. I was sold from the beginning. The development of their relationship here is so cute, and they’re being so stupid with their pining instead of just talking to each other and you just want to shake them but at the same time you’re rooting for them so hard. Oh and did I mention pining?

20k+

Jij Verliest series by ravenbrenna09 (@djsander) | M

Summary: For the past three months, Robbe’s life—and what it once was—had been stripped away and rearranged. Now, if anything, his life had become a bit repetitive: homework, stream, ignore Thomas’s Instagram, repeat. But one Friday evening, Robbe meets a hurricane in the form of a platinum-haired tattoo artist who just might show him everything that he’s been missing.

This is a long series okay? But oh so worth it. It’s captivating and you don’t want to stop until you finish. And once you finish you’re sad it’s over even though you’ve just spent 8 fucking hours reading it. It’s amazing. But you probably know that because it’s quite popular (rightfully so). The best thing is that you expect it to go bad halfway through because it’s difficult to keep the quality on the same level in a fic that long. But it doesn’t.

Visitations by lucidpantone (@lucidpantone) | E

Summary: Does Robbe and Sander’s relationship survive into adulthood. This fic takes place in two simultaneously timelines: the past and the present.The present occurs in one entire day. Both timelines are completely out of chronological order. Everything is in clips.You can be dropped in at anytime of the day in any timeline. So clip by clip you will need to piece together what happen to Sander & Robbe and why the present looks the way it does and what happened in the past that got them there.This love story is a journey. So be prepared.In the words of one of our Even’s. It’s a complicated love story between complicated people.

This is not a regular fic. The author put so much thought into it, there are so many gems, so many little things that you have to pay attention to because it.all.matters. And there is not one interpretation. Don’t you just love when a story forces you to think and use your brain? Cause I do. Not gonna lie: this story hurts, and like the author says themselves, it’s a journey. But oh my god get in because it’s amazing. And the ending is just sjsjsjsjsddhdhsdsgdsg 🤯

the night we met by themoongirl (@dearsander) | T

Summary: Robbe Ijzermans has a brain that won’t let him sleep, a chest that feels far too heavy and thoughts that never stop.During his first year of college he meets Sander Driesen. Robbe finds what he never went looking for.

A college AU. This fic is a journey of pain and fluff and humor. It has awesome friendships. And sobbe falling in love. And liminal spaces. I read it a while ago so I don’t remember it as well as the others but you know what? I still remember that it was great and I’m lowkey happy I don’t remember it that well because now I can go and read it again.

The Stars Look Very Different by @peaceoutofthepieces

Summary: Robbe is bored. He’s bored of listening to his friends talking about girls, and his other friends making out, and no one ever doing anything. He’s tired of having to put in all the work, of making his own fun. He’s tired of feeling nothing so he doesn’t have to feel like nothing. His party stunts are pushing the limit, his thrill seeking beginning to worry even his friends, and his carelessness is toeing the line of dangerous.

He’s a little tired of being ‘dangerous’, too.

Sander may or may not have a crush on the older boy with the apparent death wish. He wouldn’t mind a little danger.

Once I started reading this fic, each day I was waiting for an update at the edge of my seat which was a feeling I expected from s4 that did not deliver. TSLVD definitely delivered. My favorite sobbe social media AU

Ziggy Stardust Series by skamsnake (@skamsnake) | M/E

A collection of fics taking place throughout the season. Most of them are E rated so be aware of that but it’s a really cool mixture of fluff and spice *fans myself*

#wtfock #sobbe #robbe x sander #wtfock fanfic #sobbe fanfic #SHOW UP IN THE TAG

200 notes · View notes

ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

lmao how/why am i actually still writing this y'all???? anyway, here's the first finished portion of my new Pillars WIP, working title: God's Children Bathe Free. It's gonna be a one-chapter wonder about an old man takin' a bath and having Feelings about it ♡

—

It was the third Rytlingsdag of the month.

Having been raised in a land of sub-freezing temperatures and a culture that regarded him as more holy symbol than flesh-and-blood man, Vatnir had only ever rarely found himself in the company of the underdressed. Communal bathing was commonplace in many clans to conserve the energy needed to heat bathwater, but bathing alongside ordinary clanmates wasn't an activity befitting the progeny of a god, apparently, so Vatnir had always been obliged to wash by himself, when he bothered at all. (This was all due to piety, of course. Nothing at all to do with how he looked, how he smelled.) And for a brother or sister of the clan to attempt to initiate any kind of inappropriate intimacy with the High Harbinger, to open their robes to him– why, that was unheard of, a perverted act of unforgivable blasphemy. So while he had gotten glimpses here and there over the decades of kith with their chests bared or their trousers around their knees– Hel, back when he'd still had lips, a drunken reveler had even kissed him once, full on the mouth, during a festival– the priest could honestly say he'd seen more dead people in his life than he had naked people.

So to say that his first evening in Neketaka was a bit of shock to him would be somewhat of an understatement.

"Because it's the third Rytlingsdag of the month." That's all she'd said when he'd asked the Duskspeaker why they were here, in this too-crowded, too-loud, too-bright street in the middle of this twisted pile of a city. Though the sun was setting, the streets of Periki's Overlook were more than adequately illuminated by arcane torches, their eerie blue light glinting off of the glittering cobblestone. Vatnir winced against the unnatural glare as he tried to avert his gaze from the unsettling amount of bare skin around him, and he muttered softly to himself, pondering the uncharacteristically cryptic response the little Watcher had given him. What did the day of the month have to do with dragging him up a crowded, noisy mountain, being shamelessly gawked at by barely-dressed socialites?

"You haven't figured it out yet?" The air suddenly tasted strongly of the sea, and Vatnir turned his head to find Tekēhu looming over his shoulder, that seemingly permanent sensual grin still chiseled into his perfect face. "I say, you are a rare one, friend Vatnir. I almost envy you, your innocence..."

"Don't tease him, Tekēhu." Pallegina's voice had an edge to it– more than usual, even– but Vatnir still spotted a tiny smile playing on the feathered woman's lips. Until she addressed him, of course, and her typical cool scowl returned. "We are heading for the Luminous Bathhouse, priest. The proprietor offers use of the facilities free of charge to all Godlike patrons after sunset on the third Rytlingsdag of every calendar month."

Tekēhu laughed and his hand fell heavily on Vatnir's shoulder, his knobbly knees knocking together under the blow. "Ekera, just so! And he has done so every month for at least as long as I have been in the city, if not longer. A truly magnanimous soul, my heavenly half-brother Ganor. And a wise leader our little Watcher is, to take advantage of such a generous deal!" His sharp, white smile gleamed in the arcane lamplight, and the sickly little elf winced.

The bathhouse. They were going to the bathhouse, ostensibly for a bath. And...

"And... the Duskspeaker expects me to go in there?" Vatnir's near-constant trembling intensified for a moment as he considered the implications. Oh, gods, was he actually going to have to disrobe in public, in front of everyone? In front of the Watcher and her little wizard boyfriend and that horrid animancer woman? ...And was everyone else going to...?

Tekēhu blinked at the horned man, oblivious. "Well... ekera, yes, of course. The baths have no entry fee for Godlikes this evening, we are Godlikes–"

"–and the Watcher likes to take good care of her crew," Pallegina finished for him, slowing her pace to match Vatnir's. She craned her neck to gaze into his face, a spark of concern in her golden eyes. "...Although she would understand, I think, if you'd rather not participate."

"Don't get my hopes up, serra, please," Ydwin sighed as she strolled quickly past the little cluster of Godlikes, and Vatnir shot her a vicious glare that she did not notice at all. Tíkka.

Tekēhu actually gasped, and Vatnir found himself tolerating the man's gigantic, clammy hands on his shoulders yet again. "Not participate? Oh, my dear lady knight, you mustn't suggest such wicked ideas to one who has never experienced the pleasures of the Luminous Bathhouse before! Especially on this day of all days! To allow this poor, pitiable man to pass up the opportunity to luxuriate in those magical waters and not pay a pand for the privilege– it's a crime, I say, and one that I simply cannot condone." He squeezed the priest's shoulders to emphasize his feelings on the matter, and Vatnir grunted in annoyance, wriggling angrily out of the well-meaning fishman's grip. Tekēhu looked positively wounded.

"You will go to the bathhouse with us, won't you?" The watershaper's wet, black eyes fixed themselves on Vatnir, shining opalescent in the streetlights. "You must!"

"Unless you would prefer not to," Pallegina insisted, shooting the tentacle-headed man a look halfway between warning and plea, before turning her attention back to Vatnir, that same concern from before still gleaming in her keen eyes. "You seem to be a bit... overwhelmed by the city. If the bathhouse seems like it might be too much for you, there is no shame in admitting that. But ultimately, the choice is yours to make."

It took the priest a moment to realize that the other two had stopped talking and were staring at him, waiting for him to make up his mind now that his options had been presented. His eyes darted quickly between the other two Godlikes– Tekēhu, making sad eyes at him like an orphaned seal pup, and Pallegina, her cool aloofness only slightly betrayed by one feathered eyebrow cocked ever-so-slightly higher than the other.

And then he looked past them to the fore of their little group, at the Duskspeaker marching confidently up the hill, her broad hips swaying alluringly beneath her bountiful burgundy curls. At Aloth next to her, the muscles in his shoulders and neck taut and firm beneath his smooth, flawless skin. ...At that hairy blue gremlin of a pirate, practically hanging from Ydwin's elbow, cracking wise and peeking back over his shoulder to point and smirk at Vatnir. At Ydwin, responding with yet another infuriating snicker that came, no doubt, at his expense. Vatnir glared petulantly back down at his feet, embarrassed and angry and conflicted.

If I go in there, they'll– everyone in there will see me, look at me. At my ruined body, my horns, what remains of my face. He could already picture the disgust on the other bathers' faces, hear the jeers and exaggerated retching that often accompanied his appearance in a public place. Not that others' opinions of his body had ever really mattered to him before, but it hit a little differently without his High Harbinger clout to protect him. And I'll see them, too. All of them, with... everything that implies. He stole another glimpse at the Watcher's curves, her full, round behind wiggling as she walked– and he instantly regretted it, guilt and shame bubbling up in his gullet like bile.

But... it'll feel nice, at least, the bath will. Probably. And all the other Godlikes there will surely divert some of the attention from me, at least insofar as providing a bunch of other strange bodies for the nosy fools to gawp at. And even if I do have to suffer the indignity of being stared at and mocked, they'll have to endure the experience of perceiving me, too. Hel, it might be worth it to attend just to spoil Ydwin's evening... He pictured the haughty little shrew gathering her things and storming off in a huff, her precious bath ruined by his mere presence, and his lipless mouth twitched into a mangled grin.

"Oh, I..." he sighed, picking absently at a scab, "I could join in just this one time, I suppose. If, as you say, I must." He rolled his eyes back up to meet Tekēhu's, just in time for the giant to pull him close with one arm, crushing the frail priest against his moist, briney torso in an overly energetic side hug.

"Marvelous!" he cried merrily as he lifted the poor man off his feet. "My friend, you won't regret this. I'll make certain of it!"

"Di verus, I think he might regret it a bit already," Pallegina chuckled as she picked up her pace again, the matter settled at last. "Do put him down before you hurt him, aimico."

"Too late," Vatnir gurgled, writhing miserably in the aumaua's grip. This was going to be a difficult evening.

—

#pillars of eternity #fanfic wip #vatnir #tekehu #pallegina #will the bathhouse employees let his stinky ass in? tune in next time to find out!#(spoilers: yes but axa has to yell at them a little bit)

6 notes · View notes

disfictional · 3 years

Text

2020 Writing Review

Thanks to the lovely @blogstandbygo for tagging me.

Total number of completed stories: Three.

Total word count: 62,113

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? More. I’ve been somewhat of a lurker in the sherlock fandom since 2013 (2013!?), and this was the first year I’d ever actually posted a fic on ao3 (had I written countless fic ideas and ficlets in my journal for years? Absolutely). I thought I’d moved past the obsession to the point where I’d never actually sit down to write one, but 2020 changed that. I suddenly had a lot more time on my hands, and the dormant obsession came back in full force. I rewatched Sherlock, and poof. I was gone.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? 2 Down, 5 Across. It was the story that inspired me to start seriously writing fic.

Did you take any writing risks this year? I think my biggest risk was, quite simply, posting on ao3 for the first time! I also started my first multi-chapter work, Quarantine Hotel (which, yes, I do intend to finish). And writing smut. Lots of smut, including toplock, which I never thought I would be keen on writing.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? First, I want to finish Quarantine Hotel. A draft of the final chapter has been sitting in my google drive for at least a month now, and I just can’t seem to get it quite right. Mostly, I’d like to write more. Before this year, writing was a bit of a dulled passion for me, but my love has been rekindled! I’d also like to draft an AU idea I’ve been sitting on.

Next up: A chapter of Quarantine Hotel will finish the WIP!

Most popular story of the year? 2 Down, 5 Across. Ticks on a Door Frame is only 6 kudos behind, though!

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: I’m grateful for every single person who reads my fics. As a new author, I don’t feel under-appreciated, but rather welcomed and valued by the wonderful community of johnlock fic authors and readers. That being said, my fic 2 Down, 5 Across did make it onto a @swissmissficrecs list of underrated fics!

Most fun story to write: High Mountain Tea Leaves. This was for the 2020 New Years Exchange, and playing with the prompt Algy Swinburne (milverton) gave me was just a joy. Also, this one gave me the opportunity to write about a place near and dear to my heart, Taiwan.

Most unintentionally telling story: Probably Quarantine Hotel, which is why I’ve been finding it difficult to finish. I was actually in a quarantine hotel when I began writing it, so it’s very telling of the headspace I was in during that wild journey. Of course, now, I’m out of that hotel, and my headspace is quite different out in the real world. 2 Down, 5 Across is also pretty revealing: crosswords and retirement johnlock? Two of my greatest obsessions.

Biggest disappointment: That I didn’t finish my WIP. I’d also like to read more fics- I have SO many in my Marked for Later.

Biggest surprise: That my first ever fic has had a really lovely reception!

It seems like so many great writers have done this recap already, so I am tagging you, reader, if you want to look back on the year in writing. Happy holidays, everyone! Thanks for your support this year. We all needed it!

#my fics #2020 Writing Review #johnlock fic

12 notes · View notes

sneezehq · 3 years

Text

From the Inside

Being hurt by someone you care about can tear you apart-sometimes literally.

Sometimes, you just gotta shove all your WIPs to the side and write some platonic hanahaki disease. You just gotta. There isn't enough out there imo. Content warning for mentions of blood. Enjoy!

Yang doesn't say it back. The silence in response to her quiet "I love you" is deafening, and Ruby ends up fleeing the room to avoid bursting into tears in front of her sister. The lack of words cuts her more deeply than any wound ever could.

Over the next few weeks, Ruby tries repeatedly to get through to her sister, to talk about what happened. They've lost so much, and her chest feels tight and heavy with guilt and grief, but at least they're still together, right?

But Yang doesn't seem to see it that way.

The stony silences when Ruby tries to talk to her sister quickly turn to angry yells and doors slammed in her face. Yang obviously hurting, and Ruby wants to—needs to—help her sister, but she's not sure how she's supposed to do that when Yang won't even look at her.

"Your sister just needs time," her father tries to reassure her, but the sentiment doesn't soothe Ruby at all. With every second she can feel Yang slipping further and further away, and she worries that if she can't pull her sister back soon, she'll lose her completely to anger and grief. She just wishes she could figure out how to help.

When she runs into Jaune while on a trip into Vale for groceries, it's the first spark of hope that Ruby has felt in a long time. She pulls him aside and they talk for a while, about what happened at Beacon, their shared grief, what they've been doing since the fall. Jaune expressed his frustration at being forced to just sit around doing nothing, and his desire to track down Pyrrha's killers and make them pay for what they did.

And this, Ruby realizes, is something she can actually help with. She knows where they could start looking—Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald had said that they were from Haven, and Qrow had told her that's where he was headed when he left. It makes sense to start there.

Maybe it's not the best idea that Ruby has ever had, but Jaune's face lights up when Ruby tells him what she knows. It's been so long since she's been able to help, to be useful, that she quickly finds herself agreeing to the trip. Jaune, too, seems brighter; there's a spring in his step as he leaves, promising to talk to Ren and Nora and stop by her house in a few days.

On the trip home, Ruby feels lighter than she has in months. She's been trapped inside their house for what feels like ages, stuck in place, watching the leaves change from summer to fall to winter. Now she has the chance to do something besides lying around feeling sorry for herself. She needs to do this.

She doesn't tell her father. There's no way he'd agree to let her go—he'd insist that it was too dangerous, she wasn't ready, all of his usual complaints. He hadn't even wanted her to go to Beacon when she'd be accepted early. He would definitely try to stop her. She'll leave him a note to explain things instead.

As Blake had pointed out before (and there's a pang in Ruby's chest as she thinks of her friend. She hopes that Blake is safe, wherever she is), the real world doesn't care if they're ready or not. The enemies surrounding them aren't going to wait to pounce until they graduate. They're out there, and right now Ruby has a chance to try to stop them from hurting more people.

It's now or never.

She does, however, tell her sister. Deep down, she knows that her sister is in no condition to go anywhere. She knows that her sister still needs to process her own guilt and grief and rage before she can move forward, but she also knows that it wouldn't feel right if she didn't at least make the offer.

Yang, predictably, rejects it. She calls the idea stupid, and reckless, and pigheaded. Ruby was expecting that much. What she wasn't expecting, was the venom in her sister's tone and the disdain in her eyes as she shouts at Ruby. "What do you think you're trying to do?" her sister asks, glaring at her incredulously. "There's no way that the four of you are going to accomplish anything besides getting yourselves killed. Just like Pyrrha."

Ruby forces herself to meet her sister's gaze. "You don't know that," she says, voice quivering in the face of her sister's rage. "We can still do something. We have to at least try."

"Fine," Yang retorts, laughing bitterly. "Go on. Leave. I don't care."

Ruby flees the room after that, furiously blinking back tears. The first time her sister manages to look her in the eye since they came home, and it's to look at her with such disgust that Ruby just wants to sink into the floor. She shuts her door behind her and lets herself fall against it, sliding down to the floor and pulling her knees to her chest with a sob. The dull pain in her chest that's become a constant companion in the months following the Fall of Beacon spikes suddenly, and she's overcome with a coughing fit. She gasps for air weakly as it feels like a hand has seized her heart and lungs and squeezed them, trying to wring them out like a sponge.

She's breathless and lightheaded when the fit finally stops, but she scrubs a hand across her mouth and forces herself to her feet anyway. They've leaving in the morning. She needs to pack if she's going to be ready.

The next morning dawns bright and early, and Ruby shivers as she slips out of her pajamas and into her usual huntress clothes. The weight of her ammo belt and Crescent Rose at her hip is soothing, and though her chest feels tight with guilt and worry she finds herself breathing a sigh of relief. She slips out the front door easily, locking it behind her without a sound.

With one last glance behind her, Ruby squares her shoulders and prepares to head to the meeting spot they'd agreed on. She can feel a pair of eyes on her back as she walks, but she forces herself not to look over her shoulder at the window she knows that Yang is watching her from.

Her sister has already made her choice. That much is clear. Now it's time for Ruby to follow through on hers.

But, distancing herself from Yang doesn't relieve the constant guilt she feels at leaving her sister behind. The constant pangs in her chest—of hurt, of longing, of grief—don't go away no matter how far they walk, and the humid climate of Anima doesn't seem to help any. Breathing is more difficult than it should be, and Ruby finds herself out of breath more often than not. But the others are dealing with their own share of hardships, so Ruby refuses to let herself complain as they continue to press onward.

Sleep, too, is difficult. When she's not jolting awake from terrifying nightmares, she keeps finding herself jerked awake by fits of coughing that leave her exhausted and breathless. Other than the ever-present exhaustion from multiple nights of interrupted sleep, she doesn't really feel sick. It's probably nothing. Maybe something in the air just doesn't agree with her.

When they finally arrive in Haven and get a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest, Ruby expects to feel better, for her mysterious symptoms to clear up on their own, and she finds herself increasingly frustrated when they don't. Especially since the others have started to notice that something is wrong.

"That cough doesn't sound good," Jaune notes with a frown.

"Yeah," Ruby agrees breathlessly—because what else can she say? "I think it's just the mountain air. I'm sure it'll stop soon."

"You were coughing before we got here, though," Nora points out. Ren nods in agreement.

"Please try not to push yourself too hard," Professor Ozpin chimes in, green eyes bright with worry. "Please do let one of us know if you need to take a few days off to rest."

Ruby clears her throat, trying her best to hide her simmering irritation. "Really, guys. I'm fine," she insists with a reassuring smile. "Let's get back to training already."

But the cough doesn't go away. If anything, it gets worse, and Ruby finds herself sidelined more and more during practice, out of breath before any of the others, even Oscar, have even broken a sweat. It's increasingly frustrating, especially since there's no reason for her to be feeling this way.

And then comes the flowers.

She's awoken one night by an incredibly harsh coughing fit. She gasps and coughs, wheezing desperately for air and hoping that the fit will end soon, before she passes out from the lack of air. It feels like something is stuck in her throat, blocking her from taking any air in—but with a few more coughs, she can feel something loosening in her chest, and she feels something tumble into the hand she has cupped over her mouth.

The coughs finally subside, and she pulls her hand away from her face to reveal a yellow flower petal, crumpled and stained with a few specks of blood, sitting innocently in her palm. A sunflower petal, she notes absently.

It's not exactly the first time Ruby has coughed up flower petals—when she was first learning to use her semblance, she would occasionally choke on the rose petals accompanying her semblance if she forgot to keep her mouth shut. But this is different, feels different, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that she's fine.

After a few more bouts of coughing up flower petals—this time the sunflower petals are accompanied by gardenia and lavender—Ruby finally decides that it's time to tell someone. She goes to Professor Ozpin, because if anyone would know about the cause, it would be him. Unfortunately, the former headmaster seems to be just as clueless as she is.

"I'm sorry, Miss Rose, but I'm afraid I don't know what might be causing this." He sighs heavily. "I believe I heard about a similar case about two hundred years ago, but at the time the records were so sketchy that I can't tell you anything more."

Ruby slumps slightly in disappointment. "Thanks anyway, Professor," she replies, voice hoarse from the endless bouts of coughing.

"I will do my own research into the matter, and I will most certainly let you know if I find anything that could help," he promises her, a sympathetic look on his face. "In the meantime, I suggest you try not to overexert yourself."

"Yes, sir," she agrees reluctantly.

And so Ruby finds herself relegated to less strenuous tasks such as helping with the cooking and cleaning instead of training. She tries to rest and distract herself from her boredom by reading her comics, but none of it seems to help much. Her cough doesn't go away—and neither do the flowers.

If anything, her cough is worse, and the flowers and blood have only increased. She's now coughing up whole flowers instead of the occasional petal (and coughing up an entire sunflower has to count as one of the more painful experiences of her life). And Ozpin's research doesn't appear to be getting him anywhere. Ruby is starting to wonder if she should just hunker down and prepare to ride this out for who knows how long until she starts to feel better.

And then Yang is there.

The evening starts off ordinarily enough. Ruby bickers with Ren over the best way to cook the ramen they're making, Nora chops the vegetables while sneaking a bite from time to time, and Jaune sets the table—when suddenly, Oscar comes skidding into the kitchen, green eyes glowing faintly. "Ruby!" he announces abruptly. "There's something I need to talk to you about!"

She spins around immediately, narrowly avoiding smacking Ren in the face with one of her flailing arms. "Uh, sure, just give me a minute—"

"Ruby!" Qrow calls from the living room. "I'm back."

"Be right there!" she calls back, before turning back to Oscar. "Let me go see what Qrow wants. We can talk in a little bit, okay?"

Oscar nods hastily. "Ruby!" her uncle yells.

"I'm coming!" She grabs the tea set and scurries out of the kitchen.

She's babbling as she enters the living room—about what, she doesn't remember—but her train of though screeches to a halt when she looks up and sees Weiss—and her sister—standing behind Qrow. The tray slips from her hands and falls to the floor with a deafening crash, but Ruby doesn't even hear it. All she can do is gape in shock at her sister, standing there across from her like it hasn't been months since they've seen each other.

Yang steps forward, and Ruby flinches back, hands flying to her chest as a pang of guilt threatens to overwhelm her. She swallows hard past the lump in her throat and babbles out a stream of apologies, trying to find the right words to mend the rift between her sister and her.

And then Yang is hugging her, and Ruby is frozen in shock. "I love you," her sister murmurs, pulling Ruby in close.

For the first time in months, the weight on Ruby's chest finally seems to lighten. "I love you too!" she squeaks out, sobbing in relief as tears stream down her cheeks. The constant pressure in her chest suddenly dissipates, sending Ruby into a fit of coughing as her lungs expand fully for the first time in months.

"Ruby!" her sister shouts in alarm. "Are you okay?"

The coughs go away just as quickly as they started, and Ruby feels relieved to find that she can breathe easily now. Whatever was wrong with her before, with the coughing and the blood and the flowers, she has a feeling that it's gone now.

She smiles reassuringly at her sister, pulling her in for another hug. "I am now."

#rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long #strawberry sunrise #hanahaki disease #hurt/comfort #sickfic #fanfic #my writing #blood cw

8 notes · View notes

theemptyquarto · 4 years

Text

Abandoned WIP

This is a melancholy little entry that I stopped working on back in 2015, apparently, since Mary and John’s daughter is an “Amelia” rather than a “Rosie,” and Mary’s real name is “Angela” not “Rosamund” During the period in which I was writing it they announced, filmed, and released the film “Mr. Holmes” which deals with some similar subjects but which I did NOT rip off. I ripped off a Mitchell and Webb sketch:)

Age, eventually, makes mockeries of all of us. When I was in my sixties and seventies, I discovered that I did in fact have a heart. And a pancreas. And many joints, none of which seemed to want to work together properly anymore. And several other failing body parts that required me to take a dozen pills every single day of my life.

None of this happened to Sherlock. He remained more or less exactly as he’d always been, just craggier. He kept his hair, and when it changed color it started in elegant wings over his temples then became a flattering overall silver. Meanwhile I discovered that even once I gave up on blonde, I would have to keep coloring my hair, since it was an unattractive yellowish grey when left to its own devices.

Despite my array of minor ailments, our life together was… good. We split our time between the Sussex downs, where his bees were, and London, where our grandchildren were. He took cases, but only the most interesting ones. I wrote my novels, but only every three years, instead of the annual volumes I’d churned out in my prime. Sherlock wrote a practical handbook on beekeeping and was furious that nobody wished to buy it.

It was a snowy winter afternoon in Baker Street, and he’d just come in from the cold. He was flushed and excited to tell me all about what he’d been up to since he’d been gone for a week: a commonplace-seeming garroting that had led to the discovery of an active human-sacrifice cult with multiple sites across Europe. I vaguely considered putting it into a story but decided it was so wildly implausible that even my extremely patient readers wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you should have seen it, Mary!” he exclaimed, “There I was, tied to the altar below the statue of Czernobog, and the priest was saying the chant and holding the rope over my head, when all at once the door burst open and-“

He paused, then, and said, “Oh, hell. What’s his name? The detective inspector? Amelia’s boss? Black, muscular, gay?”

“Ted Gregson.”

“Yes. Right. Him.”

He didn’t continue on, but flung himself into chair and stared into the fireplace. I prodded, “So then what happened?”

“I believe something’s gone wrong with my mind, Mary.”

I rolled my eyes at that. For someone who was always as healthy as a horse he was a terrible hypochondriac.

“You had a senior moment. Anyway you never used to remember Greg’s name either… you may have some sort of block for DIs.”

“No. This is something different. And it’s been going on for a while.”

Sherlock was right. He mostly was. Like a lot of intelligent people, he’d been able to compensate for the earliest stages, but he was right. After that, the progression seemed terribly fast. We spent several months in a haze of scans and therapy, and he accumulated enough prescription bottles to rival my own collection. Some of them were highly experimental and provided by his brother’s network of mysterious scientists. None of them really seemed to do much.

Amelia, being the dear that she is, volunteered to take us in when it all started getting too much for me to handle by myself. But she had three young children and a husband to look after, a hugely busy career with the Met, plus far too many stairs for me to manage every day. Therefore I sold the house at Baker Street for an obscene amount of money to a city stockbroker, and we moved out to the downs for what I knew would be the last time.

I’ve spent my life moving on and leaving things behind me. I’d dropped the original version of myself with no real regrets. I’d quit my first two careers, both of which I’d been proud of and enjoyed. I’d managed to get through the death of a husband who I had loved so much that even thirty years later it still hurt to think of him. So it’s silly how many tears I shed over that dingy Georgian money pit.

But the cash I got for the place was very helpful. Despite the continuing success of the Jim Winston novels and the fact that Sherlock had softened up on taking dull cases for money as he aged, we weren’t exactly rich. Then, too, we had new expenses. I had to hire a nice young woman to help me look after the house, and a large young man to keep an eye on Sherlock in the evenings, since he tended to want to wander after dark.

Then I had to hire another nice young woman because Sherlock had deduced that the original one was unfaithful to her husband, and had of course done it to her face. Then another large young man since Sherlock, who took a while to experience any of the physical debility that comes with Alzheimer’s, got confused and shoulder-threw the first one across the lounge one evening. At a certain point I arranged for a local hippie couple to come by and look after the bees in exchange for the honey.

We carried on for a few years. He had his good days and his bad ones. On his good days he’d still consult, by email, since he had a rock-hard certainty that England couldn’t get by without him. I published “The Mountain of Fear,” which sold as well as any of my books but as always was savaged by the critics for popularist dreck.

I started work on my next novel and got about a quarter of the way through it. Then one day I realized that it was likely that it would be the last one I ever had time to write, and that after it was done, there would be no more Jim Winston stories. I could face not writing it, but I couldn’t face a world where John, even a fictionalized and imaginary John, wasn’t around, and so I put the MS in a drawer in my desk and turned the key. “Caught in transition from imagination to life” was the best epitaph I could have written for him, with my limited abilities.

We had fewer and fewer good days.

On a brilliant indian summer day, I went to London to have a new and complicated type of bone scan that couldn’t be done locally. This was mostly uneventful, although we incidentally discovered that I had finally shrunk to the point where I was less than five feet tall. The nurse said the radiologist would look over the films and be in touch in the next few weeks. I took Amelia to lunch and we talked about the grandchildren, mostly, and she promised to bring them out for a visit at the weekend. Then I took the train back home- I still drove, but didn’t care to do it in the city any more.

When I got back from the station, there was a long black town car parked on the gravel drive in front of our house. The driver, a lovely young woman and obviously a Secret Service agent, was leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette. She nodded politely to me as I passed by. I therefore was not surprised to see Sherlock’s brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea. He shared the Holmes tendency for turning up where he wasn’t expected.

Or wanted.

Like his brother, he was well-preserved physically, though in the case of Mycroft the adjective “mummified” always seemed more appropriate. He had to be nearly ninety but his eyes were as bright and judgmental as they ever had been. He nodded to me as Vithnya, the second housekeeper, helped me out of my coat.

“Mycroft.”

“Mary.”

We weren’t ever particularly friendly. He’d never trusted me, and had verbally disapproved of my relationship with Sherlock until it was so well-established that it had become a pointless gesture on his part. For my part, I despised the constant needling that was his preferred method of interaction with his younger brother. To the best of my knowledge he and Sherlock hadn’t met in person for nearly three years.

Even with all that, it was oddly relaxing to talk to him. We were both such skilled and professional liars that we never bothered trying it out with one another.

“How’s he done since I was out?” I asked Vithnya.

“Pretty well. He had a nice chat with Mr. Holmes – with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, that is - and now he’s out with his bees. But he was a little agitated this morning. He kept walking around looking for someone called Angela.”

I could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring in to me over the rim of his teacup. I smiled at the girl and said, “He was looking for me. It’s an old joke we used to have.”

She giggled, and I realized abruptly that she was relieved, that she’d worried I’d be hurt that my husband, in his confusion, wanted to see another woman. This was a thought that was so ridiculous on so many levels that I could have giggled myself.

Vithnya grinned, white teeth in her red lips, and said, “I don’t know about that. This Angela sounds like a most desperate character!”

“I was quite the firecracker when I was younger, my girl. Can you keep an eye on him while I chat with Mycroft, please?”

She poured me a cup of tea of my own and went off to do just that.

Mycroft said, “You don’t seem at all nervous of discovery now that Sherlock has lost what - minimal filters - he ever had.”

“I’m not.”

“No statute of limitations on murder.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was the one, after all, who had replaced my rather half-assed false identity with something that could stand up to any scrutiny.

“She won’t think about it for more than thirty seconds after leaving this room. I am a little old lady. In the mind of a twenty-two year old, not only am I obviously harmless now but it is inconceivable I ever would have been otherwise. You ought to consider hiring some of us on at MI-6. We’re practically invisible.”

“Perhaps I ought.”

I took a biscuit, damn my blood sugar, and dunked it into my tea.

“Did you and Sherlock have a nice chat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“We did,” he said, eventually, “For seventy-eight minutes. Not once in that period did he recognize me. I could tell he was making his best deductions. Sometimes he thought I was John Watson. Sometimes Greg Lestrade, sometimes Victor Trevor. I didn’t realize-”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That he had become so debilitated. That he was so far gone.”

I sighed.

“He’s dying, Mycroft. What did you think it would be like?”

He took another biscuit from the packet on the table and put it into his mouth. Chewed.

“I never thought that he would be the first to go. I always assumed that I wouldn’t be the one left standing. When he’s gone-”

He trailed off. But I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been my own. When Sherlock was gone there would be no one left with the same sort of mind that Mycroft had… except the departure had already happened, and he’d missed it.

I had some sympathetic pangs – for Mycroft Holmes, of all people – and I said, “He generally perks up a bit in the evenings. I’m happy to put you up, if you’d like. Perhaps you could… try again?”

The British Government responded as I should have expected. He rose, brushed nonexistent crumbs off his lapels, and took up his hat and umbrella.

“I think that my presence is of no help to him any longer, Mary. I expect that I will see you again. At least once.”

He actually bowed to me on his way out.

I finished my tea, and looked out of the window. Vithnya was sitting in the grass, folding a basket of laundry. Sherlock was sitting on the bench that looked out over the garden. Both of them seemed contented, at least as far as one could tell from that distance. The sun was at a deep angle, and so I picked up a blanket and left for the outdoors.

I was glad I had done, as it was starting to get chilly outside and he was in shirtsleeves. Had I married any other man but this one I would have thought that his indifference to the elements was a sign of his decay, but frankly he’d done the exact same thing when he was forty. “Just transport,” is the motto he maintained, in far worse weather than this.

At some point in his life someone, presumably his mother, drilled some basic forms of politeness into Sherlock Holmes. He was terrifyingly, frankly rude in ordinary conversation but when you handed him a cup of tea or tucked a blanket around his body you would inevitably receive a gracious, “Ah, thank you.” It’d be in the tone of a king addressing his subjects, but you’d get it. I got just that as I settled the afghan around his knees, and sat down next to him to look over the hives.

“I’m expecting John and Mary to turn up. Have you seen them?” he asked me.

When he’d first become ill, he’d asked me to always correct him when he had his lapses. I’d agreed, but, again, I was such a natural liar that it didn’t much trouble me to say now that, “I believe they’ll be along shortly.” Awful, I know, but sometimes I just wanted not to see him upset.

“Ah,” he replied.

A drone, a late survivor of the autumnal purges, buzzed up and landed on the blanket over his knee. He gently nudged it onto his hand and raised it to eye level before setting it down on the ground.

“I’m a bit worried,” he said, conversationally.

“About what?” I asked.

“Occasionally John’s wife lets me shag her. And I’m not sure that’s right.”

I blinked. Occasionally? Thirty-odd years, and I’m not going to go into details about our sex life but it was really very acceptable, and occasionally is what he remembered? And that I ‘let him’? But all I said was, “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t do that if John objected. So it’s all right.”

“Ah, good. You know Mary, then?”

“I do, yes.”

He squinted at me, which, Gawd-help-us, was still terribly cute.

“You’re… one of her relatives,” he said, hesitantly.

I smiled. “I am,” I said, “How did you know that?”

He grinned at me. No matter what he’d ever said or how much he’d griped about the unobservant nature of most people, I knew that he loved to explain his deductions.

“It’s the ears,” he said, setting the pads of his fingers on my chin and turning my face to the side, “Not quite as uniquely identifying as a fingerprint but with a strong genetic component. The pendulosity of the lobes, the position of the pinnae… clearly you and Mary are closely connected. You’re too old to be the younger sister, and the mother is dead, but..”

He took hold of my hand and looked at my fingers. “There’s other things. You and Mary both have a minor congenital deformity of the smallest finger. It angles slightly outward. Not enough to disable either of you, but distinctive, and…”

He turned my hands in his. I have nearly perfectly matched scars on my palms… on my right hand, the souvenir of a Caracas knife fight when I was twenty-seven. On my left, the souvenir of reaching into a sink filled with dishwater and one broken glass when I was forty.

And then he stopped, still staring at my hands, and said, “Oh. Oh Mary. How could I have forgotten you? I had you off by heart.”

I lifted a hand and stroked his grizzled chin.

“It’s fine,” I said, “You have me back.”

He just tangled his fingers in mine and stared.

“That’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “Did I give that to you?”

I looked at the amethyst on my right ring finger and said, “Yes. When we got married.”

“I remember that. You were beautiful in your dress.”

I laughed, unwittingly. “That was my first wedding. You and I just went to a registry office at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Really?”

“We did. There wasn’t much time to plan a wedding. The exact words of your proposal were, “If I have to be Sir Sherlock you can damn well be Lady Mary.” It was the day before you got your KCBE.”

“By God. What a rubbish proposal.”

I smiled.

“Unconventional, definitely. But I wouldn’t have had you any other way.”

#quarto's fics #Marylock #retirementlock #Major character death #it's john #and in this story it happened decades ago

10 notes · View notes

the-astro-ace · 3 years

Text

WIP Challenge

Rules: tell us the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them. Then tag five other writers.

I was tagged by @spiritofcamelot! Thank you, friendo!

*Stares at the 119 files on my harddrive that I consider “WIPs” - many having more than one fic in them* Um *Glances at my Gdrive that have even more* UM

For simplicity’s sake, I’m just going to do all the ones (not including ones for Merlin Bingo or other fests) that I’ve actively worked on since the new year lol

Disclaimer: While I hope to finish and post all of these at some point, some of them I’ve been working on for months to years now and are still nowhere close to being finished, and may very likely never get finished. So, if you want to take one of these ideas and write your own, just ask! 🥰

Also none of these have an official title picked out, so you all now get to see my wonderful WIP file names alsdkfjalsdkf

As for tags: I can never remember who of my friends actually likes these games, so if you want to do this - this is your invitation to say I tagged you!

Merwaine Tangled AU - What it says on the tin. Merwaine as a Tangled AU. Featuring Merlin as Rapunzel, Gwaine as Eugene, Aithusa as Pascal, and Sigan as Gothel. I really hope to finish this, but I’m still trying to work out the details of the ending. It’s 75% outlined, I just need to, you know, finish it

Lamia and Servant of Two Masters - After Gwaine remembers what he did under the Lamia, he feels horrible and guilty, and manages to convince himself that Merlin must hate him now. Merlin confronts Gwaine over why he’s been avoiding him, and reveals that if he were to be mad at Gwaine for being a jerk while enchanted, he’d be the biggest hypocrite - because he’s done the exact same thing

The Veil of Time Brain Vomit - Merlin goes missing. After fruitless days of searching, Gwaine is contacted by Freya, and learns that Merlin’s been dragged to an parallel dimension, and will need Gwaine’s help to get home. Freya sends Gwaine to this parallel world, and he finds himself in Camelot if Arthur had been killed during Sigan’s siege on Camelot, and now has to find Merlin and get him home

Time Travel Mess - 500 years post-canon, Merlin decides he’s fed up with Destiny and is going to go back and fix things. He finds his younger self, and is willing to go through any means necessary to keep the same mistakes from happening again. Basically: if bitter, angry, and more powerful S5 Merlin met S3 Merlin.

Hermit Merwaine - A fluffy oneshot lol. Merlin, as part of his magical study, goes to spend a couple months “alone” on a mountain (quotes because Aithusa is with him lmao). Gwaine comes to visit him anyway. Just the three of them having a nice night together after not seeing each other for a few weeks.

Merlin Brainwashed 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO - (Not actually a sequel to anything. I just have it titled that because it’s my second fic about Merlin getting brainwashed.) “Wyllt” wakes up with no memory. Morgana, the queen of Camelot, tells him that they are friends, and that he is one of her most powerful allies against their enemy, Arthur Pendragon. It makes sense. That is, until Wyllt starts talking to one of the captured enemies, Gwaine, who tells Wyllt that his real name is Merlin, and that he is actually one of Arthur Pendragon’s closest friends and allies.

Weird Sleeping Beauty AU I guess - Merlin is kidnapped, and is cursed to a slumber. LUCKILY it forces him to astral project. So he goes as a “ghost,” gets Gwaine’s attention, and Gwaine manages to rescue him! Yay! Except there’s one problem: they don’t know how to wake Merlin up. (Based on the WIP title, you all can probably guess what it is lol.)

Gwaine & Aithusa - Divergence right before S5 starts. Gwaine is captured by Morgana and taken to Ismere, and is tortured for information (and because Morgana’s angry and sees him as a good way to let out that anger). However, Aithusa, still traumatized after the Sarrum and only trusting Morgana, sees her doing this and his horrified at Morgana showing such cruelty. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds herself seeking out Gwaine to see if he really is so evil.

Merwaine and Injured Aithusa - Gwaine finds an injured Aithusa while on patrol. After a failed attempt to sneak medical supplies from the infirmary, Merlin finds out. And then Gwaine finds out Merlin and Aithusa already know each other. Cue shenanigans as the two of them try to secretly raise a baby dragon in the castle, and also fall in love while doing so 👀👀👀

HOPEFULLY MERWAINE ONESHOT - Merlin reveals his magic in front of Uther sometime late S3. Whoops? Arthur, Gwen, Morgana, and Elyan help him escape, so he goes to find Gwaine. This is supposed to just be he and Gwaine traveling and falling in love while literally waiting for Uther to kick the bucket so Merlin can go home alskdfjasdf

Elyan and Gwaine Confession - While imprisoned by Morgana and their hope fading fast, Elyan and Gwaine get to talking about regrets they have. And at the top, is that neither of them have confessed their feelings to the one they love (Elyan to Percival, and Gwaine to Merlin, respectively). They both promise each other that if they do get out, they’re going to tell the subject of their affections, and they’re going to make sure the other does

Forest Spirits and Knights - Gwaine gets injured by bandits, and flees into a forest that is supposedly haunted. But to his surprise, he is rescued by a knight living there, Lancelot, and is healed by the knight’s consort, a forest spirit named Merlin. Cue him falling for Merlin, feeling guilty about it because Merlin’s in a relationship with Lancelot, before learning that forest spirits aren’t monogamous after Merlin tries to kiss him alkdsfjlksdf

#My fic

2 notes · View notes

gryfon-spanish-werewolf · 4 years

Note

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?

15. What is the fanfic you’ve written that you’re most proud of?

16. What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for?

17. What fanfic tropes do you gravitate to writing for?

20. What feedback makes you the happiest to hear?

21. Is there an idea you’ve always wanted to write, but haven’t yet?

36. What fanfic of yours has the symbolism you’re proudest of?

39. What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

Fanfic Writer Asks

7) In terms of headcanons (which I wouldn’t say I make often) I think I’m most proud of how I unabashedly use magic in a lot of my stories. Elsa’s magic, Troll magic, Other-magic - if I think something is neat then I kind of just roll with it!

Elsa’s ice magic, in canon has a LOT of uses, but I like pushing the boundaries. Ice-GPS? Check. Icepack for that burn? Check (though who hasn’t xD). Troll magic used for time travel? Check. Troll magic used for Dream-traversal?? Check. Physical embodiment of a strong emotion via magic? Check. Physical, evil appearance of an emotion incarnate via ice magic and troll magic and the POWER OF LOVE? Where’s my BINGO sheet? Cuz check that too.

15) OOF wow, that’s a hard one. I hate to say it but it MIGHT be one that’s not published and is currently sitting on my GDrive >_>;; I’m really proud of my Frozen!StarWars crossover

But of the ones that are published? Either A Banisher’s Dilemma or Great Knight Annatorias, The Abysswalker. I got to be super nerdy and meta on the second one^^

16) I avoid writing smut, I’ve never really been game for it. I’m always amazed that other people can write it, but I never really want to. I also tend to avoid angst, especially if it’s for no other reason than JUST angst. It has it’s place, but I don’t like using it just to get a reaction. (Some of you are already pointing fingers at Spirit - I know I KNOW xD It was a one off, I swear!)

17) I immediately gravitate towards anything SOFT. I love slice of life, I love characters bonding with each other, I love when they have CONVERSATIONS, especially about hard things that they can work through together! I also love “Firsts’”! First meeting, first hug, first confession, first kiss, first hand-hold, first date, first anniversary, etc etc. I love confessions and conversations. On the flip side I really love established relationships? Whatever they are: familial, friends, romantic or marital. There’s something really nice about a a pair or a group already being together. I have no idea where that all fits under your standard trope lists, but those are mine!

20) I absolutely scream if anyone ever quotes my stuff back to me saying stuff like “I really liked this line/paragraph/part because...” and then says why. I lose my mind. I also love when people say “This made me feel X” because I’m just ever so curious about how writing affects people!

Edit bc I forgot: I’ve had one (1) person make me fan art once as “feedback” for a story and I was on cloud 9 for like, shit, a month?? I still think about that person. I legit hope they are living their best life.

21) I wouldn’t say I “always” wanted to write this since I’m WAY too impatient to wait on ideas most of the time BUT I have had this au sitting in my WIPs folder for nearly 6 YEARS and it’s about how the King and Queen of Arendelle are secretly part of a vampire hunting guild. They kill a vampire that snuck into the castle one night but not before it infects their daughter and heir to the throne, Elsa (who’s like, 6 or 8). Even though they’re oathbound to kill vampires, they can’t kill their daughter. The castle is closed similar to post-Accident Frozen 1.

Jumping to modern times, Anna is a history student exploring the mountains of Norway with her classmate, Hans, and a guide, Kristoff, and they are heading for the ruins of Arendelle castle for a research project. Rumors say that despite wars, invasions, thrill seekers, and treasure hunters, a lot of people that go into that foggy area of the fjord waters and forest end up lost and never found. The few that make it out tell tales of strange chills and the feeling of eyes at their backs. Locals know that the headstones of the last living Royals (who died at sea) are still tended to, though no one knows by whom. Anna gets separated from the group and encounters a sleeping Elsa in the castle before sundown. Afraid for the stranger’s safety (it’s winter, it’s cold, and it’s going to be night soon), Anna attempts to wake Elsa, to no avail. Realizing she’s sort of stuck herself, Anna builds a fire and awaits morning (and her own rescue), unknowing that in the last rays of sunlight her “companion” is about to wake. For the worse.

Unrelated to fanfic, I HAVE always wanted to write a story about a girl named Rain (as such for her birth during a terrible storm) that misfortune is heaped upon by the bucketful, so much so that everyone believes she’s cursed, except for her tutor. I want her name have a double meaning that she both slumps and shines under, since rain may bring destruction, but also growth and healing.

36) A Banisher’s Dilemma, hands down. I did SO MUCH RESEARCH for that fic AND I was in a Bible New Testament class at the same time, so I just SHOVED a whole bunch of Christian history, themes, imagery, and references in there. It’s not the only symbolism however, as I mixed plenty of other global and cultural references in there as well. Hard not to, since Anna is literally jet-setting to a new location nearly every chapter.

39) Surprising maybe no one: light humor! My writing is often funny, mostly because I like to make myself laugh :D If I’m not having fun, than what’s the point!? Most often it’s shown off in my one shots or short fiction, but even re-reading some of my longer chapter fics still has me laughing at the same jokes I wrote many years ago.

If not humor than portraying strong emotions. I’ve received too many (generous and loving <3) comments about how pinpoint accurate or visceral my portrayal of joy or sorrow, grief or fear, or love and happiness are to deny it. And that’s much less of a boast and more a humble acknowledgement of people who have written very thoughtful responses to my work, and it would be irresponsible to imply that their words over the years were false in any way.

Thanks for the ask! These are a lot of really good questions!

#anon ask #fanfic ask #also did they change the way asks can be sent/formatted?#i swear I've never seen an ask stacked like that xD #great questions tho like I said #A Banisher's Dilemma #Great Knight Annatorias The Abysswalker #Spirit #The Darkness Within #unnamed Vampire!au #Frozen!StarWars crossover #So You Can Always Find Me #as for the humor? MOST of my little short stories have humor and they are all on Ao3 and FF.net

6 notes · View notes

gaslightgallows · 4 years

Text

First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl!

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron)

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.

#gaslight blogs about fic #first line meme #good omens #mcu #space vikings #star trek deep space nine #crimson peak #the goblin emperor #tron

8 notes · View notes

writerwrites · 4 years

Text

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Introduction: October 2016

--- BANNER SCIENCE TECHNOLOGIES (BST); MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

“Anything? Anything at all? Bueller?” Rosemarie looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to spot some sort of subtle difference in her appearance. Though she had been searching for a job in her field for months, the ‘spooky’ elevator music chirping through the bathroom was an indication that she was just shy of that November 1st tuition payment start up. Her May graduation felt like a distant memory and all the years of hard work and applications to various schools, and even scholarships for being gifted and a minority hardly made a dent in the mountain of debt that came with attaining a doctoral degree. So, the prodigy looked, hoping for even a crinkle in the corner of your twenty-two year old eyes or a crease in her forehead. A little guilty knot formed in her stomach, as she thought no one ever wanted to ‘grow up’ faster than she did.

Rosemarie had been an intern for Stark Industries during her undergrad and worked a part-time research position for Stark while she looked for the right fit. It had been the CEO and his wife, Pepper, who had tipped you off about Dr. Banner’s small new company, Banner Science Technologies. No amount of ass kissing or overtime seemed to get the young woman a chat with Tony Stark, who was providing significant financial support to his friend and her boss’ endeavor, and she had all but given up until three weeks ago. That fateful email felt more like an unexpected termination. The fear of going ‘upstairs’ for that meeting amused Tony, he’d told her so much when he cackled that he had watched her self-talking on the journey up.

Now at BST, Rosemarie was leading a medical research team that rivaled Elon Musk and every major university in neuroscience. But there she was, leaning into the mirror on Day One, wishing she felt like she knew what she was doing, like she didn’t look like a dork in your square black rimmed glasses, or that she would look older than she was because she wanted to be taken seriously. The young doctor hadn’t realized that her accomplishments had already done that for her because almost no one ever blew through a public education, let alone Yale, like she had. The emotions tied to repeated social rejection; however, began to bubble in her chest like poison before her badge glimmered on her hip and snapped her out of the trance.

Oddly, in that interview for BST, Banner didn’t ask the doctor about her research. He asked Rosemarie about her mental health, how she balanced work and life, and what her definition of world peace was. It had somehow never occurred to her that both Banner and Stark shared the unnatural gift of intellect since they were young too and that, at least to some degree, could relate to her experiences. There was a steady and natural intimidation that came with working for an Avenger like Bruce, but seeing the rest of them in passing at the lab in Stark Industry’s famous tower made the young woman slowly catch glimpses of their humanity, taking off the rose colored glasses placed on every stranger’s face by the media’s interpretation of them. Nevertheless, Rosemarie was a nobody, a lab rat, scientist, doctor, dork, and perpetually invisible to everyone at work. In fact, she had been her whole life, special but not special enough to warrant connecting with on a personal level. She told herself you’ll learn to appreciate the anonymity, but after being an academic shining star in college and spending a half a year looking for a job in the field, any semblance of confidence left in her small frame had certainly faltered.

Before Rosemarie could hit the ‘wallow in self pity’ button on her emotional circuit board, the bathroom door opened. Quickly straightening up and without looking at who came, she turned on the water to wash her hands and only upon reaching for the air dryer did she realize that the woman was the curvy redhead Avenger known for her skills in espionage, linguistics, weaponry, and combat; Black Widow. Rosemarie blinked, making a mental note to not call her that if she managed to speak at all. She looked at the young doctor curiously, her eyebrows slowly drawing together in confusion. “Are you really going to the party dressed up as Bruce? We try not to do ‘the Avengers’ at this thing every year.”

Whether it was from Agent Romanoff’s use of air quotes or the fact that she was speaking to a person that saw themselves as invisible, Rosemarie’s mouth bobbed open and closed, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Party? Bruce?” Please, Rosemarie, save yourself from chronic rambling, she mentally monologued, only showing she was in her head through the pursing of her lips and a fleeting nod of acknowledgement; both of which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the spy.

“Bruce really forgot to invite his top dog? Typical. I swear I told him three times this week alone.” She walked around toward Rosemarie with speed and grace. Her gaze was analytical of the body in front of her, despite the majority of it being tucked underneath a pristine new lab coat, as she kept talking, “The annual Halloween costume party is tonight and you and the other two department leads…” she waved her hand when she realized she’d forgotten their names. “Anyways, it’s a party Tony throws every year and it’s always been Stark Industries, Rand Corp., and some other companies in Stark’s pocket that get all the big faces together for a few drinks, laughs, and a good time. Banner Sci. Tech. has Tony at the table and Bruce in bright lights. You’ve got to be there,” Just as a protest was about to pass the girl’s lips a finger went to them, “No excuses, Rosemarie. Consider it a part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ clause on your employment agreement.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, but there the lab rat stood, utterly dumbfounded. A new question was on her mind: What could she possibly add to a conversation with a bunch of brilliant wealthy CEOs and superheroes? “Soooo, naturally, the people that are the glue of this place should come and rub shoulders. You know, show ‘em why you’re so fantastic. Get to know the people your tech will likely be used by, little like that.”

“But, I’m… me?” The words were quiet, disjointed, and felt like you had more confidence giving your first valedictorian speech to a crowd of Seniors that had bullied you for walking with them at the age of twelve.

“Exactly, Dr. Smarypants. You’re you, which is why we’re going to mine and getting you some costume that doesn’t make you the laughing stock of introductions. How old are you, anyway?” Natasha opened the bathroom door and the doctor walked out feeling like she was about to get the Princess Diaries treatment with some sort of Nightmare on Elm Street plot twist.

“I turned twenty-two last February.” The answer was offered up in the tone of an apology but she disregarded the awkward timbre and stuck to the facts, making Rosemarie’s shoulders relax just a little.

“Well thank God for that,” The Avenger’s laugh echoed through the hall. “I was half worried you wouldn’t be able to drink and then you’d be both bored and silent at the party.”

With a finger up she skipped over to the main lab’s window where Bruce was squinting at four screens and banging on a tablet. When he finally looked over at the redhead, everyone in the vicinity noticed his expression quickly melting, something Rosemarie had certainly never seen. Natasha pointed to her watch, to Rosemarie, and gestured little walking legs with her fingers. Dr. Banner acknowledged her with what looked like a mouthed ‘I love you’ but before Rosemarie could even smile at the site he offered her an apologetic nod, unnerving her once more. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was dragging her out of the office, arm in arm, and out of midtown Manhattan.

--- BRUCE AND NATASHA’S LIMESTONE; UPPER EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN, NY ---

Despite asking a few times over what she had in store, Nat, as she asked to be called, gave her little to go on. Sitting on a bench at the foot of her boss’ California King bed, she watched Natasha rummaging through the walk-in closet. “Clint’s daughter dragged me to Disney a few months back. She insisted we go ‘Disneybounding’ and I have more wigs than I’ll ever need.” She was processing her choices and more than once Rosemarie picked up something that flew out of the walk-in closet at her head. A shimmering ruby red dress landed to the left and her mouth fell open in horror at the plunging neckline and thigh extra-high slit. Nat came out with a few things on her arm and laughed at the look of pure exasperation, “Don’t worry, babe, that’s mine… and this,” She plopped the garments into her victim’s arms, “Is your get up. There’s a bathroom down the hall, the only door on the left. I’ll be over in a bit to help with your makeup.”

Rosemarie wasn’t sure if she should take offense to the fact that it wasn’t a question, but remained too intimidated to say anything. Once in the bathroom with her back to the mirror she took off her white lab coat and untucked the seafoam green tie-neck satin blouse and skinny black slacks. As she folded the discarded clothes, she sighed at how proud of the outfit she’d been just this morning and how it now felt like a bland choice by the time she saw half of the spy’s closet. Like the pang of emotions set off a bomb, Rosemarie was self-talking about how nice Nat was being to her and to see this as a professional opportunity rather than a terrifying obligation. The mental chatter was enough to get her into the outfit which, surprisingly, required no sucking in, tucking, or wiggling to get on. It wasn’t until she turned to the mirror that Rosemarie registered what ‘Disney bounding’ was, immediately placing the character the ensemble was meant to resemble.

The high-waisted yellow shorts with their two panels of brassy buttons hugged Rosemarie's hips and made her see the curves of a defined hourglass frame for the first time in clothing other than yoga pants. The off the shoulder royal blue crop top had enough draping and a built-in bra to make her comfortable about wearing this around other professionals, just the tiniest hint of the tan skin of her upper stomach when she raised her hands or posed, neither of which she planned to do tonight. The red bow against black hair was the perfect final touch to make it obvious the outfit was a modern Snow White. Before Rosemarie could overanalyze going to a work event in the getup, there was a rhythmic knock on the door and, even though she thought she’d locked it, Nat was walking in, items in hand. At first she whistled, taking Rosemarie’s hand in hers and spinning her around. Nat smiled when she saw the heat rise up the bashful doctor’s neck and color flooded her cheeks. “I have one last thing.”

Until Nat pulled black heels from behind her back Rosemarie hadn’t even noticed Natasha had changed, but when she did her mouth went dry. “You look…” With a knowing smirk, she put her hands on Rosemarie’s hips and spun her back toward the mirror, her chest pressed to the doctor’s back as she studied her features, the pouted lips and high cheekbones, the long eyelashes underneath the ridiculously hipster glasses. Rosemarie felt naked in front of her, no one having ever really looked at her that way before and her body naturally reacted with a shiver that caused her hips to roll back into her host. As Rosemarie was about to apologize, Nat simply smiled and shook her head no, getting to work on their makeup with both expertise and speed.

Rosemarie thought she had gotten away with the embarrassing and obvious moment of unrequited attraction when the Avenger popped the lipstick into a wristlet purse that looked like an apple. Then she leaned in like a panther pouncing on her prey and, somehow, the doctor didn’t cower back. Nat was intrigued by that, a little curve found its way to the corner of her crimson lips, two shades darker and glossed compared to Rosemarie’s, “Let’s have a good time tonight, Snow. Something tells me it’s going to get very interesting.” She bit her lip, noticing that Rosemarie was holding your breath and assumed that it was a combination of her looking great and being the girlfriend of the girl’s boss, she wasn’t wrong. Nat still dipped down between her legs and slipped the heels onto the young woman’s feet, letting her fingertips tickle her ankle before they were holding hands and heading to the party.

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

The closer they got to Tony Stark’s ‘Tower’ the more Rosemarie wanted the stroke of midnight to hit so she could get out of dodge. Nat worried, even if she hid it well. She’d playfully asked her a few casual questions about her time at Yale, what the parties were like, and what the doctor liked to do for fun. She quickly and accurately surmised that the twenty two year old had been in love once and upon some bad sex and the dropping of the ‘L’ word, she’d been dropped like a fly. The pity never reached Natasha’s face, but it was there. It reminded her of more than one person that would be at the Tower tonight, and as she cooed compliments to the anxious new girl in town, she hoped that offering the invitation was the right thing. Rosemarie nodded and blushed, hoping accepting was the right choice too, though she didn’t hide it well at all.

As Natasha entertained that young woman with pleasant little stories about how harmless everyone was, she couldn’t help but think that, with the tension of the Sokovia Accords, you might not be up for the mental olympics the attendees would undoubtedly be going through. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Rosemarie didn’t notice how worried Nat was and instead tried to calm herself down in the bustling room. Her matte dusty rose lips pressed into a closed mouth smile as she tried to remember little details about the people in front of her, people that she had only heard about on television or seen through a lab window. “Here we go,” Nat spoke with surprising pep and with a sigh, Rosemarie followed. She was glad Natasha let her walk down the stairs behind her as the crowd funneled in both in front and behind them. You can do this. You’re smart, a good person, you can do this. This is totally normal. Just smile and nod, fake it to the bar, fake it ‘til you make it. The doctor’s gaze brushed across the room after Natasha moved away toward Bruce. Immediately Rosemarie froze, a few heads that had turned to greet Nat now turned toward her. Well, shit.

CHAPTER 1

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes

#bucky x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic: bucky barnes #fic: steve rogers #writer: writerwrites #bucky barnes x reader

7 notes · View notes

statistical-improbabilities · 4 years

Text

OCtober Day 6: Luxury

I’ve elected not to post days 4 and 5, on account of day 4 needing much more editing and day 5 being a little too personal to share, so here’s day 6 from the backlog - thanks again to @oc-growth-and-development!

This scene from one of my current wips is set in the kingdom of Griis-re-Soel, where the cities are built inside mountains and aesthetic is the hot commodity. Wriit is the new heir to the kingdom, after his twin sister’s mysterious murder only months before, and suffice it to say nobody is pleased about that. It’s a Griis custom to remain silent while in mourning, as a way to honor the dead, but Wriit has refused to speak for a little longer than everyone expected. Should make for a fun birthday party with the court, right?

Less than two months before, the palace had been void of its usual vibrancy, with empty halls and not a single word spoken in them. But as Wriit strode through the double doors to the amethyst ballroom on the tail of his parents, he was very nearly caught off guard by the life of luxury that had been breathed back into the court.

Sheer draperies of every color hung from the walls in sweeping loops, perfumed with blooms exported from somewhere far from the Ptaan mountains range. Glimmering jewels flashed from the ears, throats, and wrists of every noble present, and their contemptuous laughter spiraled up through the room as though everyone here was in on some grand joke. Wriit wasn’t laughing.

For the first time in his life, he celebrated his birthday alone.

Only months before, Brien had been found dead in her room, slumped over her writing desk as though she’d merely fallen asleep. The fine ink she’d been using had splattered all over her latest manuscript, and they hadn’t been able to scrub it from her fingers. They were still stained dark when they encased her body in amber and buried her. The Crowns and nearly everyone else in the palace had taken on a month of mourning silence, shedding their jewels and smooth words for plainness and quiet, but that month had come and gone and now it was as if nothing had changed. Except for Wriit.

Crown Taarh had been furious, the first time he’d asked him a question aloud and Wriit had merely looked at him, but Crown Siel had put a hand over her husband’s before his anger could take shape inside his mouth. “Give him time,” she’d said, directing a calculated, knowing smile at Wriit. “She may have been our heir, but she was his twin. And he is our new heir. Certainly, it must be… a lot to take in.”

That had been two months ago. Now the palace seemed fully ready to begin celebrating again, to celebrate an occasion that should have been shared. When Wriit entered the ballroom behind the Crowns, everyone present fell nearly as silent as him at the sight of him standing there alone where his sister should have stood beside him, dressed in simple black rather than the colors and bright gemstones he’d favored before Brien’s death. Wriit lifted his chin and gazed straight ahead, boring a hole into the back of his father’s head until his mother directed the musicians to play again, and then the three of them took their place on the three thrones at one end of the room.

Three, not four. Wriit’s throne was the missing one—he now took Brien’s place as favored heir. This did not slip his mind as he sat, though he did not dare appear hesitant about it.

“Sit up straight,” Siel hissed, though her face didn’t change from its pleasant expression. “You are still a Crown Jewel. Act like it.” Wriit glanced sideways at her, sinking even lower in his seat for just a moment before straightening up. A small and petty revenge was all he could manage right then, but it did the trick. His mother closed her eyes briefly, then turned away to speak with Taarh.

It wasn’t long before his parents directed him out to converse with the crowd, though if they’d gotten a glimpse of the look in his eyes, they might have thought twice about it. Wriit drifted from group to group, each clearing a space for him in their little circles, but for all purposes besides formalities he was ignored. He never said a word, never contributed to any conversation but to listen, and the next time someone turned to him, he was often halfway across the room. Feeling less than productive, he returned to his throne before long.

The look the Crowns gave him when he did was less than pleased. Taarh repeatedly glanced between the dancers at the center of the room and his son, clearly intending for Wriit to pursue a partner or several while the music played, but Wriit very pointedly looked in the opposite direction. If he’d been wearing his usual array of gemstones, he might have fussed with them; because he wasn’t, he loosened a thread from the cuff of his sleeve and tugged lightly on that. A servant discreetly came up behind the throne and snipped the loose thread from his sleeve with scissors, and Wriit sighed and slumped back in his seat. He didn’t look at either Crown, altogether content to ignore the obligations of a Crown Jewel on his twentieth birthday.

After about an hour of cycles like this, of pointless conversations in which Wriit did not participate and efforts to ignore the party as a whole, Crown Siel stood, calling the room to silence again. Wriit noted bitterly that only when everyone else was silent did his own silence blend in. It was a mere three months after his sister’s death, though, so it wasn’t entirely amiss.

Siel spoke grandly as she always did, somehow balancing the tact of Brien’s absence with a call for celebration, and after about two words, Wriit tuned her out. He knew what she was saying; he’d already been forced to pay attention during the rehearsal. A Crown Jewel’s twentieth birthday was also the beginning of the Gliare ceremony, where the Crowns’ heir would court one suitor for every month of the year, and propose marriage to their choice of the twelve when the year was through. None of these suitors had been chosen for Wriit; these men and women had all been selected in hopes of marrying his sister. For convenience’s sake, the Crowns had elected not to postpone the ceremony for the sake of tradition. What luck, they said, that Wriit and Brien felt similar attractions. A blessing from Rhii, god of passion, they said. Wriit would have said that it was anything but a blessing, but he could not speak against it. Not when it was already decided.

His father prodded his elbow, hanging over the armrest of his throne, and motioned for Wriit to stand. He hadn’t been listening, and getting to his feet would have looked hasty were it not for the impression of dissociative grief that he still exuded. The first suitor stepped forward and bowed. A man taller than Wriit, but with little muscle and three freckles near the corner of his left eye. His deep red clothing was expertly tailored, billowing around his lean frame and matching perfectly the three garnets embedded into his forehead, signifying his alignment to Liis, goddess of wrath. The men of House Trua had aligned with wrath for the last three generations.

Wriit let out a pained breath, but gave a short bow in response, then descended to take his hand and begin an obligatory dance. The man was a decent dancer, and even if he stumbled, his sense of rhythm led him to pick up the steps where he left off. The rest of the court began to dance around them, and the suitor spoke.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness, that you must endure this alone. If I may overstep, it appears as though we both agree that it would have been better had your sister been in your place today.”

You may not, thought Wriit, but he said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the steps of their dance. Unfortunately, this particular suitor was a talkative one.

“I must admit, I am curious. Your sister was so often in the public eye, we do not know much about you.”

A flick of the wrist, three delicate steps to the right.

“And I am exceptionally curious about why you remain silent when the traditional month of mourning has lifted.”

A half-turn pivot to the left, and a return to the first position. Wriit gritted his teeth, but did not speak.

“Even the Crowns have returned to opulence. It’s been three months. Surely, you mustn’t love your—”

Breathing perhaps a bit more harshly than he had before, Wriit caught the suitor’s wrist in his hand, and held it in place. They stood frozen until the music came to an end, at which point Wriit threw his hand down and turned on his heel to stalk out. The suitor cried after him to wait with a meaningless apology, but Wriit did not look back.

The hallways darkened as soon as he exited the luxury of the amethyst ballroom. Only silence crept out from behind the door as the court realized that the heir to the throne had walked out on them. He could hear a servant rushing after him, no doubt to bring him back to his sister’s throne where his father would berate him and his mother would smile that knowing smile of hers. Wriit slipped into a side passage and before the servant could find him, he vanished into the bowels of the palace.

#oc-tober #my writing #original character #my ocs #wriit-am-soel

1 note · View note

javistg · 5 years

Text

Snapshot 8

Canon compliant, GBT snippets of every day life.

Everlark. The first summer after the war.

Camp Nano has officially begun!

I’m supposed to be writing new chapters for my WIPs, --and I am-- but I couldn’t resist the temptation to sneak one of these little pieces into the mix.

As some of you know, these snapshots are supposed to be 1,000 words or less, but this little story has been sitting in my drafts folder for years, so I guess you can understand why I was incapable of keeping it short.

Alright, enough introduction! Hope you enjoy.

Looking for the rest of the collection?

Snapshot 1, Snapshot 2, Snapshot 3, Snapshot 4, Snapshot 5, Snapshot 6, Snapshot 7.

The Hunting Partner

The sun was high up in the sky when Katniss pushed her front door open. It was a lovely day with clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight. A gentle breeze came down from the mountains keeping the sticky summer heat at bay.

Filling her lungs with the sweet smell of the gardenias she had planted along the veranda, Katniss smiled. It was a little late to go hunting, but the world outside seemed so inviting that she still wanted to go out for a walk.

She was halfway down the street that crossed the Victors’ Village when she saw Peeta. He was sitting on a bench with his legs stretched out in front of him. A contented smile played on his lips as he slowly flipped the pages of the book he held in his hands.

Katniss stopped in front of him, bouncing a little in place to release some of her new found energy. “Hi!”

Peeta looked up. As soon as he saw her, his eyes lit up. “Hey! Going hunting?”

Katniss shook her head. “It’s too late. I’m just going out for a walk.” Tilting her head towards the woods, she asked, “Wanna come?”

Peeta closed the book with a loud snap and stood up. “Sure! Do I need to bring anything?”

“Nope.” Katniss patted the hunting bag she carried over her shoulder. “I’ve got plenty of goodies right here. We can share.”

“OK.” Waving the book in his hand, he said, “I’ll just drop this off on my porch, and we’ll go.”

A moment later, they were on their way.

An easy silence fell over the pair as they crossed the gates leading out of Victors’ Village and turned onto the unpaved road that took them to the edge of the woods. It was a path they often followed --one they took every Sunday after having brunch with Haymitch and Thom and a few of their other neighbors—and the familiarity and peacefulness of their surroundings comforted them like a soothing balm.

When they reached a fork on the road, Katniss stopped. Pointing to the trail leading to the right, she asked, “Do you mind if we go this way?”

Peeta followed the direction of her finger. They usually kept to the pathway on the left, the one that circled the outline of the woods, but he knew Katniss went deeper when she was on her own, and he trusted her to know the way back. “No. Lead the way.”

Almost as soon as they began walking, the vegetation became thicker. Tall, majestic trees grew closer together, bringing shade and a welcome relief from the warm sun above.

Katniss quickened her pace. Peeta easily followed.

After a few twists and turns, he noticed a change in incline. Looking up ahead, he saw that the narrow path turned upwards leading up a hill.

After climbing for a few minutes, the pair reached a rock ledge overlooking a valley. The smooth, flat boulder was surrounded by a thicket of berry bushes which kept it hidden from prying eyes.

Katniss stopped and, for the first time since they’d started walking, Peeta noticed her shallow, rapid breaths.

Worried, he placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “You OK?”

Katniss nodded. She lifted her hunting bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground, right beneath the rock. “Want to sit down?”

“Yeah.” Peeta walked around the rock formation and waited for Katniss to sit before joining her.

As her breathing slowed down, Katniss folded her legs, pressing them to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. She dropped her chin on her knees and stared at the valley down below.

It’d been a long time since she’d been there. Now that Gale was gone, it didn’t make much sense to go to their meeting spot anymore. She didn’t understand the impulse which had driven her out there that morning, --she certainly hadn’t been planning on taking that route when she’d first set out-- but something had snapped inside of her on that fork on the road; an inexplicable need to reconnect with this place and share it with Peeta.

It was a bit odd, being there with him, --his solid, sturdy presence, the sound of his breathing, his enticing scent were so unlike Gale’s-- but he didn’t feel like an intruder. Ever since they’d started going on their Sunday walks, the woods had become an extension of the life they shared together. One more routine they had created; one more hurdle they overcame as a team.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was looking away from her. A small smile turned his lips as he took in the beauty of the valley below with its meandering river and lush clusters of bushes, wildflowers, and trees.

Hunting was something she did alone, but she liked sharing the beauty of the natural world with him. She loved seeing it through his eyes. The way he captured the essence of the places they visited in his paintings boggled her, and she couldn’t wait for the day when she felt strong enough to take him to her father’s lake.

Her mind flew back to the little cement building by the water’s edge, and the last time she’d been there. Unbidden, a dark cloud wrapped around her heart.

Her life had been so disjointed then. The world had been at war, Peeta had been a prisoner of his ghosts, and Gale…

Gale had been angry —angry and hurt.

She remembered trying to appease him by kissing him during their visit to her home but, as usual, it hadn’t been enough. Once again, she had failed, and that gaping wound that existed between them --that chasm that had made it impossible for her arguments to reach him in District 2, and in Bette’s lab-- had only grown.

They had been friends, the best of friends, the kind of friends who shared everything they had but, somewhere down the corridors of District 13, she had taken a wrong turn, and she had lost him.

The boy who had once shared this very spot with her had finally found the appreciation and approval he sought in Coin’s command room. It was really no wonder he had given free rein to his darkest instincts. Blinded by his anger, Gale had simply searched for what he thought was the light.

Overcome by sadness, Katniss tightened her hold on her legs and let out a shaky sigh. It seemed impossible that this bright, beautiful day could turn gloomy at the drop of a hat.

Peeta’s soft voice broke through her fog. “You miss him.”

Katniss closed her eyes, cradling Peeta’s words against her chest. They weren’t a question or an accusation, just a statement of fact and, as such, she acknowledged them.

Pressing her cheek to her knees, she turned to face him. “How can you tell?”

Peeta shrugged. “It’s written all over you.”

Katniss looked away, feeling small and weak. Peeta was right. As much as she hated some of the things Gale had done, she still missed him. She missed his laughter and his warmth. She missed the simplicity of the lives they’d once shared.

Next to her, she felt Peeta shift. Suddenly afraid that he was going to leave, she turned towards him. “I’m sorry,” she apologized in a panicked whisper.

Peeta leaned closer to her –a sure sign that he wasn’t going anywhere. His bright blue eyes found hers, and she held on to his gaze. There was no animosity there, no recrimination, just acceptance.

“Don’t be sorry,” Peeta said. “Gale is this huge part of you, Katniss. I’m actually surprised that…” Cutting his words short, Peeta pressed his lips together and shook his head. With a soft huff, he turned away from her.

Katniss let go of her legs and turned to face Peeta. They’d had all sorts of conversations over the past few months but, for some reason, they’d hardly even mentioned Gale.

It wasn’t surprising, not really, her hunting partner had always been a thorny subject between them. She hadn’t been strong enough talk about Gale’s actions during the war with anyone but Dr. Aurelius but, sitting there, –on that ancient ledge where she’d spent so many happy hours-- she couldn’t escape the notion that, maybe, that was why she’d brought Peeta on this walk.

Reaching out to touch his shoulder, Katniss pressed, “You’re surprised that what?”

Peeta let out a long breath. His head dropped, and his shoulders slumped forward following the motion. His face was like a clean slate, devoid of any discernible emotion when he looked back up at her. “I’m surprised he isn’t here.”

“He has that big job in Two,” she reminded him.

Peeta chuckled at her weak excuse, “Yeah, I know, but… He hasn’t even visited.”

Katniss shrugged. “He’s busy.”

“Busy?” Peeta shook his head, unconvinced. “No, Katniss, that’s not it. You’re here. He’s not. Something must have happened between you two, I just don’t know what.”

And there it was, the moment when she’d finally have to come clean --when she’d have to fill him in in all the sordid little details of the horrible avalanche she hadn’t been able to stop.

Bracing herself for what was to come, Katniss filled her lungs with the familiar scent of green moss and damp earth which surrounded her and gathered her courage.

“You’re right.” She nodded, slowly acknowledging Peeta’s words. “I do miss him. I miss my hunting partner, my friend. I miss the boy who would sit with me on this rock to share a joke and a laugh. I miss divvying up our haul at the end of a long day. I miss knowing our families would be waiting for us on the other side of the fence.”

Straightening her back, she found Peeta’s eyes –they were still and steady as he hung to her words. “But I don’t miss all of him. I don’t miss his possessiveness and jealousy, or the way he made assumptions when I came back from my first Game. And I definitely don’t miss the angry Capitol hater who only dealt in absolutes and didn’t care for other points of view.

“Sometimes, when I’m having a bad day, I miss the brave fighter who raided the Capitol with us, our brother in arms,” she admitted, her voice hardening under the weight of her disappointment, “but I don’t miss the Mockingjay’s fan; or the overeager soldier who followed Coin’s instructions blindly.” Overwhelmed by the anger boiling within her, Katniss looked away.

Peeta, who had been momentarily shocked into silence by sadness and confusion, found his voice. “What instructions, Katniss? What did he do?”

Katniss sighed, the words were there, but she wasn’t ready to say them, not yet. So, she leaned back, lying flat over the cold, smooth rock. A canopy of bright green leaves hung from the branches up above, shielding her face from the glare of the midday sun and creating a kind of cocoon where she felt safe from harm.

In a soft, wistful whisper, she began. “Have I ever told you how Gale and I met?”

Curious, Peeta laid down next to her, propping himself up on his arm to look at her. “How did you two meet?”

“It was out here in the woods. I was still twelve, and --the first time we spoke-- he threatened me.”

“What?” Peeta blurted out, “You were a teeny little thing! Why would he do that?”

Katniss’s eyes twinkled in amusement at the shock on his face. “He didn’t mean anything by it, he just thought I was about to steal his rabbits, and he wanted to scare me straight.”

Softly, as if trying to keep her memories just between them, Katniss told Peeta about the tenuous alliance she had first established with Gale. She talked about their first trades, explained how they had eventually learned to trust each other.

A lonely tear ran down her cheek when she spoke about the first time Gale and Prim had met. Her heart clenched as she remembered Prim being a bit weary of the older boy who looked so much like a grown man. “But he was so nice to her, Peeta. She was like another sister to him.” Her voice broke at this, the memory too painful in light of what had happened later.

Peeta reached out to wrap his hand around her arm. “Katniss, you don’t have to--,”

“Yes, I do,” she sniffed, wiping the tears from her face and resting her hands like a protective shield over her chest.

“I don’t really know much of what happened when I arrived in District 13. I spent the first few days unconscious and, even when I was awake, I was completely disoriented. But I know that, soon after being rescued, Gale was…” Katniss stopped, searching her mind for the right word to explain what had happened. None seemed right. “I don’t know, I guess he was recruitedby Coin.”

Peeta creased his forehead. “Recruited? Wasn’t everyone recruited into Thirteen’s army as soon as they arrived?”

“They were, but this was different. The refugees, they all… They all said Gale had been the one to lead them out into to the woods. They said he kept them safe. I guess Coin was impressed by that, so she took an interest in him. She must have also found out we were friends at some point –maybe she even thought we were related, I don’t know, but I think that might have spiked her interest even more.

“By the time I started moving around, he was already entrenched in their little group, tightly wrapped around Coin’s little finger. They included him in tons of tactical meetings and assigned him to work in the weapons development lab next to Beetee. From then on, all his energy went into defeating the Capitol and winning the war.”

Peeta tilted his head, uncertain. “I seem to recall him hanging around you a lot.”

“He did. He was usually busy, but he made time so that we could have most of our meals together. He also came with me whenever I left the district, and we even went out hunting in Thirteen a few times.” The ghost of a shy smile turned her lips at the handful of pleasant memories she had from those unfamiliar woods. “He was supportive, patient even, and I was grateful. I thought we had gone back to just being friends.”

Katniss closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment on the comfort of the world around her; the delicate murmur of leaves rustling in the wind; the warm caress of the sun on her cheeks; the steady rhythm of Peeta’s breathing as he lied next to her.

The soothing pattern Peeta’s thumb had been tracing over and over on her arm brought her back. “I was so lonely, Peeta. I was just glad to have someone who knew me by my side.”

“I know,” Peeta whispered. After everything they’d shared in the past few months, she believed him.

“You know?” she said, looking at him once more, “When he volunteered to get you out of the Capitol, I thought he was doing it for me --because I was so broken-- and I was so grateful, but I was also worried. I remember sitting by Finnick’s side, my head going round and round in circles, thinking I was going to lose both of you that day.”

Her chest tightened as she thought about those long dark hours she’d spent tying knots next to Finnick as they waited –and waited-- for the worst to happen.

Needing to ground herself in the moment, Katniss covered Peeta’s hand with one of hers. He immediately squeezed her arm in response. It was the gentlest of touches, but it was all the encouragement she needed to go on.

“But now, after everything that’s happened… I think that maybe Gale just did it because he felt guilty —because he felt like he owed you for standing up to Thread.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she mussed, “I understand the need to repay a debt --and that was something big, what you did for him-- but I can’t escape the feeling that he was also doing it for his precious Mockingjay. Bringing back what I wanted just so that I could put on the uniform and start rallying the troops again.”

Peeta shook his head. “No. I mean, you’re probably right about him wanting to repay a debt —I’ve always assumed that was why he rescued me— but I’m not so sure about the rest. There’s no doubt Gale was devoted to the cause, —even I could see that— but I can’t believe the revolution mattered more to him than you did.”

Tears filled her eyes. That’s because you don’t know the whole story yet, she thought.

Tightening her grip on his hand to keep him close, she said, “The thing is… I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about his reasons or his motivations. All that matters to me is that he brought you back. You were confused and broken, and you hated me, but you were safe —safer, at least— and away from Snow. That’s all that matters.”

Letting go of her arm, Peeta turned his palm up and pressed it into hers, lacing their fingers together he brought both hands to rest on his chest, right above his heart. “Why are you so angry at him?”

Katniss’s eyes darkened, the storm within her aching to be set free. “Because he stopped listening, and he used what Snow did to you as an excuse to become ruthless. Because he reached a point where he only followed the path Coin set for him.

“When the rebels needed to bring down the military compound in Two. He was their man. He conveniently forgot his father’s death and turned the mountain into a mine that caved in on itself.

“When Coin asked for strategies to capture and kill the enemy, he developed them. He used his instincts as a hunter to trap the innocent, substituting his snares with locked gates and his arrows and nets for bombs.

“He didn’t care anymore, about who got trampled or hurt. As long as the rebels moved forward, he didn’t mind. And when we left for the Capitol, he left it all behind; the plans, the schematics, the details. A catalog of horrors just waiting to be used.”

Peeta’s pulse quickened beneath her palm, and Katniss went still, worried for a second that she might not have chosen the best place to share this information with him. They had dealt with his episodes before, but never when they were this deep into the forest.

Sensing her fear, Peeta gave her a small smile. “I’m OK,” he assured her, “I just…” He closed his eyes and dipped his chin, blocking the world outside to unravel the meaning of Katniss’s words.

A low hum like that of a wounded animal, heavy with pain and despair, rumbled deep within his chest as he slowly opened his eyes. His voice was tight with sorrow. “Coin used them, didn’t she?”

Katniss nodded. Her trembling lips pushed the words out. “In the City Circle.”

Peeta’s eyes clouded over with tears. He knew. He understood. There were no more words to be said.

In one swift motion, he let go of Katniss’s hand, wrapped his arm around her small frame, and pulled her to him.

Hungry for comfort, Katniss melted into his embrace, draping her arm over his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest to keep him close.

The echo of birds’ wings, fluttering high above, kept them company as they trembled and cried, tightly clinging to each other.

“I’m so sorry,” Peeta whispered into her hair, the words broken in his ragged voice.

Katniss pulled back with tear-streaked cheeks and wild hair. Now that her secret was exposed, and her tears had run out, she was exhausted —empty— but, for the first time in months, she wasn’t hollow.

It was as if, by setting her words free, she had allowed an empowering sense of calm to root deep within her, protecting her from the void Gale’s absence had left in her soul and filling her with a faint glimmer of hope.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to wipe the tears from Peeta’s face. “I don’t think I could do any of this without you.”

Peeta shook his head. “You’ve done plenty on your own, Katniss. You don’t really need me that much.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I do! I always have, Peeta.” Letting her hand travel up his behind neck, she reached the back of his head and buried her fingers in his hair. It was shorter than she liked, he always kept it that way in summertime, but she could still feel its silky softness as she massaged his scalp.

“When I’m with you, I always find the right path,” she whispered. “And I know that, if you had been there with me —back in Thirteen— none of this would have happened, because you would have found the words. You would have found a way to make him see what I couldn’t.”

Peeta dipped his head forward, granting her better access to play with his hair. A sad, disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips. “I don’t know what gave you that idea —what makes you think he would have listened to me— but I’m sure you’re wrong. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Katniss nodded. It wasn’t fair to put something like that on Peeta’s shoulders. “Maybe you’re right, you probably wouldn’t have been able to stop Gale, —he was too far gone— but I know you would have been able to change a few things, to make them better.” Tugging on his hair, she made him look up. Staring straight into his eyes, she said, “You don’t know the effect you can have, Peeta Mellark. When youtalk, the world stops to listen.”

A deep blush crept up Peeta’s cheeks at her words. His eyes twinkled. “I never wanted to talk to the world, Katniss. I just wanted to talk to you.”

She smiled, basking in the warmth of his words. “Well, I’m listening.”

In a slow, careful motion, Peeta’s hand traveled up Katniss’s back until it reached her braid. Tender fingers wrapped around the silky rope and slid down to the end where he gave it a playful tug. “So… Got anything good in that bag of yours?”

With a light, musical laugh, Katniss disentangled herself from him. “I do, actually.” Leaning forward, she grabbed her hunting bag by the strap and hoisted it onto the ledge.

They spent the next hour sitting there, talking about their plans for the following days as they sipped cold mint tea from Katniss’s thermos and shared the food she had brought.

He heart was so relieved after sharing her burden that she even let him have one of the cheese buns she had greedily kept to herself the previous night.

As they made their way back to the Village, their fingers laced together, their stomachs full, Katniss couldn’t help but think that maybe —just maybe— she had finally found a way to step away from the heartbreak she felt whenever Gale slipped into her mind.

That insistent little voice that talked to her whenever Peeta was around told her she was ready to move past the anger, and focus on the light.

XXXXX

Have a post mockingjay snippet idea? Let me know, I might turn it into a snapshot.

#things I write #camp nano july 2019 #growing back together snapshots #snapshot 8 #post mockingjay

80 notes · View notes

wintersongstress · 5 years

Text

Writer’s Questionnaire

tagged by: @a-shakespearean-in-paris - Whew, girl, this tag was hard. I don’t think I’m smart enough to do it but I love talking about writing more than actually doing it so strap in...

EDIT [1/5/19]: @the-darklings Thank you for tagging me as well!

Short stories, novels, or poems?

POETRY?! #TRIGGERED

Ya’ll I want to talk about poetry. That Illuminati Cryptology.

On the one hand, I’m actually quite decent with writing poetry. I like the poems I’ve written. I’m proud of my sonnets, sestinas, villanelles, and free verse. Albeit, the restrictions of closed forms and writing in iambic pentameter grinds the gears in the computer science part of my brain, but I can do it. Some of my best lines are poetry. Poetry is what resonates the deepest, what loops through my head when I think about writing. Its the ultimate mastery of words that makes your work endure.

Look at Peonies at Dusk by Jane Kenyon. Nice poem, right? Lovely imagery, the tone is somber and sweet. But, you have to remember, poetry is a puzzle. You have to put the pieces together to understand the picture.

Kenyon arranged her poem in tercet stanzas to link it to the Holy Trinity. (???)This was because she found God during the time so wrote this poem and wanted to pay tribute to how it grounded her life by grounding her poem the same way. In the final stanza, the narrator bending to smell the peony is supposed to be the narrator bending over to take care of someone who is bedridden with cancer. Propping them up with stakes and twine- taking care of a sick loved one. Peonies were also known for their medicinal properties, as well as them withering being an omen for disaster and death. The fading of light and the dusk is all blatantly symbolic. JUST. POETRY PISSES ME OFF SOMETIMES. AND I HATE THAT I KIND OF LIKE HOW CONVOLUTED IT IS ONCE I FIGURE IT OUT.

tl:dr; I prefer short stories and novels when it comes to reading for the obvious reasons why we love novels. Ya’ll already know why novels are good. When it comes to writing I usually do short stories and poems. I haven’t been able to tackle a novel yet.

What genre do you prefer reading?

I’ve always enjoyed fantasy, historical fiction, and of course, romance. I like a good contemporary every once in a while, too.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Same as what I prefer to read. I absolutely love exploring settings and writing the relationships between characters and how they transform and develop them.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

I like to make an outline at the beginning of a new project just to have some semblance of order and to know what the journey is going to look like. This helps a lot in my Research stage because I’m able to identify what I don’t know and what tools I’m going to need.

What music do you listen to while writing?

Video game soundtracks mostly. They’re designed to keep you engaged and I don’t want to focus on anything else but my work, I just need a little white noise. Jeremy Soule’s compositions are great for setting the mood, as well as Debussy. I also like those nature ambiance videos on YouTube, crackling fire, forest/river sounds, etc.

Fave books/movies?

Amazing. This question never fails to make me forget every piece of media I have ever consumed. 😂

I’m kind of at a stand point right now because I’m 20 and I don’t read YA books anymore and that’s the bulk of my personal library. (Sorry Sarah J. Maas and Cassandra Clare!). I used to read a COLOSSAL amount of YA; I’m talking 15 books a month, 2 books a day sometimes and I used to do arc (advanced reader copy) reviews through Macmillan for Miss Literati. Looking back now though, there are some novels I read that I still stand by.

The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness - amazing, stream of consciousness writing at its best.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor - my favorite writing style. Period.

Half Bad by Salle Green - just brilliant.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway - fight me okay.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

Passion by Lauren Kate - This book was just, everything I wanted. 😭

The Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix - the first series that REALLY got me into reading.

List of my favorite films I like to tell people to impress them:

The Sixth Sense

The Last Samurai

Brokeback Mountain

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Rear Window

List of my favorite films when life is sad:

Confessions of a Shopaholic

The Mummy

Star Wars

Back to the Future

Some Like It Hot

The Princess Bride

Forrest Gump

Romancing the Stone

As you can see, I’m not a huge film buff (though sometimes I wish I were...)

I’m sure I’m forgetting some...

Any current WIPs?

gee let’s look at my documents folder...

This is gonna sound silly but the majority of my personal WIPs are actually games I want to write. I know, I know, but I want to go into narrative design, possibly even creative direction. Much to my mother’s chagrin. So I don’t write novels per say, I write scripts and game concept documents. I do write short stories but my longstanding projects I am not talented enough to start writing. I write ideas for scenes while I let the rest stew in my head, like a bubbling cauldron of ideas that is constantly simmering. I’ll get there, eventually.

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

My standard get-up is high-waisted jeans, Blundstones, and an over-sized knitted sweater. God I love winter.

Create a character description for yourself:

Hi,my name is Isabell. My worst nightmares include getting C’s, being late for work, and getting back together with my ex-boyfriend from 9th grade.

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

The best writers are thieves, and I steal a lot of details of real people into my writing. Patterns of speech, outfits, unique traits, that sort of thing. I pay a lot of attention to the people around me, especially strangers. So I don’t incorporate actual people I know, rather, the strangers I see and who I think they are or could be in the context of story.

Are you kill-happy with characters?

By all means, I will put them in near death circumstances and give them critical injuries. However, I rarely kill them. So, no. I don’t happily kill my characters.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Self-proclaimed Chai tea slut.

Slow or fast writer?

Slow’er than the molasses in January.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Ideas strike anywhere, anytime. I could be standing in the check-out line at the grocery store and get an idea. However, most of my inspiration comes from consuming other stories. Video games have honestly been the most inspiring and immersive mediums for storytelling. I find inspiration from learning new things, especially in history. A lot of stuff from myth and history inspires me.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

I’d like to think I would be an adventurer, but let’s be real I’d probably be an Alchemist’s apprentice. Or a sculptor. Maybe even a tutor.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

Hero/Villain Ships. Enemies to lovers. dYING CONFESSIONS OF LOVE.

Wait, are those cliches? As for what I hate...Oh, I don’t know. I hate the reckless heroine. I just hate reading about girls who make stupid decisions and think they’re the right ones. Not to say they can’t make mistakes, but you know, other characters are like, don’t do the thing, and they do it anyway.

Fave scenes to write?

SMUT. FIRST KISSES. Yeah. Been writing that sort of thing since I was 11. I had one of those notebooks with a cover that made a zippery sound when you scratched it and it was my first foray into fanfiction and smut lmao. Good stuff. Pandora’s box, though.

I love writing scenery descriptions. I’m acutely tuned to setting and creating atmosphere and I love determining the specific details that take you exactly where I want the reader to be. The mise-en-scene, if you will.

Most productive time of day for writing?

Dead of night or the wee hours of morning, when the world is quiet.

Reason for writing?

Because when I write, I feel like I belong. I write because I have a certain taste, and I’m the only one who knows how to capture that. I write because storytelling is intrinsic to me and a part of myself I can never deny, forget, or neglect. I write because my mind has always been full of ideas and worlds I want to explore. I write because deep down I know I’m meant to.

Tagging:

I’m gonna keep it chill because this tag takes more than 2 minutes to do, but I would love to see your guys’ responses!: @shadows-echoes || @sunstrain || @connorshero || @deviantsupporter

This tag is totally 100% optional!

#tag meme #tag game #personal #long post #this took 5ever #god this is so personal i hate hearing myself talk lmao

18 notes · View notes

kriss-the-writing-nerd · 5 years

Text

11/11/11 tag game

Answer 11 questions, make 11 new questions, tag 11 persons!

I was tagged by @waterfallwritings for this! Thank you, your questions were really interesting and fun to answer! o(^▽^)o

(Sorry if I got a bit lengthy, it was just so nice to do something not university related after exams!)

1. How do you come up with ideas for your WIPs?

The heavy artillery from the get go, eh? *cracks knuckles* Okay, to be honest, I'm not sure. I've never really thought of it, they're just there, clamoring for attention (plot bunnies are my best ally and worst enemy). I definitely have bouts of very intense inspiration and days when I just,, can't. Even if I know where the scene is going, how it's going, and why, the words aren't there. Or they're all wrong. (This is when I default to writing ugly-crying emotional breakdowns or sex. Likely both.)

Working out a story is a game of association laced with concepts and core elements for me. Like this: dragons (core element) + mountains (association) + tribe/clan (concept) + shapeshifting (association/concept) + relocation/settlers (core element). And that's basically my dragon wip.

Eld's story is based on a Doctor Who quote "demons run when a good man goes to war". Ren and Kuro grew up with me; at some point they just started acting on their own - I just throw shit at them and sees what shakes loose at this point. (They have five kids! How???? did that?? happen???)

(I'm a sucker for prompts. My brain can see a single word and just, run of with it hollering in glee.)

2. How do you get past gaps in the plot?

Urrrrgh, I have to get past them??

I struggle, is what I do. Typically I let it sit, soundly on the back-burner in my mind, until I've mulled through my story to the point where the hole is gone. (This takes months, and with my sci-fi wip I ended up rewriting the dang thing completely at the third draft after eight years of working on it. Scrapping it was painful.)

Or I try a different angle. Sometimes it works.

3. What motivates you to keep writing?

I love writing. There's really no more significant reason than that. Writing allows me to express myself, create and explore worlds and characters who wouldn't exist otherwise. And it lets me just exist without any layers. When I've been hurting, writing has helped me get the pain out with no more than tears.

And I love words and languages; the way we have about 10 different words to say "snow" (partly because Swedish mesh several words into one but still) and maybe 2 (3?) for heat. That there are groups of languages with the same ancestors that are so close; how absolutely amazingly different they can be (I just learned "y" is not considered a vowel in English and I'm???? Completely blown. What. What do you mean it's not a vowel. Are you sure???). And languages with different alphabets and ones that use pictures to represent ideas instead of sounds! And sign languages!!

And idioms! It's so cool how idioms can carry words of wisdom, caution and reassurance, and rarely can be translated (classical examples from Swedish "There's no danger on the roof" and "The rain is standing like sticks in the ground") because they lose their connections to the cultures they are used in.

The universes in my head are as full of life as the real world and not nearly as anxiety-inducing. I have stories to tell. And you know that feeling when you’re in the zone and everything is flowing and you’re writing 10′000 words in a go? That.

4. Do you do any other kind of creative writing?

I dabble in poetry? Like, very sporadically and with mixed results. I have a friend into slam poetry who opened my eyes to it, too.

(Would fanfiction go here too?)

5. Do you have any other creative hobbies besides writing?

Urngh, yeah, too many. If I’m not reading, my hands need to be moving or I’m an unhappy bean. Though, writing is the only thing I never put down. Ever.

Okay, so, I draw (badly), both on paper and digitally. Mostly landscapes. I also try to make house sketches/plans. And I paint (a bit better than I draw), prefer oils or acrylics over water colors. My partner and I also paint miniature models when there is time.

I also crochet and knit, and I love origami. I roleplay (Dungeons & Dragons, whenever the DMs have time), and I play the violin (and piano) and write simple music for myself.

I garden if there's time in the spring and during summer, and I absolutely love these little fairy-gardens that have been popping up everywhere. On that note, I have more houseplants than I have space for.

I'm also thinking to start up a little thing making bracelets and bead strings for fidgeting. I needed some kind of stim toy to be able to focus and I wanted something silent with many different sensations to keep me entertained. I hunted around a bit but eventually made my own and they turned out pretty nice!

(I also like to bake, especially pies and breads.)

6. What do you do when you’re stuck on a scene and don’t know how to get it out / write it?

I slam the key words in. And then I ignore it until it stops fighting back so much.

Or I backtrack. Sometimes I've written myself into a corner unknowingly.

Sometimes I drop a wip that's giving me grief and work on another, or I use word/idea prompts to get me started.

7. How do you decide how to end your WIP?

God, please tell me because I don't hecking know. Should I do an epilogue? Should I leave it open/ambiguous? Should I just cut it off and leave the next step to the reader? Should there be a "true" ending, with goodbyes (actual or metaphorical)?

Urrrrrrrrgh. Good Lord, endings.

8. When in the process of writing do you decide how its going to end? Or do you kind of just wait til you get there?

Either I know from the start, before I write the first words, or I wait. Which tends to mean frustrating the hell out of myself. I have started to go through my wips (whether original or fanfiction) and give them all bare-bones outlines, because not having endings is a big problem for me.

9. Why did you decide to join writeblr?

Basically when I decided I had had enough of the "join to see more" button or the "sensitive material" warning. And when I realized there was a really nice writing community here I could maybe become a part of. (A major reason was actually @concerningwolves advice posts.)

10. What’s your favourite food?

(CW: Maybe skip if you’re vegetarian/vegan/you’d rather not read about meat.)

Chinese deep-fried chicken with sweet-and-sour sauce (not the spicy chili kind, the actual pineapple and tomato juice based kind) with rice. No question about it.

Mom's "blodbröd med fläsk" is a close runner up though, but we only eat it once a year, at the midwinter solstice. It's homemade Swedish tunnbröd (hard thin-bread) with blood instead of water in it that you dip in boiling water to make it soft, with white sauce, and fried, thoroughly salted pork.

(Believe me, some country-side Swedes in the northern parts are still pretty pagan about the sun coming back, me included. It's a big deal when you go between no night/darkness and then very little/no sun.)

11. If you had to kill off a character in your WIP, who would it be and why?

People are dying right and left in most of them already, since three include large-scale wars, so there's no shortage there.

But if I had to choose a main-character or a directly supporting character? (MY BABIES! NO.)

I think Ren, from the sci-fi wip, because he would be free from both responsibility and physical and mental pain. (My boi is a wreck.) It wouldn't be unlikely either. But at this point it would destroy my story! 😂 Less story-destroying would be their foster-guardian Sandra. It would still force me to write a completely new arc, but it would be do-able.

Although, regarding the fantasy wip Firestorm, Kebarock dying in their war would crush Sunling. That could be done without losing the plot entirely. Hmmm.

Puh, that was a lot of thinking! Okay, I'll be tagging.. @concerningwolves @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables @adorhauer @focusdumbass @sleepy-and-anxious @els-writes @meteorwrites @sebastian-writer @telvivere @thescribesloft and @aceymichaelis No obligation to do this of course! <3 (And if I tagged you and you’d rather not be tagged in games, I apologize, please let me know)

And here are your questions if you want to:

1. What about your wip makes you smile?

2. What's the hardest decision you've had to make in regards to a wip?

3. What text font do you prefer writing in? Or do you write by hand?

4. Are there pets in your wip? If not, what pet might your character(s) keep?

5. What AU would you love to see/write for your wip?

6. Is there any type of music/a song in particular that you associate with your wip?

7. Are you a night owl or an early bird/When do you write?

8. Favorite beverage?

9. Where do you prefer to write? At home? In a library? On the bus/train?

10. What are your first 3 to 5 associations with the word 'writing'? Why those?

11. What do you do when you're bored?

Hope you enjoy! o(^◇^)o

#11/11/11 tag #11 asks tag game #tag game #ask game #writing related #writing community #writeblr community

1 note · View note

i-am-grell · 5 years

Text

Here’s My Top 100 For 2018 From Spotify

And me trying to justify them! (Look, some are WIP-related, others are jams, some I really can’t explain I just got back into Glee for like a month at one point this year...) Here’s the playlist

1. From a Mountain In The Middle Of The Cabins - Panic! At The Disco

Look, I just love the bouncy piano and the tuba. You can never have a bad tuba.

2. The End. - My Chemical Romance

Goes along with Chapter 8 of my WIP, Interlude, because I’m mean

3. Blank Space - I Prevail

This also goes along with Interlude from Chapter 1 - 5

4. If It Means A Lot To You - A Day To Remember

This one goes with my WIP Blood Bound (This one isn’t posted anywhere) (specifically, book 5)

5. Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes - Fall Out Boy

Another Blood Bound one (Book 7)

6. This Could Be Anywhere In The World - Alexisonfire

Interlude

7. The Curse of Curves - Cute is What We Aim For

This was going to be Interlude-related but got replaced. Still a banger

8. Disturbia - The Cab

The theme song of Dreavyn from my WIP Aaron Being Normal and if anyone has any tips on how to control a chaotic bisexual OC please let me know

9. Jumpsuit - Twenty One Pilots

Funky bass

10. MakeDamnSure - Taking Back Sunday

A theme for Trace from Aaron Being Normal (Won’t be extremely relevant until book 3 (also this was supposed to be a standalone...))

11. Miss Murder - AFI

Funky bass part 2

12. Fences - Paramore

Interlude again - A Selena Walton Theme Song.

13. The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance

Interlude - A Morgan/Selena/Mostly Selena Theme. (Also, a banger)

14. Camisado - Panic! At The Disco

Interlude - How many hospital scenes can I fit into 1 WIP about depressed teens? (Turns out three; maybe four, technically)

15. My Heart I Surrender - I Prevail

Cole’s character song (Interlude) (Also romantic AF)

16. I Don’t Care - Fall Out Boy

Interlude. Also a Mood

17. Holiday/Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day

Partially Interlude, partially because Holiday fucking slaps and BoBD is a classic

18. Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard

1/2 Interlude, 1/2 a Mood

19. I Don’t Wanna Be In Love (Dance Floor Anthem) - Good Charlotte

Dare I say, an aro-ace mood?

20. Check Yes, Juliet - We The Kings

I feel like half this playlist is just gonna be songs from the Interlude playlist...

21. Problematique - Hot Chelle Rae

Some funky bass, call and response, and fast rhyming - an ultimate jam

22. Postcards - Amber Pacific

Interlude playlist

23. Nico and The Niners - Twenty One Pilots

Look, I just really like Trench; it’s a good album

24. Demolition Lovers - My Chemical Romance

This is on the Interlude playlist but there’s such a Bonnie and Clyde feel to it, man...

25. Do You Know What I’m Seeing? - Panic! At The Disco

No. I don’t. Good song to dissociate to, though. I’m not good at instruments but good guitar/ukulele/whatever it is. Pleasant mood.

26. Rough Hands - Alexisonfire

Look, I’m trying to learn how to properly sing unclean parts (screamo parts) which will be absolutely shocking coming from a 5′2″ blonde girl; I need songs to practice to...

27. The Irony of Choking on a Lifesaver - All Time Low

Theme song to the Netflix adaptation of Interlude that plays in my head on repeat. Now if only I could actually finish writing the goddamn book...

28. Fat Lip - Sum 41

Interlude playlist, also listen to it and tell me you don’t hate everybody and this town

29. Say Anything (Else) - Cartel

I like singing the intro/chorus as sort of a vocal warm up...

30. Oh Well, Oh Well - Mayday Parade

Just a fucking MOOD my dudes

31. Whatever Happened To Saturday Night? - Glee Cast Version

No offense to Meat Loaf....but John Stamos... (Also Interlude (Travis) inspo) (Also I was really into Glee again earlier this year... Still haven’t actually watched past season 3...)

32. The Anthem - Good Charlotte

What I listen to when I consider dropping out and becoming a bog witch, but, like, a punk bog witch

33. Thunder - Boys Like Girls

Aaron Being Normal Inspo. The band’s name is ironic considering how Gay I make it...

34. Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am? - Fall Out Boy

I like singing this one when I’m drunk

35. I Don’t Love You - My Chemical Romance

Blood Bound (Book 2)

36. This Is Gospel - Panic! At The Disco

Blood Bound (Book 3)

37. Silver Bullet - Hawthorne Heights

Interlude Playlist

38. Weightless - All Time Low

MAYBE IT’S NOT MY WEEKEND BUT IT’S GONNA BE MY YEAR I scream to myself on a Tuesday

39. Who Do You Love - Marianas Trench

Have you ever looked up an a capella version of this one? Cuz yeah

40. Let The Flames Begin - Paramore

Anti-Depression, yet still Depressed Mood

41. Red Sam - Flyleaf

Depression Mood - also Interlude playlist

42. Jamie All Over - Mayday Parade

Interlude Playlist, and I think the Dreavyn playlist too... Look, it’s just a jam

43. Savior - Rise Against

Interlude Theme

44. Kiss Me, Kill Me - Mest

Another Interlude thing also a really good Selena x Morgan song

45. Hot To The Touch, Cold On The Inside - Fall Out Boy

Aaron Being Normal song also it’s about a hot pocket

46. Newport Living - Cute is What We Aim For

Interlude song that causes drama

47. Meant To Live - Switchfoot

Selena song - Interlude

48. Kill All Your Friends - My Chemical Romance

This is on the Interlude playlist purely because I’m Evil

49. You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring

On the Interlude playlist, also highly recommend blaring this through the hallways of your Catholic High School during lunch

50. Lights And Sounds - Yellowcard

Interlude Playlist also a banger

51. Angel With A Shotgun - The Cab

If this ain’t romantic as shit... Also it will make you wanna declare war on God Himself what a Mood

52. Somebody Told Me - The Killers

I’m not justifying why The Killer’s is on here I’m just shocked and appalled that Mr. Brightside has yet to make an appearance Spotify

53. Alright - Hot Chelle Rae

The English major inside of me wants to correct it to “all right” also Interlude epilogue Mood.

54. Changing - Saosin

Interlude Playlist

55. Bring Me To Life (Synthesis) - Evanescence

The Synthesis version is far superior and allows me to Properly showcase my Amy Lee impression

56. Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bed - Fall Out Boy

Along with J. Michael Tatum, Patrick Stump’s voice is My Religion - the first 23 seconds > The Beatles

57. Pas De Cheval - Panic! At The Disco

Sounds gallop-y

58. Be My Escape - Relient K

Interlude Mood/Theme

59. Science Fiction Double Feature - Glee Cast

Look, all Rocky Horror versions are great, even the Glee one...

60. Dear Maria, Count Me In - All Time Low

I like to sing this one when drunk

61. Stand - Flyleaf

Blood Bound (Final Book. End. Roll credits.)

62. I’d Do Anything - Simple Plan

A jam

63. Sweetness - Jimmy Eat World

The call-response, the spastic drums, damn boi, they’ve got it all

64. Say You Like Me - We The Kings

Catchy song, little fuckboi-ish if you really listen to the lyrics, but it’s not Baby It’s Cold Outside-bad???

65. AMBULANCE - My Chemical Romance

*Choir Ah-ing*, also an Interlude mood considering there are like 2 separate confirmed ambulance parts anyway...

66. crushcrushcrush - Paramore

Look me dead in the eye and tell me Hayley Williams didn’t put everything into her lyrics/singing here

67. Stay - Mayday Parade

Songs for when you’re heartbroken but to the point of dissociating while it rains outside, starting to storm, it starts out with just the grey pattering of a sheet of raindrops and soon the thunder starts to rumble with growing intensity and lightning splits the sky

68. There’s A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought Of It Yet - Panic! At The Disco

I am the victim of Dreavyn Hawthorne from my WIP Aaron Being Normal seriously if anyone can help me control a chaotic theatre bisexual...

69. Lyrical Lies - Cute is What We Aim For

This band’s lyrics are so fucking poetic it is Shakespeare to a guitar, y’all

70. Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) - Fall Out Boy

I always get like a falling slowly down one of those psychedelic tubes greenscreened into the background feeling at the intro but just like totally at peace falling, like kinda like listening to Ride by 21P type mood but then the chorus comes and it’s a jam

71. Backseat Serenade - All Time Low

Just a banger

72. My Own Worst Enemy - Lit

Look I don’t party too hard but when I do we go hard I was at a party on a Thursday night that didn’t end until the next morning no shit one guy I know did a kegstand before going to his English class

73. Come As You Are - Nirvana

Damn Kurt we miss you but you turned out some jams that no one can match

74. Traitor - Flyleaf

Blood Bound (Book 3)

75. Sadie Hawkins Dance - Relient K

The lyrics are so stupid but damn I love it

76. Poetically Pathetic - Amber Pacific

Did you mean literally 90% of my male OCs?

77. Saviour - LIGHTS

The first LIGHTS song I ever heard and I will defend my favourite singer until the day I die she’s Canadian like me, her family is ADORABLE, SHE is ADORABLE and I love her the end

78. Jersey - Mayday Parade

This goes with every WIP I’ve ever conceived and literally none of them are set in Jersey

79. The Middle - Jimmy Eat World

I feel like this song is just a universal mood but no one can explain exactly why

80. C’mon - Panic! At The Disco

Wholesome(TM)

81. Sunshine Riptide - Fall Out Boy

Interlude Playlist - I imagine Morgan singing it and that might end up happening in canon but idk yet...

82. Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond

Easily in the top 3 Neil Diamond songs if not the top, fight me.

83. First Date - blink-182

Literally just such an adorable song, blink-182 is the best

84. Last Hope - Paramore

Mostly a Selena song (Interlude) but idk I’ve destroyed many OCs wills to live so

85. Black Sheep - Metric

@spotify please put the Brie Larson version from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World on your streaming service I’m begging you - a very gay

86. When You Were Young - The Killers

Good song, real jam, where’s Mr. Brightside, spotify, where is it????

87. Broken Hearts Parade - Good Charlotte

A certified bop

88. All I Want - A Day To Remember

A song for my greedier OCs who just want to stop being tortured but yknow what children life aint fair

89. The Kids From Yesterday - My Chemical Romance

Put this in any of my WIPs really...

90. Threshold - Sex Bob-Omb

Try to tell me the Scott Pilgrim vs. The World soundtrack isn’t lit

91. Sorrow - Flyleaf

Blood Bound (Book 3)

92. Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy

You know when you’re writing intense battles or going to get a tattoo and need a playlist of War Songs? This is like the first one on my War Songs playlist

93. Jesus Of Suburbia - Green Day

A staple in the punk rock genre

94. Neon Gravestones - Twenty One Pilots

Ngl I sobbed when I first heard this one so

95. Pressure - Paramore

Very vocal on the Interlude playlist

96. Starlight - Muse

I first got into Muse because it fueled Twilight but yknow what they’re still a damn good group and Supermassive Black Hole carried the baseball scene which was an astounding piece of cinema so

97. Sleepless in Phoenix - blessthefall

It’s literally just my favourite blessthefall song, fight me

98. Kids In The Dark - All Time Low

My mood for when my dad tells me “you’re 20 you should be able to figure it out” like excuse me for not learning how the entire world works the second I turned 18...

99. Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time - Panic! At The Disco

Refer to My Own Worst Enemy. Add drugs. I’ve never done drugs but..

100. Feeling This - blink-182

*screams I’m Feeling This at regular intervals* (I have no explanation it’s just a BOP)

#music #spotify #spotify 2018 #top songs 2018 #playlist #spotify playlist

3 notes · View notes