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differenteagletragedy · 7 months

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I saw you wrote a couple things about the MC dying. Have you written anything about Baxter finding out the MC died during the five years he was gone?

Haha, I wrote a whole thing about this yesterday then realized that I read what you wrote wrong, so here's another -- tough break, Baxter!

Baxter had gotten along perfectly fine without you for five years. Or, well, not perfectly fine -- he was miserable, riddled with self loathing and he'd isolated himself from anyone that might actually give a damn about him. But he was surviving.

But when he saw Miranda and Terry -- with a "y" now, he'd told him later -- so many memories came flooding back. It became harder to tell himself that he was ok when he just missed you so much.

It was pathetic, he thought, to be so attached to the idea of someone he'd known so long ago, for such a small amount of time, but you'd marked him during your summer together. And now that he'd been reunited with your friends, a small part of him started believing that he could be reunited with you as well.

During that first introduction, or reintroduction, as it turned out, he tried to keep things professional. Jude and Scott, his clients, were letting him meet with Jude's sister and her boyfriend, who were helping them get things together for the wedding. He did see Miranda and Terry exchange a number of glances after seeing him. He assumed it was because they weren't sure how to act around him after he'd cut off all contact after that summer.

Looking back, he wished that had been all it was.

Still, Baxter didn't bring you up during that first meeting. Or the second one. Or the third, or the fourth. There was a tension in the air whenever he interacted with Miranda and Terry, and finally, the night before the wedding when they were all together at Jude and Scott's home, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Terry, a word, if you would be so kind?" he said after wrapping up the wedding talk.

Terry shot another one of those looks at Miranda, but he followed him to the kitchen, then leaned on the counter and looked at him expectantly.

"What's up, Baxter?" he asked in a tone that was more forced than any Baxter had heard from him in the past.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he went for it -- he asked Terry if you were going to be at the wedding.

Terry stared at him for a moment, confusion etched on his face. Finally, he began replying.

"Baxter, you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Terry took in a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Baxter held up a hand. He'd gotten scared.

"Please forget I asked, it's really none of my business," he said hastily, so sure that Terry was going to tell him something that would hurt. That you hated him, had gotten married yourself, moved to the other side of the world.

"No, wait," Terry started, but he'd put his walls up firmly. He stepped out of the kitchen, said his goodbyes and gave his well wishes to the others, then left.

It wasn't until the next day, during the reception, that he learned the truth.

When the guests started arriving at the wedding, Baxter kept an eye out as he rushed around, making sure everything was running smoothly. During the ceremony, he stood at the back, scanning the crowd, hoping to get a glimpse of you. Nothing.

After dinner had been served and the guests were finishing up the meal, he spotted Miranda and Terry at a table near the front. Cove was with them. You weren't.

It was strange, seeing your eternal sidekick without you there. Strange enough that he felt bold enough to approach the group.

"Miranda, Terry," he said, greeting the two he'd been reacquainted with already. With a nod and as friendly a smile as he could muster, he nodded toward Cove. "And how have you been?"

"Baxter," Cove said flatly, giving him the glare he'd gotten accustomed to during his time in Sunset Bird. "Hi."

He swallowed, but everything was almost over -- he just had to get through the reception, then he'd never see these people again. You'd gotten stuck in his mind throughout this process, and although he'd made it a point not to look you up in the five years you'd been apart, now he couldn't stand not knowing. So he asked.

Cove stared at him, then looked to his friends. Terry shrugged, and Miranda kept her eyes on the table. Then he told him.

You were dead.

A lifetime of showing a prim and proper exterior to hide the mess that going on inside him prepared him well for the moment. He nodded, gave his condolences, then excused himself. All the while, he had the strangest sensation of existing somewhere that wasn't reality -- it couldn't have been. Not if you were gone.

Throughout the rest of the reception, he stayed focused on his duties, all while his mind tried to reason its way out of this new information. Maybe he'd misheard Cove. Maybe Cove was mistaken. Maybe this was just a nightmare. There had to have been some sort of misunderstanding.

When Jude and Scott had left, as well as most of the guests, Baxter was standing by the window, looking out over the city and trying to reason with what he'd heard. A tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts.

He turned, and Miranda was there.

"Are you ok?" she asked. "About ... you know."

He considered the question. He could have lied and said he was fine, but that would hardly be believable, given his behavior. He could have admitted that he wasn't ok, but if he wasn't ok, then what was he? Sad? Heartbroken? Angry? Regretful? Ashamed that he had all of these feelings and more when he had no right to them after the way he'd left you?

The hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and she sighed quietly, moving beside him to check out the view.

"What happened?" he asked after a moment.

"Does it make a difference?" she responded, a bit of coolness in her voice.

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

Miranda went to walk away, even getting as far as to make a couple of steps back towards her friends, but then she stopped.

"You really screwed up, you know?" she said quietly, more bite behind her words this time. "Leaving the way you did. It wasn't fair."

"I agree. And that haunts me more than I could possibly say."

Satisfied at that, she left him alone.

Eventually, when there was no work left to be done, he made his way down to his car. But instead of going home, he found himself taking a different route, and before he knew it he was driving into Sunset Bird.

He went past the main street, down to the old neighborhood where he parked his car in his old spot like no time had passed at all. He stepped out, then started making his way down to the beach.

You were gone, he knew that now. No magical reasoning could change that. But here, down by the shore, he could feel you. In the sand, in the water -- here you were everywhere, clear as day.

He slipped his shoes off, then his socks and set them down. He rolled up his pant legs next, and without any of the hesitation that usually accompanied everything he did, he stepped out into the water.

Then he stepped further.

His pants were getting wet, the waves splashing up well past his knees, but he didn't care. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't scared. What did he have to lose?

Baxter watched the water, dark and cold, come up around his waist as he kept going. It wasn't just the loss of you -- though that did hurt like hell. It was what losing you represented. All the wasted moments, all the missed chances, all the happiness that could have been his if he'd just let himself grab onto it.

When the water came up to his chest, he lifted his feet and started moving. There he was, his first time swimming in the ocean, and you weren't there to see it. He took a deep breath, then plunged down, fully submerging himself in the water.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed out there, letting the waves rock him closer to shore, then further away, but he wasn't afraid. And when he finally left the water, walking along the same sand he knew you had to have walked on countless times, he decided that he didn't want to be afraid ever again.

#our life beginnings and always #our life #olba #baxter ward #cove holden #olba baxter #olba mc #our life baxter #baxter x reader #baxter x mc #baxter x you #our life angst

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mrssturnioloo · 1 year

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white liar

Pairing- jake seresin x reader, javy machado x reader, bradley bradshaw x cousin! reader

Warning(s)- cheating, i think that’s it if not lmk

Word count- 1.6k

Summary- jake cheated on you and he thinks you would never find out

Hey, white liar

Truth comes out a little at a time

You and the Squad were hanging out at your place. Jake had gone to help Javy get something “out his car and as soon as he was out the front door, Bradley and Natasha had pulled you into the kitchen as a precaution to prevent someone else from hearing.

“Where were you the other night?” Your cousin asked. Bradley was more like a brother than a cousin. He was your safety net and you were his. You were there when his mother died. You were there when he graduated from college. You were there with him when he confronted Maverick about pulling his papers. You were there for everything just like he was always there for you.

“Here. Why?” It was the truth. You and Jake were going to go and meet the others for some drinks but you backed out last minute with a headache. Jake said he’ll let everyone know where you were but by the question Bradley had asked, you guessed that Jake didn't tell anyone.

Natasha looked at you with a look that resembled a mix of pity and anger. Bradley mimicked the same look.

You were about to comment on the looks but Natasha cut you off. “Jake cheated on you.”

And it spreads just like a fire

Slips off of your tongue like turpentine

And I don't know why, white liar

“Jake what?” You turned around to see the rest of the squad standing behind you with shock written all over their faces. Jake and Javy in the front. Bob and Mickey were the only ones who didn't look shocked, only disappointed.

Once the initial shock wore off, everyone was glaring daggers at Jake who looked extremely guilty.

“Is it true?” You asked, your voice wavering just a bit but you covered it with a cough. “Jake?” You repeated once he looked away to avoid eye contact with you.

You knew about his past. His playboy ways. Everyone knew that Jake Seresin didn't do relationships and when you two got together, everyone was beyond shocked. You were a fool to think that he changed his ways just for you. “Jake?”

The guilt was eating away at him fast. He had the urge to say something, anything. So he said the first thing that came out of his mouth. “Yeah. Sorry.” He said in a nonchalant tone. Jake, along with everyone else, was shocked at what he said.

You said you went out to a bar

And walked some lady to her car

But your face has more to tell

A few nights ago

It was almost 4 in the morning when Jake came stumbling into the house. Jake groaned as he ran straight into the wall next to your bedroom door. “Jake?” You groaned as you rolled out of bed. As he walked into your room, Jake tripped over his feet and landed on the foot of your bed. “Did you drive here?”

“No. Bernice drove me here.” Jake slurred. Bernice? Bernice? Your mind ran through multiple people trying to find out who Bernice was but you had no luck. You wanted to ask him who Bernice was but you knew not to question someone who was drunk after Bradley forced you to sing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ with him after you asked him how many drinks he had.

Instead, you pulled Jake up and walked him to the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub as you gathered him some clothes to sleep in. After struggling to help get him dressed, you both went to bed knowing that you’d have to go to the bar to get his truck for him.

Hours before

Jake Seresin walked into the Hard Deck with an unknown redhead under his arm. It was a pretty bold move on his behalf. Bringing his side piece into the bar where his girlfriend, her cousin, and their friends hangout. This wasn't his plan. He just wanted to come play some pool and drink some beers, but when he ran into the redhead outside the bar, he knew his plans were about to change and not in a good way.

“Jakey!” The redhead shouted as she noticed Jake walking towards the front entrance with his head down. Before he had a chance to look at the owner of the voice, he was tackled into a hug. The yell had gained the attention of some of the regulars who were sitting outside. All the regulars had known that Jake Seresin had a girlfriend, but that red head he was currently hugging, wasn't you. Who the hell was this girl and why was she under Jake's arm? Where were you?

“Wh-What are you doing here, Bernice?” Jake stuttered in a state of panic, frantically looking around to see if his friends were around. If they were, he was in a whole lot of trouble. Thankfully they weren't, which had calmed his nerves a bit. “To get some drinks and see my favorite man, silly.” and before he knew it, he was being dragged inside the bar trying to not be seen by his friends.

“I’ll be back. I'm gonna get a beer.” Jake decided that since his entire plan of relaxing went to shit, he should at least get a beer. He left and headed towards the bar top but immediately regretted his decision as soon as he saw Bob and Natasha talking to Penny. He decided to just ignore them.

“Can I get a beer please, Penny.” Jake asked. Looking over, Penny gave him a confused look as she noticed that you weren't with him. Jake noticed this look and sighed. “She's sick.” He lied. Penny didn't believe that one bit. You would’ve messaged Bradley or Natasha, not send Jake to tell them. Penny nodded and turned around to grab Jake his beer.

Once Jake got his beer, Bradley was already walking up to the bar to question him about your absence. Bradley stood right next to Jake who had grabbed his beer and was about to say something but Jake was already walking towards a corner booth in the back. Taking a closer look at the person in the seat, Bradley knew that it definitely wasn't you who was there with Jake.

“Oh! There you are Jakey. I thought you ditched me for someone else.” The redhead said as Jake sat down.

After a moment of silence, the redhead gasped which made Jake look up from his drink. “I need to freshen up. Excuse me.” Jake let out a breath of relief once she was gone.

As soon as Bradley came back, he told Natahsa what was going on. So, once Natasha noticed the redhead walking towards the direction of the bathroom, she let Bradley know that she was going to follow the redhead.

When Natasha opened the door to the bathroom she noticed the redhead standing in front of the mirror fixing her makeup.

“Excuse me, do you by any chance have a tampon?” Natasha asked. She didn't need one. She just wanted a reason to make conversation with the girl.

The redhead didn't respond as she pulled out a tampon and handed it to Natasha. “Thank you. I'm Natasha by the way.” Sighing, the redhead responded. “I'm Berniceb and if you'll excuse me I have a hot date to get back to.” Then walked out.

“Dumbass.” Natasha smirked and walked out.

Natasha walked towards Bradley and sat down next to him. “Her name is Bernice.” Bradley nodded.

'Cause my cousin saw you on the street

With a red head named Bernice

Turns out you don't lie too well

One drink turned into two. Two turned into four. Four turned into eight. Soon he was on his tenth. Jake was not a light-weight in any means. All the drinks hit him at once.

“I need to get home.” Jake slurred and got up but stumbled into the table a bit.

Natasha and Bradley had been watching the two all night. “Should we take him home?” Bless Bradley and his caring heart.

“No. He’s a cheating snake. If I drove him home, I would drive him to his new home, off the side of a cliff.” Natasha smirked as Bradley gave her a somewhat scared and impressed expression.

Bradley didn’t respond. Natasha and him watched as Bernice helped a drunk Jake Seresin out of the bar and to her car.

Hey, white liar

Truth comes out a little at a time

And it spreads just like a fire

Bob being Natasha’s backseater, obviously made them close.

“Can I tell you something?” Natasha asked as her and Bob were walking towards their cars after work. Bob nodded. “You just have to promise not to tell anyone. Especially Jake and Y/n.”

Now, Bob was worried. What was so bad that Jake and you couldnt know? Bob hesitantly nodded as Natasha looked around. “Jake cheated on Y/n. I dont know how long its beem happening though.” Natasha then explained the whole night to Bob.

Bob ended up telling Mickey, who surprisingly held onto that secret. Natasha shouldve know not to trust Bob with that secret since he was known as the person who couldnt keep secrets.

Here's a bombshell just for you

Turns out I've been lying too

Present Time

Nodding you took a deep breath and looked at Jake after a long moment of silence.

“Since you’re admitting that you cheated, I think it’s fair to admit something to make it even.” You said looking at Javy.

Javy gasped in realization. “Y/n no.” You ignored Javy’s shouts.

“Me and Javy slept together.”

Now I'm the white liar

Truth comes out a little at a time

And it spreads just like a fire

Slips off of my tongue like turpentine

And I don't know why

White liar

people who may be interested: @sebsxphia @averagewriter-inthedark @imawkwardlysoc @hangmanbrainrot @topguncortez @virgosunbaby @hangmanapologist @bonitanightmxres

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chainofclovers · 5 months

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my new year's fics

If you know me you may have noticed that I'm an absolute lunatic about the passage of time. I'm not even 100% sure this represents every time I have written about New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, but I suddenly felt the urge to attempt to compile my fics on the theme in one spot.

Silver Lining (Ted Lasso, Ted/Rebecca/Keeley/Roy, explicit, 9840 words): 2022 ends with a whimper; 2023 starts with a bang. :) [side note: this is my favorite NYE/NYD thing I've ever written]

january (Ted Lasso, Ted/Rebecca, mature, 3482 words): The first hours of the new year—the first hours they’re together—are freezing cold.

More Than Life Itself (9 to 5 [film], Judy/Violet, mature, 8411 words): Her friends had so many memories to share that Judy thought she could successfully pull off the fade she sometimes fell back on—the quiet, pleasant fade into the edge of the scene, an appreciative witness to her friends’ bright glow. Judy wasn’t shy, exactly, but she often preferred to listen. It didn’t work this time.

the rose room (Grace and Frankie, Grace/Frankie, explicit, 7294 words): Frankie winces almost imperceptibly at the word friend. (A story for the new year.)

Lightyear (The Devil Wears Prada, Miranda/Andy, explicit, 6741 words, third story in "Land Fathoms" trilogy): Even after six years away from New York, Andy hasn’t forgotten the hush that falls over Miranda’s street when the weather is cold. [Note: This one is only briefly about New Year's, and I have the feeling I'm missing at least a couple other times I'd have written these two at New Year's since I've been in the fandom--or willing to be pulled back in--since 2008 and I was obviously obsessed with the passage of time all this time. But I couldn't find anything else in my quick peer through ao3!]

Whether you read any of these or not, I hope this post finds you—whenever you're reading it—feeling some of the hope for the future (and commitment to working for peace) that a new year can bring. ❤️

#fic by me #new year's eve #ted lasso #hot dork club #grace and frankie #9 to 5 #9 to 5 (film)#devil wears prada

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daydream-cement · 1 year

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Lake Date

Brienne of Tarth x Miranda Hilmarson

Brienne and Miranda have been officially dating for three months and now it's time for their first Valentine's day <3

Authors Note: This was written in collaboration with @bri-sonat. THIS FLUFF IS OFF THE CHARTS

Narrowing her gaze at her girlfriend in the driver’s seat, Miranda shook her head at Brienne, inquiring once again about the plans she had for the evening, “Why won’t you just tell me, Bri? Where are we going? Don’t tell me we are going back into work for an extra shift on Valentine’s Day?”

The knight didn’t take her eyes off the winding road in front of her to look at her passenger, the large number of trees around them making it difficult to make out any landmarks. “Because it’s a surprise. That’s why I won’t tell you.” Brienne prayed to the old Gods and the new that Miranda couldn’t see how nervous she was, or that she looked in the rearview mirror every fifteen seconds. “No, we’re not. That I can tell you.”

Rather than pester Brienne with any additional questions, Miranda stretched a hand to rest at the back of the knight’s neck, fingers playing with her hair as she spoke softly, “Well, whatever it is... I’m sure I’ll love it.” The constable turned her eyes out the passenger side window, absentmindedly continuing to play with Brienne’s hair as her mind reeled at the possibilities of what Brienne may have planned for their first Valentine’s Day together.

Brienne’s fingers anxiously tapped the steering wheel as she tried her best to not let her mind fall into the deep abyss that was her doubts. “I really hope you will.” The possibility that Miranda would hate her plans was at the forefront of her mind, but she really hoped that her cliché date would be romantic. She had never done this before, but she hoped that it would be adequate enough. “Do keep in mind that I have never planned out a Valentine’s before… and this date idea may be really outdated, like, people could do this in my time. But I hope you’ll enjoy the thought I’ve put into it despite that… I really tried to come up with something original but I got so caught up in my head that I didn’t have time to plan out an intricate date, I’m sorry...”

“My sweet Bri-Bri... I haven’t been on a Valentine’s Day date where I haven’t planned it myself, so this is monumental for me. And have you ever paused to think of how your quote-unquote outdated-ness is one of my favorite things about you? You know how I adore the way your brain works...” Miranda pulled over her words, wondering if they would actually be comforting to the knight. Her head swiveled back to the knight, her final words spoken with a sweet smile, “I’m so excited to see what you have done as I really, uhm, like you and everything you do.”

Taking a moment to think over Miranda’s words, Brienne’s finger movements stilled on the wheel, no longer nervously tapping. “I suppose I have not considered that… thank you.” The knight began to slow the car down; the road she was supposed to turn onto was coming closer with every passing second. “I really like you too.” Removing one of her hands from the steering wheel to place it on the shift stick to shift down a gear.

“Of course.” The constable gave a curt nod and turned her attention out the window once more, maintaining her teasing of Brienne’s hair and light scratching of the knight’s scalp, a purely selfish habit she developed to bring herself peace on long car rides.

Brienne switched on the turn signal to turn left down a slight slope leading down to an empty parking lot, not many people out here at this time of day. “Close your eyes, please.” The knight really didn’t want Miranda to see where she was taking her, knowing it could possibly ruin the surprise before she had the chance to set it up.

“Oh, okay...” The constable shut her eyes, a smile growing on her face at the thought she knew was going into all of this, “Do you need me to help with anything?”

“No. Just keep your eyes closed until I tell you it’s okay to open them, please.” Brienne quickly parked the car and turned it off before pulling the parking brake. The knight turned her head to look at her girlfriend, to make sure her eyes were really closed and that there was no peeking.

“Yes, Lord Commander.” The constable giggled, bringing her hands to cover her face as well to prevent her curiosity from getting the best of her.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Brienne hummed before reaching back into the backseat to grab the items she had brought. “Stay here. I’ll be back. And no peeking.” The knight opened her door and closed it after her, swiftly setting everything up so she wouldn’t be away from Miranda longer than she needed to be.

Brienne technically ran back to the car when everything was done, needing to collect her girlfriend. The knight opened the passenger seat door and held out a hand for Miranda to grab onto so the Lord Commander could guide her to where she had built up their date spot. “Your carriage awaits, M’Lady.”

Holding back a smile by biting her lip and dropping her hands to her lap, Miranda tilted her head up towards the voice of her knight, eyes still squeezed shut. The constable raised her hand up, moving it about to find Brienne’s, latching onto her girlfriend’s hand when she made contact, “Brienne, I better not trip and fall because my eyes are closed. I think we both know I can easily trip with my eyes open.”

The knight chuckled slightly at the constable’s words, she was aware of how clumsy her girlfriend could be. “I wouldn’t dare let you trip. Trust me.” Brienne took a small step back so she could signal Miranda to get out of the car and give her the room to do so, her hand still firmly holding the constable’s.

Ducking out of the passenger seat, Miranda’s one hand glided along the top of the car door, searching for Brienne, who stood nearby for additional stability, “Okay, I’m ready. Take me on a date, honey.”

Brienne closed the passenger door and quickly locked the car before she started to lead Miranda away to the little spot she had found for them. Truth was, she had come out here a few days earlier to scope it out to find the perfect place, working as a probationary constable had definitely made the knight more prepared than usual. “Watch your step here. There’s a small curb to step over a few meters in front of you.”

“Oh, Brienne of Tarth... The things I am willing to do for you.” Miranda whined in anticipation, knowing if there was a way to be clumsy, she would find it. Her hand had Brienne’s in a vice grip, not wanting to let go for any reason and her opposite hand reached across her body, holding onto Brienne’s bicep as an additional anchor. With cautious steps, the constable searched for the curb with her foot, stepping over the object when the toe of her shoe came in contact with the curb.

“Marvelous…” Brienne mumbled as Miranda stepped over the obstacle, she led the constable down onto a grass plain, walking towards a large tree that would provide them with the shade needed on an Australian February day. “We’re almost there. Just a few more steps, darling…”

Giddy laughter rose up through Miranda as the anticipation was becoming almost too much to handle. She shook Brienne lightly, needing the other woman to know how excited she was about the entire premise of this date, “Oh, I’m so excited. I can’t believe you have something planned out like this...” After a few additional steps, Miranda felt Brienne stop and the constable went still, awaiting further instructions.

“You can open your eyes now,” Brienne almost whispered, really wanting Miranda to like her surprise. She had worked her ass off in the kitchen to cook all the things she knew her girlfriend liked, she had also taken advantage of her partner’s best friend being her not-so-new boss.

Hands still clinging to Brienne, Miranda finally opened her eyes, now greeted with the sight of a picnic spread out under a large red river gum tree, whose branches dipped low as if they were reaching out towards the water’s edge. The constable looked to Brienne, to the picnic, and back again, “What is all of this? You- You planned a whole picnic for me?” Never able to help when she became emotional, Miranda felt her eyes fill with tears, the Aussie biting her lip and leaning her head against Brienne’s shoulder as an attempt to stifle her crying.

The knight took a seat on the blanket she had laid out, still holding the constable’s hand as she gently tugged it as an indicator for her to take a seat next to her. “I’d do anything for you. That includes interrogating our superior for some of your favorite meals and then spending many minutes in the kitchen making them for you. I also made some dessert.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, the constable took her place near the knight, eyes examining the picnic spread before her, shaking her head the whole while. Miranda’s blue eyes met Brienne’s, more tears threatening to spill as she spoke, “No one... has ever done something like this for me before. Brienne... I- I-” Every aspect of dating Brienne had been absolute bliss for Miranda and from past experience, the constable had been waiting for ‘the other shoe to drop,’ where she figured out something terrible about her relationship. This was just an additional instance where Miranda knew Brienne was the only person for her, “You are just so- Thank you, Bri... It’s perfect.”

“It’s my pleasure, and I’m so gleeful you like it.” Brienne smiled at Miranda before opening the picnic basket and pulling out a Tupperware box. She took off the lid before reaching it toward the constable, offering the food for the Aussie to take. “Don’t shed any tears, my love. Have some spring rolls instead, they’re homemade.”

Miranda went quiet, watching the knight’s every move. There was no one else in the world the Aussie could imagine spending a Valentine’s Day with for the rest of her life. Years ago, Miranda thought she was in love, but when she was with Brienne, she knew her feelings for her ex-boss could never compare to what she felt for the knight. No one had ever supplied her with the feelings of endless love, admiration, and safety. Without thinking, Miranda began to speak, stopping herself from finishing the sentence when her mind caught up to the drastic statement she was about to make, “Brienne, I-'' She couldn’t tell the knight those dreaded three words. At least, not yet.

Putting the box with the rolls down onto the blanket, Brienne moved to take the rest of the things out of the basket but snapped her head up when Miranda started speaking. “Yes?” The knight pulled a thermos with iced tea out of the container and poured some for her girlfriend into a cup before offering it to her.

“I- I-” Miranda knew she was fumbling terribly, the sight of all her girlfriend’s planning making the frightful amount of emotions she felt worsen all at once, “I just- I really like you is all...”

“I like you too, Mir…” Brienne responded before nodding down to the spring rolls. “Now eat. I spent a lot of time on those you know. As well as this iced tea.” The knight motioned to the cup in her hand that she was holding out for the constable to take. Her tone was teasing, she was desperate for her girlfriend to taste what she had made especially for her, but she didn’t want to sound like it, so she settled for playfulness instead.

“Thank you.” The constable gratefully took the cup and pulled a spring roll from the container, pushing any more thoughts of love to the back of her mind. As she continued trying different foods and sipping on her tea, the Aussie’s jovial nature resurfaced as she began to tease Brienne, “Since when do you know how to cook?”

Brienne released a small laugh, knowing that this was new information to Miranda. She had never brought it up, and this was the first time the knight had ever cooked for her girlfriend. “I cooked a lot back on my travels but there weren’t many meals to make out in the wild. The best you could get in terms of a cooked meal was some bread, or a kidney pot pie. Supply was what you made or collected yourself. If you wanted meat, you had to go hunt for it yourself, or at least I had, and et cetera. Then when I permanently moved here and saw all the new cooking techniques, all the recipes, a stove, an oven? I got so intrigued, so I had to indulge and invest in the knowledge. So I have used all of my free time to master the ‘art of cooking.’ Has my time been well spent?”

“You are incredibly talented. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be a chef over a constable?” Miranda teased before taking another bite of her spring roll, deliriously happy to be eating some of her favorite foods while sitting in such a beautiful place with a beautiful person, “Or maybe you could do both, my fair knight?”

“Heh, no. I’d rather it be a thing on the side. I’d much rather have a job where I get to help people, and serve justice, just like I had back in Westeros.” Brienne smiled at her girlfriend before taking a spring roll herself. “I could do both. I could definitely do both.”

Finishing with the spring roll in her hand, Miranda paused for a moment to chew and swallow, taking another drink of her tea. The constable cradled the empty cup in her hands, settling them in her lap, “Perhaps you can just be my personal chef then? The pay is good and so are the benefits.”

Taking a bite from her roll, Brienne nodded as she finished chewing. “Whatever it is my Lady wishes, I shall be. I’ll cook for you whenever you wish. Even without the pay and benefits.”

“The pay and benefits aren’t that great anyway. It’s just my endless love and adoration with the occasional kiss, but I can hold off if you prefer.” Miranda was already giggling wildly at her own joke, reaching into a nearby container for more food. Gazing up to Brienne, the constable took a bite, her usual smile present as she gave the knight a wink.

Brienne lifted her cup to her lips, looking at her girlfriend over the rim of it as she hid the smile Miranda’s wink had caused by taking a quick sip. “You drive a hard bargain, those are some benefits. I am inclined to accept them. I think it’s only fair for the work I’ll put in.”

The two women continued their meal, teasing and chatting as they ate, primarily soaking up the presence of the other and enjoying a bit of quality time. As the sun set over the pond, Miranda felt compelled to spend some time on the dock before darkness fell upon their date, “Let’s go look at the water, hon!” Jumping up from her place on the blanket, Miranda held her hands out to the knight, inviting her to take them to help her girlfriend up.

“Sure.” The knight smiled up at her girlfriend before taking hold of her outreached hands. That’s when Brienne remembered there was still one more thing to eat, and she thought it would be perfect to consume, as they consumed the sunset with their eyes. “Would you like to have your dessert as we do? I think it could be nice…”

The constable mulled over the question in her mind, not quite ready to relinquish her grip on Brienne’s hands, “Do you mean actual dessert or are you being all cute and asking me for a kiss? You know I appreciate both.” She asked this question knowing full well, it was rare for the knight to ask her for physical intimacy like a kiss.

“I mean actual dessert. It’s just some strawberries dipped in white and milk chocolate… nothing special. Though I really like that other option you suggested.” Brienne felt shy all of a sudden, perhaps it was the setting or the idea of kissing Miranda in such a romantic spot on such a romantic day. Whichever one it was, the knight couldn’t deny the way her voice seemed to quiet down, almost shrinking.

“Both options sound wonderful. Which would you like first? It is your Valentine’s Day too, after all…” Miranda used her grip on the knight’s hands as leverage, pulling the woman closer, bringing the knight’s arms around herself, and holding Brienne’s hands tightly in her own behind her back. More often than not, Miranda preferred not to make the knight more nervous than necessary, but today she was enjoying the power she had over the Lord Commander for a few moments.

“The kiss, please,” Brienne whispered, head subconsciously leaning in so she could ghost Miranda’s lips with her own.

“Good choice.” The words came out quickly, only serving a seconds-long barrier from the women’s lips being separated any longer. Her hands relinquished their grip on Brienne’s when their lips made contact, one winding its way around the knight’s neck to hold the woman close for a few seconds longer. When she parted the kiss, Miranda kept Brienne close, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“Thank you…” The knight kept her eyes shut, savoring every second that she could still feel the flavor of Miranda in her mouth. A mix of spring rolls, iced tea, and an assortment of other small snacks together with the ever-familiar taste of her girlfriend. The last time Brienne had been kissed like she just was, was the day she had made the decision to stay here. The time she had done the most uncommon thing of kissing the constable with such vigor that caught her off guard. Since then, it had only been the smallest pecks, but after being kissed like that, the Lord Commander realized that she really likes it and that she wants to be kissed again. “I also wish to state that I have a pavlova in my fridge at home if that would earn me another kiss equally as wonderful as the one you just gave me…”

Biting her bottom lip, Miranda shook her head, finding Brienne to be unbelievably wonderful, yet again. Her next kiss for Brienne was more intense than anticipated, her other hand extending to Brienne’s face, deepening the kiss further. The constable exhaled with a small groan when she parted their second kiss, “Oh, I love pavlova…”

The Lord Commander whined when the constable broke the kiss once again, but giggled when Miranda spoke. “I know. Robin told me. Baking was a new venture for me, but I think it went well… you’ll just have to taste it and see, if you wish to end the night at my apartment, that is.”

“We can have another slumber party and you can tell me more bedtime stories.” Miranda kept the offer lighthearted, retracting her hands from the knight, not wanting the knight to think she would ask for anything she wasn’t ready to give. The constable knew she would wait forever until Brienne was ready to move forward with their relationship’s intimacy, “Now we can watch a movie too!”

“Sounds perfect,” Brienne breathed before pressing a quick kiss against Miranda’s soft lips. “Would you like to watch the sunset now?”

The constable watched Brienne’s lips as she spoke, wishing deep down the kissing didn’t have to stop where it did. Her eyes flicked up to Brienne’s when she spoke, her tone soft yet excited, “I would love to.”

#gwendoline christie #gwen christie #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar (sandman)#the sandman #fanfic #fanfiction #crack fic #the road trip #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #brienne of tarth x miranda hilmarson #bri x mir #crossover

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theheartlandsblog · 1 month

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happy macmarston may! i have something very special to celebrate... =) 💛💛💛

below the "keep reading" prompt is a portion of the enormous macmarston fanfiction that i have been working on for a YEAR! it's not finished, but in the spirit of the month, here's a segment for you to read if you'd like. i'm so impatient to get this fic done. i wish i could post this segment on AO3, but i only want completed works there!

6,632 words - john marston/bonnie macfarlane - canon compliant violence - emotional infidelity. enjoy =)

TGCAC. SECTION T1. • DURING THE MISSION "MY SISTER'S KEEPER". • JOHN MARSTON IS ESCORTING MIRANDA, LUISA FORTUNA'S FIFTEEN YEAR-OLD SISTER, TO THE MEXICAN BORDER. • IT HAS BEEN MONTHS SINCE HE HAS SEEN HIS FAMILY, AND WEEKS SINCE HE HAS BEEN IN HIS HOME COUNTRY. • THERE ARE UPON THIS VERY SAME EARTH PINECONES THAT ONLY FALL AND OPEN AFTER WILDFIRES. •

in the morning, an early, early morning like the rest of them, john awoke and raised himself up with his filthy elbows and within his first breath he already knew it was raining somewhere out there, behind the cliffs, the mountains. he could smell it - doglike he lifted his face to the meandering wind and huffed deeply, his mouth hanging open, tasting the scent. the cliffs kept the moisture greedily to themselves, however, hemming the clouds in with their brown peaks, and the best the weather could do for them was be determinedly humid. miranda asked him softly if he liked that smell over the dark remains of last night's campfire and he said he did.

the dust stuck to itself instead of blowing, leaving the trail rather clean and open. on that second day they passed a man on a donkey that knew john by name or face and called out a greeting to him, pride written all over his face for noticing such a passenger. at miranda's amused questioning, he brushed it off. she sat closer to him that day and talked a little more - a lot more, in a loud voice, about her family mostly, and what she wanted to do in yucatan. the four horses pulled them past prickly pear and more dasylirion, took them under the shadows of big grey clouds.

once, one single time they stopped, to feed the horses and themselves. across from where john pulled the trembling wagon over was another such wagon, abandoned for what he reckoned was many years. standing beside it and irritably cropping grass was a beautiful wildlooking horse that did not run off when the human beings extracted themselves off the seat and tested their land legs. as john changed into his poncho, he studied the horse. it didn't run - maybe it was just feral, someone's escaped protégé. a light tan hide that turned darker down the legs, dark brown tail and ears, a dorsal stripe. it reminded him of a horse he'd had long ago and caught kicking and squealing in a land just like this. who goddamn knew what the pinkertons were doing with him now.

at the end of the day they found themselves riding outside chuparosa, like they'd intended to. it was, despite everything, beginning to be a sight john was warming up to. there were a couple memories attached to it now, ones that came back when looking at it. there's the length of wall he shot bottles off of with landon ricketts. there's the tracks that guided that godawful train he'd fired from. maybe ricketts was in there right that second, with whatever business he'd promised john.

"you wanna go in?" he offered, slowing the coach down and gesturing with his hat at the little white city. the young girl was already shaking her head, however.

"i can't. they could arrest me! someone could see me and arrest me, kill us both." she insisted, wringing her braid around her hands. the poor girl's eyes were steely and scared.

john furrowed his brows. "i've been in there a couple times and they ain't hung me yet." he said slowly, deliberately leaving out the part where he'd slaughtered three men like sheep in the road for touching his hat, all within minutes of arriving. "you're just a kid. and i'd come along with you. we could buy some sup - "

"you don't understand." miranda interjected him. her eyes and her jaw set and her brain working, working behind them. "i'm sorry. you don't understand what it's like to be someone like me."

a failure. he felt like a failure. john marston was such a godawful father that he couldn't even briefly soothe a child that wasn't his own and would be leaving in a matter of days. some man. some two-faced, unchanging bastard of a man. "i guess i don't." he admitted lowly, flicking the reins again and speeding them up. chuparosa rotating in their view. "we can just stop a little ways away. ain't no trouble."

at a fork in the road they stopped, right alongside a wooden signpost john had read more than a few times. TESORO AZUL / LAS HERMANAS / ESCALERA. they were near enough to chuparosa's rail line to see and hear the locomotives but not to feel them shaking the ground, and as the last light in the sky faded and made way for a dwindling moon the old cowboy and young fugitive watched in tandem the heavy black clouds of boilersmoke roll on by as the engine was fed to stop. the six horses lolled in the grass together, itching their backs, john's palomino with his long neck up, observing the city.

they weren't near enough to hear that, but it sprawled across their vision pale and tempting. john was a long way from the days of arthur and hosea hissing the world civilization under their breaths like a forsaken, unprintable oath. so too was he a long way from their graves, and their homes, and his home. he didn't much know where he was anymore. the cowboy leaned against emilio's coach smoking and resolutely pointed away from chuparosa. directly across from it was el ojo de diablo. he watched that. a drag from his cigarillo. another. saguaro cacti and trees still stood along the edge of those ancient cliffs, like so many sentinel soldiers lined up for the kill. another drag. a wet hack into the dirt. fog swept over them all as they slept, a quiet and blue night save for john's tiny cherrylike glow. chuparosa glowed too.

"señor marston? are you awake?" miranda's voice suddenly peeped. he had been laying down smoking his third cigarillo and he gave a full-body jerk when she spoke. his hat fell off his forehead.

"i am now." he grunted.

from the dark he heard miranda shuffling in her bedroll. "we're going to be out here for a while, aren't we?" she asked him plainly. a particularly wet gust of wind blew across their shoddy campsite, carrying spits of vapour that, when they touched john's cigarillo, snuffed it out completely.

"that's right." he rasped, taking pains to try and not sound so goddamn dour for once. his fingers dropped the stick limply to the grasses.

"how long?"

"five days at least." john mumbled. he stretched his feet out in his horribly sweaty boots that he was wearing to sleep, and rolled onto his side. "we done two. we'll - "

miranda's voice cut him off, rising, hissing. "but my boat leaves - "

"i know when it leaves. i'll do what i can, miranda." john silenced her, truthfully even in his vague irritation. without thinking, he'd curled his legs up and inward. his knees nearly touched his chest, just by how long they were. in the anonymity of night he sought with his hands and gathered his knees up and hugged himself tightly. fetal, vaguely born. the scratch of the rough and worn denim and the ever-present twinge in his leg and the two random bullet casings in his pocket and the grit in the crease behind his knee - he could feel it all. sleep started to crawl across his eyelids and he shut them.

"i'm scared." miranda whispered. john squeezed his eyelids tighter.

"i know. stay scared. it'll keep you alive."

upon entering the third morning, john and miranda were damn near immediately set upon by the army. he woke and stretched and fumbled for something to eat while miranda sifted through her accouterments to find her comb, and it was a happy sort of morning, quiet and wide and blue and brown. once emilio's coach was hitched and been spurred into motion john had stopped them, idiot, godawful idiot, to pick prickly pear blossoms and wooly bluecurls in the shoulder of the trail. he twirled the orange and purple flowers around between his gloved fingertips and it harkened back to hand rolling a cigarette but this was nothing like that, only cleanliness and goodness, and then miranda screamed for him to get back to the wagon.

"john! john marston!" she shrieked, and immediately his heart dropped like a dead horse right into his heels, and the gunslinger turned and positively flew on them back to the wagon. dimly, he registered still clutching the flowers. she was in the passenger seat gripping the wood like she'd all but been nailed to it, staring wide-eyed down the hill.

"quiet, girl! don't holler like that!" john snapped, foregoing chivalry as one often did in situations where he was about to be or was already getting shot at, and scrambled up the side of the coach. "what the hell is it?"

the young girl pointed - "more of them, near the train tracks!" - and he landed in the seat so roughly his breath huffed out of him in a nasty khufh. at the end of her thin and trembling finger trawled a group of seven or eight homogeneous uniformed men on horseback and a collection of three or four more fussing with sandbags. the wooden scaffolding that held up chuparosa's rail was buzzing the imminent arrival of a train and some of their horses were antsy, glowering up nastily at it. they were moving.

"they're on their way! dios mío, they're looking at me!" miranda despaired. one hand wrenched itself off the wood to clutch at her braid. aw hell. john's face contorted into a deep grimace as he took up the reins.

"ye-eeah, they're comin'. you had better hold on." he said ominously, and a bit unnecessarily. then he stood up and brought the reins singing down onto the animals and WHAP! and they were off, careening down the golden hillside.

the soldiers turned to look, as one would do, and he saw them draw their massive and terrible rifles from their saddlescabbards, like teeth, like beasts and snakes unhinging their jaws and unsheathing their fangs. john snarled and his scarred lip pinched and curled and he drew his revolver, abandoning the reins and reckoning speed over firepower, thinking even in the most fleeting of moments, and he reckoned with the eyewatering speed of the coach and the rattling seat and fired three times. one hit a horse and the other soared home into a grey chest and the third took a man's middle two fingers clean off. no time to mourn the animal. no time -

no time; no sooner had he reloaded than they set off after them, moving as one, one united entity. "head right! we will get back to the main road!" miranda called to him. all he could do was wince and pray the four horses would know what to do, swiveling and firing in rapid succession. when the horses realised they were heading directly for a wooden bridge they howled and wrenched the wagon right, and something went flying out of the back, and john wormed completely around in the seat, leaning over the back, one hand on his hat and the other firing, firing.

in a flash they drove under the bridge and the army flowed after them, bloodthirsty. mexico was a thirsty country. "i've got the coach! keep going!" miranda's voice suddenly, blessedly filtered in, thank god. the sound of the reins split the air in time with his bullets. he reloaded, fired, killed a second. días and the ricketts mare were thundering crazily beside the coach and running for their dear lives. john gasped hotly at the air and threw himself down flat to reload, his mouth opening and closing.

in what looked like a watery slow goddamn motion he saw a bullet fly past miranda's head and miss her by a hair's width. "oh, my god! they are still chasing us! get RID of them!" she shouted clear as day. bitterly, he clawed for his rifle. when he rose he rose and was already firing and a soldier pitched sideways off his galloping steed and his head pitched the other way. their chariot of war went flying around pale rocks in pale sand and rattled through a corner, and another life ceased to exist when it rounded after them.

a spoke of the wheel, right under john's shoulder, exploded in splinters as a bullet tore through it. there was something coming out of his mouth, some disgusting remark that would have had javier in stitches, and he aimed down the retreating road at the three oncoming men. CRACK - CRACK - CRACK - and their returning fire seemed to curve around him - and días wailed and shoved the wagon hard - and john marston killed the final three soldiers and left them tumbling to the dust.

miranda, goddammit, is she ok? without a second wasted john flipped about and all in one movement took the reins from her, snapped them over the horses' backs and checked her over. she was breathing hard and staring straight ahead but she wasn't bleeding and she looked strong. she was strong, he realised. looking at that girl of fifteen john thanked his stars that the gang was dead. they'd have snatched up a girl like her, a whole family like hers. potential, miranda had. she had potential. she was lucky. miranda finally glanced at him, and her eyes were clear and solid and bone dry.

for a long while after they pressed that coach hard in silence, until the horses foamed and shook. when they finally stopped that wild ride, the sands had turned white. the pair spent the rest of the day in a shaky adrenalin crash, stopping briefly to water and feed the horses and check on días and then pressing on again. the palomino was perfectly unharmed.

"you such a delicate little old bitch, ain'tcha?" john muttered fondly into his lowered ear, as he searched him for bullet holes. he got confirmation when the stallion huffed and pressed the weight of his huge neck into john's offered chest. then they rode, they rode.

miranda clambered into the back with her skirts bunched up at her knees to hand john a jug of water without stopping the coach. finally, the exhausted girl fell asleep among her scarce things. john was quiet. no whistling, no talking to the horses. he didn't look at her. the wagon rolled through chalky white paths in between raised, sunbrown mesas in miniature. and there were seabirds on the air. surely they were close.

when john finally caught a glimpse of the united states of america across the san luis river, his throat seized and his breath stuttered. only just, only barely, but it was there and my word, it was there. it had been a good couple of weeks since he'd been in america. without even seeing the river, however, he knew it was different and he knew what it was. it looked much the same as the portion of mexico they were in, dry, warm, wrinkled and seamed, but it was his, or he belonged to it, one way or another. emilio's wagon rumbled up the sands. not a half-day's ride away visibly twisted the rolling and sparkling line of water.

by the time a peachy sunset started to ripen, miranda awoke. peering over his shoulder at her, john reckoned she seemed better. taking her hair down from her braid to comb it again, gazing softly at the countryside. the hooves of all six horses beat upon the trail and it lulled john, soothed the stinging still-raw wound of losing his ranch, and then his country. it was open still, rotting still. the pair set up for the night deep in creosote bush and right smack-dab on the border between perdido and punta orgullo. they were close to the water. maybe a fifteen minute ride. john was nervous, excited, a braided rope of both offered to him by his own heart, and standing in his ribcage there holding the rope he knew not whether to climb somewhere with it or strangle himself. it felt strangling, anyway. he knew he wasn't going back there any time soon. again he raised his face to the air and sniffed it, tasting the water, and above him in that same air floated clouds lined in goldleaf from the sunset.

to catch dinner, john decided, rather cautiously, to go fishing. he got real nervous around water. but the horses needed to drink, besides. holding the reins of five goddamn animals at once and riding the sixth, a whimsical sight he did not miss miranda's tittering laughter at, he rode the quiet little ride it was to reach the shoreline and concomitant country. it was riddled with snakes that días eyed rudely. ironic. the horses pulled excitedly for the water and john let them go and tied their reins to each other and watched them line up military style along the edge. ripples arcing out from where their tired forelegs were submerged, arcing out from their dark muzzles sucking and breathing.

"y'all feelin' peckish?" he muttered to the surface as he cast out his line from his battered fishing rod. he hadn't bought a new one since the year nineteen-oh-four.

reckoning with what little shadow he had in the fading dull light, keeping it off the water as best he could and never once by god never once relaxing this goddamn close, john marston caught five little mackerel-type things he hadn't seen before in rapid succession. the fish gave him a fleeting joy. he wished he could draw them, but he knew he wouldn't. even if he had that journal. after his thrashing bluish grey prey was dumped whole and unscaled into días's saddlebag, john took his poncho and boots and socks off and rolled his jeans up and cuffed them and sat with his legs out and swirled the filthy garments in the water. one hand always gripping the shore, buried in the gritty sand mixture, and the droplets spinning darkly off his stallion's whiskers, and the sun fading and the world greying, and america bedding down in the dark, soon to be unseen.

barefooted he rode back, the boots and socks cradled in his lap and the poncho slung wetly over días's hindquarters. miranda was waiting for him and when she saw him and his herd she smiled and giggled again and motioned for the fish. thankfully, she'd started a fire while he was gone, and hadn't gotten herself kidnapped or killed or any other nonsense. the coach was parked behind her and upon the scratchy wood jumped the jagged shadows from the flames and behind it the tall cacti, older than sin, cradling the stars. a treeless section of country.

"lemme see the map, kid." john muttered, slinging his wet clothes down to the dust with loud slaps to dry by the fire. the man and child exchanged the fish and document. wearily he lowered himself to the ground and squinted at it, tilting it towards the fire. "yeah, we'll be there in two or three days."

"do you think it will be waiting still?" miranda asked meekly. she'd sourced silverware from her baggage - god, even that was a luxury these days, john took a fork gratefully - and had speared on it a little piece of mackerel.

"i've no idea. depends on those folks you know." he said honestly. he ate a chunk of the mackerel while it was still hot and painful and steaming from the fire but he didn't care and went back in for another. "we're makin' good time, anyway. still got our hides on. ain't been flayed and all."

miranda shook her dark head and sighed, such a mature gesture. "it's been awfully close, though!" she exclaimed. john sat, nodded and thought yes it sure as shit has, and kept quiet. she shuffled about and ate some more fish and looked thoughtful. then across the fire they made eye contact and she smiled sagely. "i trust you, john marston. i think we will be ok."

she's a far cry from a couple-a days ago, john thought again, to when she'd begged him me equivoqué, voltéate, and he knew she'd be alright in the yucatan with a complete certainty. it felt better not to talk so he didn't and he wolfed down another halfcooked fish before quite suddenly remembering spices did exist out in that great big frontier.

languidly he rose and retrieved his saddlebag, taking the whole thing off días's drowsing form and sitting with a puff in front of the fire with it. rifling through it awarded him nothing of the sort. two old newspapers ripped and torn and some small thing that was edible maybe four weeks ago and loose bullets and the paper he'd bought with luisa and his duster coat and a few bottled medicines were among the things he dredged from that creaking leather cesspool, but herbs were not. he moved onto his satchel, faintly frustrated, a subtle indignant warmth just touching along his neck. out of his satchel he unearthed dozens of sprigs of dried flowers that cracked and disintegrated in his touch.

"¿tienes un amor?" miranda asked him all of a sudden. john glanced up. her chin was nestled on her knees and her hands knitted about her legs. her voice was lively, sweet.

his jaw set into a hard line. "what?"

"a lover. a sweetheart. ¿una esposa?" she clarified. and oh, oh, that hurt, that hurt too, worse than the ranch, the aching deadness inside him, the wounded animal lashing out, the stray cur-dog, the mutt. john put a protective hand on his satchel and tried not to snap at her. it was not her fault. she didn't know.

"oh. sí. ¿por qué?" he said, his voice clipped.

she gestured towards them by raising her chin briefly. light dancing upon her cheeks and fingers. one hand outstretched now and holding a mackerel over the flames. "tienes tantas flores, en paquetes, en el papel." and with gruff and indelicate hands he attempted to sweep the dead flowers away, flushing at her observations. they were useless by now. they rolled and clattered like bones and a few caught sparks from the fire and coughed a weak smoke. then she raised her eyebrows and nudged her head in the direction of john's messy satchel again. "¿para ella?"

he automatically moved to pack it all up, to stuff the paper and the mummified plant stalks away, but something made him pause. he was staring at the fire. the leather of his belt creaking as he held his pose, frozen half bent over, primitive. she was a good kid.

"...no, son para - son - um - ah, i'm sorry." john tried, stammered, huffed out his nose like a bull and shook his head. the fire crackled joyfully, started to thaw him on the inside. "i don't know that much spanish."

"it's ok. just talk." miranda fortuna brushed it off, her voice as warm as the flames.

john looked up, looked at her, and thought back to - well, it could only have been a few weeks ago, to meeting the old man named billy west under the boughs at stillwater creek, and the bittersweet insistence of his own ancient heart. he talked. "they're not for her. i was asked to gather flowers by a man in the states for his wife."

"but you do have one?" miranda inquired, the most cheerful interrogation he'd ever been a part of. she was leaning towards him with a wistful look on her young face in the dancing lights that reminded john of her sister.

"yes. tengo una esposa y un hijo y una hija en..." he tried, and trailed off. he didn't know why he was telling miranda about that. he didn't know. he wanted to. it didn't matter. "um, paraíso. en el cielo. mi hijo se llama jack, he's - él está vivo. tiene quince años."

his stomach flipped and wavered, and his eyes flitted to and from her, undecided. but miranda only shuffled happily, very obviously pleased with herself. "thank goodness! i was worried." she celebrated, around a mouthful of fish. "you have so much paper, you should write her."

like it was the most natural goddamn thing in the world. john leaned back like the words had tangibly pressed him backwards. he scoffed and, insouciant, started to pack his things into his satchel. he leaned and spat into the fire. but the words kept touching him and slipped in-between his cracks and unmended pieces and started to hold on. it was goddamn useless. when was the last time he'd written abigail? the old cowboy rose up onto his knees and slung his satchel over his neck and tracked it with his hand until it settled in its proper place on his hip and then he fixed her with a curious gaze and his eyes burned hotly in the semidark.

"you're the romantic sort, aren't you, miranda? it runs in the family?" he said, again thinking of luisa. what a curious sort he'd fallen in with. in the silence she'd moved to eat what little was left of the fish but snapped smartly back to attention and tried to press her hand to her collarbones despite it holding her fork.

"oh, yes, i can't help it." the girl said proudly. john scoffed again and this time it was almost a forgotten brotherly sort of thing and he rose and packed and hefted up his saddlebag into his arms and he'd thought she was done talking and for that some normalcy had finally started to peter back into him but while he was slinging it onto días she called to him.

"i can deliver it to the train station in the states. what is it called, benedict? i can slip right across the river. it won't be any trouble." she offered, the sound of her voice bouncing about the creosote, bouncing into him. john did not turn around.

"gee." he said simply, stunned. días's sides rose and fell. "thank you. i guess i will. ain't got nothin' else to do."

she told him then how to press the flowers in newspaper or other papers to dry and preserve them during his travels that would no doubt take him elsewhere and to great and wonderful places and she told him that he must have had a lovely mother who had taught him to care about even the lowly things such as inconsequential plants and she told him how she'd get to benedict point and she traced the route on his map with the handle of her fork. john was impressed by how studious she had obviously been during their journey, and at her apparent literacy. crickets chirped loudly and he slept to their song and dreamed of something he could not remember when the morning and consciousness came.

particulate matter of every kind and all eons old twinkled in the pale sand they rolled across that was as blinding as snow and the furthest thing from it. the smell of the water was constant, a harbinger of the end. john was on edge, on the edge of something - and his wariness paid off when, after not even an hour after he and miranda had broken camp, they came across a woman in white standing by an empty wagon in the side of the trail.

she saw them coming, and stepped abortedly into the hot packed dirt, then shuffled back. "¡americano!" she yelled, waving a hand.

"john, look, look!" miranda took him by the shoulder and pointed at the woman. he was stiff. he did not move under miranda's grasp.

"americano, hermana, help chelo, ¡por favor!" the woman kept shouting, leaning out of the nick in the brown rock that clambered on either side, the nick she had wrestled her cart into. dirty and frail looking, still waving. john gritted his teeth and flicked the reins. the horses pulled them level with her.

"we can't stop." he grated out.

miranda's mouth snapped shut, then opened again. she twisted against him and he shut his eyes tightly and flicked those goddamn reins. "we have to, she needs help!" the young girl pleaded, a note of urgency creeping into her voice, and her sharp elbow dug into john's stiff shoulder in place of her hand. she was climbing over him to look at the woman.

the coach rolled past. she was calling, calling, calling into the harsh dry wind. "mi carreta eh - ahm - no work! ¿me puedes llevar a mi pueblo? ¡señor! ¡hermana!"

miranda's knee collided harshly with his ribcage. "miranda. we can't stop." john snapped, his eyes prying themselves open. she froze, hanging halfway out of the seat, and he looked forward, forward down his nose at the dust, the desolate country. the woman was still calling. slowly she settled back down into the seat.

he tried glancing at her. she would not look away from him. she huddled in on herself and stared at john from the passenger seat, staring, staring. he could feel her looking at him. john tensed the muscles in his neck and jaw, first with intent, then without, felt them flex and ache and he narrowed his eyes and drove the coach through the complete silence until finally he broke and threw his hands up, exasperated.

"what if she was gonna rob us?" he tried, bringing his hands down with a smack.

"we don't know that!" miranda instantly shrilled back. yeah, she'd been waiting for this to start up. there was sand in john's teeth. in the corner of his eye she hovered, acrid and scared and constantly looking over her shoulder back the way they'd come. it was never easy, this conv8ersation.

"i've been held up a hundred times. i know the look." john said suddenly - and he was lying. he'd robbed and been robbed and killed and been killed and done it all honestly and dishonestly but he was lying. "we have to reach the port. we didn't have the time to spare. still don't. don't you ask me to stop this wagon, miranda. we can't be too careful."

"i - i -" miranda stammered, and wrung her hands, and john felt in excruciating detail a bead of sweat track down his neck and soak into his red neckerchief and he was begging her in his head to stop, 'cause if you keep it up i'll turn around and kill all three of us, and thank god, she slumped and finally crossed herself. "dios mio. i'm sorry." she muttered.

no sound anywhere save only the wind. "i'm sorry too." john made his voice seep into it, be borne upon it to pollute and stink. "it's the way it is."

the country was all the more desolate that fourth day. horridly hot and the temperature steady and flat in both shade and sun and john's arms itched and prickled. he hacked off the side of the coach and in sun that strong even his spit had a wobbling shadow as it flew. another army roadblock crouched blackly along the coastline made them turn unexpectedly. miranda directed him left in a sad voice, told him to follow the railroad until she told him otherwise. they scuttled off the coast all eight of them like so many dried out crabs and slipped into the rocks.

after a short but excruciating ride on the devastated carthorses, they came upon the railroad, the very same that eventually ran to chuparosa. the tracks were bleached to a pink in that mexican sun, and reluctantly rusted. alongside it the telegram poles shuddered in the heat where they jutted crudely out of the land. like a knife unsure of itself and the effects of its wound unknown yet to it. no amount of ease they brought to modern life could quite erase the unease in john, bred into him, taught in infancy and never forgotten in age. steadily uphill they rattled, passing two trains. each time, their bullish clouds of dust and the jittering tracks foretold their arrival.

the traveling vagrants were granted the treat of watching the second train pass the united states and mexico border across the bridge, and even on their time crunch the coach's speed faltered, just slightly, just enough to watch. frontera bridge swayed perceptibly, and all the crows passing time upon it took off at once, and the engine howled and the smoketrail was light and grey and the long headlight cleaved the evening and cut out the six horses and two human beings in a brilliant yellow.

for the night they stopped right under frontera bridge, and john was aching, had been aching all day, his skin strange on his body, his teeth unsettled in his mandible. they both puttered around the fire as it got going and it ended up weak and pale and eventually they settled down in their spots across from each other. john marston's satchel was heavy on his hip, heavier than any iron. the aching nonstop and sending pulses of pain into his eyes. they'd gotten their stopping point godawful late due to the detour and he already knew it would be a grueling minimal hours of rest and he should really just go to sleep.

he stared into the flames sitting crosslegged and slumped over and smoking absently. he had no business thinking as much as he did. his mind conjured up horror stories of abigail starving in some dingy jail cell or consorting with some incarcerated man or dead and jack being handed a piece of paper with her inutile name scratched upon it. it was a waste of time.

do not think. he reached down and stirred up the contents of his satchel until he found a piece of paper and a pencil sharpened by his knife, the same he used to kill with. with crude movements he splayed the page out over his knee and then slowly put the pencil to the page and wrote the first line.

dear miss macfarlane.

their fire was meagre and spat and shuddered. his head shot up from the page at the noise, fixed upon the flame. he was being a better neighbour to her, to the whole family. no one could give him an earful about such a goodhearted thing. he wrote. i hope you and mister macfarlane are doing well at the ranch. i recall you mentioning you wished to travel one day. i am in mexico, due to foolish efforts i won't bother you with detailing, but maybe this letter will -

he paused, teeth clutching at his lip. no, that sounded stupid, like he didn't know what his own letter was supposed to do. at once john violently scratched that last portion of the sentence out and instead replaced it. so i will tell you about what i've seen. under the crude graphite tip the scratching was loud and ratlike. miranda suddenly looked up and began to watch him keenly over the fire, smiling, shuffling on her heels. he did not deserve this rapt little audience.

slowly, he returned to the page, the cigarillo curling daintily at its end. i think you would like it. i met landon ricketts coming into town, of all people, if you are familiar with the name. i know your feelings about gunslingers, but he is a fascinating sort of man.

he could feel miranda's eyes boring into him. it would have been endearing in another world. his head tilted slightly in thought and the greasy black hair swept across his nose. i also met a family of mexicans which i am helping across the country and one of them is posting this letter in return. they're strong people. it is hot m -

"¡la carta de amor para tu esposa!"

john looked up at her quite suddenly, sharply. there she was, beaming with approval, her hands clasped by her chin. he was silent. in the complete void of noise, he suddenly realised someone had tied bells to the inside of the bridge and they were tinkling slightly in whatever wind, a tinny, lonesome sound. something compelled him to pluck his cigarillo out of his mouth and forcefully lay it on the ground next to him. he was not going to see this girl again. he felt...

"no es para ella." he said plainly, the words spilling off his tongue like terrified cattle off a cliff. "i don't know where she is. i don't even know if she's allowed to get letters. i haven't seen her or my son in months. this is a letter for someone else."

miranda's hands stayed clasped by her chin, but her eyes grew wide. firelight twisting in them. john stared her down unblinking and rigid and he did not know goddamn why and she opened her mouth to speak twice, failed both times. their campsite was so godawfully exposed, paths on all sides, mourning, he's in mourning, that's what it was. a cart pulled by two oxen with a little family in it clattered by on those paths. a dog was following. he was not doing anything wrong. god forbid he want some fucking company.

his hand felt about in the dust and finally took up the cigarillo and he placed it slowly between his cleaved lips like he was smoking for the first time in his life and he bent back to the letter. it is hot most days, and the rains are refreshing. i have not had the chance to visit my land in escalera. but if i got my way, i would hope one day to show it to you and your father -

"it's a secret love. something forbidden." miranda managed to get out, her voice enthralled.

"pssh. i don't know. something like that." john drawled, his cigarillo bobbing. he was feeling every single emotion all at once at maximum capacity and not a single facet of his body betrayed it. he was rather proud of his self-control. pulling at the cigarillo with only his lips, just his black mouth visible under his black hat, he crossed out that last line. i doubt it's much good for ranching. he scratched instead. a familiar territory, marked in self-loathing.

i miss the united states and everyone on your ranch. i hope soon to be back.

yours,

john marston

the assassin attempted to fold up the letter, fumbling with such a delicate action, dropping it once and savaging the left corner. heated, he relented and tugged off his heavy gloves and he folded it properly, turned it over in his huge, dirty hands, blew smoke out his nose in twin puffs. he - he didn't even remember how to address it, it had been that long since he'd participated in society. subconsciously his eyes flitted to miranda.

she was just as he'd left her and peering into his lap where the letter lay with no shame and with a wide and wondering innocence and behind her the horses were cropping the harsh grass and further still the scaffolding of the bridge stood completely black and sharp. no more trains. no moon. colourless everywhere save for that goddamn fire. finally he wrote on the back in his brutal scrawl.

FROM JOHN MARSTON. TO MAIN HOUSE MACFARLANE RANCH.

the next breath he took was warm in a way a cigarette could not even pretend to understand. the old cowboy passed it around the side of the fire to miranda so as not to burn it and she took it with both slim brown hands and held it to her chest like it was a child. now, she was looking into his eyes.

"yo me encargaré, john." she whispered.

"gracias."

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 1 #red dead redemption fanfic #rdr #rdr1 #rdr fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr fanfic #john marston #bonnie macfarlane #john x bonnie #macmarston #theheartlands fanfiction

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antheiantics · 9 months

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ENTJ Behaviours - Everyday things the Internet analysis don't tell you about - weirdly specific edition

Loud loud laugh. The type of laugh to make you go under the table. Happens roughly 2-3 times a day.

Shouting for no apparent reason.

Zoomies, yes, zoomies around the house.

Zoomies in talking - The point is to get it out fast and furious and go on with the day. Spoiler alert: 80% of the time I have to repeat myself, because people didn't understand my point delivered in Eminem speed. I'm fine, we're fine, it's fine.

Constantly forgetting people don't have the ability to understand with just one, maximum three words. Exception: INTX

Hating to be late and arriving early. Completing several tasks while waiting.

Having absolutely no tolerance on people who are late. Holding a grudge about it. Waiting for the day to just leave so the other person learns from it.

Abrupt style changes that shock people - going from casual business to grunge fairycore, not realising that people get confused with the vibe.

ENTJ procrastination is a thing - it's just procrastinating by doing other smaller tasks instead of doing the big looming one.

Being confident all the time except in a specific moment in which it's required to.

Ordering food at McDonald's because your extroverted friends were "too shy" to.

Waiting for those same friends to say "hi" to the entire planet while you try to look confident, pretty and approachable.

Being invited in the conversation in the span of one minute and hitting it off for the next 10 minutes.

Walking fast.

The boulevard is the runway and y'all are just peasants interrupting the strut.

Making detailed plans about being a successful company owner in 10 years, but forgetting to take in the sheets the next day. Short-term goals - a strong point, if forced. Day to day to-do list - not a strong point at all, unless written down (most of the time confident enough to remember our own tasks) (most of the time we forget to do several of them, or postpone them to shove three more that we planned to do after two weeks, but oh well, an opportunity arose - extremely specific, might not apply)

Patience. Monstruos amounts of it. Miranda Priestly was just fed up after so many years in the industry and I can see why.

Pet peeves are inefficiency and people who repeat the same mistake over three times, after it was explained to them by multiple people.

Strong opinions. Controversy. How are y'all dealing with Cruella (Emma Stone) and Elizabeth Bennett (Pride and Prejudice) mix, type of person? Genuinely curious. Not asking for a friend.

As for the ENTJ men reading this - do you have like a list or diagram, with all the people that manage to keep up with your Stewie Griffin (South Park) , Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows) tendency to "invest" and Thranduil(The Hobbit/LOTR) type of beauty and pride, and how long is it? Again, genuinely curious.

Wrote the origins of criticism and invented self-criticism in the process, because emotional liability got invented roughly around the same time and apparently it was "too much" *side glances INFPs*

Crying only out of helplessness (not if you can help it, ofc) and anger.

Fan of stupid puns (extremely evident)

Might unintentionally ghost people or leave them on seen, because they messaged you while your brains were working overtime (happens too often)

Caffeine doesn't work, but it's a ritual of pleasure, not to be missed, unless the day is bound to finish in prison. Same could be said if you take tea instead of coffee.

Relaxing by watching documentaries about successful people.

De-stressing by drinking wine with that one close friend that you see once a month due to busy schedules and talking about life.

That close friend also happens to be the closest one to IxxJ type and thoroughly listens while we explain the nature of emotions and why we think that the normal emotion we felt is a terminal illness.

Flirting is a way of surviving not a way of life. Take it as you wish.

Inspecting and dissecting your crushes so you know what you're dealing with. Most of the time we "un-crush" them with a snap of our fingers.

Sometimes we "just go with it" and end in a semi-casual situationship.

When they tell you we are confident and undisturbed by flirting, they're probably lying or not competent enough about speaking on real (not psychology explained) life. We do. It's just not obvious. INTJs, INTPs and ENFJs might not agree, because they somehow just know.

Getting hurt over minimal details people mentions about us throughout a conversation but being unaffected by "the big ones".

Which is hilarious because we're major "big picture" people - details are the things we see last. Sometimes, we don't even bother to inspect them.

ENTJ: Ah, ah, okay, bye-

Other people: No, wait! There's-

ENTJ: I pretty much got it, bye-

P.S. "Pretty much go it." or "I'm gonna wing it.", but make it organised, are probably catch phrases by now. No matter what people tell you that's a major trait of XXXJ people.

When I told you we invented criticism, I forgot to mention we also helped ESTJ and INTJ invent sarcasm.

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sincerely-sofie · 2 months

Note

Do songs that you listen often to ever remind you of characters or events from TPiaG or other stories you've written? It happens to me a lot with stuff from a story with OCs I've been helping my best friend make for years now.

Anyways, I'm asking about it because a song from my playlist reminded me a lot of Twig when I heard it while driving the other day. I had heard the song a million times before, but when I was thinking about the lyrics more they seemed to perfectly fit her internal conflict. The song was Blurt by Mega Mango if you want to take a listen.

The song is definitely just about dealing with mental health issues in general, but my PMD brainrot made it so that this was all I could think about after my epiphany. On that note, I want to offer you a congratulations for writing characters so well that they takes over my brain from time to time. I greatly appreciate it. :D

First up: Thanks so much for your kind words! Second: Oh my goodness. My friend, you are opening up Pandora's Box.

TPiaG doesn't have as many songs associated with it as my other projects because it hasn't been in development for several years— however, a vital part of my story development process is listening to music and imagining all the animatics of the characters and storyline that I want to make set to them. I do this for every project that sufficiently resonates with the blorbo frequency in my brain, and TPiaG is no exception!

In terms of songs that embody specific events but aren't connected to a single character, I regularly listen to “Turn the Lights off” by Tally Hall and imagine a sort of extended theme song animation for if TPiaG were an animated series. There's so many lines that mention concepts important to the story!

Another animatic song, this one set in the Dark Future when Twig was human and starting her and Grovyle's quest to save the world, is "Running Out Of Time" by Lin-Manuel Miranda--- specifically the stretch spanning at roughly 1:10 to the end of the song. I have a very vivid image of Twig repeatedly shouting at Grovyle that they need to abscond ASAP as he frantically gathers supplies that spilled out of his bag while they're being pursued by the sableye, and then of Dusknoir being dismissed by a ferryman as he's interrogating him on which way they went.

I also still listen to “Let's Get This Over With” by They Might be Giants and imagine the rest of that one unfinished animatic I posted forever ago. That song isn't as blatantly connected to the events of the game, but there's a few anchor points in the lyrics I really enjoy.

As for individual characters and songs I associate with them, here’s a selection with links to Spotify for easy listening!

Twig:

"Hey, Doctor Doctor" by Milk in the Microwave

"Monster" by Half Moon Run

"Smile" by Ukuletea

"Feelings Are Fatal" by mxmtoon

... And now, "Blurt" by Mega Mango as well!

Ark:

"Problems" by Mother Mother

"Rule #21- Momento Mori" by Fish in a Birdcage

"What You Know" by Two Door Cinema Club

Kip:

"I'm Not Fine" by Blixemi

"Don't Throw Out My Legos" by AJR

"Just Take My Wallet" by Jack Stauber’s Micropop

Grovyle:

"The Villain I Appear to Be" covered by Annapantsu

"Surface Pressure" covered by Annapantsu

(I don't know why both of these songs are specifically the versions sung by Annapantsu. Apparently she's Grovyle-coded in my head.)

Celebi:

(Insert any bubblegum pop or kawaii future bass song of your choice here.)

(Celebi has somehow evaded my ability to assign her songs. I’ll get her someday.)

Dusknoir:

"I'll Be Good" by Jaymes Young

"Never Love an Anchor" by The Crane Wives

"I Was Me" by Imagine Dragons

Twig's Aunt:

"Family Jewels" by Marina and the Diamonds

"In Fact (Demo Version)" By Gregory and the Hawk

"Ain't It Fun" by Paramore

Twig's Mother:

"Brother" by Madds Buckley

And for those who'd enjoy some Travailshipping songs...

"You Are The Moon" by The Hush Sound

"Dark Clay" by Levi Weaver

"When the Day Met the Night" by Panic! at the Disco

"Can I Have the Day With You" by Sam Ock

"Tongues & Teeth" by The Crane Wives

#the present is a gift au #travailshipping #ark/twig #pmd darkrai #pmd2 partner #pmd grovyle #pmd celebi #pmd dusknoir #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #pmd sky #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd #sofie answers asks

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explosionshark · 2 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @coraniaid and @isagrimorie. thanks!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

45 stories

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

361,583 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Actively? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Life is Strange, Mass Effect, Avatar the Last Airbender, Warrior Nun. But i'd be down for other stuff!

Formerly: MTV Scream, She-Ra, Oxenfree

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

You Got Cool (She-Ra, 6,990 kudos)

Everybody Needs a Fence to Lean On (Life is Strange, 2,140 kudos)

Tear You Apart (Life is Strange, 1,918 kudos)

Every Other Freckle (Life is Strange, 1,579 kudos)

Dream Blue Haze (Life is Strange, 1,535 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I've been trying to more recently! But I'm not always great at it. At the very least when someone comments something detailed and thoughtful I try to reply - those comments always mean a lot to me.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Not fully intentionally but the place @holdsteady and I left our collaborative fic How to Live Here was basically right after a massive fight/breakup between characters that we fully planned to resolve and then just.... never did. Oops. Surprisingly, people are very rarely mean to us about this.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Body Language? Very much intended to have that one wrapped up with a bow.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not in a long time. Last time I really did was on some of my Life is Strange fics (either homophobic hate or bc i was writing a ship people didn't like).

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah! Femslash only.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I sometimes joke about/hc elaborate crossovers when I'm watching stuff with my friends, but I don't really have any interest in writing any. Or reading any, really, for that matter.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! Had one of my LiS fics translated to Vietnamese. That was cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah! I co-wrote How to Live Here with my best friend @holdsteady! That's the only one that's been published, at least. @nataliving adn @jewishsuperfam and i have worked on some stuff together too and that's been fun :)

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I don't know if I actually can pick one but honest Buffy/Faith are all-timers and absolutely formative. Second to that would be Rachel/Max/Chloe from Life is Strange.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

God, How to Live Here absolutely haunts me. There's a few Mass Effect ones (Shepard/Liara arranged marriage AU and my Jack/Miranda series) that I would love to finish but probably never will. Those are the ones that probably have the most written for them that I just haven't wrapped up.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at a lot of it! I write pretty good smut, I'm good at character voice, I think my writing is pretty readable

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Actually writing lmao. I struggle with coming up with workable ideas. I intimidate myself out of projects a lot. I fall off stuff kinda easy too tbh. And I'm TERRIBLE at writing alone - for anything bigger than a oneshot I need someone to hype me up and hold my hand through it or else I get bored or lose confidence :?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Generally in favor of skipping the google translate stuff. It's usually pretty whack

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically digimon when i was a little kid and before I even knew what fanfic was. First i posted was Danny Phantom

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I think Body Language is probably my best fic but for sentimental reasons I really love How to Live Here, since i wrote it with my best friend.

tagging @nataliving, @holdsteady, @shittinggold, @earthenterran, @lafgl, @aliceinwondrbra,, @strangesmallbard, @areweunderscoreweare, @jewishsuperfam, @morningsound15

#tag games

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januslikesbooks · 4 months

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HELLO and welcome to my rant about the PJO TV show

in honor of season 2 being announced, here is everything i loved and everything that needs to change.

i would like to preface this by saying that while my overall rating for the season was 7.5/10, the rating of each individual episode vary WILDLY, and there are reasons. even so, i still loved the show and cannot wait for season two.

STUFF I LOVED:

THE CASTING <3 <3 they have my whole heart all of them.

percy and sally's relationship

the little allusions to future books

episodes 1-3 *chefs kiss*

the design of the world and the monsters they looked SO GOOD

the changes to the conflicts and interactions, especially medusa and the tunnel of love

LIN MANUEL MIRANDA

the poseidon and sally scene. you know the one.

the gods speaking ancient greek YES

the fact that poseidons mom is proffessor mcgonnegal lmao

2X RICK CAMEOOOO

the dream sequences

oh golly, the roads gettin bumpy cause i got me some friends--

"i am impertinent" DIRECT BOOK QUOTE HELLO

"guess i'll lose my dessert privileges" DIRECT BOOK QUOTE PT. 2 ALSO CLARRISSE?????

the ares fight. i thought it would be cheesy but nope. massive W

the fact that this is my favorite book series <3

okay. now that that's out of the way.

the main problem was the directing.

series that use multiple directors (different ones for different episodes) are never good imo. when you're building a world u can't have clashing perspectives on what that world looks and feels like. bc of this, most of the season just felt empty. the riordanverse is set in our world, yes, but theres such a specific tone and vibe of this world in the books that was entirely absent in the show. the only time i even slightly felt it was in the first two episodes, and, what do u know, those were both directed by James Bobin, a veteran director of kid and teen shows.

on top of that, the structure was entirely too stiff. each episode was obvious: here is a monster, we know exactly who it is, this is why they're bad, and this is how we defeat them (usually with no fight scene, might i add, even tho there were multiple fights in the book). there was no SUSPENSE. every episode felt exactly the same, even though each monster is supposed to give us a different feeling. the first time i truly noticed this was in episode 5. the lotus casino felt SO flat. i was really disappointed, since that situation offers so many feeling and conflicts, and those were all ignored. AND THE BIGGEST MOMENT IN THE SEASON, the luke betrayal, THERE WAS NO BETRAYAL? percy just FIGURES IT OUT??? the fight was great, but that did not sit right with me.

2) why is this written by millenials omfg (and the characterization was off)

dude. percy jackson saying "period" in a serious context is NOT HOW THAT WORD IS COLLOQUIALLY USED. same thing with "i think we're going to have to be detectives here 🤓". These kids are supposed to be gen z in the show. Did they not get ANY gen z readers? or even just longtime fans to approve that yes, these characters are speaking how they're supposed to? im a gen z kid, and this pained me. this leads into my bigger issue with how the characters were depicted. lets talk abt it shall we!

tell my why annabeth chase wasn't a know it all. shes supposed to be the smartest girl in the room, always trying to prove it, not just to other people but herself too, that she comes off as a bossy know it all in the first book and we love her for it. so WHY was percy the one explaining EVERY SINGLE MYTH. go back and watch it. annabeth doesn't explain a single monster, or myth, or situation, or ANYTHING. i LOVE leah sava jeffries and i know she knows what she's doing, but the writing is entirely against her. tell my why the only times i really felt like annabeth's personality was written into the scene was the candy scene, the "are we under arrest", and at waterland. every other little piece of her was offered by leah, not the writers, so THANK YOU to leah sava jeffries and nobody else.

on the flip side of that, percy knew way too much, and they somehow made him clueless about the wrong things? he explained nearly every myth and monster, but couldn't understand that other people also have a bad relationship with their godly parents. like, he was surprised by annabeth and luke when he found out that the gods didn't care, which makes zero sense since he's so angry about his own dad not being in his life? it's really supposed to be the other way around-- clueless about the myth world but sure about parental relationships. i guess i can sort of see how this character change contributes to the plot, but i don't like it.

meanwhile grover has now been diminished to a comedy relief. the only times he did anything substancial was when he tricked ares, and the conclusion of which turned out to be wrong anyways, so there wasn't even any point. (also the getting percy kicked out of school part, which i don't have any critiques of). justice for grover man.

3) why. why is percabeth like this.

okay.

i love percabeth. i think the kids nailed it. i'm loving the slowburn. but why are they changing the relationship trajectory???? again, a writing issue.

one of the biggest and most important scenes, which is even alluded to in later books, is the oreo scene in the Kindness international truck. Missing. annabeth saying "because you're my friend, seaweed brain, anymore stupid questions?" gone. the suspense of not knowing anything about each other and still choosing to protect each other? not the same at all, because annabeth tells him her entire life story in episode 4, and for what? WRITERS, WHY ARE YOU MESSING WITH PERFECTION.

on top of that, some of the other relationships were just not developed enough. i ADORED the sally and little percy flashbacks-- sally percy relationship is on point. but luke and annabeth? annabeth struggled for the whole series with her brother-like figure, who she did everything for, and the understanding that he's now evil. that's a plotline that's super important to me specifically, and we had almost zero buildup of their relationship. and again, for what? that could have been fixed in ONE scene, just one where they're alone and talking to each other (and also, that could have been where we the audience learn a little about annabeths past, instead of changing her character, who's supposed to be very guarded, so tell percy her whole life story after knowing him for like a week). and THEN, the fact that they just skipped from the betrayal to percy leaving? no emotions? no discussion with chiron?? no annabeth realizing she's lost her brother??? i don't understand it.

also, percy and grover. we didn't see enough of their bromance. i don't have specific recipts for this one, just a feeling. i missed their friendship.

anywho.

MY FINAL STATS FOR PJO SEASON 1:

Episode 1: 9.5/10 (would be 10, but gabe wasn't right)

Episode 2 AND 3: 10/10

Episode 4: 6/10

Episode 5: 8/10

Episode 6: 4/10

Episode 7: 7/10

Episode 8: 9/10

writing this was exhausting. if you're still here, tysm, love u

#percy jackson #percabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #percy jackson tv show

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writebackatya · 7 months

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Was tagged by @justaboot in a post with a lot of questions, let's do this!

how many fics do you have on ao3?

what's your total ao3 word count?

159,641 words. but let's be real, a good chunk of them are song lyrics.

what fandoms do you write for?

DuckTales (2017)

what are your top five fics by kudos?

Indi-Quack!

Rainbow Connections

Home for the Holidays!

Moon with a View!

Let's All Go to the Movies!

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

For the most part, yes. I try my best to get back to people's comments, especially if they have questions. But sometimes I just don't have the energy when I wish I did

what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'd say the ending to F.O.W.L. Play! from Indi-Quack! might be the angstiest. Nothing like ending a story where you go through the morning routine of one FOWL employee and finding out she keeps her sanity by getting high with another underpaid employee who works her ass off a minimum wage and is also not happy where she is in life

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hard to choose since I almost always go for the happy ending route. I think any of the stories for Home for the Holidays! could be the answer to this one cause those stories are nothing but holiday and winter fluff.

do you get hate on your fics?

it happens but not often. the first time I ever got hate was from a Della hater troll and they seem to be the only one who leaves hate on my fics

do you write smut?

no, but I've thought about it before. I don't mind sex in a story, but I don't know if I'm the right person to write that kind of stuff in a story. Honestly, the only reason why I wanna write smut is because I've plenty of jokes that I think are funny that would only work in a smut story

do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've ever written?

kinda??? would you consider having characters from various Duck media that never appeared in DuckTales 2017 crossover stuff? Heck I've got a couple of Della Duck stories in the works where she interacts with Mickey and Friends and I don't know if that should be considered a crossover

have you ever had a fic stolen?

no. thanks guys!

have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but that'd be neat!

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no, but that is something I wouldn't mind doing some day

what's your all time favorite ship?

Of all time!? I don’t know. I love love

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh so many: An Act of Murder!, Back in the Game!, F.O.W.L. Play!, The Iron Duck of Steel: The Gizmoduck Movie, Part I!, The Spear of Selene, and Thanks for the Memories!. I've just been working on these for so long that it feels like I'll never finish any of them

what are your writing strengths?

when I'm in the mood to write I can really write, I like to think my dialogue is interesting, characterization, and I'd say my rapid fire humor

what are your writing weaknesses?

I'm a terrible planner, I don't write stuff down, I keep stuff in my head like it's the best storage place, I underestimate how big some stuff will be, I don't allow myself to just write

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've mainly used Google Translate for other languages such as Jose and Panchito's dialogue in The Three Cabablleros (and Della)!. But for Let's All Go to the Movies! I got my buddy @tokuvivor to translate a conversation between Fenton and Gosalyn. Honestly, one of my favorite parts of that story and I think tokuvivor translating it himself adds to the joke. Both Lin-Manuel Miranda and Stephanie Beatriz both know Spanish, so having someone who can help me translate my dialogue so that it can sound natural and be a bonus to bilingual speakers just makes me happy beyond comprehension

I will say I did use Google Translate for that story, but for English! So for the Fight Fighters game I wanted to get that badly translated English feel for the dialogue so for pretty much every dialogue in the game was translated to Japanese and then back to English. Except the line "Now I will kill you until you die from it!", that comes from the movie Hot Shots! Part Deux

first fandom you wrote for?

...Sonic. it was a phase, i have no strong opinions about that blue hedgehog these days I mean I guess his games are...fine? The cast of characters are...pretty cool, I like Tails I guess.

favorite fic you've ever written?

hard to say, but I think I'd put Indi-Quack!, Rainbow Connections, Let's All go to the Movies! in the top spot

I choose to tag: @tokuvivor, @imjustusingthistolikeartists, if they choose to answer these questions

#my inbox is open #justaboot #writebackatya #ao3 author questions #dont know the name of this ask game so yeah #fanfic writer

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realisticintentions · 7 months

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AO3 (or past works) Fic Tag Game:

Rules: I'm not sure. But, then again, I've never been one for rules anyway.

Tagged by: @nonamemanga you mischievous little thing you...

1. How many works do you have/had on AO3/FFN?

1 on AO3 and probably like... 5 or 6 on FFN, I think.

2. Whats your AO3 word count?

1,543

3. What fandoms do/have you write/written for?

Presently: Wednesday (2022)

Previously: The Breakfast Club, Harry Potter, Ravenswood (2013 - 2014), and some D*sney projects (before I got older and it felt weird for me, personally, to keep writing).

In the coming future? I have a few in mind. Might revisit The Breakfast Club, to be honest. I tend to gravitate towards small fandoms half the time.

4. What are your Top 5 Fics by Kudos?

There's only one, standing at 133 Kudos currently: nix

5. Do you repond to comments?

Yes. Comments have always made my work feel validated, and they just make me excited to continue writing. I love responding and having discussions about my work and answering questions and teasing. As @nonamemanga is well aware.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have yet to write an angsty ending. It is something I have yet to explore within my work. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending; which is probably the most optimistic thing about me. Usually, most of my endings toe the line between a happy one and an ambiguous or open ending.

7. Whats the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics would have the intention of a happy ending, I would say.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Why, yes I have. The little fandom mentioned above? Ravenswood? This was a series connected to Pretty Little Liars that came out when I was 13. Pretty Little Liars was never a show I could really get into, but when Ravenswood came along, I was invested. And oh boy, did I get some comments when I decided to write about my two favorite characters from the show. I was having petty little screaming matches in my ffn inbox with other 12 to 14-year-olds before I finally decided to start deleting them.

9. Do you write smut?

No, and I don't think I ever will, personally. I've enjoyed reading the ones I have, but I don't think I could bring it in to any story I write without it seeming random and unnecessary. Kudos to those who are able to write it though.

10. Do you write cross-overs?

I have in the past, but I don't see myself writing any anytime soon. It can get convoluted.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I wouldn't mind working with someone in the future if I think people would be interested.

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. As much as I would like to, my schedule does not offer much writing time. I feel like I would be getting someone's hopes up if I don't end up pulling my weight. Love discussions though.

13. What is a WIP you would like to finish but doubt you ever will?

HA! Here's the thing... I have yet to finish a WIP. Granted, the last time I was actively involved with a fandom and writing for it was when I was... 15? 16? So... Yeah, none of them were ever finished. They're still floating around on ffn, and because I know how to look for them, every now and then I'll re-read them. The thing is, my writing style and outlook of life, and my experiences have changed so much over the years that I can't really see myself finishing them.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

In terms of getting me to write for them, I will give you 3:

Weyler/Wyler. The one that got me back into writing after almost 10 years. They are just so dear to my heart, and the fact that I've made a few wonderful friends within this year alone because of them is just... Great. It's great.

Because I care deeply for my 13-year-old self's feelings, I will defend the ship that got me hate comments for writing about them. Which was the pairing of Caleb Rivers/Miranda Collins. It was 2013 and their storyline was intriguing, okay? I was unaware that the show was even related to PLL, but the spiteful comments I had received from that fandom just made me love shipping them more so... Ha!

I do have a special place in my heart for Allison/Bender though. My 80s detention babies.

15. What are you writing strengths?

Grammar has always been a thing I try to do my best on. I also think I'm able to come up with storylines that would be interesting for the audience to read. It's just a matter of getting them down on paper.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Welcome to my TedTalk.

Getting them down on paper. I am also my worst critic, especially when I re-read my work. I nit-pick over the details, whether there's too much or not enough. What to leave to the imagination and what do I want to pointedly get across? Writing is a hell of a process, and as I have mentioned a handleful of times, sometimes my brain is just like... Nah. There are times where I question if I just can't find the write phrasing to get my ideas out onto paper or if I just... Don't want to.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I am hesitantly dipping a toe into this. I'm just trying to figure out where to have my translations, while also making sure my translations are correct. One of the many issues with only knowing English.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

I don't remember. I think it was Harry Potter? I wrote a lot of Marauders stuff, I know that much.

19. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

nix. Yeah, it's the only one I have to my name, but it's the first to kick off one of my many WIPs and I think it's a solid start.

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

None of them. I have no use for going back to the past when I have things that are more important to me as of right now. That, and those documents are long gone from my files. Besides, it's a sign of growth, y'know?

So yeah, I hope to continue writing. Not really going to add any ship tags or anything bc this one is a bit more personal to me.

Tagging: @therulerofallpotatos @writerrose1998 @lovepoison9 and anyone else. I didn't want to tag too many people just in case they've already done it.

#About... Me I guess #The war of the tags

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angelasscribbles · 1 year

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Run Away: A Bad Romance One-Shot and a Choices Prompt Story

Series: Bad Romance Continues

Original Series: Bad Romance

This is a @choicesprompt story, find this prompt here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairings for series: Riley x Liam x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Rashad

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Rashad

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, mature themes

Word Count: 3,390

A/N: I haven't written a Riley and Rashad chapter in a while and I missed their dynamic so here you are!

The original Bad Romance chapter referenced in here is chapter 20: Full Disclosure. Chronologically this follows the one shot Interview.

subspace is explained here (it is simply mentioned, there is no NSFW scene in this piece)

My other stuff: Master List.

“Grab your coat, leave a note, and run away with me.”

“What?” Riley stopped what she was doing and turned to face the man standing across from her in astonishment, “Did you not hear what I just said about how insane this day has been?”

“I heard every word you said, ya amar,” Rashad answered, “That’s why you need a break. Come on, grab your coat, and let’s go!”

Riley stared at him in consternation for a long moment as she considered his words.

Riley was having a hell of a week.

The Royal Council was being a royal pain in her ass. They hadn’t approved the budget she’d spent the last two months working on and they were pushing for her to consider marriage alliances for her daughter.

Like hell.

Drake was off on his annual deep-sea fishing trip with Bastien, which usually left Marco in charge but not this week. No, this week Marco had the fucking flu so Bruno was running point on everything and he wasn’t good at it.

The schedule kept getting fucked up. Either she had too many guards or not enough. She’d never even seen the kid that was posted outside her door that morning. He was far too young, far too nervous, and far too fucking excited for her to deal with at six a.m.

Crown Princess Eleanor was being extra and two of the part-time nannies had quit in the last week.

Kiara was back in town. Riley had run into her at a high-profile charity event and had to pretend to be nice to her.

Madeleine had just started her job as royal communications director and was running roughshod over her inherited staff. The HR complaints were stacking up but Riley couldn’t deny the countess was excellent at her job. She wasn’t inclined to fire her, but she was tired of fielding complaints about a hostile work environment. The countess had exacting standards. The queen could not argue with her results. Maybe it was time for some restructuring anyway.

Liam was out of town on business leaving her to deal with everything. Fucking Liam. He was the whole reason she was even queen to begin with. She had never wanted it. Not for herself anyway.

She didn’t even have Max to fall back on because thanks to the nanny issue, he’d had to stay home with Ellie.

She had been about ready to break down when a knock sounded on the door and her new office manager stuck her head in to announce Rashad’s arrival.

Martha was the seventh office manager she’d had in the three years since she’d become queen.

The first hadn’t worked out because he had been extremely hot and Liam had gotten extremely jealous.

The second had turned out to be dumber than a rock and Riley was forced to admit she had hired him for his abs.

The third time she hired a woman, but she had been extremely hot and extremely interested in Drake. She had lasted a day.

“Wow!” Miranda breathed as she watched Drake from across the room, “The captain of the Queen’s Guard is hotter than all nine circles of hell!”

“What?” A hugely pregnant Riley snapped.

“Captain Walker, the head of-“

“I know who the head of my Queen’s Guard is!” Riley slammed the file cabinet shut, “He’s in a relationship!”

“Who cares?” the bombshell brunette with a perfectly flat stomach tittered, “I’ll bet I can get him into bed in less than a week!”

“You’re fired,” Riley thrust the hiring paperwork back into her hands.

“What? Why?” Miranda’s head swiveled around in confusion.

“Come on,” Max gestured toward the door, “I’ll get you over to HR to process your termination paperwork.”

The fourth one had actually been pretty good at the job, but after a year she had married one of the guardsmen that were always in and out of the office, gotten pregnant, and quit to be a stay at home mom.

Number five turned out to be an aspiring novelist looking for dirt on the royal family.

Number six caused a whole ass scandal by running away with the very married Count of Wickshire.

She’d finally relented and let Max do the advertising, interviewing, and hiring for the position like he’d asked to do in the first place. Max had brought all his organizational skills to the task. He had made flow charts and administered personality tests to candidates.

He’d found Martha who turned out to be a Godsend.

She wasn’t a hot guy for Liam to be jealous of, and she was old enough not to have any interest in Drake. She was also happily married, past childbearing age, and not a reporter. She was smart. And insanely good at the job.

Riley couldn’t have picked anyone better. Clearly, she couldn’t even pick anyone half as good judging by her track record. She had been abysmal at it.

But she had to admit, Max had knocked it out of the park with Martha. In the few short weeks she’d been there she had imposed order. The office now ran like a well-oiled machine.

And most importantly, to Max anyway, she ran things to his exact specifications.

Which was fine with Riley, she could give a crap less about how or where things were filed, who answered the phones, what information was placed in tabbed dividers vs filing cabinets, or which color marker was used to denote in-person meetings vs teleconferences vs conference calls.

She just wanted her agenda placed in front of her every morning, and whatever documents she asked for in her hand as quickly as they could get there.

Max had her agenda waiting for her on the breakfast table every morning and Martha did the rest.

Martha produced whatever she asked for, sometimes before she even asked for it. Her hot chai tea was on her desk every morning when she walked in the door and her messages came to her organized by priority and type.

If she ever threatened to quit Riley was giving her a raise. However much it took. A good office manager was worth their weight in gold.

Martha looked a little uncertain as she told the queen, “I’m sorry to bother you, Your Majesty, your attorney is here requesting a meeting with you, but he doesn’t have an appointment and Lord Beaumont was very specific about-“

“It’s ok, send him in! And Martha?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“He never needs an appointment and I’m always to be alerted immediately when he shows up, especially if it’s unexpected.”

“I’ll add him to the shortlist!”

The one that included the king, the head of her Queen’s Guard, and her personal assistant. Otherwise known as her husband and her two lovers. Lord Faheem was her lawyer. Was he more than that? Martha wondered, but it wasn’t her position to judge.

That was the other thing that made her a good office manager. Her extreme discretion.

“Thank you. Reschedule my next appointment and hold all my calls, unless it’s Liam, Drake, or Max.”

Martha disappeared and shortly thereafter Rashad appeared in her office.

All the stress drained right out of her body at the sight of him. “Ya helo! What are you doing here?” She sprang out of her chair, her face almost hurting from the width of the smile lighting it. She rounded the desk with purpose.

He moved toward her just as quickly, catching her in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair, his eyes falling shut as he inhaled deeply. Her scent sent sparks of joy and relief flooding through him.

He was content with the mostly solitary life he led but there was a coiled tension inside him that only released in her presence.

His queen. His lover. His best friend.

If he had a soulmate, she was it.

She relaxed into his arms and before she knew it, poured out the week’s frustration to him.

“I’m sorry,” she pulled away sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to just dump all that on you. Why are you here?”

“Ostensibly? I have those papers drawn up for you to bring a motion to change the succession laws.” Specifically, the part about having to be married to ascend the throne. It was utter bullshit and she and Liam had agreed that Ellie shouldn’t be subjected to it.

Riley raised an eyebrow, “Ostensibly, huh? What’s the real reason then?”

He could have had the papers couriered over and they both knew it.

“Because I haven’t seen you in months! Your voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t cutting it. I needed to touch you,” he confessed.

She had missed him too and now he was standing in front of her asking her to run away with him and it was oh so tempting.

“Just for the rest of the day,” he wheedled, “I’ll have you home in time to tuck Eleanor into bed!”

“I don’t want Max to worry-“

“That’s why I said leave a note. Or text him. Come on,” Rashad walked to the door and pulled her coat off the hook next to it, “let’s go.”

Riley mentally ran through her looming deadlines. There was nothing that couldn’t be done tomorrow, and Ellie was safe and happy at home with Max.

The council wanted to discuss a betrothal for the princess further, but the council could kiss her ass.

She could use a break.

“Okay,” she agreed as she joined him at the door and slipped into the coat he was holding open for her, “but whatever else we do, I need this to end somewhere no one can find us, or disturb us, preferably someplace with a fireplace, a huge bathtub and hot chocolate on tap!”

“I know just the place,” he assured her as he pulled the door open, “I’ll even throw in a foot rub, but first we’re going to get your favorite lunch.”

“Ohhh! The Lune Bleue?” It was her favorite bistro.

“Who else makes the world’s best Monte Cristo?”

“You do know me well,” she gave him her first smile of the day, then to Martha as they passed through the outer office, “Cancel everything for the rest of the day.”

She slipped her arm through his and smiled up at him, the stress from the day already draining from her body as he pulled the door open and ushered her through it, “Thank you for making time for me today. I intend to make sure you don’t regret it.”

Her fingers pressed into his arm, “And I intend to hold you to that.”

Rashad helped her into the back of a nondescript SUV then turned and quickly gave orders to her guards before climbing in behind her. His own vehicle would stay in the palace garages until they returned. The Jaguar XE SV Project 8 was his pride and joy, but it was not equipped with bulletproof glass and Liam had drawn a hard line about the vehicles that his queen rode in. Not that Rashad minded, he found it understandable, though it did rankle a little that she was able to ride in Drake’s Devore GT.

Perhaps he’d look into having bulletproof glass installed.

They both typed into their phones as they drove. Him, to give instructions to the restaurant ahead of their arrival. Her, to let Max and Liam know where she was. Her fingers hovered over Drake’s contact for a moment. There was no need to update him. He was in the middle of the ocean, and she’d be home before he would anyway.

Drake didn’t need to know she was playing hooky with Rashad.

The Lune Bleue Bistro was Riley’s favorite spot for lunch. So much so that the restaurant had added a private dining area reserved exclusively for her use so that they were always ready for a royal visit at a moment’s notice. The expenditure was easily recouped by the hordes of customers that flocked to their doors when they learned it was the queen’s luncheon spot of choice.

The SUV pulled around to the back of the establishment so Riley and Rashad could enter undetected through a private, back door. They waited until her driver got the all-clear from the head of the team that had arrived ahead of them to sweep and secure the area.

They entered the small, but elegant private dining room to find the food already on the table. Rashad pulled her chair out as he told her, “I called ahead and told them to have your usual order ready. I hope that’s satisfactory.”

“It’s more than satisfactory, thank you, this is just what I needed.”

The man and woman that sat across from each other at the table both occupied high-powered, high-stress jobs. They both spent all day, every day making decisions that had far-reaching consequences.

Rashad enjoyed the pressure, he thrived under it. He was excruciatingly detailed oriented, having exacting standards for both himself and others. He enjoyed and needed control over almost every aspect of his life, it energized him, but it could be hard to turn it off and everyone needed downtime once in a while. The one place he could let go of all that and truly relax was the bedroom, but only with her. It was shocking how quickly he always slipped into subspace with her. She was where he found peace, solace, and a quieting of his ever-spinning mind.

In direct opposition to Rashad’s need to micro-manage every aspect of his life, Riley would have been happy to chuck all the responsibilities of ruling and live her life as a vagabond, a free spirit, going wherever and wherever the mood struck her.

She did the job she did for Liam. He had needed a queen and he had insisted it be her and despite all her protestations in the beginning, she did love him.

Max and Martha did the micro-managing for her so she could focus on the big picture. She was great at thinking outside the box, coming up with not always obvious solutions and innovations. But then she liked to hand them off to someone else to implement. She didn’t like to be bothered with the details.

She enjoyed being in control in the bedroom, but outside of it, she got tired of the constant bombardment of decisions and responsibilities so far from being annoyed by what some women might see as heavy-handedness, she quite enjoyed it when Rashad took over the small, mundane choices so she didn’t have to.

Issuing orders to her guards, choosing the restaurant, picking the food…these were small acts of love as far as she was concerned. And he was good at it because he knew her preferences. It was perhaps the one thing he had in common with Drake.

They took their time with lunch, lingering over dessert, and catching up with each other. Riley showed him recent photos and videos of Ellie and he reciprocated with photos of his nieces and nephews.

“I have a surprise for you,” he told her as they prepared to leave, “something I’d like your input on.”

“Color me intrigued! What is it?”

He smiled indulgently, “You’ll have to wait until we get there!”

***

The crown-issued SUV turned off the main highway a few miles outside of the capital and wound its way down several smaller roads before turning onto a private drive. Riley sat up and looked around curiously. It looked very familiar. The driveway was long and windy, but as they pulled around the last curve and the house came into view, Riley drew in a surprised gasp, “Rashad! What is this? Why are we here?”

“Well, it recently came on the market, and I put an offer on it.”

A delighted laugh escaped her as the SUV rolled to a stop in front of the estate. “But why?”

He gave her a hesitant smile as he opened the door and climbed out. Hopping to the ground, he turned back and offered her his hand, “I remembered how much you said you liked it when I rented it for you and Max that time.”

She took his hand and climbed out of the vehicle, “Wait…you bought it for…me?”

“Us,” he felt heat creep up his neck as he explained, “I love our trips abroad, but I’d like to see you more often when we’re both home in Cordonia. This is close enough to Stormholt City to be a quick, easy drive, but secluded enough to give us all the privacy we could want.”

The press watched his penthouse like hawks because of those stupid most eligible bachelor in Cordonia articles and the palace presented its own set of impediments, mainly Drake’s disapproval. They could only be seen together so much in public in the capital outside of business meetings or luncheons.

“Are the peacocks still here?” she asked curiously, glancing around as they made their way to the entryway.

“Yes, but put up in heated pens for the winter,” he pulled the door open for her.

She stepped out of the sharp cold and into the soft warmth of the interior, “And it doesn’t bother you that Max and I used it for a rendezvous?”

“No. Does it bother you?” He closed the door and turned to face her, pulling his coat off then reaching for hers. He hung them both up as he asked, “Do you consider it a special place for the two of you?”

“No,” she shook her head, “We were only here the one time.” She and Max had their own special places, but this wasn’t one of them.

“Okay, good,” he let out a sigh of relief as he followed her down the entryway, “So what do you think?”

“About what, exactly?”

“As I said, I put in an offer, and they accepted it, all I have to do is sign off on it to finalize the sale. I took early possession because I wanted your input first.” The sale could still be voided if she didn’t like it.

He was nervous. He had sent women flowers before, jewelry upon occasion, and he’d never second-guessed his choices for either. What he had never done before was buy an entire estate for a woman. He’d also never cared so much about her response.

She stopped in her tracks as they entered the living room. There was a fire already roaring in the fireplace, “How-“

“I texted ahead and had the caretaker start the fire. I also had him stock the kitchen with all the necessary supplies for hot chocolate. Now, I know I can’t make it like Hana can but-“

She spun around and threw her arms around him, cutting him off with a kiss. He drew her closer in his embrace as he responded to the kiss in kind.

When the kiss finally broke, he leaned his forehead against hers, both of them grinning from ear to ear, “So, you like it?”

She traced a finger along his lower lip, “I love it, ya helo, sign the papers.”

“I’ll call the realtor while I make the hot chocolate. Why don’t you go take a bath? You remember where the master bedroom is?”

“Of course but I need-“

“All of your favorite personal hygiene items are already in there. The dresser and closet have been stocked with clothing in your size.”

“Now I know you didn’t get all that accomplished over lunch!”

“No,” he admitted, “Those items were delivered this morning. I had my personal assistant purchase them. I wanted to be prepared just in case.”

“Hm,” she pushed away from him, “Well you did deliver on everything I asked for today, and then some, so what do you say we wait on the hot chocolate, and you join me for that bath?”

“I say I’ll submit to whatever you command, my queen.”

A shiver of desire slid down her spine as she laced her fingers through his, “Come on then, let’s go christen this bitch!”

She led him up the stairs, giddiness swirling through her. She couldn’t and didn’t try to suppress the smile that lit up her face at the turn the afternoon had taken. She was so happy she had decided to run away with him, if only for the day.

#bad romance #choicesprompts #trr au #trr poly #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #angelasscribbles #why choose

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queen-tashie · 8 months

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Writing Whispers

Tagged by @mrbexwrites, thanks! :D I've saved the greatest old excerpt for last, as a grand finale, which... you'll see why XD

Rules: find a few paragraphs of writing from as long ago as you can. Re-write them how you would now.

Tagging - @merriweather-the-un-merri-writer, @isabellebissonrouthier, and anyone else interested in trying this out! (It was a lot of fun!)

This took a while because most of my old writing was in notebooks. Fortunately, I still have some of them B-)

First, Against the Current, which is a Pokemon Fanfic I started in November 2009 and posted on a Finneon fan club Deviant Art account.

The black sea was still. The wind was calm. All the Pokémon of the area were resting, or so it seemed. Svena was a Totodile with a unique personality. Instead of being impulsive like many usually were, she was much more pensive. She enjoyed making theories about things surrounding her, like why the moon grew and shrunk every month, or why water reflected images when it was still.

How I'd write Against the Current now:

The wind and sea were unusually calm tonight. Svena, a Totodile, was waiting by the water's edge, her feet still dry in the cool sand. The starlight wasn't enough to show her reflection staring back tonight. Too many clouds covered the sky, cloaking the world in darkness. Svena stared out into the watery abyss, her body trembling as she fought against her fear just to be here, to be this close. At least the others couldn't see her. She was alone, so she thought.

Survival of the Fittest is what I call my 'second novel' which I never finished (much like my 'first novel'). This was an original work from November 2008.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Tyler tried to ignore his wireless alarm clock’s constant siren, but it was excessively insufferable. He felt around for the snooze button. His alarm clock seemed like a worthless little device, but getting up before the sun was important. Even in the year 2084, alarm clocks were still used as often as they were a century ago.

How I'd write Survival of the Fittest now:

Tyler slapped his alarm clock more times than he should've, but it wasn't turning off. He rose his sleepy head from the bunched-up sweatshirt, but before he could locate the snooze button on the displaced device, Miranda reached over him and shut it off, squeezing him close against her half-clothed body. They couldn't afford to 'sleep in', but gods was she intoxicating.

And now for quite possibly the single greatest line I've ever written in my life, a paragraph from my untitled Oblivion (TES) Fanfic which also includes a scene of paying a roofer via dead-drop, circa 2009. I wrote it in a notebook, but I've transcribed it word for word. You may thing it's not good until that last sentence dares you to change your mind.

Descending the stairs, he tipped over a glass vase on the shelf next to the railing. It chipped, but did not shatter, so he propped it back up, assuming no one would notice. His grey eyes scanned the room. The innkeeper was dozing off in a chair at a table. His goblet was still half-full of ale. Thorn noticed that someone was watching him, so he decided against cutting the innkeeper's coinpurse. He seated himself in a corner where the whole room could be witnessed, so he could observe the observer. The mysterious figure was leaning against a wall adjacent to the front door. Hidden, yet not hiding, he or she waited as if waiting to react to an action.

How I'd write this untitled Oblivion fanfic now, which is a downgrade imo:

Thorn descended the stairs, his eyes on the sleeping innkeeper's coinpurse. As he unsheathed his dagger, his elbow bumped a glass vase, tipping it over and causing the innkeeper to stir. Thorn decided against the impulsive theft, despite the highwayman price he'd paid for the room that night. When he stepped off the uneven stairs onto the shoddy floor, he sensed something. Someone. He was being watched. Thorn's eyes met their's. Dark and piercing under the hood of their cloak, before they fled from the inn.

#my writing #writeblr #tag game #pokemon #oblivion #tes #fanfic

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chainofclovers · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag, @tunemyart!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

162

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

695,994

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso is the only fandom I'm actively writing in right now. In the past I've also written for Grace and Frankie and The Devil Wears Prada (DWP) as an actual active member of the fandom. I've also dabbled in Doubt, a specific National Theatre production of Twelfth Night, Dead To Me, Killing Eve, 9 to 5 (film), Supergirl, and Carol.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Even now, all five are DWP Miranda/Andy fics. That is wild.

Clean Rooms and Dirty Light

Lightyear

Twenty Questions

Ice Water

Calibrated

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I think I've replied to nearly every comment I've received. I really, really appreciate comments no matter how quick or detailed they are and while I don't think writers have an obligation to respond to anything they don't want to, I always love hearing back from writers when I comment on their fic. Receiving a fic comment feels like an incredible opportunity to thank someone for reading and chat about the story. One of my favorite things about fandom is the interactive component; when I publish something in a lit mag, I might hear from a few people about it, but when I publish fic there's a built-in audience/community and I do not take that for granted.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Maybe "Millimeters" (Grace/Frankie), in which Grace ends the story pining for Frankie, who is in a relationship with someone else? But even that story doesn't actually have an angsty ending; by the time I published it, I was already in the process of publishing a multi-chapter fic that was the third and final part of the series and that has a very happy ending.

No matter how much angst I put characters through in fic, I am pretty committed to endings that have some degree of hope and at least the possibility of joy!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I could answer with so many fics, but I'll go with "The Adventure" (Ted/Rebecca) because its ending is explicitly about Rebecca appreciating her life, sharing this appreciation with Ted, and feeling happy about her immediate future.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

If I have, I've blocked it out. I often put a note on my fics saying I am open to constructive criticism, and while I occasionally get criticism/questions/requests for additional tagging/etc. (all of which I welcome!), I've never gotten a properly hateful comment.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Absolutely! The sex I write tends to be relatively feelings-y, but that doesn't mean it isn't smutty! I absolutely love writing sex and a significant portion of my stories contain some kind of explicit content. I'm not totally sure what "what kind" means but by this point I've written solo sex, couple sex, and group sex in a variety of queer and hetero contexts. I've written more femslash sex than anything else, but I love writing it all!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have tried but never successfully published any. I was really trying to make a DWP + Grace and Frankie crossover work for a long time but it just isn't the way my brain operates. I did write a story about Grace and Frankie watching Killing Eve with their ex husbands, though! :D

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not word-for-word/reposted, but I've had significant passages and concepts from fic plagiarized. It annoyed me.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet but some may be in the works?! I've had lots of fic podficced before, and while all the podfics are in the same language, they still feel in some ways like a delightful act of translation.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! The Ted Lasso Ted/Beard podfic @boglady, @podklb, and @rockinhamburger "Just Missed You," which we created for @pod-together.

I've also collaborated more loosely on a couple fics, like the Ted/Rebecca fic "Rebecca Welton, 2021" (@boglady wrote the first chapter and gave me permission to write chapter two and @diane-lockharts permission to write chapter three) and the Beard/Ted + pre-Beard/Rebecca/Ted fic "Before and After" (@theodore-lasso wrote the first chapter and gave me permission to write a chapter two).

I might be forgetting something older, but those are the ones that come to mind.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Impossible question! When I'm fixated on something it's my most favorite thing forever in a way that sort of limits my ability to think broadly and actually answer the question. So it FEELS like my answer is a tie between Ted/Rebecca and Ted/Rebecca/Keeley/Roy and Beard/Rebecca/Ted and any Ted/soulmate situation and that might actually be accurate because I can't recall my brain deep-diving into character quite like this before. But also, Miranda/Andy?! To have started writing about them in 2008 and to still read them sometimes and to have beta-read stories about within the last few months...that's some wild staying power, man.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof, I've had a couple barely-started AU ideas for Ted Lasso that I am just 100% sure I'll never have the energy to write. Everything else, never say never! Either I don't want to finish and won't or I want to finish and might!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Detail, I think? I really love thinking about super-specific sensory experiences and exactly how a character would feel and respond, and trying to carve "meaning" from the ordinary little details that stack up to form life.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I sometimes struggle with blocking and describing movements. I also struggle a lot with conveying big feeling transitions. For instance, I might be able to write yearning, and I might be able to write that same character in a reciprocal relationship with the person they once yearned for, but that moment when things change can be really hard to write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

As long as it's in-character, yeah! I don't think I've really had cause to do this. The closest thing recently might be Rebecca sending a text message in Dutch. I didn't translate it; translating it wasn't required to understand the meaning of the story, so it was more like a bonus for anyone who cared to translate it.

I don't love it when a character who speaks multiple languages peppers their speech with random well-known-to-English-speaking-audiences words in a non-English language when it feels like the writers is just reminding the reader about this fact about the character. But I love it when it's done in a way that resembles how people actually switch between languages as they speak!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Devil Wears Prada, back in 2008!

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Fic I haven't published yet! Always gotta have aspirations. <3

"Lavender II" (Beard/Rebecca/Ted) is a fic that I worked incredibly hard on and feel proud of because it just ended up being what I wanted and needed it to be, so maybe that's my favorite out of stuff I've actually already written.

tagging in a no-pressure way: anyone who was tagged throughout my answers + @talldecafcappuccino @dollsome-does-tumblr @broadwayfreak5357 @itsagutthing @kittensittin @thesumdancekid @fandomfrolics @waywardted @sapphicscholar @majolination + anyone who sees this and wants to do it (I probably meant to tag you anyway!)

#fic by me #about me #20 questions for fic writers #tunemyart #hot dork club

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