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#ao3fanfic
stark-and-shield · 2 months
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I'm getting the "Stuck in a Rut" vibe here!!! 😌
@bladeofthenebula27
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jensky2000 · 2 months
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Chapters: 17/18 “Hastings” Claire says her goodbyes before leaving for Hastings. Jamie reveals his plan.
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acourtofladydeath · 5 months
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This is @born-to-riot but I’m on my phone so it won’t let me ask you with my account. But if you’re taking short requests can you please talk about the first time Eris lets Azriel have complete control of him (sexually and/or aftercare) like Eris is so in his head all the time I want to see some trust and just let him let go and azriel can help him do that idk (shadows as blindfolds and restraints and feeling Azriel’s scars on his skin are highly encouraged but not necessary) (also I haven’t requested a Drabble in a minute so idk if this counts) have fun :)
Alrighty, so I partially listened and partially did not. This is not sexually based aftercare, but Azriel is still taking care of Eris after something happens so I'M GONNA COUNT IT. Here's your drabble! (Which I managed to keep under 1K by 6 words and I'm very proud.)
Read "The Wall Comes Down" here on AO3, or below the cut.
TW: Mild descriptions of injuries from canon typical violence.
Azriel’s shadows were frantic as they pulled him faster and faster toward their mate. Hurry they practically yelled at him he needs us. One word kept coming through clearer than the rest, and each time he heard it, Azriel picked up his pace. Pain.
As he reached the hallway of Eris’s room, he began to see the trail of blood, leading from where he knew the Autumn Court dungeons lie, where Beron loved to take his sons. Barreling through the door, terrified about what he was about to see, Azriel tugged once more on the bond that had been silent for far too long. 
His breath stopped entirely as he took in his mate, beaten and broken, lying face down on the rug in front of the crackling fireplace, as if it had taken all of this strength just to make it into the room. “Eris…” Azriel’s voice broke as he spoke, rushing to turn his mate over. “Azriel, is that you?” Eris stirred as he was jostled, wincing in pain at the bruises and cuts littering his unclothed abdomen. The faint tinge of faebane around the edges of the wounds and the rag stained the same clutched in Eris’s hand told Azriel all he needed to know. 
Azriel went to reach for the cloth, but Eris pulled it away, inhaling sharply with the quick motion. “No, I can do it. I can take care of myself.” Eris rolled out of his mate’s arms, curling in on his body to try and protect himself from whatever he perceived would happen if he ever let anyone take care of himself. He couldn’t be weak, couldn’t ever show fault…not if he wanted to survive.
Eris tried to sit up, grinding his teeth together as he found the pain, pretending not to notice the shadows gathered around him, trying to ease his motions. Azriel sat back, present but silent, letting his mate work through this himself as much as he could bear. As Eris went to clean the next spot the pain was so intense he couldn’t choke down his sob fast enough. Azriel came up behind him, slowly and gently. “Please love, let me help you.” 
Letting out a shaking, teary breath Eris responded, “If I let you help, you’ll think I’m weak…they’ll all think I’m weak. I have to do this Azriel…” 
Azriel placed a hand around Eris’s still holding the rag, squeezing with tight reassurance. “But you are not alone, Eris, and you are not weak. Receiving help is not a weakness, it’s one of our greatest strengths. Please, let me take care of you. Let me in.” Taking several shaky breaths, Eris closed his eyes, leaning his head back to wrest on Azriel’s solid chest behind him. With each passing second, Azriel felt his mate relax into his arms, the adrenaline waning from his system as he finally started to allow himself to feel safe, to be cared for. 
Moments later, Eris removed his hand from Azriel’s, leaving the cloth behind. Turning his head into his mate’s leathers Eris nodded, a soft and tentative “okay,” slipping from his battered lips as he finally gave in and allowed someone to care for him. As he let that final protective wall drop between him and Azriel and gave this last piece of himself over. 
Azriel placed a soft kiss in Eris’s blood matted hair before he got to work, swiftly and surely cleaning the wounds. Eris barely made a sound, grunting softly at the particularly sensitive swipes of the cloth over his damaged body. But for the first time in all the years they’d been together, Eris allowed himself to give this last bit of him over to his mate. He let him help. 
Some time later, when the wounds were properly cleaned and Eris was finally beginning to heal, Azriel carried him to the washroom, gently placing him in the tub that was already full of hot, soapy water. Strand by strand, Azriel detangled and washed his mate's hair, brushing each long piece out and cleaning it to his mate’s satisfaction. Every time before this, Eris had allowed him to watch as he cleaned himself up after an evening with his father, and Azriel had paid special attention to how he washed his hair. 
This final part of his post-torture ritual seemed to be the final cleansing, a way to wash the sins of his father fully from his body before he allowed himself to sleep. Azriel had taken notes, praying to the Mother for the day that Eris would allow him to help. And now that that day had come, he was fully ready. His mate, breathing deeply in the tub, looked up at him as Azriel finished and placed the brush he’d been using on the edge of the tub. 
“You’ve been paying attention.” 
“It is my job, you know.” 
Eris winced slightly at that, and Azriel hastily added on.
“You are not a task Eris. Caring for you is not a burden. It’s a privilege. And I’m honored you let me close enough to let me help you.” He tacked on the finally aspect of that statement in his mind, but Eris heard it anyway. 
“Well, I’ll be checking your work Shadowsinger, but it seems as if you’ve done…adequately. For a first try that is.” 
Azriel’s heart swelled for in this banter, the love language that was uniquely their own, he heard the unsaid words. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for knowing. And thank you for helping. 
“As long as I get to keep trying,” Azriel said as he wrapped his mate in a towel, and helped him back to his bed where he’d rest while he recovered from the last of his wounds. But this time, he wouldn’t handle it alone. He’d rest safely held in his mate’s arms, cocooned within the fortress of his wings.
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unorthodoxx-page · 2 years
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Guys......that Last Airbender Rottmnt crossover idea is growing
At this point, there's a 98% chance that I'm going to write/post it after Recoil. I even have the following proof of concept thing:
"For the last time," Raph sighs, "I am not a Spirit!"
Toph hums and balances on the edge of the stone bridge. "Sounds like something a spirit would say."
The buzzing mass of energy groans and Toph smirks. He's so easy to rile up. Things have been different since he appeared in the middle of a mind-numbing lesson. He burned the yard with his appearance, leaving once soft blades of grass to crumble to ash beneath her feet. He's still burning now, or that's how it feels. A simmer of heat or energy in every step he takes.
Well, Toph's not really complaining. She's been able to go outside for the first time in years since her parents proclaimed him to be her 'protector.' A rock moves beneath her foot and she stumbles with a bit of exaggeration. Heck, she even spins her arms like some of those haughty-taughty girls at the arena.
The spirit doesn't even look her way or move to help. Toph straightens with a snort and a growing warmth in her chest. Some protector.
"I need to find my brothers," Raph mumbles. "That's if they're even here."
"And then head back to the spirit world."
"It's not the spirit world!"
"Right," Toph grins. "This so-called 'other dimension' with benders."
"There are no benders in my world."
Toph reaches and places a hand on scaled skin. Huge muscle twitch under her palm and the spirit stops. "No benders?"
"Yes!"
she nods. "Like the spirit world."
Toph cackles as Raph throws his arms up with a scream.
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melishade · 6 months
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Attack on Prime Writing Update:
RETALIATION III IS COMPLETED!
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WITH 16,781 WORDS! IT'S DONE! THE PATHS I HERE I COME!
Also, after months of searching, I FINALLY GOT A JOB!
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That might mean the schedule my change because I have to make a commute, but we will see! It's still a well paying job! YES!
Again, here's the schedule:
The Paths I (October)
The Paths II (November)
Last Ditch Effort (December)
Guren No Yumiya (January)
Making peace (February)
After the War (March)
An era of peace (April)
Goodbyes (May)
In between OVA (TBD)
Wild life OVA (TBD)
In regards to posting the next chapter, I will post it later tonight! I also have to work on the Beloved Timeline Pilot! And I have some ideas for the Autobot Anthology, because I've been putting that on the back burner for a while now.
ANYWAY! YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! WHOO!
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unafearless · 2 months
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The atmosphere in the quaint live music bar was as stuffy as a poorly ventilated attic, thick with the kind of smoke that makes you wonder if there’s a fog machine hidden somewhere. Armitage Hux, a fixture in this dimly lit scene, was perched in his favorite corner spot, an eagle eyeing his territory. His mission? Scouting for the next big thing. Tonight, his company was a glass of Irish scotch and a cigarette, the latter contributing its share to the atmospheric haze. 
After a 3 year long writer slump I finally managed to write a Kylux AU short story. It's a beginning, in hopes that the Kylux fandom isn't dead yet. Follow the link if you want to check it out.
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soulnb42 · 11 months
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Senses and Sensibility
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but those poor words.
Summary: Just a round of twenty questions in a lazy afternoon.
Hey everyone, first of all thank you so much for the notes and kind words over the previous parts of this trilogy, you’re awesome!
Here’s part three, much like part two it can stand alone, but I really think it’ll be more enjoyable if you have read part one and two first (you know, for the built up and all).
It’s an Avatrice story, so if it ain’t your thing, don’t read.
Enjoy,
AO3
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Ava’s heavy sigh echoed in the small apartment. It was a warm, lazy afternoon; usually she’d enjoy reading but she couldn’t really focus on her book, her mind was just restless.
“Bea?”
She called softly; putting her book on the nightstand, she then turned on her side so she could face Beatrice.
Beatrice was lying on her side, her head resting on the palm of her hand. It was nap time since they would be working the night shift today. Ava knew she should let her rest but she felt a bit hyper right now.
Beatrice had put her through the ringer during their training session all morning. Ava should be worn out but instead she was barely tired, courtesy of the halo.
“Hmm?” came the reply with a small delay.
Ava watched Beatrice dozing off and grinned softly because there was something immensely sweet about an unguarded Beatrice.
“What’s your favourite colour?” she finally asked the first question her mind latched on.
There was no response. Beatrice’s eyes were closed, her breathing soft and even. Ava guessed she had gone back to her slumber, yet another sign that she was exhausted. Oh well, Ava was fine with watching her sleep, observing Beatrice had become one of her favourite hobbies.
There was a soft intake of breath after almost two minutes. “Prussian blue,” Beatrice answered with a sleep-tinged voice. “…It’s a shade darker than royal and navy, I think…” another long pause. “It feels strong, and intense… I like it,” Beatrice continued, still half drifting in and out of sleep. “What about you?”
A grin spread wide onto Ava’s lips. She liked the fact that Beatrice never questioned where her mind went or why. No matter how random and odd the topic, Beatrice always indulged her and followed her train of thoughts as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ava gave the question a thought. “I don’t know if I have a favourite,” she pouted pensively. “I like shades of blue-green like teal, ocean blue… or lagoon… I also like purple… and I like shades of green like kiwi and jade.” Her mind started reeling with its own colour wheel. “Oh! I like seashell, it’s kind of a pinkish orange… and melon, I like melon!”
The list didn’t stop there, Ava found herself mentioning at least thirty other hues. Beatrice chortled quietly. “So, basically, you like every colour.”
Ava was about to agree but then frowned. “Actually… I don’t know about yellow; I have a weird vibe when it comes to yellow,” she mused.
Beatrice slowly blinked her eyes open, giving up on her nap. “Weird? How so?”
“I don’t know… it’s neither cool nor warm… it… it…” Ava struggled to find her words. “…I don’t know… it just doesn’t speak to me. I mean, I don’t hate it, but I’m not sure I like it either.”
Beatrice tried to figured her own opinion regarding the colour. “Now that you mention it, I get the point. I think it can be good to look at, but I don’t think I’d like wearing it.”
She watched Ava’s face lit up suddenly with that glint indicating that she just remembered some interesting fact about the topic at hand. “Did you know that it’s said to be one of the hardest colours to work with?”
“Really?” Beatrice felt her eyebrows rise in surprise.
“Yep, I read it in an art theory book, can’t remember which, anyway… painters would do bowls of yellow fruits to show off their skills because it is one of the most difficult shades to paint with,” Ava explained. She barely took a breath before continuing.
“Fun fact, if they’d paint a peeled yellow fruit, the peel would actually be longer than it should be just so they could… flex on other painters, so to speak. I had never noticed it but upon reading about it, I’ve looked at some paintings from the 17th century and I can confirm that it is true,” Ava smirked.
Ava’s mind never failed to amaze Beatrice. She never knew where it’d take her, but it was always surprising. It could be light, or silly (or truly dumb) reflexions at times and the next they could dive into the depth of existentialism, knowledge and philosophy. One thing for sure, it was always an entertaining ride.
“Okay, flying or breathing under water?”
Beatrice rubbed at her eyes lazily to get rid of the last cobwebs. Ava was on a roll now, and apparently, they were in for a fresh round of twenty questions.
Beatrice had never been one to confide in others, too afraid to reveal her flaws, to be reminded how ‘abnormal’ she was. That was a pain she couldn’t bear to face again, so she had learnt to keep things to herself.
She was a good confidant, though. Somehow, it was easier to carry the others’ secrets than her own. Yet with Ava, things were different. She did confide in Ava, she did talk about her past, in fact she couldn’t remember a single time she had denied Ava an answer to any of the question she’d ever ask.
It occurred to Beatrice that they shared easily with one another. There was something about Ava that made her reach out and made her want to lower her walls a bit. Perhaps, part of it was a product of her protective instinct. While she hadn’t been exactly thrilled at Ava’s arrival in their row, she had wanted her to feel, if not welcome at the very least accepted. It hadn’t taken long for her to see beyond Ava’s constant goofiness.
Ava joked around all the time, but it was nothing more than a defence mechanism. From what she knew about Ava’s past, finding the funny in anything was what had kept her going for all the decade she had spent at the orphanage. It all made sense once she thought about it. Ava had had nothing; her wits, her humour, her emotions, those were among the very few things she had had control over.
Beatrice had paid attention and she had seen past that seemingly inability to take anything seriously. Ava was sensible and sensitive, observant and smart, soft and caring, generous and strong, oh so strong.
“What’s your favourite sense?”
The question brought Beatrice back from her reflexions. “Uh… that’s a very good question,” she frowned. “And a tough one at that… I don’t know actually, I’ll have to give a thought. What about you?”
Ava stared at her for a moment with an intensity that almost made her feel uncomfortable, then she smiled as if she held the secret of the world.
“I don’t have one. I love them all.”
Beatrice chuckled. “Of course, you do.”
She’d always found it endearing how Ava apprehended the world with open arms and mind, how she just appreciated everything and took everything in like a wonder.
“Yes, I do,” Ava confirmed.
It was true, Ava loved all her senses. She had spent over a decade experiencing the world through tv and books, in a grey room where colours barely changed with the seasons. After coming back to life everything was heightened to the point of constant sensory overload. Maybe it was a side effect of the halo, or maybe it was just the stark contrast of going from barely feeling anything to feeling everything, whatever the case every single day she was grateful to feel, simply feel the world through her senses.
Beatrice made that sensory overload tenfold, in the best possible way. Ava didn’t know when or how it came to be; it was just a fact. She had that epiphany a while ago.
“And with good reasons too,” she added with a smile.
There was a pause, a hesitation during which she pondered if she should say what was on her mind, if Beatrice was ready to hear it. She bit her bottom lip, looked away for a moment.
When her eyes settled back on Beatrice, she leapt over her doubt and set her words free.
“I favour my sense of taste because I can enjoy your food,” she said. “I love your cooking. It’s incredible. It is somewhat amazing how good you are at cooking considering the food we had at the OCS. No offence, it was okay, but it barely made it above ‘bland’ as far as taste go. Now, your cooking? The most wonderful trip for my tastebuds.”
Beatrice blushed at the compliment. “Thank you.”
“I favour my sense of hearing because I love the sound of your voice. You’re always so calm, your voice is soothing. I also love the sound of your laughter, it’s truly glorious.”
Ava did love hearing Beatrice laugh; she liked it so much she made it her mission to have her laugh at least once a day.
Beatrice felt her face getting even warmer at Ava’s words.
“I also love it when you sing. I don’t think you realize it but when you’re hyper focused on something, you sing. It’s sweet, really. And I enjoy it quite a lot.”
This time, oxygen left Beatrice’s lungs unexpectedly. She felt her eyebrows rise in astonishment. Just how much did Ava pay attention to her?
Ava seemed amused by her reaction and kept on. “I favour my sense smell because…” she leant a bit forward and whispered. “I like your fragrance, orange blossom or cotton blossom…depending on the soap you choose on any given day.”
Beatrice’s heart was pacing an odd beat now. She had to remind herself to breathe.
“I favour my sense of sight because… I like watching you. I think you’re fascinating. It’s amazing to see you pour yourself in the simplest or smallest task; like everything deserved your full attention. I can watch you for hours and always find something new about you. You always move with poise and grace and… I think you’re beautiful.”
Beatrice felt naked under Ava’s gaze. She had never had anyone looking at her with so much affection and admiration, it made her feel warm and… and…whatever it was she felt, it was too much.
“I favour my sense of touch because…”
With lightning speed, Ava put her hands on her hips and squeezed them before launching a tickling attack. Beatrice squealed in surprise then started to wiggle in a vain attempt to escape, laughing heartily.
“Mercy! Mercy!” she begged trying to push Ava’s hands away. She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Ava was enjoying the sound so much she didn’t stop right away. She had sensed that Beatrice was overwhelmed and figured some levity was needed.
Beatrice was panting, her cheeks hurting a bit from her hysterical laughter. Of course Ava would find a way to force her to breathe again.
“I favour my sense of touch because I love making you scream with my fingers.”
“Ava!”
Watching Beatrice’s eyes almost popping out of their sockets while she gasped in shock and her face reddened was absolutely delightful. If the ability to speak was a sense, Ava knew she’d favour it because she adored teasing Beatrice or saying anything that’d make her lose her composure.
“Yeah, that did sound a bit dirty,” Ava waggled her eyebrows.
“You’re incorrigible,” Beatrice chastised her or at least she tried, because she was grinning even though she clearly didn’t want to.
“And proud of it.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. She was grateful for Ava’s goofiness and sense of humour. She was grateful for Ava just being Ava.
Someone had told her once that she was contained, which was a painfully accurate statement she could admit. She had spent a lifetime learning to always be in control of her emotions just so she wouldn’t get hurt by anything or anyone, so letting go didn’t come easy to her.
She liked having fun, joking around, laughing and just letting her hair down like anyone. It simply was counter intuitive to her nature. She had built herself to be serious, disciplined, to be stern and tempered because it was the only version of herself that the world had deemed acceptable.
When she was around Ava though, the iron grip she had over herself and her emotions always loosened. Ava always brought forth her softer side.
“I favour my sense of touch because I love hugging you… and showing you affection… I love how warm and soft you feel,” Ava said seriously.
Trust Ava to surprise her. When she had asked her question, Beatrice had figured she’d proceed to find her favourite sense by elimination. Which sense could she live without? Ava had tackled the question differently, why did she favoured each of her sense to begin with.
Under that new light, Beatrice understood Ava. It really was logical not to have a favourite sense. Now that she thought about it. She favoured all of her senses for the same reasons Ava favoured hers, albeit in different ways.
She loved watching Ava, to see her whole face lighting up whenever she'd take a scenery in or found beauty in the most mundane things. She just loved Ava’s seemingly perpetual state of amazement.
It was easy to forget that for all the knowledge she had soaked in, nurturing her brain, most of the time Ava was literally experiencing the rest of the world for the first time.
Beatrice couldn't imagine not hearing Ava laugh, or the excitement colouring her voice when she'd speak of one thing or another, or that mischievous note when she did a bad pun.
Some nights Ava would have nightmares. She’d toss in her sleep in a clear state of distress. Beatrice would take her in her arms and hold her tight against her. Then she’d slowly breathe in and out until Ava mimicked her unconsciously.
Once Ava would settle down, Beatrice would breathe her in, let Ava’s scent fill her lungs. It was quite intoxicating and she was addicted to that scent. Beatrice loved those moments because they were only hers. Ava never woke up when she was holding her and she’d always let go of Ava long before the morning.
They had shared a few kisses since the one she had given to Ava in the kitchen. Ava had been the one initiating them, they were always soft and almost chaste. One thing was certain: she absolutely loved the sweet taste of Ava’s lips.
Ava was tactile. Beatrice loved her sense of touch because she could feel Ava’s displays of affection. She just loved feeling Ava’s soft hands on her. Ava could convey so much with the simplest touch. Beatrice craved those touches, they always made her feel grounded, complete.
Yes, Beatrice favoured all her senses as well, even though she couldn’t voice it all aloud.
“As you can now see, it is impossible for me to have a favourite sense,” Ava concluded with a grin.
“You did make interesting points,” Beatrice agreed.
Ava’s gaze intensified, the emotion shining through it robbed Beatrice’s lungs from oxygen. Ava palmed her cheek and when she spoke again her tone was soft but serious.
“I love all of my senses because they enable me to love you, completely.” Ava caressed Beatrice’s skin softly. “And I do, Bea. I love you.”
Beatrice couldn’t remember ever hearing those words before. She was fairly certain she never had.
Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared her to hear those words.
All she had ever been prepared for was rejection. She understood the why and the how of rejection: she was ugly, flawed, unworthy, broken.
Ava knew all that. Ava could see the ugly, the flawed, the unworthy, the broken. She knew, she saw and yet there was no teasing in her voice, no trace of uncertainty.
The inner voices in Beatrice’s head kicked in to tell her she was unworthy but then something happened. Ava’s words kept echoing, silencing the rest until it was the only thing she could hear.
I love you.
Beatrice could feel Ava’s love radiating from her, like a warm, fuzzy current. It engulfed her, filled her up to the brim and suddenly it was like she was holding onto a live wire: every cell of her body was pulsing. She was overwhelmed, so much so she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t put what she felt into words. It was too much, just way too much and it was petrifying. Were people wired to actually feel so much at once? Because she sure wasn’t.
It took a minute for her to be cognizant of her heart pounding so violently in her chest she felt on the verge of imploding.
And then, for the first time, her voice was the loudest in her head. It was boisterous, screaming: I love you, too.
Ava watched emotions flashing through Beatrice’s eyes one after the other: shock, incomprehension, fear, elation, wonder…
She could hear the gears in Beatrice’s head turning, she could easily imagine what was going on in there. She simply waited, rubbing her thumb gently against Beatrice’s cheek.
She knew she had been heard. She also knew Beatrice needed to come to acceptance of her words on her own.
Ava had no doubt about her feelings. She had thought she was in love once. Mary had dismissed her as being hormonal and though offended at the time, now that she had gained perspective, she could say Mary had been right.
She knew because what she felt for Beatrice was a universe away from what she had felt for JC. She had been very fond him that was for sure, but it had definitely not been love.
She loved Beatrice. It was that simple. Her love was unwavering, unconditional, all encompassing. It was a bit terrifying because it was so vivacious, she could barely contain it all. She wasn’t scared to feel that much though, if anything she felt… settled, like everything made sense.
Beatrice’s shaky intake of breath broke her out of her musings. She watched the inner struggle in those beautiful hazel eyes.
Then it happened. Ava saw the very moment things shifted. The moment Beatrice finally took it all in, and understood that it was all real and true.
Tears pooled in Beatrice’s eyes and they were shinning with marvel. Ava saw her lips moving but no words made it out.
Ava stayed silent. She knew how hard it was for Beatrice to lean into her emotions and trust that what she was feeling was fine. She also knew that while Beatrice was winning small battles against her inner demons every day, she still had to find her own voice.
It was okay because Ava didn’t need to hear Beatrice tell her she loved her back. She already knew because Beatrice told her so every day whether she was conscious of it or not. She told her through the way she took care of her, through the way she looked at her, smiled at her… it was all the tiny things. Ava had learnt to listen, and she heard Beatrice as clear as if she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Beatrice took a deep breath to reign over her emotions.
Looking at Ava again, she made another attempt to speak but the words remained stuck in her throat. She briefly cursed her inaptitude to voice her feelings.
Oh well, there were other ways to communicate.
Ava was about to reassure Beatrice but words never made it past her lips. Beatrice surprised her with a kiss so fierce it sent her in orbit.
Beatrice kissed Ava with everything she was, pouring her heart out. She loved her too, by heavens she loved Ava too.
When Ava laughed into their kiss, Beatrice knew she had heard her silent declaration loud and clear.
They broke the kiss, both beaming with incommensurable joy. Beatrice could feel tears streaming down her cheeks but she didn’t care.
She might never feel deserving of Ava’s love, but she was no fool and she intended to hold onto that precious gift with dear life. More importantly, she’d show Ava that her love was reciprocated any way she could, even if it wasn’t with words. Without hesitation, she kissed Ava again.
Ava loved Beatrice.
Beatrice loved Ava.
That was that.
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Thanks for reading!
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ladyveronikawrites · 7 months
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AO3 Fic Writer Game
I saw this floating around the tags and wanted to join in. I know our fandom is small, but we are mighty 👑
Please do not compare yourself to others works, you are amazing and unique! This was just for fun! Lady V loves you 💜
How many works do you have on AO3? 9
What’s your total AO3 word count? 53,459
How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? 2; Star Wars and Bad Omens
What are your top 3 fics by kudos?
Hotel Hijinks (My first BO fic) - 19
A Duet of Fates (my first fic ever)- 17
Dive (Day one of 30 Day of Bad Omens) - 16
Do you respond to comments, why or why not? All the time and pretty much immediately. I LIVE FOR THE COMMENTS!
What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? The Battle Within, was the darkest fic I've written. But my current WIP, Lost in the Concrete Jungle might be darker.
Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written? I guess technically Lost in the Concrete Jungle is a loose crossover of Bad Omens and Star Wars. I'd count it lol. If you ever imagined the members of Bad Omens in the Star Wars Universe definitely check out Lost in the Concrete Jungle.
Have you ever received hate on a fic? No, thankfully not yet.
Do you write smut? If so what kind? Hell yeah, that's pretty much all I write. I write some kinky shit.
Have you ever had a fic stolen? God, I hope not .
Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I think it would be cool!
What’s your all time favorite ship? I gotta give it to Relyo for starting it all for me. The sequels changed my life.
Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I could never leave something hanging, well at least I haven't experienced that yet. I have gone months without updating but so far I've finished all of my WIPs.
What are your writing strengths? I think some of my strengths are my creativity in different scenes and story line and dialogue. (i'm probably downplaying my strengths tbh)
What are your writing weaknesses? I struggle with conveying different emotions and I want to get better at stretching the scene with more desciptions. I want the experience to be immersive but it makes my brain hurt lol.
What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? If you know the language for it! I am only fluent in english so that's what I read and write.
What was the first fandom you wrote for? The first fandom was Star Wars, specifically prequel era with Anakin and Padme.
What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? I know it says written as in past tense, but I am loving exploring Lost in the Concrete Jungle. My fav Bad Omens one shot though is Impolite. I did a lot of research on Service submission before starting and the fact that it has evolved into a poly situationship is really cool.
Feel free to join, no pressure tho!
Tag Team; @crimson-calligraphyx (InnocentCanCry) @sinkingteethinwhitenoise (cryingabtab) @measuredingold (markthegrave) @concreteburialplot (burninlove)
If I missed anyone that wants to join please do!
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toohaughthotdamn · 11 months
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"Hey there," the woman said with a sly grin. "I couldn't help but notice you're a Chiefs fan. My name's Ava, and I'm a die-hard London Irish fan. You ready to watch your team get crushed?"
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "I'd be more worried about your team, if I were you."
Ava laughed. "Oh, come on. We both know the Chiefs are going down. But it's okay, I'll still be your friend afterwards."
Beatrice glared at her. "I don't need friends like you."
Ava raised an eyebrow. "Ouch. You're feisty. I like it."
Bea and Ava are fans of rival rugby teams and meet at a game, in The Rugby Match
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kaspavanlortsyal · 1 year
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Hello! I am the author of Let It Be Enough on Ao3 as well as a few other Quaritch-centric fics.
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punkchestnuts · 5 months
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one door closes and another one opens
part 1, crossposted at ao3
The door to the apartment is locked and the key that she has, the one she’s been using for the majority of their lease, isn’t working. Hilal has half the mind to break the door down in sheer frustration and impatience. But there's a number of things that stops her from actually doing it. She's listing them all in her mind to quell the building anger at her door.
Reason number one: she’s dead tired from working an almost two-day shift at the hospital and that she’s seconds away from collapsing, which leads to…
Reason number two: she doesn't actually have the strength to break the door down even if she wanted to.
Reason number three: the landlord would be furious about his door being broken down, and
Reason number four: breaking down a door would only mean extra expense. There’s only so much she can spare in terms of money with her meager salary, and she barely has any savings for other stuff she wants to buy (like a new phone since her current one is old and its battery barely lives past half a day even at full charge). And…
Reason number five: She doesn’t want to have Yildiz, her sister, chip in by replacing the door when she earns almost as much as Hilal does. She’s aware of how stressed Yildiz is with the expenses at home, especially since they’ve been planning on moving to a better place. (They’re trying, really. But working as nurses in a country where healthcare workers are being paid shit wages complicates things. It’s also their sheer stubbornness and principles that keep them from going abroad despite how many people encourage them to do so. The idea is tempting, that’s for sure. But here is where their home is, where their family is, and where they know they can make the biggest difference.)
It's the fifth reason which stops her really. Yildiz is her older sister and although they bicker and fight like any other pair of siblings, Hilal doesn't want to be a burden than she already feels.
See, Hilal isn’t as inclined as Yildiz in maintaining a cozy and clean home. Hilal always has her things strewn about the apartment, always reasoning that she has many things that needed her focus and attention more (which is always effective in making her older sister look at her disbelief--they had the same job after all, and Yildiz was able to do her part of the chores).
But if you were to cite the differences between the sisters, you’d have to include the fact that Hilal has a laser-sharp focus and Yildiz had a better grip on multitasking. While Yildiz is able to clean the kitchen and answer work calls, Hilal is only able to accomplish one of those things in the belief that it’s better to do something with all your attention to the task rather than have it divided.
That kind of mentality often results in Hilal’s things cluttering about the apartment and on the furniture, unfinished coffee on possibly every surface, and her books abandoned in unlikely places. (Yildiz once found a copy of A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in their washer. When asked how it got there, Hilal was just as confused as her older sister was.)
It’s not that Yildiz has never tried to instill the habit of cleaning into Hilal, there were efforts and there were improvements. Still, Hilal manages to forget. She’s a lot more understanding than before though, (it caused a lot of arguments and fighting when they started living together), and a lot more inclined to do what Yildiz asks her to do. (She doesn’t question or complain when her sister reminds her to do the dishes or fold their laundry.)
In summary, Yildiz has unending tolerance and patience for Hilal and it only seems fair to make things easier for the both of them by not breaking someone else's property.
So no. She’s not breaking down the door despite the overwhelming urge to. Instead, she tries the key again. Their front door does this sometimes. But it takes a few tries of the key to get it open. Sometimes it also takes a heavy push against the door to get the lock unhinge.
The building is old, and so are the rooms and doors inside. Everything is being maintained and repaired by the landlord who is probably just as old as the building is–which just means to say, very old. The landlord has shown a propensity to disfavor newer tools and technology. The light fixtures are outdated, the window panes are barely hanging on for dear life, the floors creak, and the wooden doors are actually peeling (there are only a few doors left that has some of the original paint).
The only things that seem to be up to date were the elevator and the heating system, which is something that became the deciding factor when Yildiz and Hilal were first looking for an apartment years ago. It had either been this apartment or the other one that required them to climb four flights of stairs. The decision was easy.
Hilal has been trying to open the door for more than 20 minutes and she’s too tired to try any further. With a sigh, she relents and goes to the landlord’s apartment on the first floor. Sometimes the door is stubborn and the lock remains unperturbed. When this happens, they get the landlord to open it since he has a magical way of making things work despite how broken they seem. This is the main reason why the landlord doesn’t really change things. He holds the principle of not replacing things when they’re still fully (relatively) functional.
There had been a time when Yildiz and Hilal got fed up and offered to pay for a new replacement for the door, but the landlord refused, saying that it wasn’t right and that replacing the door would alter the building's overall atmosphere. A few more rejections to have it replaced moved the sisters to actually start looking at other apartments.
She knocks on the landlord’s door and is opened by his daughter. She's a beautiful petite woman with short dark hair and cat-like eyes. Hilal remembers meeting her the first time when she and Yildiz were moving in. Hilal immediately admired the woman and her patience for her father, which the sisters quickly learned to have his own unique eccentricities.
Eftalya sighs when she sees it’s Hilal. Unfortunately, because of the near impossible structure of their schedules, they don’t usually come knocking Eftalya’s door for social calls. Hilal can only smile at the older woman.
There's flour on Eftalya’s forehead and even more on her arms and clothes. “Is it your door again?” she asks instead of a greeting and Hilal nods, feeling a little bad for interrupting what looks like a baking session.
“I got home over 20 minutes ago,” Hilal explains.
The older woman dusts the flour on her hands. “Wait here and I’ll call for Dad.” She leaves the door open when she steps away from the doorway. Hilal can hear a muffled argument inside and she doesn’t try to make out the words being exchanged.
Her and Yildiz have witnessed enough arguments between father and daughter throughout the years that they’ve learned to just drown it out when it happens. It’s those moments that Hilal is grateful for Eftalya’s eerie ability to convince her father to do anything. (And Hristos, the landlord, has always been stubborn. He always finds ways to justify his decisions, and to find fault in whatever argument coming his way. With Eftalya though, he seems to relent and agree with the faults in his argument that his daughter points out. Never mind that Hilal and Yildiz would point it out first.)
She was even the reason there was an elevator and a heating system in the building in the first place.
The one thing that Eftalya wasn’t able to accomplish was to have Hilal and Yildiz’s request to replace their front door. Hristos has put his foot down on that one and not even Eftalya can change his mind. They can’t exactly go behind his back either, even if Eftalya almost convinced the sisters to do just that.
The woman is persuasive if she wants to be, and it’s probably a good thing to have when you work as a singer at a bar. You have to charm your way into your audience if you wanted a heavy tip.
The muffled arguments dies down and Hristos walks towards the door with his old toolbox.
"Thank you, Papa," Eftalya calls out from inside. She’s probably back at the kitchen. "Although, you know you wouldn't have to keep going up if you just replace the door knobs!"
Mr. Hristos huffs and steps out of the apartment. “Those door knobs are a piece of history, you know?”
“That’s exactly why you need to replace them!”
Mr. Hristos doesn’t reply and closes the door instead. “Hello, Hilal,” he greets her. “Did you just get home from work?”
“Yes, I did,” she says and forces herself not to say that she hasn’t slept in two days and that she’s this close to collapsing to heap of pure exhaustion. After all, despite how eccentric and stubborn the old man is, he’s been nothing but very kind to Hilal and Yildiz.
Mr. Hristos smiles in understanding and walks up to the elevator. Hilal follows and answers appropriately when the old man asks about her day. She doesn’t say that she just came from a graveyard shift and had to stay when an accident involving a full bus occurred early in the morning yesterday.
She would have stayed for another day if not for the head nurse noticing her lagging behind and drinking cups upon cups of the disgusting coffee they had in the lounge. Hilal couldn’t say no and couldn’t force herself to stay even if she wanted to. The patients were stable, the other casualties from the accident were brought to other hospitals, and everyone knows she’s been there for more than 48 hours with no sleep and proper food.
(It’s a good thing that Yildiz doesn’t work at the same hospital as she does. Her older sister would surely get angry and would have dragged her to a cab home herself. Yildiz was always better at self-care than Hilal ever was.)
They get to their door and Mr. Hristos doesn’t waste time asking her if she’s done all she could to try and get the door to open. The old man knows that Hilal is headstrong and would ask for help as a last resort.
She watches Mr. Hristos bend down to open the door with his own key and tutting when it wouldn’t budge. He opens his box and begins tinkering with the faulty knob.
Hilal doesn’t bother watching what he’s doing since she’s long accepted the fact that even if she were to replicate whatever troubleshooting method the old man has done, it won’t matter because the doors have spirits of their own and only bow down to one man.
Instead, she leans heavily on the wall by the door to let Hristos work. Without the frustration fueling her, she can feel the past two days catching up to her body. Her bag feels heavier than it is, her skin feels sticky (and she tried cleaning herself with a pack of wipes back at the hospital once), her head aches from how tight she’s tied her hair up, and her eyes burn.
She can feel herself falling asleep then and there when she hears a the old man curse loudly. Mr. Hristos is in the middle of taking the entire knob out of the door.
“Do you need help, Mr. Hristos?” she asks, preparing to yank the knob out of the door and go directly bed.
“No,” he says and tries one last tug before sighing. He looks up at her from where he’s kneeling. “I’m afraid the knobs rusted itself glued to the door. I can’t take it out.”
“What can we do?” she asks, a mental image of both of them breaking the door down making itself welcome in her mind. “Can’t we oil it out?”
“We can, but that would mean taking the door out of the frame.”
“Can’t we take unscrew the hinges out?” she suggests.
“We can,” he says again, “but that would mean having to screw it back up again just to lock it, and I don’t want to do that every time you girls have to go out.”
“Well, I can’t exactly stay out of the apartment. I’m tired and I need to sleep,” she says, not at all caring anymore if she’s being rude. “I’ll just put up a curtain.”
Mr. Hristos tuts and bends down to firmly attach the door knob back. “No, I’m afraid the entire door has to be replaced. The knob won’t budge.”
Hilal doesn’t feel relieved that the old man is finally seeing sense to replace the door. “Then what are we going to do? I have to get into the apartment, Mr. Hristos.”
“I can take the door out of the hinges and while I can put it back, you’ll be shut inside. I don’t even want to let you leave your apartment open to the entire floor if I do take it out. It’s a security issue, dear. It’s safer to keep it locked until I get a replacement.”
“You’re basically locking me out of my home, Mr. Hristos.”
The old man smiles in apology. “I know, but it’s all for the good of the building and everyone in it.”
“I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.”
“Well, you can stay with us for a while, if you’d like. But Eftalya has another shift at the bar and tonight’s BINGO night. If not, the motel a few blocks down is a good place too.”
Hilal can feel something weighing her down even more. “How long will it take until you find a replacement? I have to tell Yildiz in case she comes home early.”
Hristos hums. “It will take a while. Not a lot of companies still make this kind of knobs. Not to mention, I’d have to look for someone who can replicate the door design…”
“Is it really necessary to get a door that’s exactly the same when we can get a temporary one just for the security?”
Hristos tuts at her. “It’s not exactly economical if we buy a door and a knob just for them to get replaced, Hilal.”
“Is there no other way?” she asks. She can try to convince him, but she’s honestly too tired to do argue any further.
“Look, Hilal,” Mr. Hristos rubs at his temple as if he’s the one being inconvenienced. “I understand your frustration, but this is the best way to secure your safety and to continue the integrity of the building. Now, will you be staying with us or will you be staying elsewhere?”
Now the most practical choice here is to actually take up the old man’s offer and stay at their place. Eftalya and Mr. Hristos won’t be there so it won’t be awkward than it needs to be. But Hilal doesn’t want to be practical at the moment, especially when her frustration at the old man is growing exponentially by the second.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hristos. I don’t want to impose on you and Eftalya.”
“Alright, then,” Mr. Hristos nods. “I’m sorry for this, but I promise I’ll work on it as fast as I can.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hristos.”
She watches the old man disappear into the elevator and Hilal takes this moment to sag against the wall. Defeat and exhaustion weighing her down even more. She lets herself feel tired for a while before taking her phone out to shoot a text to her sister about their situation. Hilal knows that Yildiz has a shift until the next morning but her older sister is fond of overtiming and offsetting her hours. At the very least, Yildiz can crash at one of the bunk beds at work. She only hopes that her sisters sees the text soon.
Although sleeping on the hallways and say fuck it, is very tempting at the moment, Hilal stands up and leaves the building. She decides to stay at a nearby cafe just to gather her energy reserves. The motel Mr. Hristos had been talking about was a walkable distance but even a couple of blocks seems too much an effort in Hilal’s state.
She’s sipping on a fruit-berry black tea after eating an almond croissant, when she gets a reply from her sister.
Yildiz: You’re not staying at the motel.
You can crash at Ali Kemal’s place.
I just texted him and he’s not on duty now.
Also, as bad as this situation is, I’m glad the door’s finally getting fixed.
Hilal: And where else am I going to stay?
Her sister doesn’t reply until Hilal has finished her tea.
Yildiz: You can crash at Ali Kemal’s place.
I just called him and he’s okay with you staying while the door’s getting fixed.
Hilal: Isn’t he on duty now?
Yildiz: No, I wouldn’t call him if I knew he was.
Her phone suddently vibrates at a new text message.
Ali Kemal: it’s OK, ur not inconveniencing me. just come over.
n yes, ur sister told me 2 tell u
but it doesn’t make it less tru
Hilal sometimes hate how her sister knows her too well. Yildiz knows that Hilal will always try not to impose on other people, especially when it comes to her own issues. She would’ve argued with Yildiz about staying at the motel instead, but if she is honest with herself, staying with Ali Kemal (who was a close friend) sounds more appealing than staying alone at a motel. She texts her sister.
Hilal: Okay. Thanks for making the call.
Yildiz: No problem. Rest well, and let’s hope Hristos finishes the freaking door before my shift.
She takes that as a finality and begins to gather her things. She’s doesn’t have the energy to argue with her sister and Ali Kemal even if she didn’t want to.
She tells Ali Kemal she’s on her way and hails a cab to his place. His place is a lot further than the motel, but she just doesn’t feel like commuting (she feels like collapsing in the middle of the road, really).
Ali Kemal is a very good friend of Yildiz. They met in the same community college where Yildiz was taking her nursing degree and Ali Kemal was taking a course program to train as a paramedic. Hilal has met him a few times at parties and other events she attended with Yildiz, and she’s come to know Ali Kemal as serious and having a dark sense of humor.
He looks too serious (see: unapproachable) to be a paramedic, but at the same time does look like someone who won’t mind a little mess when he’s busy applying gauze and stopping wounds from bleeding too much.
He looks like someone who can kill as much as he can save people, and Hilal found the irony daunting. Yildiz only thought it was a reason to tease the man even more.
But with the amount of time Hilal’s got to know him, she’s come to realize that Ali Kemal is a sweet and kind person.(She also had the suspicion that he had (has?) a crush on Yildiz for a while, but she never got to ask him if it was (or is) true.)
The ride to his place was short. The building is slightly better than the one the sisters were staying in: it wasn’t as old and rickety. Besides that, there aren’t big differences. The neighbors were nice, the neighborhood had a convenience store, a laundromat, and a nearby bus stop, and the rent was reasonable — all things that can be found in the sisters’ current building. The only edge that Ali Kemal’s place had over theirs was the fact that his front door doesn’t fail at being a door as often as the sisters’ do.
Ali Kemal buzzes her in before she could ring his doorbell, and Hilal appreciates that he’d been looking out for her arrival. She gets to his apartment and he greets her with a smile and his uniform on.
“Did you just step out of your shift?” she asks as he welcomes her inside.
“No,” Ali Kemal says. “I’m not supposed to be on duty today. Day off, supposedly. But a coworker called in a favor I can’t back down from.” He gestures her to sit on the couch and disappears into the kitchen. There is a small pile of blankets and a fluffy pillow there.
“I can look for a different place to stay,” Hilal offers but the older man comes out of the kitchen with a look of disapproval and a glass of water.
“You’re more than welcome to stay, Hilal.” She’s forced to accept the glass of water and finally sit down on the couch. “I’m only covering them for the rest of their shift anyway.”
“Oh okay.”
“I’m serious. I’m not turning you away when you literally look like you’re about to keel over, and especially when Yildiz already told me about what happened.” Ali Kemal looks at her right in the eye when he says this, arms akimbo. “Now, I hadn’t been able to clean out the guest room but the couch is yours. I also don’t have much in terms of food but I figured you’d be doing more sleeping than eating.”
Hilal snorts. “Yeah, you’d be right.”
Ali Kemal smiles in sympathy. “You’re also free to use the bathroom too if you want to wash up before sleeping. I put some extra clothes and and toothbrush in there.”
She almost cries at this. “Thank you so much for doing this, Ali Kemal. I totally owe you one.”
The man ruffles her hair as he’s wont to do ever since they bonded over their mutual hate for this one instructor they had the (dis)pleasure of having a class in. (She remembers the conversation vividly since it was over bad coffee in the same apartment. The coffee was from the vending machine at the hospital Ali Kemal and Yildiz worked at. It was another thing they agreed on.) Hilal swats his hand away when a lively guitar riff starts playing. Ali Kemal curses as he checks the watch on his wrist. “Oh shit, lemme take this.”
He fishes his phone out of his pocket before he walks to the kitchen to answer the call. Hilal takes this time to send another text to Yildiz that she’s at Ali Kemal’s. Her sister doesn’t reply but Hilal only thinks her sister has gone back to work.
Ali Kemal walks back to the living room. “Yeah, sorry, that was the friend I’m covering for. I have to go.”
“Okay, have fun at work.”
“Sure,” he says as he picks up a jacket on the coffee table. “I’ll try to come back early and with some food, hopefully.”
“And if you do come back early, don’t wake me up.”
Ali Kemal laughs. “Sure thing. Make yourself at home and all that, and if anything happens then just shoot me a text.” He checks his watch again. “And now I really have to go.”
“I can handle myself just fine. Just go and thank you again.”
He shoots her a finger gun before grabbing a bag from the hallway and leaving the apartment.
Hilal is alone now and although she never recalls the couch being so comfortable before (and she doesn’t want anything more than to just sleep there and then). But she did just come out of a two-day (one can argue a near three-day) shift and she has the urge to wash off the two-day sweat out of every surface inch of her. So with a lot of willpower, she drags herself away from the couch and heads to the bathroom.
True enough, there is a set of clothes on the counter along with a white fluffy towel and a toothbrush that’s still in the packet. She doesn’t really mind the strong-scented products Ali Kemal uses, but she does scrunch her nose when she sees he uses 2-in-1 shampoo. Somehow, she’s not really surprised.
She changes into the clothes he’s prepared for her and makes a beeline for the couch. She usually lets her hair air dry, but this is one of those instances where she doesn’t care what her hair may look like after. She makes a small nest of blankets and pillows (she grabs some of the throw pillows from the other chairs) and falls asleep instantly once she lies down.
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Chapter summary: After a school assignment he put his heart on, Ash knows it's finally the right time to be truthful to himself and the world.
Happy Palletshipping Day! I wanted to do a little something for today, and here is a new chapter of my story. I know it’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for everything :)
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jensky2000 · 4 months
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Chapters: 13/18 ““Zip Tied” Jamie is growing tired of Jenny and Ian's drama. Ellen opens up to Claire and Jenny. Jamie has an important talk with his father.
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hotside · 1 year
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“Rey crawled through the interiors of the Finalizer like a desert rat. Whatever happened as soon as the door opened, she hoped Kylo had figured it out.
Occasionally, Rey would hear distant voices reaching her through the echo. At first, she just wanted to stay out of sight, sneaking aimlessly through the vents, however, it did not seem like the smartest – nor the most comfortable – idea to be just waiting in there, with no concrete plan. It did not take long before she realized what she had to do.
She had to call the Resistance!”
-
Chapter 24: Desert Rat.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/41795265/chapters/105488811
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unorthodoxx-page · 1 year
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A Tale of Spirits - Chapter 3: Contemplation LIVE
Here we are with chapter 3!  Moving slowly but surely!  
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mangabirdao3 · 5 months
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When Allen is injured on an op, he finds an unlikely companion.
Story links on the linktree:
https://linktr.ee/manga_bird
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