#also sorry i keep shilling that fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

andypantsx3 · 1 year

Note

hi andie!

idk if you've answered something like this…you probably have, i'm sorry 😭 but i was curious about how you tackle a fic? you write exactly how i'd like to!! you have chapters that are a perfect length and a good amount of them each fic (hopefully this doesn't sound like an insult??? not that i'm against longer fics either, i love them!! but idk if i could ever write that much 🙏 bless authors that do! maybe i will one day LOL)

i think i mostly struggle with plotting. i have a general idea of what i want to do and some scenes i'd like to happen but idk how to put things together? how does one get from point a to point b? 🤯 don't feel pressured to answer btw!!

but really i love love love your stuff!!! your fics are always funny and a good time! and the way you write the reader character is one of my favorites because i feel the most connection with them 💕 i've read and re-read all you do and i'm just a fan and i hope you're always taking care of yourself

also also everytime i see that bird icon, even out in the wild, i'm just like there she is…that's andie LOL

Hello my love!! Sorry for sitting on this one for a bit, I wanted to wait until I had the time to give it the attention it deserves!!

I think everyone works differently, but I will share with you the thing that has helped me in trying to connect all the plot points for my own fics. I hope it helps you too, but no worries if it doesn't!!

So, if you work for a corporation (or a start up that licks the boots of corporations like I do), you may have encountered the "Working Backwards" doc. The "Working Backwards" ideology is some corporate obnoxiousness that originated at Amazon, and basically advocates for starting any initiative by imagining the goal state and only then attempting to find a path back to a problem's starting conditions.

I use this so constantly at work it has become second nature and has poisoned my fic-planning process as well lol.

In fic terms, working backwards means imagining how you'd like the fic to end, specifically in terms of what you want your main character to achieve. Where will they be, what goal will they have accomplished, who will be with them. From there, you think of the key factors in what will help them accomplish those goals--what will have had to happen to enable the ending to happen? And from there, you think of what would have needed to happen to enable those key factors to resolve, etc.

To throw up a low-stakes example from one of my fics, I wanted the reader from savvy to ace her final marketing project. In order to do that, Bakugou needed to agree to her marketing plan. In order to do that, there were a couple possibilities--he could have made a bet with her and lost, he could have come around to the idea because he liked her that much (LOL), or--what I went with--he made her a promise in a heated moment to get her to trust him. To enable the heated moment, I had to dredge up a silly villain, and to give reader a reason to encounter that villain, I made her tag along to Bakugou's internship. So in terms of your question, I did not work from point a to point b, but rather from point e to d to c to b to a.

This method can be kind of unsatisfying though, if you already have some loose scenes in mind that might not gel with your final conditions or overall plot structure. In those cases, you might try to tetris them in there somehow, or adapt them to fit the narrative you've just come up with.

Sometimes you may also be forced to sideline them. I do this a lot, where I have some scenes in my head, and I keep them on stand-by in a notes doc until a fic comes around that fits them, and then I shoehorn them in there lol.

Anyway, this method might not work for everyone, and no worries if it doesn't work for you!! But I hope this helps even a little bit, as basic and as corporate-shill as this answer is!!

Sending you my absolute best vibes, and looking forward to reading your fic when you get things sorted!! I believe in you! ✨✨✨

#ask andie

20 notes · View notes

nalufever · 4 years

Note

do you have any more nalu fic recs?

Sorry, not sorry - you’ve unleashed more than you could’ve guessed. ^^ Always happy to Recommend a List of Fics ~ And thank you for asking! Admittedly there’s a few Recs that aren’t Nalu - I got excited to share my favs. ;)

A Girl Worth Fighting For: Natsu navigates unspeakable horrors to win Lucy’s love or Natsu goes shopping, looking for the perfect white day gift.

A Lesson: Natsu and Lucy can’t keep themselves from expressing their passions - and the results are bed breaking. Short but smutty - smexy in fact. ;P

A Solidly Constructed Kiss: Erza strong-arms Lucy and Natsu into working the Kissing Booth to raise funds for a school trip. Lucy’s never been kissed and Natsu acts like he’s never entertained even the idea of kissing another person. Things naturally come to a head when Lucy and Natsu are given the task to build the actual booth; will they fight over construction or build themselves some kind of relationship?

Fairy Tail Week: A collection of drabbles from tumblr prompts to celebrate Fairy Tail. Fairy, Ladies, Lads, Magic, Guild, Ultimate Team, Stronger, Mashima, Tail. Only rated teen to err on the side of caution, family friendly content featuring most of the Fairy Tail Guild!

Feathers and Scales: Angel/Demon AU. Devils are more than they seem and Angels no less. Pitted against each other in a never-ending battle for souls, a single Angel and Devil trade mercies and fall in love. Warning: major character death(s).

Full Moon Secret: Natsu had wanted to tell Lucy his secrets, to share his family history with the fey…it had just never been the right time. Tonight the truth was going to be revealed, one way or another.

Okay, I could just keep hyping all of my own fics individually - but I won’t - other than to just put in a link to ALL OF THEM. ;) Fair warning, I have a few other fandoms works in all the Fairy Tail stories - from Brooklyn 99 to The Flash, Snow White with the Red Hair, RWBY, Blue Exorcist, Teen Titans and some Hakuouki. Yes, I’m a shameless self-promoter. Speaking of that - one more I need to rec! Natsu’s Stars in Lucy’s Sky. I swear Imma finish this.

I also have more than a few favourite authors who write for Fairy Tail (and other fandoms) ~ some have not contributed lately to Fairy Tail or chosen to concentrate on other fandoms - but I like them and their excellent writing.

ObsessedwithNalu: One of my first fandom friends and pretty much any of her FT stories is gold. @obsessedwithnalu

Christmas Treats: Admittedly a gift to me and very cherished for that fact - and - it’s frigging awesome. Lucy does a little holiday baking at home before Fairy Tail’s Christmas party. Natsu, as always, is there. One thing leads to another…

Thanks, Krov: When Krov decided to relax at his favorite bar after work, he never imagined that he’d be seeing some of his old guild members, especially since he thought they had died long ago. Nalu fluff.

Edo-Nalu love fest: Submissions for the Nalu love fest week of 2014. But instead of regular Nalu, these ones feature Edo-Nalu. Smut-tastic and delightfully mature.

ImpracticalDemon: Another early fandom friend who’s still writing this, that and the other thing - and she’s just GREAT. Again, a link to all her works and a few that are special to me follow. XOXOX @impracticaldemon

May the Best Man Survive: “Gray would never have in a million years thought he’d host Natsu’s bachelor party (Nalu pairing). Why is it his job to herd the bunch of rowdy mages from bar to bar, ending up at the guild where the real surprise party is? Oh yeah, the idiot had asked him to be the best man at his wedding. Hijinks, chaos and hilarity ensue.” ^^ A prompt supplied by me and I’m smirking so wide because the fic Imp came up with delivered more awesomeness than I could have hoped for!

A Star At His Side: “Accidentally Fall Asleep Together” for Endragoneel on tumblr. Natsu and Lucy spend the day together at a festival in Magnolia. Natsu ends up watching more than just the stars when the festival is over…

Christmas Gifts: When Erza walks Wendy home from the Guild’s Christmas Party, Wendy realizes how alone her friend and mentor is feeling. She sets out to recruit Lucy, Natsu and the rest to break Jellal out of prison for just one night, as a Christmas gift for Erza. Meanwhile, Natsu has accidentally burned some of Lucy’s writing. Will she forgive him?

Dark Shining Light: One of the best and most welcoming writers I have ever interacted with! I’m still gobsmacked she’s a friend! She’s a legend and I don’t know what else I could add to any discourse about her writing - but the classics are classic for a reason, yeah? Here’s a few of my personal favourites of her works and just know there’s too many to list them all! AKA @ff-darkshininglight

Mischievous Cat: Let’s just say there have been a few incidents where Happy has come in at a bad time.

What Belongs to a Demon: Everyone knew she belonged to the great demon lord and she would prove that she deserved to stand by his side.

The Truth Revealing Cards: Lucy should have known if there was a card that would reveal her secrets, Natsu would want it.

Eliz1369: Got introduced to her for her Hakuoki fics but she’d dipped her toes into FT as well ~ and this is a great fic. ^^ @eliz1369

The Light of Fairy Tail: The members of Fairy Tail may be their own brand of crazy, but their hearts are always in the right place.

rougescribe: Shame on me for not reading more of this author’s works! @rougescribe

Fire Sprite No 5: For him, Heaven wasn’t a place or a single moment in time. It was a feeling built on memories upon memories, past and present and a hope for future ones all tied down together. All sharing one common denominator: Her. Nalu. Tumblr Valentine’s Event.

Fallen Ark Angel: Admittedly I only have interacted from afar with this writer. I mainly read Nalu fics but I love her take on Mira and Laxus and her next gen offspring characters. She’s got a lot to offer and it’s all superb. @fallen029

Loving Satan: Loving Satan is never easy. But when she loves you back, its twice as bad.

Madartiste: Another one-sided love affair with someone else’s writing. And her stories are all wonderful and prolly appear on hundreds of Fic Rec Lists - but here’s one of my Favs! @madartiste

Hoarding: Getting interrupted gets old fast.

UranoMetria: I added her to my stable of fav authors 05-03-2014. Wow. Eons ago and even if I’m not sure she’s still active in the fandom, I salute her. Kudos.

The Goddess Gate: With six years of partnership, Natsu and Lucy are torn apart by a mysterious visit from a secret magic council. Lucy is kidnapped and her memories suppressed. She fights her way back home to regain her life - with a startling secret revealed as she begins to remember. The lives of all Earthland hang in the balance. **Okay, this is a wicked old fic - but amazingly written and fuelled my own desires for writing. Last updated in 2018 but who knows? Some current attention may slay any demons on her back in regards to writing - and even if not - the hours of enjoyment reading this is worth giving a comment just to say, ‘thank you for writing.‘

Wild Rhov: Do I even need to say anything about this author? Famous, famous, famous. Excellent. Writes a lot of pairings and fleshes every relationship into something REAL. I Can’t Even. @wildrhov

Beastly Possession: Something is murdering people in Magnolia. When Lucy is attacked, Natsu goes on a rampage to find the culprit, and everyone in Fairy Tail wants revenge. But could this bloodthirsty attacker be someone they know? Warning: High octane nightmare fuel! Do not read while eating, and beware of red eyes in the dark!

Shell1331: Introduced via Imp. This writer is in a few fandoms and is worth reading. @shell-senji

Juicy: Impulsivity and poorly chosen words get Natsu into more trouble than he’d expected, which is saying something for him.

AbsentAngel: Everyone should know this writer. Been stalking her since 2014 so that says something. Tho, it’s prolly just that I’m creepy. ;) My suggested fic here is being re-written/has been? into something original and worth being purchased when it becomes available and re-read over and over. No, I am not being paid to shill but I am open to having senpai notice me. @absent-angel

To the Flame: She stares, transfixed, as the blood runs down his fingers and begins to pool in his palm. He holds his hand up to her lips in offering, and she tears her eyes away from the blood to study his face. He is smiling softly. “Go on Luce, I didn’t cut them for nothing.” [Vamp AU]

HawkofNavarre: Loved for awesome and delightful Gruvia content. Looks like there’s a tumblr but I can’t manage to link it. :(

You Stole the Rain: He just wanted to be friends; fine, she just needed to change his mind. Gray x Juvia

Ricardian Scholar Clark-Weasley: Not sure I spelled that right even after checking three times! I usually short hand that to RS-CW in my head. And she’s prolific - has a tonne of fandoms and is a tower of talent. Is anyone reading all my fangirl gushing? 'Cause she follows one of my fics and comments (sorry I haven’t updated that fic in a while) and it’s a source of happiness that someone who writes so well happens to enjoy some of my content. Okay, bragging over - back to the Recs!

Tales of Fairies: A collection of oneshots exploring different friendships, ideas, sad themes, comical scenarios, and lots and lots of pairings…but mainly Nalu.

snogfairy: Another giant in the FT fandom. Impressive talent. @lineffability

naughty nalus: smutty nalu oneshots B) ***Mature content!***

Rivendell101: Another giant in FT and other fandoms. This author would be considered required reading if I ran a fandom course in a University setting. Just sayin’ @rivendell101

Crave: /krāv/ Verb. To feel a powerful desire for (something). They crave each other. And satiation doesn’t come easily. He growls against her again. “Beg for it,” he demands, lips ghosting against her.

Lakerae aka @hidetheremote : Did you think I’d forgotten you? Ha! Gotcha good! You’re an inspiration to me because you’re working so hard to publish your children’s books. Kudos to you li'l sis! You’re busy but still make it a point to talk to me and I love you for that and everything.

The Gift of the Magi: A Gajevy Twist: A retelling of the classic Christmas story “The Gift of the Magi,” with your favorite Fairy Tail couple Gajeel and Levy! It’s Christmas time and Gajeel and Levy exchange gifts. They both are surprised what they receive and learn a lesson of the true meaning of Christmas.

I could add more and more as I search my saved favs on FF.net ~ and I’m sorry to not include all of them - but this is crazy long as it is. If you read and like any of the recommended fics, please be sure to let the author know. To the authors of these and all fanfics, Thanks for everything.

#fic list #rec fic list #fan fics galore #mainly Nalu rec'd fics #sorry not sorry #asks #answered #more than poor anon bargained for

150 notes · View notes

robo-cryptid · 4 years

Note

where do you tend to find inspiration for your writing?

Please see my last answer for why it took so long to respond. Sorry, anon!

Anyway, honestly, I find most of my inspo either through engaging other media (including fic in the same fandom) or through simply talking to people. (I usually blame YourAverageJoke for these things, but that’s because we talk a lot!) I think it’s pretty apparent in a lot of my writing that what I’m doing, to some degree, is going, “well, how would it be different if I wrote this trope/scenario?” Which is of course not to say I think my take is better than someone else’s, only that it’s mine, lol.

I love One Man’s Hero, for example, and mataglap in general, but my take on the superhero AU is notably more ridiculous, both in the one I’ve actually shared and in the WIP hiding in my draft folder. Y’know, with mata, you’re going to get something lovingly detail-oriented and characters with some sense of dignity, and with me, you’re going to get a bunch of dick jokes and everyone being a fucking disaster (and also a swift punch of angst when you’ve finally let your guard down).

Idk, in hindsight, this second paragraph was not necessary but I’m shilling for mata’s writing, so I’m gonna keep it. Anyway, tl;dr: usually in fic and other media and/or conversations with other people. Very rarely, a song will do it.

#robo answers #anonymous #writer asks

7 notes · View notes

peri-hellion · 3 years

Note

3, 6, 11, 15? (also ily and ur leverage tma content Kills Me Dead)

THANK YOU your leverage tma comments give me life.

11: what grammar mistake do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

I have never in my life had a beta, so my fics are rife with errors. I would love to have a beta, but it would contradict my drive to Post Something the Minute It Is Done because I crave validation. My main grammar mistake are probably either unnecessary commas or misspelling characters' names (sorry to Vivienne Templar, whose name I almost never spell correctly).

15. describe (one of) your wip(s) in the weirdest/most contrived way possible!

Final Girl Martin Blackwood gets shunted into the Hilltop Road alternative universe (TM) where Tim Stoker is doing his best at being a corporate shill for Hachette. It’s basically ‘Splash’ but with more PTSD and annoying little brothers.

2 notes · View notes

impishnature · 4 years

Note

If you're doing the meta writer asks, would you mind sharing your answers for 1, 10, 20, and/or 25? Sorry, I know that's a lot of numbers!

Already had 1 and 25 I hope thats ok!

1) Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Let’s do a different older story then. The werewolf one. Set with Stan with amnesia and the others having to reexplain the summer to him. I don’t want to say too much because it’d give things away. But the plan of the story arc is rewritten to include werewolf shenanigans and how that’d change the apocalypse.

Only ever got round to writing the prologue though and didn’t want to add pressure to myself ^^; Maybe I should. Maybe I should upload it and you guys can nudge me on it.

10) How would you describe your writing process?

Like binging a TV show. Or cramming for an exam. I either can’t stop writing or won’t start it. Once I’ve started I remember how muhc I like it and you won’t get a word out of me for hours.

For a lot of stories I don’t keep any real notes. Then others are a conversation with people so I keep that as notes. Then from there I just write. I usually like to have the end thought out before the start is even written though. I don’t like not knowing where a story is going.

20) Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Hmm-

Oh I had fun referencing kings shillings recently. I’m not sure if it’s a myth/actually true. But there’s references I’ve heard about since I was little that if someone gave you a king’s shilling, that was it you were now conscripted into the navy. (historically obv) I had fun using it as a device.

I don’t know if it counts as meta or not but I also really liked this bit of a current Good Omens fic - ‘He eyed the other escalator cautiously as he caught his breath and sidled hesitantly over to it. It was so different to the one he had just run up, the one that creaked and groaned beneath his feet, brown and rotten with decay, rust cracking off like dust with every accidental movement. He always came up feeling dirtier than he had going down and perhaps that was the point. But this one... all shiny and new, a soft vibrating hum of energy as it moved ever onward and without restraint. He could practically feel the searing heat from the silver sheen, forever caught in bright beams of sunlight, a cleanliness that would burn him alive if it could, strip him down to whatever good remained inside of him. Perhaps in it's own way it held just as oppressive an atmosphere as down there. Down was expectations and presumptions, up was shame and judgement, every detail, every action picked apart and scrutinised- always watched, forever on best behaviour.’

Just because it’s shiny and new doesn’t mean its /good/ I guess was the point I was making. I don’t know. I was just having fun haha ^^;;

#holy-honeybees

3 notes · View notes

rovvboat · 5 years

Text

Young Love from the Old Times - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x Reader

A/N: A Series of Smut Fics to Enjoy :) I do have a ~plot~ for this so if you enjoyed this part, lemme know! <3

Warnings: N S F W

Part 1

Being a fresh-faced, up-and-coming X-Man was exhausting work. But doing it alongside Piotr had made things smoother, and much more bearable. The both of you were of the same age – 19 – though you were conferred into the X-Men a few months later than Piotr.

You had heard from rumours and hallway talk that him and Kitty – another young X-Man – had a thing for one another. But, apparently, Piotr had reservations about it all – seeing as she was 6 years his junior – and hadn’t pursued much.

And that’s when you came in.

You had an appointment with the Professor – it was your first time at the mansion, and the first person you laid eye upon was Piotr – still in his pyjamas (You’d never forget: a large black T-shirt paired with loose fitting blue and grey stripped pyjama pants) – from having your presence at the doorway many hours before sunrise – 3am to be exact.

Your eyes were caught onto his large stature, his dashing blue eyes being a point of intrigue – as he stood there next to the door, rubbing away the fatigue from his eyes. You stand there, taking in the sight of this absolutely stunning person, when his groggy voice picks up.

‘’May I help you? It is 3am. Not the best time for visit… or any activity for that matter.’’ He sighs, pushing some of his hair back from his face. A mischievous smile crosses your face.

It didn’t take long for the both of you to become friends – more specifically, of the benefits type.

It began with your first day on the training grounds, when you proved to be a force to reckoned with on the battle field. Your teleportation prowess – unrivaled.

Until Colossus grabbed hold of you in the middle of a sparring session.

Your only weakness was weight. You could only port inversely proportional to your weight (that’s to say, the heavier you are, the harder it becomes) – and that included anything that touched you.

He was gargantuan – and you’ve ported with a 100kg barbell before; which really said something of his density; though not completely unexpected.

By the end of it, the both of you were left breathless and soaked – the baby hairs on your head sticking close to your forehead; his hair similarly slick with sweat – as the sparring session had persisted far too long – neither of you giving up the fight; And it was only until the professor signaled for you to end the session that the both of you ceased one-upping each other.

He met you half way on the field that day, hand extended out in a gesture of sportsmanship.

‘’You were a formidable opponent. Truly someone with great control and spirit.’’

‘’That’s one way to get on my good side, handsome.’’ You give him a suggestive smirk, held tilted to the side, before meeting him in a solid handshake.

His eyes lifted in timid fashion. ‘’I– ‘’

But you were already making your way towards the showers.

You hear him enter the shared locker room; a towel draped over his left shoulder. He acknowledges you with a smile, which you return more than willingly.

Something about him made you feel… excitement, in the pit of your stomach. You supposed that being that much of an attractive and well-mannered person would do that to anyone, but the fact that the both of you had almost synergistic characters made it that much more thrilling and stimulating to be around him.

Of course, you had to keep your cool – one of the more defining aspects of your personality.

You grab your toiletries and head to the showers – and halfway through your mildly therapeutic washdown, you hear Piotr entering the showers 2 cubicles away from yours.

What a gentleman.

But it was also minutes after that that you realized you missed one important thing –

you forgot to bring your towel in with you.

You smack your forehead in annoyance – ‘’for fucks sake’’ – instinctively clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth; tsk.

Two showers away, the sound of spraying water stops with a squeak, as Piotrs’ voice perks up – ‘’Is something the matter?’’

‘’Yeah well, this is kind of embarrassing but… do you have a spare towel I could borrow?’’

You could hear him chuckle – as his laugh reverberates against the walls of the small space. ‘’Of course. Give me a moment.’’

You hear the rails shilling as he opens the shower curtains, as he walks over to get fetch his extra towel. You hear his footsteps get louder until they stop near your shower. He clears his throat, ‘’I will cover my eyes, you can come out to take the towel.’’

You peer over the curtain to make sure – not that you doubted him for a moment – but the scene of Piotr covering his eyes with his hands felt much too precious to miss.

You take your time to admire his colossal form – clothed only in a white towel fastened on his waist. His porcelain skin still glistening from the droplets of water that he clearly missed as he rushed to your aid – one of the drops break the surface tension, before gliding over his chest and disappears on the tight ridges of his abs. You dare not look any lower, though the outline of him was screaming ‘’well-endowed’’ at you.

His left hand was held tight against his eyes, fingers squared diligently, as his other hand held out a thick pink towel.

You couldn’t help but grin at him, and just as you take a step forward,

you lose your footing against the wet floor, and with the tell-tale sound of feet slipping on tile, you’re

falling onto the ground. You try to reach for the ledge, but miss – causing the shampoo and soap bottles to topple onto the floor with you.

Alarmed, Piotr rushes into the shower, eyes wide in concern as he lowers himself to pick you up. You instinctively cover your chest, before letting Piotr pull you up from the floor.

‘’Are you alright? You should be more careful. The shower is wet and you could have –‘’

It takes him a minute to realise that now wasn’t really the time for a lecture on bathroom safety, and when he does, you could see the heat rising into his cheeks. (In his defense, he was only ever looking into your eyes until you shifted an arm to cover yourself)

‘’I..’’ – he clears his throat, ‘’ – uh, I should– I should leave,’’ he turns in his heels, moving to part the shower curtains.

But before he could, you yank him back by the arm, and in the passing moment that his face was close to yours, you take him in your hands – eyes closed and pulling him into a kiss.

When you pull away, you’re slightly embarrassed by your forthcoming – and Piotr was rendered stunned; like he didn’t believe what just happened.

‘’I’m sorry, I– I wasn’t thinking and–‘’

Piotr steps forward, cupping both hands onto your cheeks as he pulls your face gently towards him, pressing his lips to yours.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to be completely taken into it – him craning down to deepen the kiss. Your hands rest over his neck, feeling the smoothness of his baby soft skin with sweet caresses; over his ear, down his neck, tracing up to his jawline. His massive frame pushes against yours, guiding you to the adjacent wall, and as you try to readjust, you accidentally flip on the shower – sending a spray of water onto you.

It gets a little harder to breathe – between the kiss and the downpour of water over the both of you – but Piotr senses your loss of air, and pushes you further against the wall, away from the steaming spray of the shower head – his crotch subtly grinding against you, wedging you between him and the wall.

You feel the shooting pangs of desire – jolting you into a more hyperaware state.

Between his painfully mild-mannered grinding, and deep, distracted kissing, you feel a need to switch into a more compromising position; if only to appease your own desires.

You trace your foot up his leg – the action alone causing a hitch in Piotr once heavy breathes – only stopping when you reach his waist – a gentle push into the inevitable.

You leg hooks onto his waist, with only his towel separating him from you.

You cling onto him, drawing him closer to you, intensifying the feel of his growing member on your cunt. The towel does nothing to subdue the sensations – and does quite much the opposite.

He mouths a low rumbling whisper of Russian, ‘’ty svodish' menya s uma…’’

‘’hmm?’’

‘’You are… driving me crazy…’’ He breathes deeply against your neck.

‘’I can do a lot more than that,’’ you retort back in a sultry whisper, your words hot against his ears.

You feel his big, purposeful hand inching down your back – passing over your ass with a gentle squeeze, before lightly running over the back of your thigh – pulling ever so slightly under your knee, propping up your other leg; and you – ever so willing – now have both your legs wrapped around his waist, at the mercy of his exasperatingly leisured pace.

You up the ante a little – taking matters into your own hands – as you buckle up and down his length. The friction of the fabric mounting onto your pleasure.

He takes the hint – pushing you further into the wall – the full length of his cock now in absolute contact with your cunt; rubbing with an intense slowness that keeps your orgasm right on edge – but never pushing you over it.

He grabs a fistful of your ass, pulsing his stiff, tight member against you – exhaling your name in a labored breathes, hot against your ears, as his teeth gently graze down over your collar; nipping at your most sensitive areas.

The sensations threaten your sanity – as you thumb aggressively at his towel; hungry for more than just a feel of him through the friction on his fabric.

He lifts his body a little off of you, and that concession is all you needed to yank it off of him, throwing the towel over the curtain rod – his cock now exposed in all its girth.

He pushes hard against you again – running over and over between your folds.

The sheer unadulterated feel of him drives you wild – bucking and moaning as you go; the tension building inside your core begging for a release other than your mouth. You let out whine as Piotr quickens his pace, your breathing matching his, as you feel the first stirring of your orgasm inching closer into your thighs. You snake your arms tighter around his neck, eyes taking in the sight of Piotr, breathless and sweating; his spiky hair slicked wet and stuck to his forehead, his cheeks a shade not far from red.

Piotr pinches your chin, lifting it up towards him as his lips hasten to meet yours, his tongue finding yours with an urgency – his thrusts intensifying into speedy bursts of pleasure as he moans into your kiss, his grip on your waist tightening to hold you down against his cock, as your legs writhe from the shaking orgasm that left you gasping for air – holding him tight against your body as you both come together; a sticky wetness running down your thighs not even moments later.

He slows down his movements, heaving close to your neck with his mouth slightly agape, as you pant over his drooping head.

Suddenly, the clicking of a door reverberates through the shower room.

Footsteps echo onto the pin-drop silence – (a stark opposition to the noises of you and Piotr against the humid shower)

You catch the air in your lungs in a sharp breath, struggling not to make any noise against the silent suspense that surrounded the both of you.

Piotrs’ hand masks over your mouth instantly, eyes staring fiercely into your own wide-eyed shock.

‘’Is anyone here?’’

‘’Da. I am just about finishing up my shower.’’ He answers matter-of-factly; his head turned towards the voice of the intruder.

‘’Oh Colossus, it’s you. Have you seen Y/N around? I’ve got something I’d like to discuss–‘’

‘’Nyet. I have not,’’ he lies, watching your face turn into a smirk under his palm. He playfully brings up his other hand, a finger to his smiling lips to signal you to keep you quiet.

‘’Well, okay, let me know if you do.’’

When the coast was clear, and the door clicked behind the intruder, Piotr slowly brought down his hand, freeing your lips from the sweltering nightmare of heat.

‘’That was… something.’’ You remark, bringing your leg down from his waist, arms still looped over his neck. ‘’We should do this again some time.’’

Piotr huffs a laugh, his face giving you a sheepish smile.

(And with 3 words, he would kickstart a mutual beneficial relationship.)

‘’Maybe we should.’’

***

Taglist!

@emma-frxst @marvel-forever-17 @fluffymadamina

((Shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged! <3))

#colossus x reader #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool 2 #marvel fanfiction #Piotr Rasputin #colossus #piotr rasputin x reader #cable #colossus imagine #Young Love from the Old Times

166 notes · View notes

newleafover · 5 years

Text

day 4--kinktober Depeche Mode edition

“not renowned for my restraint” Pirates of the Caribbean where they’re all girls. Highly Problematic (for POTC reasons but also dub con in this fic), but I had so much fun writing this because I’ve been reading Jack/Will for a bazillion years. Enjoy!

In a dark, shabby room in Tortuga crowded with ladies of the night andtheir customers, Wilhelmina Turner is kissed for the very first time. It happens suddenly and irreversibly, a sticky, foul-tasting mouth over her own, and in her mind’s eye, the incongruous image of a bright-faced, pretty, golden-haired girl breathing life back into her after she nearly drowned. She thinks of Elizabeth Swann.

“Back off, this one’s my loot,” says a distant voice, though Will’s entire world is distant right now. Her sense are dulled, as if she’s being kissed through gauze, as if the darkness of the room is a death shroud.

The kiss ends as wetly as it begins, and suddenly Will is looking into the eyes of a leering, brightly painted face. “I never seen you with a man before,” the woman argues sharply, her frighteningly bright blue eyes inspecting Will’s face carefully. A lopsided grin grows on her face, red pigment smeared all across her mouth. “Besides, Jackie, this one’s cute.”

Will pulls her arms from this woman’s grip, senses rushing back to her as she realizes she’s been mistaken yet again for a man. And in the most terrible, disastrous circumstances.

This is all Jackie Sparrow’s fault.

“Easy, love,” Sparrow mutters, a warm, steady presence at Will’s back keeping her from stumbling backward. Will’s not used to drinking ale at a tavern, nor to walking on land after a full day at sea, nor to the idea of being kissed. Sparrow’s hands are tight around her upper arms, guiding her forward again, into the light where the strange woman still stands. “Who do you think I am?” Sparrow asks the woman. “I said she’s mine, didn’t I?”

Now Will saw Sparrow slapped across the face by two women in the same profession mere hours ago, though she didn’t ask for details as to what prompted such violence, so she’s braced for impact, waiting for this woman to realize she has just kissed a woman under false pretenses, decide falsely that Will had deceived her, and hit her in a fury.

But the impact never comes. Instead, the woman’s face softens a little, perhaps a note of disappointment in her brow, but nothing more violent than that. Will can’t find words in her throat, so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the past few hours that she can’t even think of anything concretely except the face of Elizabeth Swann, the girl who once saved her and now needs to be saved.

“Sorry, Jackie,” the woman says, as though Will isn’t even there. As though Jackie Sparrow is the person in need of an apology. As though kissing herwas an affront to Jackie Sparrow.

Before Will can gather her wits enough to demand her own apology, Sparrow’s hands on her arms are guiding her across the room, step by wobbly step, through a maze of beds that Will refuses to look at.

“Do we have to sleep here?” Will hisses over her shoulder.

Sparrow’s voice is a low, lazy, self-satisfied growl. “Do you have money to pay for a proper room?”

The answer, of course, is that Will hasn’t a shilling to her name. She’s entirely dependent on this fearsome, treacherous pirate whose reputation is so terrible that the whispers about it are utterly lacking in detail. She’s entirely dependent on a woman who has apparently done enough favors for the ladies of the night in Tortuga that they offer her free lodging.

Will finally runs into a bed that’s lit by the moon and her first thought is to wonder if it’s the only available bed because these women don’t wantto have light enough to see their customers, or if it’s Sparrow’s special privilege to choose whichever bed she likes.

She turns and sits on the bed, looking up at Sparrow, who is barely tall enough to smile lasciviously down at her. Her tangled black waves of hair shine silver in the moonlight, as do her eyes, lost in the dark shadows of kohl surrounding them. She sways even when she stands still, the flesh of her breasts swinging freely, hypnotically, under her shirt. She dresses like a man without regard for how ill-fitting her clothes are, and she somehow looks handsome and pretty at the same time, strong and soft, revolting and compelling. Whatever she is, she makes Will’s stomach turn almost constantly, unless that’s just the memory of the sea under her legs, or the sounds coming from the other beds.

“What sort of favors did you do for these women, to earn their high regard?” Will inquires, narrowing her eyes and trying her best to seem like she knows at all what she’s insinuating.

A shard of gold flashes in Sparrow’s grin. “Well,” she begins, tossing the enormous weight of her hair to one side and finally taking a seat beside Will on the bed. Will’s skin prickles at the proximity, but it’s also the most comforting thing in her world right now, the only thing grounding her besides the memory of Miss Swann saving her as a young girl. “Let’s just say…” Sparrow continues. She looks out into the distant, vague dark of the rest of the room rather ominously. “…What I lack in more common forms of currency, I make up for with my tongue.”

Will scowls at the surprisingly delicate cheekbone on the side of Sparrow’s face. “You can talk your way into anything, is that it?” she surmises, judgmental. She misses honor and nobility, the promise of serving Miss Swann from afar and keeping her safe and precious, thinking of her beauty before sleep and her smile while working.

But Sparrow turns to look at her with an arched brow, and Will feels as though she must have missed the point entirely. “Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Sparrow snarls, her breath tasting of ale and salt, which is surprisingly pleasant when compared to the lingering flavor in Will’s mouth. “Oh dear, would you look at that.”

Will turns her head to look behind her, but Sparrow grabs her jaw and turns her back, pulling her forward with her strong calloused grip. Will looks down at Sparrow’s troubling smile and then feels a wet touch to the corner of her mouth. After a moment, she realizes it’s the touch of Sparrow’s thumb, wet with spit. “What are you doing?” she asks, struggling just enough to test that Sparrow intends to keep her there until she’s done.

“You’re covered in Georgiana’s lips,” Sparrow says, matter-of-fact. Will remembers the smear of red across the mouth of the woman who kissed her and realizes it must have its mirror on her own face. She relaxes, allowing Sparrow to clean her. She reaches up to knock the hat off Sparrow’s head, just to feel like she has any control over the situation. Sparrow pauses when the hat lands on the floor, eyes slightly widened, but then she returns to her task and comments, “I suppose Miss Swann doesn’t leave such a mess on your face.”

Will’s stomach lurches at the words even though she doesn’t understand their meaning. Something about the way Sparrow talks about her, talking about Miss Swann, and talks about them together, makes Will’s skin feel hot as molten steel, softened and vulnerable. “Why should Miss Swann leave a mess on my face?” she protests, trying to harden into stubbornness instead of lingering in confusion.

“Why, if she wore pigment on her lips, of course.” Sparrow brushes her thumb right across Will’s lip. Will watches her black eyes focus close on the movement. It makes her throat dry, but she resists the instinct to wet her lips with her tongue, for fear of running into Sparrow’s thumb.

“But why-” Will begins to ask, but she’s silenced by Sparrow’s lips pressing to hers, firm and dry. Will feels suddenly quite drunk again, and just at the moment she feels her own mouth start to give under the soft pressure, Sparrow pulls abruptly away with a smack.

“See,” Sparrow says, pointing to her own thin red lips, only slightly smudged by a tint of lighter red. “You have a mess on your face, I kiss you, now I have a mess on my face. Savvy?”

Will is all kinds of horrified, or something like it. Her stomach is in knots, keeping her from stringing together one piece of information to another: Miss Swann with red lips, Miss Swann’s kiss, Sparrow’s red lips, Sparrow’s kiss, and somehow, somewhere in between all of this, Will’s own mouth?

Sparrow appears to spend a moment waiting for Will to react, but she can’t. All she can do is stare at Sparrow’s mouth, without clearly seeing anything. With a little grunt under her breath, Sparrow reaches over to gently tug Will’s hair free from its boyish tie, shaking it loose, releasing tension Will didn’t know she was holding in her scalp, reminding Will of distant memories of her mother’s hands plaiting her hair, of Miss Swann holding her sea-soaked hair on the deck of the ship after rescuing her. “Tell me, young Will,” Sparrow whispers as her fingers scrape across the back of Will’s skull. “Just what is it you plan to do with your bonny lass after you rescue her?”

“Do with her?” Will repeats dully, distantly fighting the instinct to lean into the curl of Sparrow’s hand or give into the pressure and tip forward into Sparrow’s waiting, parted mouth and its vague promises.

“Or is it that you don’t know what to do with her?” Sparrow counters, debating with herself.

“What?” Will asks. The sounds of the room around them have faded to blissful silence with all the ringing in her head and the vibrations in her skull from Sparrow’s bony fingertips.

Sparrow’s hand moves down to Will’s neck, and the top of her shoulder, so tense from years of working as a blacksmith with none of the financial luxury of ever receiving credit for her work. Will’s eyes fall shut in pleasure.

“I could show you.” Sparrow’s closer than she was before Will closed her eyes, close enough to taste, to kiss. “Show you how to please your girl.”

Will’s not sure what that means, if she’s the girl of if Miss Swann is hergirl, or what Sparrow is suggesting, exactly, but she knows it sounds exciting. And therefore, probably, bad.

“Miss Swann is nothing like you,” she scrapes out between clenched teeth, but she’s unable to open her eyes to glare, because there’s a dangerous, beautiful vision in her mind’s eye: Miss Swann on the deck of a boat, and Will above her, just having rescued her, and Miss Swann’s lips moving under hers like the waves of the sea, her breath sweet as roses…

“You’re right,” Sparrow murmurs, lips grazing Will’s as she speaks. “I’m not renowned for my restraint.” Will shivers at the words, because they sound dark as a threat but sound like a promise to some part of her that’s never been spoken to before. “But I am renowned, as I mentioned before, for my tongue.”

Will opens her eyes, looking into the sea-black depths of Jackie Sparrow’s, and seeing something terribly familiar in them, something she wants very badly for reasons she does not understand. She moves her lips against Sparrow’s, without words, just movement, like waves lapping at the shore, and it feels good, and Will wants to know more, because what if, somehow, it helps save Miss Swann someday.

Sparrow’s tongue reaches out to touch her lips, and the last thought in Will’s mind before it goes blank is, She really can talk her way into anything.

#rejoice #jack/will #potc #femslash #I don't know guys this was fun #I wish there were five whole movies of it

5 notes · View notes

sasha-whos-askin-racket · 5 years

Text

A Study In Suspicion (A Johnlock Fic)

Synopsis: We get A Study In Scarlet from John’s perspective, but what exactly does Sherlock think of this whole thing? A sullen, heavily subdued army doctor, shared lodgings in the heart of London and a small English bulldog puppy - what’s not to love? AKA, I finally let these boys be (sorta) happy for once.

Sherlock’s opening thought, as he met Doctor John Hamish Watson for the first time, was that the man stood in front of him seemed more dead than alive. His eyes were drawn to the heavy wooden cane the man clutched in his right hand, and the way his left lay flat on the table top in front of him in silent support of his trembling frame. The slight twist in the way he held himself was indicative of a wound to the hip or knee, or potentially even both - he’d noticed a rather obvious limp in the man’s gait as he’d entered. Next was the left arm, which had been removed from the table and tucked in to his side, clearly also injured, but held in such a position it seemed he’d sustained a shoulder wound that severely impeded mobility. Whether or not capacity for movement in that joint would improve was only a matter of time, but for now it made a sorry sight. Next, and perhaps the most shocking, was the gaunt frame. Holmes felt for sure if it wasn’t for his thick coat, he’d be able to count every bone in the man’s body without having to try. His moustache probably weighed more than the rest of him combined. His face and hands were tanned, but the strip of skin sliding out from beneath his baggy - surely that hadn’t once fitted him - shirt cuff was pale, almost translucent, and Holmes would say with extreme confidence that Doctor Watson had recently been - if not still was - immensely ill. Time, trust and a few anecdotes later, Sherlock’s unasked question was granted an answer - typhoid fever.

As he stood before him on that first morning, Watson also reeked of a habitual ingrained nervousness. Even a sound as simple and subdued as footsteps on the floor above had his eyes flickering for the nearest available exit. Mentally, Holmes was already tallying up potential problems - the Irregulars slamming doors too hard, him dropping books onto the table, maybe something as simple as him playing the violin without warning. A door closed somewhere above them, and Holmes had to bite back a remark about fetching the poor doctor a chair before he fainted from the mere magnitude of his flinches alone. Still, he seemed capable enough, and Holmes never wasted an opportunity, so he strolled across the room and shook the doctor’s hand, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm than was normal for him. The doctor made a few comments, those which stood out to Holmes the most being “I object to row because my nerves are shaken” and “I have another set of vices when I am well”, which he made a mental note of before turning his attention back to his experiment. Based on first deductions alone, he’d be happy to accept Watson as his lodger, as long as Watson was happy to do the same.

They met the following day, and inspected the rooms together. Watson was a slow, laborious walker, quiet, never one with a smile, but affable enough in the way that he spoke that Holmes found himself liking this sickly veteran of war for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He made the necessary arrangements with the landlady and bade them both farewell.

Returning the following evening with the first load of his equipment, he was surprised to find Watson curled on the sofa in the corner, having already unpacked all of his modest furnishings. “I’m afraid I don’t think I’ll be of very much use to you.” The doctor voiced. “My military payment at present is eleven shillings and sixpence a day, though that’ll stop in nine months. I’m hoping to open a practice not far from here to make a living, though that’s not advisable in my current state.”

Setting down his box, Sherlock waved a hand airily. “Take as much time as you need to convalesce. I’ll gladly supply you with anything you require for the time being.” Watson had started to protest, but Holmes waved him off. “It’s no trouble, really. I should be able to bring in a suitable amount for the both of us, and if not, I’m sure there are some things we can do without. Now, if it’s of no issue to you, I’d like to play my violin for a while?” Watson allowed that, sinking back into the cushions of the settee and listening to Sherlock play a series of complex melodies he’d later come to learn were of his own making.

The first few days passed by regularly uneventfully. Holmes saw few clients, and though he disliked having to evict John from his position on the sofa and send him away to his room, it was a necessary evil. He’d yet to succeed in getting much conversation out of the soldier, which was fine enough on its own - Holmes wasn’t a particularly sociable man either unless the mood took him, which it rarely did. What he saw as an issue was that Watson, who did very little other than curl himself up in an easy chair and sleep away the hours, wasn’t much improving. Sure, his clothes slowly but definitively began to fit better, he could be encouraged to read a little from the morning paper now and then, and he made respectful enough conversation with Lestrade when there was no other option, but Sherlock still had yet to see him smile, or even show anything akin to the capacity to feel any emotion other than unadulterated apathy.

It was perhaps this realisation on Holmes’s part that began the chain of events that concluded with Holmes setting down a stout brown and white puppy on the rug in front of the fireplace and nodding at it proudly. John, for his part, had the grace to nod approvingly for a few seconds before sinking back into the nest he’d constructed for himself. “What is that, Holmes?” “It’s a dog.” “What on earth do you want a dog for?” “It isn’t mine. It’s yours.” “What on earth do I want a dog for? Are we even allowed dogs?” “...I didn’t think to ask. Choose a name for it while I go and confer with Mrs. Hudson.”

John was left staring at the puppy sprawled in front of the fire place in bemusement. What in the name of all that was holy had convinced Holmes to buy that thing was beyond him, but he supposed the man had his reasons. What was it Holmes had said he was supposed to do now, name the bloody creature? It was short, sort of stout, even for a puppy, and it watched him lazily through half-closed eyes. “Boswell?” Watson asked the dog. “No? Okay then. Paget? Maybe not. Shelley? Semmelweis? Gladstone?” At that last one, the dog rolled over, looking at Watson expectantly. John nodded. “Okay, Gladstone it is, then.”

The door swung open, and Holmes entered, arms spread triumphantly. “We can keep the dog.” “Really?” “Indeed. I’m glad Mrs. Hudson’s fond of you.” “What do you mean?” “She was reluctant at first. Asked about you then, said she’d seen a lot of me and my associates recently, but hadn’t heard a thing from you. I told her you were still ill, and rather frustrated, and I’d bought the dog to cheer you up.” “And did you buy him to cheer me up?” “I did. Give you something to do with your time, other than sleep your life away.” “Holmes, you know you have to walk dogs, right? I can barely make it from one side of the room to the other as it stands.” “Ah.” Holmes pointed at Watson. “I know. I’ll walk it, until you’re up to it. Don’t look at me like that, I’m well aware you aren’t a charity case. What did you name the damn thing anyway?” “Gladstone.” At the sound of his name, the puppy scampered across the room and leapt into John’s lap, circling on the spot for a moment before settling down on the doctor’s stomach. Holmes pulled a face but didn’t say anything, supposing he probably should have known it would be something intelligent like that.

“Holmes, what sort of dog is he anyway?” Watson asked as he lazily stroked the top of Gladstone’s head. At the question that he’d been waiting for the entire time, Holmes turned to hang his coat on the hook by the door, hiding his expression and trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. “It’s a bull pup.” He’d been hoping for some sort of reaction at that, a sigh, a scoff, anything at all really.

John’s reaction was infinitely better; he laughed.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #my writing

9 notes · View notes

alisonembers · 3 years

Text

Cogs and Queens (Eberron Fan Fic) - Week 9

Content Warning: Course Language, Depression, Assault.

—————————————————–

Google Drive Link for correctly formatted version with NSFW content: https://drive.google.com/file/d/18CWsnlyu_a3ZKcDc-oD6fWQyxn-L0nrt/view?usp=sharing

The glass fell around Mercury, a trail of blood following from behind, the bullet resting in their lower left hip. I knew something wasn’t right. No certificate to pardon me when the job was done. No way to confirm what Tal was doing was legit. I trusted him. They hit the deck of the airship with a loud thud, the planks of wood rattling Mercury to the bone.

“Get someone onto them!” one of the Veterans shout.

Mercury rolls over onto their stomach and begins crawling towards the stairs leading down below deck.

Multiple crewmates of the ship back away from Mercury, keeping a close eye on them, whispers from their lips directed at one another.

Mercury crawls down the stairs slowly, eventually hoisting themselves on the railing. They walk carefully, their legs wobbly, their back in intense pain. How am I going to get this fixed? They look around the deck as many men and women watch cautiously. Mercury hobbles towards some large crates marked with the Jorasco symbol, a family known for healing supplies operating in the upper city. They grip around the edges of the lid with their mechanical hand, ripping it off with a crunch. A single potion? It’s small, but it will help. They grip the small potion, and apply the liquid to the area of the wound. It sizzles as the skin slowly grows into place, and Mercury lets out a pained moan. They close their eyes as footsteps come towards them from behind.

“Mercury, you got out,” Tal says, shocked.

Mercury swings around, their canines showing with intimidation. “What the fuck was that, Tal!? You snitched on me!?”

Tal raises his hands. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Mercury steps towards them, their eyes narrow, their limp suppressed from adrenaline. “It very well fucking is what it looks like! Money too good, huh? Fuck me one night, fuck me over in the morning? Burn in hell!”

“Mercury, what did you expect me to do? Put my life on the line to try and save yours?”

“Yes, actually!” Mercury cries, tears forming at the corners of their eyes.

“Fuck! That ain’t the type of man I am.” Tal says, stepping back.

“Fucking clearly. Get a taste of sweet nostalgia, get paid for it, and dip,” Mercury says.

“Look. I’m sorry. You got away, right? I knew you would! When we get to the lower city, you can go back into hiding.”

Mercury grunts in pain as they feel their hip. They look at their mechanical hand, blood staining the silver. “Got away?” Mercury says, shaking the blood from their hand onto the floor.

Tal moves closer. “Let me get a look at that.”

Mercury whips their revolver from their holster, aiming it at Tal. “I think you’ve had enough time to look at me.”

“Mercury, please, don’t be like that,” Tal says, his hand slowly moving for his rifle slung around his back.

Mercury aims at Tal’s hand, and as they pull the trigger, Tal dodges to the side, the shot echoing through the deck.

He rotates his rifle around his torso into his hands, taking a shot at Mercury.

Mercury slides behinds a steel table, kicking it sideways, the bullet inside the wound throbbing. Fuck!

“Mercury, please! It doesn’t have to be like this!” Tal shouts, loading another bullet into his lever-action rifle.

“You’re a corporate shill! A fucking rat!” Mercury calls from behind the table. “You know what I think about men like you?”

“Mercury, if you were in my position, you would have given me up too. The money was too good,” Tal says.

“I’m starting to wonder if you ever really knew me!” Mercury slides out of cover on their right, fanning the hammer of their revolver three times.

Tal ducks behind a steel post, the clang of bullets ricocheting into the wood walls, floors, and roof around him. He ducks back out, taking two shots at Mercury as they run for another steel post.

Mercury cracks the revolver forward, loading new bullets to replace the expended ones. They slow their breathing, listening out for Tal. A creak comes from around the post, and Mercury ducks out, firing twice with both hands on the grip.

Tal dodges out of the way and grabs Mercury’s right wrist. With his more immense strength, he throws Mercury down, their revolver flying out of their hands.

As Mercury meets the ground, their wrist makes a loud snap, and the bullet lodged in their hip disturbs and opens the wound. Mercury lets out a sharp yelp, squirming on the floor pinned, their tail thrashing like an animal caught in a bear trap.

“Mercury. Stop. Please. I just broke your right wrist. If you plan on knowing what the sensation of touch is like for a while longer, I beg you to stop.” Tal rests his knee on Mercury’s stomach, pinning them down further.

Mercury launches their mechanical fist into Tal’s temple, knocking him sideways.

Tal rolls over, holding his forehead. “Mercury! Stop!”

Mercury looks at him, tears streaming down their cheek, blood soaking their coat. “I can’t believe you…” Mercury says, broken. “Kill me here. Now. Get it over with.”

“No,” Tal says.

“Coward,” Mercury says, sniffling.

Tal stands up and walks to a storage crate. “When the ship lands, I’m taking you to my sister. She’ll know how to fix your fleshy wrist.”

“I’d also appreciate this bullet getting out of my fucking hip,” Mercury says, their voice cracking.

“Glad I gave you that Whisky, Mousey,” he says, pulling out a brown cloak from the crate.

Mercury rolls their head to face the ceiling, water streaming to the floorboards beneath them, mixing with red. “I can’t fucking believe you ratted me out.”

“I’ll give you half the gold,” Tal says, wrapping the cloak around Mercury. He unloads the revolver and pockets the ammo. “Believe me, I’m sorry this happened.”

I don’t believe you for a second.

Tal carries Mercury through the house’s front door, the cloak hiding their identity. “Kal!” he calls out.

“What!?” a woman calls from another room.

“I have Mousey! They’re hurt!”

“Mousey!?” Kal calls out.

“Mercury is here!” Tal says.

A half-orc woman comes rushing from the room over, the same height as Tal. She pulls the hood of Mercury’s temporary cloak back, revealing their sad eyes and pale face. “What happened?” she asks, looking up at Tal.

“We got into a bit of a fight. I went a little far. They also got shot in the back from a guard.”

Kal takes Mercury into their arms, holding them like a child. “C’mere, honey.”

Mercury closes their eyes. I can’t fucking believe him. Kal begins to walk while carrying them, entering a room with a nicely made bed, expensive cabinets, and dragon-themed tapestry.

Kal takes them over to the bed, laying them down gently. They move across the room and begin sifting through a cabinet.

“Kal… He rat me out to the guard,” Mercury says, their voice shaky.

“He fucking what?” Kal asks, placing a beaker onto a metal tray.

“I trusted him like…”

“Like what?” Kal asks with frustration building in their voice, placing a syringe onto the metal tray with other alchemical liquids.

“I don’t know. He’s not like a brother… Fucked too many times as a teen for that. Last night too.”

“My asshole brother fucked you last night and then snitched?” Kal asks with a face of rage.

“Yeah,” Mercury says, closing their eyes.

“Tal! You asshole!” Kal yells. She mixes a blue liquid with a red one inside a beaker, creating purple bubbles that float to the top, yet the two mix like strands refusing to bond.

Tal walks in with a look of shame coated across his face. “Yeah, look, I know.”

Kal pulls out some fine thread and a needle. “You don’t do that to somebody, Tal! That’s fucking abusive and evil!”

“The guard offered me five hundred gold,” Tal says.

“Honestly, I’d akin it to assault!” Kal yells, pouring a yellow liquid into the beaker mix, making all the liquids bond together.

“When you put it like that…” Tal says, looking away.

“You look at me when you speak!” Kal says. “You don’t do that. If you had just sold them out without the sex the previous night to gain their compliance, I would have been disappointed. But I am beyond disappointed with you. How the fuck do you think Mercury feels knowing their life is worth five hundred gold to you?” Kal looks down at Mercury, their eyes streaming with water again.

Mercury clears their throat. “Can you tell Tal to leave the room?” they say in a low broken voice to Kal.

Kal nods. “Get out.”

Tal nods, leaving the room. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to roll you over so I can get a look at the wound, okay? Your wrist is going to hurt more while moving,” Kal says, threading the needle.

Mercury nods and rolls over with the assistance of Kal, their right wrist throbbing in pain.

“Well, it could be worse,” Kal says. “Stay still.”

Mercury feels something cold press into the wound. They shriek, feeling the bullet rip through the burnt flesh from the potion.

“Good…” Kal says. They begin threading the needle through Mercury’s wound, hearing them whimper, and she starts tightening the opening, sealing it shut. “Okay, I need you to roll over again, sweety.”

Mercury rolls onto their back again, their right wrist throbbing once more, feeling it in their elbow.

Kal places the end of the syringe into the beaker, drawing out a large amount of liquid. “I am going to inject this into your wrist. It will make it heal quickly,” they grab a large cylinder of cork. “Bite down on this. It’s going to hurt more than it did breaking.”

Mercury bites down on the cork, and as Kal slides the syringe into Mercury’s wrist, they scream loudly as tears continue to drop down their face. They grip the sheets tightly with their metal fingers, the motors whirring in each joint—their tail curls in the blanket, tighter and tighter. The world around them grows darker as their vision narrows onto a reflection above them on the roof. Their eyes shift color from a gray human iris to a deep void black. Whispers from an unknown origin begin to fill the room, and the lanterns nearby begin to flicker from an orange glow to a dim silver light.

Everything was black.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Not yet, at least.”

To be continued…

#eberron fanfic #tiefling #bard #D&Dfanfic #dndfanfic

0 notes

sconesteaandmysteries · 7 years

Text

The Eye on the Sparrow, Chapter Four

Next chapter. That will probably be all for this fic this week. Hopefully, I’ll post more of it next week.

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Summary: Sid meets up with an old friend...

Chapter Four

The rain that lasted most of the day eventually gave way to a cool, crisp twilight. It was the sort of evening that felt perfect to Sid for a night out to himself. Thus, after he drove Lady Felicia back home from the Bolton’s party, he stopped by his caravan, changed out of his chauffeur’s uniform, and headed off to the Red Lion.

He had about the uninvited guests who dropped by the party from Lady Felicia as he drove her home. From what she said, it sounded like something Sid almost regretted missing. Almost. After all, there was the consolation of hanging around the kitchen and having all the leftovers he wanted. As well as getting to know the Bolton’s newest maid.

Sid walked up to the bar and ordered himself a beer. He had hoped to run into his new acquaintance at the pub tonight. Although, he also knew that that was dependent on whether or not she could get her share of the cleanup from the party done early enough. He took his time drinking his first two beers and listened in on a few conversations to pass the time. Not only was it mildly entertaining, but he never knew when something he heard could prove useful to the Father during an investigation at some point.

He hung around for a couple of hours, but saw no sign of the girl he had planned on meeting. Disappointed, Sid started to head for the bar again to get one more for the road before heading back to his caravan for an early night for a change.

“Sid Carter…and here I thought I’d never see you again.”

Sid turned from the bar to see who had spoken to him and was stunned by what he saw. The man behind him had a tweed suit and a mustache and had aged a few years since he had seen him last. It took him a few seconds to get past these superficial changes, but once he did, a huge grin appeared on his face.

“Nicky? Nicky Anders? Is that really you?” Sid walked over and shook Nicky’s hand and patted his arm. “I don’t believe it. Look at you. Looks like you made out all right.”

“And you’re still here in Kembleford,” Nicky said, patting Sid’s shoulder. “Somehow, I always knew you’d end up staying here. And what about that priest? Father Brown? Did he get back all right? And what about you?”

“Yeah, he came back just before the war ended,” Sid replied. “As for me, there’s not much to tell. I still do odd jobs and handyman work. On top of that you can add being a chauffeur for a lady.”

“Sid Carter, going straight and doing honest work?” Nicky said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, mostly honest work,” Sid chuckled. “But what about you? I never did hear what happened to you after you got out of Kembleford.”

“Honesty, I’m sorry about that,” Nicky said. “I really am. I was just so desperate to leave, I suppose I took that out on you. And then I got so busy with my new life, the years just sort of slipped away. You are right though that my fortunes have definitely changed.”

Nicky walked over toward the bar with Sid walking alongside him. “Before I get into that though, I’m feeling rather parched.”

“Sure,” Sid said. He waved to get the attention of the bartender. “Two beers.”

“And I’m buying,” Nicky said, holding up a ten shilling note. Sid grinned back at him.

“Well, I’m not going to argue that,” he said. “So come on, what did happen?”

Nicky held up his hand to wait until they had gotten their beers and he had paid for them. Then they moved to sit at one of the tables near the back.

“I got a job,” Nicky said, sipping his drink. “A proper one. You heard of Andrew Carstairs? The retail mogul?”

“Yeah, Lady F…I mean, Lady Felicia…she’s the lady I work for,” Sid said. “She mentioned he showed up at a party I took her to earlier today. From what she said, he sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Well, I can’t agree with you too much there,” Nicky chuckled. “Because he’s my employer now.”

“You’re kidding,” Sid replied, smirking. Nicky took a long drag on his beer before laughing again.

“It’s true,” he insisted. “You’re looking at Mr. Carstairs’ personal assistant.”

“Right,” Sid chuckled. “And how did you swing that, eh? Whatever it was, it must have been a whopper of a scheme.”

“It was nothing as underhanded as you’re implying,” Nicky smiled. “He happened to know my previous employer, who recommended me for the job.”

“Maybe so, but you don’t exactly strike me as the typewriter and shorthand type,” Sid countered. “So what are you doing for him?”

“All sorts of things,” Nicky shrugged. He gulped down most of his beer before continuing. “I look after things for him. Check up on the other people who work for him to make sure they’re doing their jobs. When he’s thinking about making a business deal with someone, I go out ahead of him to get the ‘lay of the land’ so to speak. And, of course, I do any other odd jobs that need doing.”

“And he pays you pretty well for all that then?” Sid asked.

“Enough to keep my comfortable,” Nicky said. “For now anyway.”

“You thinking of making a change in the near future?”

“Let’s just say that I always like to keep my options open,” Nicky said, finishing his beer. “It’s no good to let yourself stagnate. Right?”

“I guess,” Sid shrugged. “You never were one for letting the grass grow under your feet.”

“That’s why I was always the one who was better at spotting opportunities,” Nicky laughed. “Especially when we were working together.”

“Hang on,” Sid said, sitting upright in his chair. “I was the one who told you about that Davers job and how loose the old man was with his money. And that was one of the best jobs we ever pulled. Oh and what about that woman with her music box collection. Or did you forget about how I had to hang around and listen to all those blinking music boxes for a week so we could work out a plan?”

“You’re forgetting though that I was the one who made all those plans run smoothly,” Nicky argued. “That’s why we worked so well together. I was the brains. You were the brawn.”

“Funny, I don’t remember it like that,” Sid smirked.

“You always did have a bad memory,” Nicky smirked back. “It’s why you need someone to keep you in line.”

After that, the conversation moved between playful bickering and fond recollections of the various schemes and mishaps the two of them had gotten into as boys. It felt a bit odd to Sid to be able to laugh so much about those times now. Back then, Nicky was facing poverty and he was still dealing with the loss of his parents and then with Father Brown leaving Kembleford for the war. But somehow, the passage of time had smoothed away most of the unhappy parts of that time which allowed the good memories shine through.

Or maybe it was just easier to remember the good times while things were currently better in his life.

As they downed some more beers, Sid also contemplated the sense of relief that he had over seeing Nicky again. He had always wondered what had happened to him after they had parted ways. Nicky was clever, of course, but he also had a tendency to get more than a little shortsighted in his quest for more money. Sid worried that that aspect of Nicky’s personality could get him mixed up with the wrong people and that that could lead to Nicky spending a long time in prison…or worse.

Instead, it looked as if Nicky had charmed and conned his way into a prosperous and, on the surface anyway, legal way of life. Sid was happy for him as he remembered how much hardship Nicky and his family had suffered.

On a more personal level, Sid was also pleased that their friendship had not been broken beyond repair. Nicky had been one of the closest friends Sid had ever had. It felt good to reconnect with him, especially now that neither of them was doing badly in life.

Sid finished off his latest pint and let out a loud burp before leaning back in his chair. “So, how long do you think you’ll be in Kembleford?”

“I don’t know,” Nicky said before draining what was left in his glass. “A week at least. Mr. Carstairs is looking at some business opportunities around here. Says that there’s real potential out in these parts.”

“Good luck to him then,” Sid nodded. “In the meantime, maybe the two of us could meet up again. I know a place where you can get the best shepherd’s pie in all of Kembleford.”

“I’d like that,” Nicky said. “And perhaps I can offer something to you as well. Like a chance to do some high-paying work?”

“Sounds promising. What kind of work did you have in mind?”

“Too early to say,” Nicky answered. “It’ll depend on what my boss wants done. But when something comes up, I could put in a good word for you. Who knows? It could lead to something more permanent. We could be partners again.”

Sid smiled at him. The prospect of working with Nicky again and making a good living while doing it did appeal to him. However, the vague way Nicky talked about it made Sid wonder if what they would be doing would be entirely legal. Not that that alone was enough to deter Sid, but these days it did give him some pause. Plus, a permanent position could mean having to leave Kembleford which he also wasn’t sure about.

“Yeah, let me know,” Sid said. “And I’ll be sure to think about it.”

“Well don’t take too long to think about it,” Nicky cautioned. “If something does come up, you won’t want to let it pass you by ‘cause you might not get another opportunity.”

Sid nodded again and pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. He wasn’t all that sure about his chances to work with Nicky again long term.

However, he was determined to not let his chance to mend their friendship slip by him.

Later that night, after the moon had started to wane in the sky, a figure dressed in black snuck onto the Bolton estate.

Slowly and carefully, they crept up to the main house and managed to slip in through an open window near the foyer. They had to wait patiently whenever a servant appeared nearby, but their patience paid off as they slipped past all of them and managed to make it over to the study. They opened the door and made sure to close it with great care so it wouldn’t creak.

Then the figure walked around the room, as if to admire all the lavish furnishings and large inventory of books. It wasn’t long though before they walked over to their intended destination: a small stand next to the oak desk that sat in the back of the room. The stand held a small collection of crystal bottles, including one that held some whiskey.

They opened a window and dumped the remainder of the whiskey into the bushes outside. Then they pulled another bottle out of a pouch that was slung around their shoulder. The contents were poured into the now empty container and appeared to be identical to what had been in there before.

Soon, the bottle was filled and returned to its previous spot on the stand. The empty bottle that the figure had brought with them was put back into the pouch. Then they climbed out of the window and dashed off into the night, quickly being swallowed by the darkness.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow their mission would be complete. And Alistair Bolton would pay for what he had done.

#father brown #fanfic #my father brown posts

2 notes · View notes

redstarfiction-blog · 7 years

Text

Hogmanay pt. 1 (I love You Beyond The Brink of Madness.)

Hi all! So I have been doing some Spring Cleaning of my AU because it has spiralled a little out of control. A few chapters of this fic have been moved into a new thread called 'Tales of Brianna' because really they do little to feed into the central story and are really just one shots prompted by some lovely asks and some of my own random thoughts. This is more relevant over on AO3 but I love my Tumblr fam too so wanted to apologise for any confusion caused here by this.

Anyway I really hate to mess you about and to say sorry I have part one of an extended piece which is going to be pure Fraser loveliness! I hope you enjoy it, here is pt. 1 of Hogmanay.

Bree had been disappointed by Christmas. She wouldn’t admit it to Mama or Da but the lack of a tree or proper presents and carol singers had been quite disheartening. Mama had done her best and they had built a snowman in the afternoon which was fun, but that was about the only tradition from Boston that Bree had been able to observe.

Da had gifted her a little knife with an ivory handle that had her initials carved into it B.E.R.F and Bree had been pleased that he hadn’t left out the ‘R’ because she was feeling homesick and wondering what exactly Daddy was doing and whether he was alone or maybe with a new family. She didn’t know which thought made her feel worse. Mama had wrapped up a new pair of breeks, folded playfully within a dress that Aunt Jenny had made and also a box of paints that made Uncle Ian raise his eyebrows – no doubt at at the extravagance.

She knew that she had received more than her cousins which only increased her guilt at feeling longing for the extravagant Christmas’ of the twentieth century and after supper Bree had excused herself and gone to bed early.

The next day had been better. Winter at Lallybroch was like something straight off a Christmas card. Fresh blankets of white snow every morning, smoke curling from the chimney, dark against the bright winter sky and she spent playing or hunting with Ian when they were released from their chores.

She wasn’t allowed to take her knife out with her, Mama had pretty much confiscated it the moment Da’s back was turned and assured Bree that she’d keep it safe before slipping a shilling into her hand – a bribe that Bree wished she hadn’t taken but at the time had been too wrapped up in feeling blue to think about. However Ian had a new bow and a set of arrows and he was allowed to take them out hunting whenever he pleased, which was also good news for Brianna as it meant she effectively inherited his old bow, now slightly too short for Ian but still pretty much alright for her, currently lagging one growth spurt behind him.

When Ian and Bree had asked Jenny where it had been put, Jenny had narrowed her eyes and said “It has been put away. The two of ye ken well enough that Claire doesna want for Bree to learn how to use weapons yet.”

But then, after considering them both for a moment, she had sighed and picked up a foot stall, handing it to Ian with stern expression on her face

“Also I dinna wish either of ye to be pokin’ around on top o’ the wardrobe in Michael’s room, ken?”

After she had marched back to the kitchen Ian had grinned at Bree and nudged her in the ribs.

“Sometimes ye can really tell that Mam and Uncle Jamie are related, eh?” *

On the fourth day, December 29th, Bree woke up, dressed in her favourite shirt and breeks and fetched her newly acquired bow from beneath her bed and walked downstairs into beautiful chaos. Garlands of holly and thyme adorned the doorwars and thick boughs of juniper were stacked by the main entrance, stripped of their berries which were in a bowl beside them. Candles had been stationed on every available surface. The sound of fabric being struck over and over again came from outside and heedless of her contraband slung up on her shoulder, Bree padded out into the courtyard.

Jamie and Ian were beating rugs that had been draped over the washing line, both their faces shining with sweat despite the chill.

“What’s going on?” Bree asked, wrapping her arms around herself shivering.

“Good morning, a leannan!” Jamie wiped his brow and smiled at her

“Why is everything so … festive?”

“Hogmanay!”

Ian called cheerfully, swinging the carpet beater viciously at the rug and then stepping back to survey his work.

“Do ye think it’ll do Jamie?”

Jamie stepped around to Ian’s side and cocked his head

“Aye it’ll do if ye mean to have Jenny chase ye about the house wi’ this thing after ye give it back!”

Flicking the beater in Ian’s hand he gestured to a patch of dust on the higher right corner

“Look at that there!”

Ian clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes

“Fussy as an auld maid ye are. A patch of dust isna goin’ to offend any of our visitors.”

“It’s no’ the visitors who will be inspecting it.”

Jamie sniffed and nodded toward the house. Ian grimaced

“Last year I had the lads do this. I should ha’ done so this year too.”

Bree frowned at her father and uncle and shuffled her feet, wiggling her toes against the chill of being outdoors.

“What’s Hogmanay, Da?”

“It’s the celebration of welcoming the new year coming in and bidding the old farewell.” Jamie said, his own rug now met his fastidious expectations, began carefully rolling it up before hefting it onto his shoulder and walking towards her.

“OH! Like New Year! With fireworks and champagne?” Bree clapped her hands delightedly, the cold forgotten.

“Ah weel, no, I dinna have fireworks and I dinna think ye Aunty has any champagne here but there will be dancing and a fine feast and a bonfire too with guests and food and more to drink than is good for anyone so we’ll need to watch ye Mam.”

Jamie grinned, stepping into the house Bree following faithfully at his heels.

“So what happens at midnight?”

“Eh? Well that my lass is the first footing. A tall and dark man must enter the house barin’ gifts for good luck!”

Jamie deposited the rug in the hallway and turned to her, hands on his hips

“Now there is a wee discussion about this and I should care most greatly for your opinion.”

“Dinna be hounding the lass about this Jamie!”

Jenny admonished bustling between them as if by magic and inspecting the rug before glancing up at Bree.

“Your father has a bee in his bonnet about the First Foot. Pay him no heed. Your Uncle either. As bad as a couple of weans wi' a new bauble to share."

Jenny paused and pursed her lips at her niece

"And you’ve as much sense as either of them, walking around wi’ that on ye shoulder for the world to see.”

Bree glanced to her left and blushed, snatching the bow from her arm and quickly hiding it behind her back, a completely useless gesture but one that she felt the need to make anyway. She looked up guiltily at her Da but Jamie had that small smile on his lips that Mama called his ‘Proud Father’ smile.

“How are ye getting on wi’ it?”

“Not too bad, not brilliantly though.”

Bree smiled shyly back at him. She liked the idea of having small secrets between her and each of her parents. It was nice to feel close to them individually because they formed such a tight unit together that sometimes she could feel a little left out – after all she had been the centre of the world in Boston, the linchpin that kept her family together and she sensed it, even if she could not put it into words.

She had secrets with Mama already, little jokes about the future world and small things that Da would disapprove of like sharing a sweet before dinner or staying up past bedtime to read. Now she had a secret with Da too, learning to use a bow and arrow.

“I’ll show ye a couple of things after lunch but for now, hide it away wherever ye keep it, aye?”

Bree nodded and hurried up the stairs oblivious to the slender black eyebrow aunt Jenny raised at Jamie.

“What?” He asked defensively but Jenny only smiled good-naturedly at him

“She has ye around her pinky, Jamie”

“Pah! Jamie feigned haughtiness and strode past her but not before Jenny saw the faint pink blush of happiness that touched his cheekbone.

Jenny shook her head and sighed contentedly – it was time for bringing in the new year and with it a breath of joy that the dear old house had long needed. It was Hogmanay.

#Outlander #outlander au #outlander tv #outlander fanfic #fanfiction #outlander fandom #redstarfiction #TimeMovesToADifferentRhythm

79 notes · View notes

crossgartered · 4 years

Text

P5R liveblog (8/?)

(Makoto arc end)

[[MORE]]

Oh, hey, Chihaya.

Idk if I'm remembering the timing right, but it looks like they took out Ryuji's interaction with those two entirely. I told him to wait outside bc of his uniform and he said he'd kill some time somewhere until I was done

It really does seem kind of awful of us to volunteer Mishima for this, especially without him knowing.

OH HERE THEY ARE

Oh, hey, they think he's interested in drag bc of how he was looking into Crossroads. They want to help him out. Still sucks that this supposed to be something funny, and that they're dragging him off without his wanting to, but it is better than it was.

UGHHHH MISHIMA IM SORRY

Oh, this translation seems different. A bit more natural, I think. Still really harsh, though. Sae...

Makoto...

FUCKING PRIESTESS LISTEN TO YOUR INNER SELF THIS IS JUST DOING SOMETHING FOR THE SAKE OF DOING ANYTHING PLEASE PULL BACK AND THINK STRATEGICALLY INSTEAD IF GOING ABOUT THIS SO EMOTIONALLY

Honestly her charm stat is in the pits. It's kind of hilarious since you need high (max? Idr) charm to progress past rank 5 with her.

Huh, if she had social stats... High knowledge, low charm, good guts, not totally sure about proficiency & kindness but I'm leaning towards okay-low proficiency and middling-decent kindness.

Now, the others...

Ryuji would have low knowledge, good guts,

Listen, I'm having trouble with quantifying their kindness. Because, they all have differing levels of what I consider personal-kindness and general-kindness

Wait. Do I really want to get on this tangent right now? ...Not really. Hold that thought. Back to the game.

GOD this was so dangerous I am honestly amazed that she got out of this okay.

GOD THAT IS SO DANGEROUS I AM HONESTLY AMAZED THAT HE GOT OUT OF THAT OKAY

Honestly I'm kind of surprised Kaneshiro doesn't have a doorman or anything.

Jeez, Kaneshiro's face looks off compared to everyone else. Like, on its own, it's a decent face, but it looks like it doesn't belong with the rest.

Huh, I wonder how many of them actually have mommies and daddies to beg money from. Let's see... Makoto is being raised by her prosecutor sister. Parents dead. Ryuji is being raised by a single mom. Dad left a long time ago. Canonically poor. Yusuke was being raised by Madarame. Mom dead. Dad out of the picture, idr how. Canonically poor, with poor money sense. Ann has parents. Successful fashion designers that she doesn't see half the year. And the protag has an ambiguous family situation. Of course, I have my headcanons, but that's nothing. Anyway, if we were going about this the way Kaneshiro wanted us to, Ann would probably be able to provide the most, followed by Makoto. (Again, leaving Ren out of this).

Guh, thinking about it like that feels shitty.

...can you even imagine an ATM with Ann's pigtails though? I mean I know the other ATMs don't have any distinguishing features but still

Anyway

Godddd, I really love when people are given reaction shots when something another character is saying is resonating or otherwise meaningful to them

Makoto: "A lot happened after we lost her father three years ago, so it's just us living together... But I'm still a child, so all I am is a burden to her..."

Yusuke: *cut-in* "......"

Me: *chef's kiss*

...it happens at other times in this game (and other stuff), too, but I just wanted to point it out. Especially bc you kind of have to infer a lot of the time when it comes to Yusuke.

OHHHDJDJSJDJJDS HE LOOKED SO SAD WHEN MAKOTO CALLED HIM A CANINE

"IT'S FOX" HE SAYS

Both Makoto and Ann called him specifically a monster cat. I wonder if the Japanese calls him a cat ayakashi or something.

What property damage did any of us cause?

Why is Shadow Kaneshiro purple anyway?

JOHANNA IS SO FUCKING COOL GODDAMN

I love Makoto's awakening ngl

But honestly, is there a /bad/ awakening in the bunch? They really killed it with the game aesthetics, you know?

"No weaknesses. Our only chance is to make them confused" or whatever she just said about confusing them. Idk if I just tune her out or if that's a new thing

Didn't Makoto have Flash Bomb or whatever that multi-phys + chance of Dizzy skill was called? Maybe she gets that at a higher level

*heavy sigh* Okay, Makoto

"I will crush him like a fly" I see what you did there

It really is nice that they're bringing up the advisor thing instead of just her doing it herself. I still feel like there should have been a little more talk about it amongst the 5 of them instead of just the 3 human-shaped guys but w/e

The references to English songs and memes is a little jarring, ngl

Man, Sae's gonna flip her shit when she hears what Makoto did to get here.

Awww Ann & Makoto are bonding

*sigh* listen, I like Makoto, I even dated her in my first playthrough of vanilla p5, but I really dislike how they just keep shilling her around this time. It's a little off-putting. I think it's a thing Atlus likes to do.

Hmm? Is the man getting joint pain on rainy days going to affect his Mementos fight?? Interesting.

Ughhhhhh Queen choosing her name and then the """strategy""" thing is exactly the same. Like her being there even changes anything about how we go about things. And we do think about what we're doing, actually! Well, mostly Morgana bc Phantom thievery is his whole schtick. But like, outside our usual plans, we successfully pulled off the heist in the Madarame Palace, for example. We also opened the locked door and dealt with that. We go about the palaces with intent! Blugh.

"it's my role to be the brain of this team and give out orders" BLUGH

And then Ryuji & Mona are into it... -_-+

I hate this part. It's awkward and dumb. There are better ways to make her their advisor, Atlus

Also someone mention that I am field leader pls. I know you did in vanilla p5 do it now as well

I wonder if they've changed her s.link abilities? They at least have to have given her 1 more thing due to the baton pass thing

I WONDER IF EIKO WILL HAVE A SPRITE NOW?!?!? I hope so ^u^

GUH I love Makoto's Queen outfit.

Oh, whoops, I forgot about that conversation. Maybe I should have put Morgana in my party.

But heck yeah, let's do a finisher! I wonder how to get these for people.

RYUJI WANTS TO DO A SHOWTIME WITH FOX "We could call it Art Run or something" I LOVE HIM

SHIT WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I SAVED

Ugh, it's really frustrating that they're trying to get me to showtime w Ann & Morgana when all the enemies here are weak to Zio & Bufu (with a little bit of Psi & Gun thrown in for good measure).

Okay, have reorganized my party so I don't have to use an Agi-weak persona to go after enemy weaknesses. That was so embarrassing.

Oh, neat! My sleuthing instinct kicked in! ... Makoto's abilities have to have changed.

YOU MEAN SHOWTIME CAN KICK IN EVEN WHEN ONE OF THE MEMBERS IS NOT IN THE PARTY?!?!?! AHHHH

Maybe even both, idk. Morgana seemed like the best choice to heal/lucky punch so he's in my party rn but maybe when he gets swapped out later I'll find the answer to that

...this is being surprisingly easy. But I don't think I'm overleveled... Jeez, I haven't bought weapons since Kamoshida's Palace. And they give you so many clothes in this game... And accessories! Really!

But yeah, I finished that security guy in 3 moves. Morgana - Garu (absorbed), Yusuke - Bufu (inflicting Freeze), Ryuji - Headbutt (Technical) -> All-Out Attack. I remember it being a lot harder in the original. Idk.

Okay, the next one was slightly harder. It took two All-out-attacks to beat it. But hmm.

Maybe I am overleveled, though. Apparently that miniboss (??) Was only level 21, and I am 23.

Oh, I'm getting Sigma feelings. Ann's counting down for opening the vault-like door.

I don't think I've ever noticed before how neat Kaneshiro's palace music is. Well, at least the Laundering Office, anyway. What is this, exactly? It's some version of Price - that's the same melody line, but the instrumentation is all different. That's not to say that Price isn't good; it's just that I'm weak for strings & orchestra instruments in non- orchestral songs. It sounds darker and more intense. I love it

Oho? That gold vault door seems new.

Or maybe I just don't remember it.

Anyway. I really do appreciate that Morgana mentions Shadow personalities in negotiations. Like, I read the tutorial on it, but it's nice to have him like "what's this one so happy about? Well, guess we'll play long for now" or whatever he says for an upbeat shadow. It's pretty neat.

"I wonder what it'd be like if we had Palaces instead of Personas." SAME, RYUJI, SAME 👀👀👀👀👀

Hmm, I know Joker Palace has some fics, and I think I remember seeing a Crow Palace fic, but I wonder about the others...? Hmm 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

I don't want to accidentally spoil myself, though. I'll go through the archive after I finish this.

"Your Palace would definitely be a beef bowl shop." ANN OMG

"Why'd you gotta give a straight answer right off the bat? I can't argue with that!" Ryuji pls ;u;

Why do Will Seeds all look like that? I know there are those death things with the hollow eyes like that, but is that what it is? It just seems so out of place in this technical setting. I'm kind of surprised they don't change appearances to suit their Palace. Tbh, it doesn't really look like anything that comes from Mementos, either. But I suppose it must...

WHOA, why did the Velvet Room door turn red? "I have an uneasy feeling" Same, protag, same

WHY IS THE VELVET ROOM ON HIGH ALERT

A fusion alarm? OH COME ON IT HASNT BEEN THAT LONG SINCE I FUSED ANYONE

Is this because I still have Jack Frost with me? But come onnnn I already had most of this palace's inhabitants alreadyyyy

By /fusing/ them

Could this have come at any time? Or was this scripted for now? Oh, wait, I overreacted, this says that my Personas will be stronger if I do it during a fusion alarm. Kind of incentivizes him to slack off, though, doesn't it? Lol

Oh, interesting. Look at all those accident possibilities. Nvm.

Orpheus... ;-;

Huh, I didn't realize the Picaro versions also were not just dlc

"You would like me to become your mask? Well then, let us search for the answers of life together."

*lie down* *try not to cry* *cry a lot*

Anyway.

I need to go to Mementos and find an Eligor. Gotta get that Flauros.

YES FINALLY MY GUTS INCREASED

Aww, the newspaper club girl is rooting for the phantom thieves. She's so angry at akechi rn

Oh, speaking of! Hello, Akechi!

AHHH RYUJI AND MAKOTO TEAM UP IM SO PSYCHED

Oh man it's bc of the motorcycle ISNT IT, RYUJI : DDDDDD

JDSKSKXNXJKS

The voice acting there was. Wonderful. Omfg

Actually, now that I think about it, it makes a lot of sense that Ryuji's tried to suggest team ups twice now, ever as soon as he learned they were a thing. He was on the track team, and the team aspect of that was very important to him. He likes cheering others on and being cheered on by others. Specifically by training and sweating and testing limits together - by fighting together. Of course ryuji is interested. Of course he is.

Man, I wish I had better context for the "you filthy fly on dirty money" line - I mean, obviously he's Beelzebub, who is apparently in charge of gluttony, but like, is that a phrase? Is this just a Beelzebub reference or is there more to it bc it feels like there's more to it and I don't understand bc cultural reasons

Blegh I don't want to give up my expensive items...guess I'll do this the tedious way.

Ah, here we go. Let's see how these hired guns are. Hopefully I can see the Makoto & Ryuji showtime? :3 ?

Wait, Bael? Not Beelzebub? Really? Huh?

YES IT'S SHOWTIME

HOLY SHIT I LOVE IT

I wonder why that briefcase was related to his distorted desires. We really know so little about Kaneshiro, relatively

Yusuke's kinda on the ball today.

...*snerk*

Wow, damn, Akechi was potentially onto us since the Kaneshiro calling card? He gave a list of potential candidates, maybe we were on it...

Makoto, really, it was unfair of everyone to put the burden of resolving the Kaneshiro issue on you. You really can't be blamed. you know that, right?

Oh, hey look, it's 'Gaudy Student' there in the background

Hhhhhhhhhhh there are so many choices I have 5 potential social links to do tonight. I could start Kawakami, Ohya, Chihaya, or Hifumi, or I could level up Yoshida since it's Sunday

AHH KASUMI IS SO CUTE. FUCK!

BWAHAHAHAHA justice rank 3 is. Amazing.

"I've seen everything. A vision of you groveling on the ground..." IS THIS THE THING IN DECEMBER SHES TALKING ABOUT

#p5r liveblog #p5r #p5r spoilers #spoilers #persona 5 royal #long post #no like seriously #this one gets emotional at video games

0 notes

sconesteaandmysteries · 7 years

Text

Ad Meliora, Chapter Six

Next chapter. This will be the last one for this fic that I’ll be posting directly onto Tumblr. I’ll be taking a week off of updates and then after that, I will be posting new chapters onto my AO3 account. But I will make sure to post a link here for each new chapter as they are published.

Summary: The consequences of Sid’s actions soon begin to sink in...

Chapter Six: Falling Away, part two

Sid did not get very much sleep that night.

He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a way to get comfortable or to settle down so he could rest. During those few times when he did start to drift asleep, Father Brown’s words would echo in his mind.

“…I’m very disappointed in you….”

Sid squeezed his eyes shut and punched his pillow. He almost wished the Father had gotten angry with him. That he had gotten yelled at, received a punishment or even had his ears boxed. At least then, he could feel bad about it for a while, but then could move on and make sure he didn’t repeat his mistakes. But this, this was far worse.

“…I’m very disappointed in you….”

The words felt like a lead ball at the pit of his stomach, making Sid feel sick. While he still missed his parents deeply, staying with Father Brown these last few months had helped him cope. The Father had been attentive and caring, and Sid was starting to feel like he had a home here. Granted, it was a bit of an odd living situation, but the Father and Mrs. McCarthy had made him feel welcome in the presbytery. As had Lady Felicia whenever she stopped by. Even when he had gotten a little too rambunctious or had misbehaved, Father Brown had gently corrected him and there was no lingering tension or hard feelings afterward.

But this…Sid knew that this was much more serious. This wasn’t like the time when he had knocked over that vase in the front room or had snitched a couple biscuits that Mrs. McCarthy had made. This time, he had broken the Father’s trust. A trust that had been given to him so freely and with no restrictions even though Sid had been reluctant to trust him in return at first. And here he had gone and thrown that trust away. Not to mention how he had made Father Brown look like a fool for trusting him in the first place.

Sid flipped over onto his back and scowled as he stared at the ceiling. Perhaps the worst thing about all of this was that it hadn’t even been his idea to take the money in the first place. He hadn’t even wanted any of it. Not that badly. Doug had needed a little extra to visit his uncle while Nicky had simply been tired of doing so many errands for people just to earn a few measly shillings so he could afford a toy he had had his eye on for a year.

Looking back at it, Sid realized that he should have known that it was wrong. Doug had insisted that they would pay back every bit that they had borrowed and Nicky said that it wasn’t really stealing if they were going to give it back. At the time, their reasoning made sense to Sid, but now he couldn’t believe that he was dumb enough to agree with it.

He had noticed plenty of signs throughout the day that this was probably a bad idea. Like how he’d been so nervous about his plans and had made a conscious effort to avoid Father Brown and Mrs. McCarthy all day. Even to the point of conveniently “forgetting” to help out after the auction. Sid had felt bad about that and had wanted to apologize. But he couldn’t think of a way to do it that wouldn’t also reveal his plot to help the others take the money. Nor did he feel bad enough about it at the time to put a stop to his plans.

As much as he regretted what he had done now, Sid was certain that he’d probably do it again, despite the warnings he had had. Mainly because he hadn’t wanted to let his friends down.

‘So instead, I let the Father down….’

Sid felt his eyes burn and his throat get tight. Father Brown had said that he was forgiven, but Sid couldn’t really believe it. Not because he thought the Father would lie. But Sid figured that Father Brown had to forgive people because he was a priest. And in his mind, that wasn’t the same as really forgiving someone. Then again, even if Father Brown did forgive him, that didn’t mean that the Father did not regret taking him in right now.

Sid turned over onto his side, curling his limbs up so he could lie in a tight ball. He was sure that he was on shaky ground with the Father. The only thing he could do now is find a way to get back on Father Brown’s good side. Maybe then, he could fix things and it would be all right again.

“…I’m very disappointed in you….”

Sid brushed his sleeve over his eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm down. He would start working on this tomorrow. No matter what he was asked to do or how long it took, he’d find a way to make this right so Father Brown would truly forgive him.

The next morning, Father Brown woke up early, his mind unable to truly rest in the face of the unpleasant tasks this new day brought.

Even though Sid had exhibited a tendency toward “sticky fingers” in the past, he had sincerely believed that it would never morph beyond occasional petty theft and that it would decrease over time. He was also sure that Sid would never take from those who needed Christian charity, including the church itself.

However, the fact remained that he had attempted to steal church funds…and had brought others into his plot.

Brown sat up in bed and put his glasses on. It had hurt that Sid had chosen to do that, but he also knew that he could forgive Sid for it. For all his faults, Sid still possessed a generous spirit which Brown was confident could be channeled toward good deeds. Plus, it was impossible to deny that he had grown fond of him in the short time that Sid had lived in the presbytery. As a result, he wasn’t eager to punish him.

Still, Father Brown also believed in the importance of penance to atone for one’s transgressions. Sid needed to learn that actions had consequences and this was a part of that lesson.

Just as important was the need to make sure that this did not happen again.

It looked like he would be able to keep this incident quiet this time, but if there was another one, it could be disastrous. The church’s funds were usually sorted at the presbytery before they were deposited in the church’s accounts at the bank or distributed for earmarked projects and charities. Not only could Brown not afford to have any of those funds go missing due to how much they were needed by people inside and outside of the parish, but also any irregularities in the church’s finances could damage Bishop Talbot’s confidence in his ability to manage St. Mary’s.

Brown frowned even more. Talbot was not the sort of person who would be very forgiving if he found out that one of the priests he oversaw was allowing a thief to prey on the church. Talbot was already somewhat displeased about Sid living in the presbytery as it was. Brown had only been able to excuse it on the grounds of Christian charity and the possibility that the local orphanages might soon be overwhelmed by children who had lost their families in the war. Finding out that Sid had stolen even a few shillings from a fundraiser could be the catalyst for Talbot to order him to send Sid to an orphanage with no possible room for argument. Which was the last thing Father Brown wanted to do.

He let out a sigh. No, in order to help Sid in the long run, he would have to be strict in handling this situation. While it wasn’t the happiest of chores, he was hopeful that disciplining Sid this way would lead to a positive result. One that would make it possible for them to get back to their normal routines without further incidents.

Father Brown got out of bed and put on his robe before going downstairs to start making his and Sid’s breakfast. He was surprised, however, to find Sid already sitting at the table, his head down and his eyes fixed on the tabletop. Brown sat down across from him.

“Doug Hoskins and Nicky Anders will be tending to the graveyard today,” he said. “I’ll leave you to take care of the grass and weeds around the church and the presbytery. It should only take you an afternoon to do.”

“Yes Father,” Sid mumbled, his head still down.

“Also, our new housekeeper, Martha Wickers, will be arriving tomorrow. Mrs. McCarthy will be acquainting her with her regular household duties and I thought you could help out by taking care of the floors for her first week here.”

Sid frowned, but nodded his head. “Yes Father.”

“And Mrs. McCarthy has mentioned needing a little help in sorting the hymnals and prayer books in the church. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your help with that over the next couple of days.”

“Yes Father,” Sid repeated dully. “Um, what about…other things? Like school or….”

“You’ll come straight home after school and do your lessons before starting your chores,” Father Brown replied. “I’m sure your friends will understand why you won’t have any free time for the rest of this week.”

“Yes Father,” Sid said yet again. Father Brown leaned closer to him.

“Sid…I hope you understand why I am doing this. And that you know why what you did was wrong.”

“I know,” Sid croaked, ducking his head even more. “I’m sorry, Father. I really am.”

“I believe you,” Brown nodded. “Now, I do hope that this is a lesson that will not have to be repeated.”

Sid shook his head vigorously and Father Brown acknowledged it with another nod. Then he got up and made breakfast. He still wasn’t entirely sure if Sid completely understood the lessons he needed to learn from this incident, but he was certain that this was a step in the right direction.

Over the next week, Father Brown didn’t see much of Sid.

Part of that was because there was an uptick in his duties within the church. Bishop Talbot had dropped by a couple of times with “suggestions” for how Father Brown could adjust the administrative routines of the church. This left him and Mrs. McCarthy busy completing a bunch of paperwork that Brown was certain would end up being frivolous in the end.

On top of that, there were some severe illnesses among a couple of the larger families in the parish and Brown had spent several hours visiting people who had become bedridden and providing guidance for the rest of the family. As a result, he didn’t spent much time at the presbytery these days.

Although, even if he did spent more time there, Father Brown was aware that he probably wouldn’t run into Sid very much anyway. These days, Sid spent almost every waking minute toward either school or the chores he had been assigned. The only times Father Brown did see him was during meals that were tense, rushed affairs. Sid would eat as quickly as he could which wasn’t unusual on its own. But instead of relaxing and joining in the conversations between Father Brown and Mrs. McCarthy, Sid would remain silent and often acted antsy. As if he was anxious to do something else. Even bedtimes were no longer the same because Sid usually was close to falling asleep as soon as he got into bed.

Father Brown wasn’t happy with the situation and was suspicious about the fact that Sid seemed to be trying to avoid him. However, none of it really surprised him either. It was still a little awkward to have a child who tried to steal from the church living with him and he imagined that Sid was still feeling contrite over what he had done. Still, he was certain that these feelings would soon pass. The important things were that Sid appeared to have learned from his mistakes and that it was unlikely that there would be a repeat of this incident.

It would just take time for things to get back to normal.

By the middle of the second week, Sid was tired.

Not only had he finished the yard work and the book sorting that Mrs. McCarthy assigned to him, but he had also cleaned all of the floors of the presbytery multiple times. As well as taken care of the dusting and window washing for the week. Between school and his ever-growing list of chores, Sid hadn’t had a moment to himself. Other than those few moments right before he fell asleep.

Sid kicked a stone alongside the road as he walked back toward the presbytery after school. He was sure that Martha would have even more chores for him to do today than he had yesterday. She had started adding to the list after the first couple of days she started working at the presbytery. Martha said that she was attending to other chores while Sid worked on the chores he was assigned, but he was certain that she was taking it easy most of the time.

Still, he did not dare confront her on it. After what he had done last week, he was sure that he couldn’t afford to make a fuss lest he upset the Father again. Besides that, Sid believed that Martha was probably acting under Father Brown’s orders. As a way to thoroughly punish him for what he had done.

“Sid! Hey Sid!”

Sid paused and turned to see Nicky running up to him. He walked alongside Sid on the gravel road, swinging his book bag around as he did.

“Hey, Sid, slow down,” Nicky said. “Let’s go hang out by the store for a bit.”

“Can’t,” Sid mumbled, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got chores to do.”

“Again?” Nicky said. “Aren’t they done punishing you yet?” Sid shrugged and Nicky shook his head. “The Father is just being mean to you now. We didn’t even actually steal anything.”

“But we tried to!” Sid snapped. “We shouldn’t have done it.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Nicky shrugged. “But I thought he would have forgiven you by now. How long are you going to be doing this?”

“As long as I gotta,” Sid shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if it starts getting too tough, I could see if my dad will let you stay with us for a bit,” Nicky said. “So you can figure out if you want to leave Kembleford and go somewhere else. Like back to London when it calms down there.”

“Thanks,” Sid said. “I’ll think about it. But, uh, I got to go now. See you later.”

“See you,” Nicky said as he ran off, waving as he did.

Sid waved back and stopped a few yards from the presbytery. He thought about Nicky’s offer more than once as he watched his friend disappear from view. He wished that he could stop working nonstop and while he had heard that there were still some incidents of bombing in London, Sid figured some of his old friends might still be there. Or they might return soon from wherever they had been evacuated to.

It didn’t take Sid long though to discard that idea. He still had nightmares once in while about the night his neighborhood had been bombed and he did not want relieve any part of that experience. Also, while London had been his birthplace and his home for years, there was nothing there for him now. His family was gone. The house he grew up in was destroyed. And chances were, most everyone he knew was either dead or had moved away.

All he had now was the home that Father Brown had made for him at the presbytery. It wasn’t perfect, but he had started to be happy again. Something he hadn’t thought would be possible after he lost his parents. Something he still desperately needed to hold onto.

Something, he knew, he would do anything to keep.

#father brown #fanfic #my father brown posts

1 note · View note