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infamous-if · 1 year

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I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console.

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking.

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs.

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless.

Never date your co-workers.

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing; he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.”

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib.

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.”

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.”

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company.

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him.

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes.

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.”

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.”

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance.

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.”

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head. “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day.

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening.

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together.

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference.

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands.

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

“Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.”

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes.

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage.

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer.

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this.

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two.

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.”

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end.

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for.

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there.

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . .

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life.

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them.

Not yet, at least.

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time.

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary.

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts.

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks.

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.”

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . .

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company.

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion.

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides.

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce.

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad.

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce.

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted.

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves.

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.”

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away.

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts.

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside.

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it.

Because all he needs is one.

#orion quinn #drabble #looks around #scratches head #infamous

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happyk44 · 2 months

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Thoughts on poseidon children with siren powers?

I actually wrote a post featuring that! I think I may have mentioned it a couple other times? But, lol, that may have just been in my head.

But ultimately, yeah!! I think it would be really cool if the Big Three kids all had manipulating people's minds powers - partly to represent the fact that their dads are kings, and have a bunch of people/creatures tied to them/at their disposal and son. And also because I think it just makes them more OP. And also because I have endless ideas of many things and it's fun to fantasize.

With Hades's children, the ability to manipulate someone lies in the soul. Compared to Charmspeak, it irreversibly changes a person because it's not just a "suggestion" that people follow through on. It's literally taking their soul and changing it. There's no waking up and thinking "why did I do that?"

I actually came up with this concept years ago (like. over a decade. christ. the passage of time). It happened in a. Very convoluted daydream I've been writing and rewriting in my head since I was 12 - essentially one of Nico's older siblings from the wayback times protects him from an enemy by telling them, "You want to walk into the ocean and not stop."

And they do. They stop and walk away. This is their soul's greatest wish. So they walk into the ocean, they drown, and at no point, not as they walk across sand, not as they inhale water, not as they land in the waiting room of the Underworld, does that want change.

However, children of Hades typically do not like using this power because a) free will, b) they disagree with the idea of changing a formed soul, it would be different if they were desiccated/severely splintered and faded, and lacked any sense of consciousness, but forcibly editing someone's living soul is essentially rewriting someone's story and it fucks up their history, and personhood, and so on, and etc, and c) living souls are gross and they don't really like touching them if they don't have to.

I've written a couple things on it before - just flick through my PJO tag and I'm sure they'll pop up eventually 😂

With Zeus's children, the ability to manipulate someone lies in the concept that Zeus is a) king of Olympus, and b) the god of law and order, and justice. It works best in battle - giving orders to enemies to make them turn on their friends, forcing comrades at arms to become more efficient, to follow through instead of veering off course.

In casual, everyday stuff, it's more influential - sort of forcing their beliefs, their rules, their "law" on other people. Jason believes wholeheartedly in the laws of New Rome, and when he sees someone who isn't following a law to the letter, he can just be like, "Don't you think following your assigned patrol route is really great?" and other people will be like "yeah! it is great" and bing bang boom, suddenly they're following the patrol rouote and refusing to deviate no matter how much others may try to convince them to.

People who are more suggestible are more likely to fall under it faster. They may even by their internal rules completely rearranged by it, thereby unable to wake up/snap out of the control. I think this depends on intensity as well and it's probably far more exhausting to really force a permanent change, whether the person in question is super susceptible to suggestion. People who embody chaos are harder to control and more likely to snap out of it when they do fall under. I like to think children of Poseidon fall under that type because the ocean is chaotic. Dionysus's kids are likely the same way 😂

(Lol, imagine Zeus giving all his kids different orders and Dionysus just squints at him, fully "Father, I cannot express how hungover I am. Also I have this cocaine party I need to attend, so sorry, here's some bitching wine to make up for it" and Zeus is just pinching the bridge of his nose and counting to ten slowly because he does not have the energy for this rn)

The kids can also push their idea of justice on other people. Jason, aware that someone else in the cohort won't do execute the correct punishment, can simply harness that belief that this punishment is the correct thing to do (according to New Rome's laws, or even Jason's own beliefs), and say, "Cut off his hand", and that person will comply. They may awaken from it afterwards and be horrified, or, if they're not as suggestible, may even be aware that they're under Jason's control, but in the moment (even if they're aware), all they'll think is "this is the right thing to do".

Also, for me anyway, children of Hades and Thanatos are basically immune to it because laws and justice differ between life and death. This is something I adapted into my OG story, so ofc I'm happy to keep it in line w/ my PJO headcanons - but everyone else can play with these concepts as they want, don't worry.

I have also talked about this before - again, flick through the PJO tag and you will likely fall across something eventually

Now! Children of Poseidon, my beloved ocean, the clingiest bastard in the world, lol, (ofc including non-clingy Neptune in this as well, all of this is equivalent to the Romans). I think siren powers only work when they're in water. Typically they need some kind of body of water: river; lake; ocean; puddle if they're desperate, but it probably won't be as effective

The more skilled kids can utilize the water in the air to use this power, but most of them can't, and need something far more concrete, something they can plant their feet in, something they can feel.

The most basic and common use of the power, ofc, is the siren song - a melody, humming, singing actually lyrics to lure or distract the people in range. Most use this in order to distract enemies away from their friends, or to lull them into a stupor for an easier kill.

Other uses of the power: mind-control (similar to Charmspeak, the more suggestible the person, the longer it lasts after the user has left the body of water), empathic manipulation (being able to manipulate someone's feelings through the use of your voice), sonic scream (Zeus's kids can probably do this too, but it's not part of their version of a manipulation power). There are probably other uses but I'm blanking rn. All I can think of is the fourth PotC movie with the mermaids and how nice that song was 😊 🎶 "my jolly sailor bold" 🎶

I think kids, like Percy, who are naturally tone deaf tend to have a far harder time using this power, much less mastering this. Daughters have an easier time mastering it (since sirens are typically depicted as woman - there were male sirens according to Wikipedia, but they faded out of art around 5BC).

And yeah! I think that's it. Oh, actually, I wrote something a long while ago (you will have to scroll quite a bit to find it, or check out my blog's archive? It's probably in 2021 or 2020?), where Nico does a similar thing, singing softly to entice souls that have fallen to the ocean to come to him. In the story, it's implied that the intensity of his song hits Percy's living soul, causing him to want to go with Nico. I think this is something for all the Hades's kids, Nico is just best at it because - in my headcanons anyway - he is most attuned to souls.

Emerged from the idea of Hades walking through a forest in the early days after the war, singing the lullabies he used to sing to his younger siblings, and souls emerging from wherever they've hidden themselves - in the dirt, in caves, in the trees, behind bushes, refusing death - to take his hand and let him walk them home.

Aaaaaaand that should be it! :) Thanks for the ask! This was fun to ramble about 😂

#happy talks pjo #percy jackson #hades (pjo)#nico di angelo #jason grace #poseidon (pjo)#zeus (pjo)#happy's asks #chiefkideclipselamp

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twig-tea · 1 month

Text

Get To Know Me Tag

Tagged by @telomeke @lurkingshan @my-rose-tinted-glasses @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle and @hyeoni-comb thank you all! 💕

Do you make your bed?

I like a messy bed, it feels more welcoming to me somehow. The only time I make my bed is when I'm without heat and it's winter, then you gotta do it to keep in any residual warmth! But normally I'd rather keep everything loose.

What’s your favorite number?

I....don't think I have one? Is this a thing people have, how do you choose?

What is your job?

I manage a team of Product Owners in the Operations division of a multinational company. In other words, I go to a lot of meetings.

If you could go back to school, would you?

Absolutely not. Beyond the fact that I was formerly a substantive editor of university textbooks, which included both editing the textbook content and sometimes writing their ancillaries (tests, powerpoint slides, etc.) so it feels like I took first-year Sociology at least ten times, I just don't love formalized education. I love learning but on my own terms and at my own pace.

Can you parallel park?

I can't drive at all! Technically I learned how, took lessons and everything, but never got my license.

A job you had that would surprise people?

Hmm. I was a call center person for half a day, it was terrible and I left without getting paid for the work I did because I was so eager to get out of there I didn't want to fight them for my pay (even though I needed the money which is why I was there in the first place). I hate phone calls, I can't hear well on the phone, and it was clear the call center script was designed to be exploitative. It was one of the worst jobs for me I could have taken lol

Do you think aliens are real?

I think it's extremely likely!

Can you drive a manual car?

Nope, even when I learned, it was only on an automatic.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

I'm not guilty about it but I can decimate an entire family size mac and cheese when I'm feeling down.

Tattoos?

I have 3 tattoos; one on each foot and one on the back of my neck. They form a rainbow.

Favorite color?

Blue-green! The shade of preference for any given moment varies, but anything in the region from mint to aqua to teal to turquoise will do; I love them all.

Favorite type of music?

My music taste varies widely but the common denominators are 1) fast tempo or upbeat, 2) solid harmonies, and 3) if there's a tempo or key change I am doubly sold.

Do you like puzzles?

Love puzzles of all kinds. I have a collection of jigsaw puzzles I do regularly, and word puzzles, logic puzzles, sudoku type stuff is all very fun. I don't make a lot of time for them but I do them occasionally and always enjoy it.

Any phobias?

I am afraid of falling. Not heights, but falling. The difference is: I can lean over the railing at the top of a 20-storey building or walk on a glass floor over a big drop and just feel a minor thrill, but am terrified to the point of maybe crying if I have to balance on a single step of a ladder or walk across a patch of ice. I had several brushes with death related to falling when I was a kid, and a few bad falls that caused injury as an adult, so it makes sense. Luckily I am pretty tall so I rarely have to do any kind of ladder-ing!

Favorite childhood sport?

American-style tackle football. We used to play at lunch on the pavement because the soccer kids got the field; we played in all seasons including snow, and we did it for love of the sport. I loved it a lot.

Do you talk to yourself?

Occasionally I'll provide a little commentary on what's happening aloud to myself; but I don't really have fully conversations.

What movies do you adore?

I have loved a lot of movies in my time! A few random ones that come to mind right now because I've been thinking about them for whatever reason are Saving Face (2004), Monster (2023), Practical Magic (1998), Moonlight (2016), and Clue (1985).

Coffee or tea?

Despite my username being a type of tea, in this as in all things I am a perfect Kinsey 3. Love both equally and drink a ton of both (coffee more regularly, tea in greater volume).

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

Lifeguard, I think! And then when I was in elementary school I wanted to edit textbooks (I was that kid who got annoyed whenever there were mistakes), so I did actually get to do my childhood dream job.

No pressure tags just going with vibes based on who I've interacted with recently (if you've done this already tag me in the comments!): @rocketturtle4 @visualtaehyun @sollucets @troubled-mind @jimmysea @ginnymoonbeam

#tag game #thank you for tagging me #typed so that i can stop thinking it

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the12thnightproject · 7 days

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*jumps in*

Gonna fly in and drop a ⭐star⭐ because I know there's probably Director's Commentary you probably are dying to talk about in Ten Things I Hate About Mitsuhide. No pressure, though. Thank you!

Hi and thank you for the ask!

And you're right, I haven't had as much chance to talk about Ten Things, the way I have about Shingen and Mitsunari's longfics.

Loong, long answer below the cut...

Mitsuhide's longfic wasn't intended to be the third story. Originally, it was going to be Shingen, then Hideyoshi, then Mitsunari, but when I finished Shingen's story, I realized what I had planned for Hideyoshi had too many similarities to Shingen's story, so I bumped up Mitsunari. I was loosely considering Ieyasu as after Mitsunari, but Mitsuhide and 'Okatsu' had so much chemistry in Mitsunari's story, that it kind of felt like it needed to be next. He was in fact the love rival in Mitsunari's story, but because we never get his POV, it's not obvious (I think if you skim over his chapters in Mitsunari's story with that in mind, you can sort of see it, but it was never stated).

I still hesitated, because Mitsuhide is so popular that I was afraid if I didn't 'get him right,' it would go down very badly. And while I think I did ok with his character, I still feel like I rushed the story, and it could have used another edit on plot. In the first draft, Mitsuhide and Katsu were separated for most of the last third of the story. Once she left Sakai, they didn't reunite until almost the end (when he joins her in modern Kyoto). But I really hated keeping my two main characters apart for so long, and I was afraid people would lose patience with the story if they were separated for all of Act III. I spent a lot of time fiddling with Act III, and kept changing stuff, even up through nights before I posted the chapters.

So let's really talk about Act III, since the first three quarters of the story were fairly easy for me to write, but that final 25% took me almost as long to write as what came before. Honestly, Act III gave me fits (granted I was writing it last winter when I was working two jobs, and I had far less time to write than normal).

Oh, aside, I'm using film terms to describe the length of my acts... Act I is the first 25%, Act II is the next 50% (although usually is divided into two parts midpoint plot twist being an emotional mid-story climax), and Act III is the final 25%. I consider Act I to go through the point where Katsuko and Mitsuhide contract to work together. Act II through the midpoint goes through when they are taken prisoner by Motonari, and the rest of Act II goes through when Katsu leaves Sakai and Mitsuhide).

In my first attempt at Act III, once Katsuko leaves Mitsuhide's townhouse, she goes to Motonari and bargains with him to take her to Tsuruga - which was my original location for Act III. For reasons (that I no longer remember) Yoshimoto was also onboard. I got about 5 or 6 thousand words into that section, realized it wasn't working (at that point, Motonari was supposed to be the love rival), and backtracked to when she left Mitsuhide. In the revision, she goes to Yoshimoto, who agrees to take her to where Yoshiaki was hiding out. By this time, I realized that Yoshimoto made a better love rival (so when I did my second draft, I gave him a lot more to do in earlier chapters). This was all part of the original handwritten draft, so that Motonari section didn't even get typed up.

As I was working on my next attempt at Act III, I wasn't really sure exactly where Yoshimoto and Katsu were specifically going. I was going to create a new location where Yoshiaki was hiding out, and as I started to describe the area they were riding into, I realized, 'wait, I already created a dark remote castle for Mitsunari's story, I know what it looks like, and the area of that is more or less where this one needs to be too, so lets just use it again.' (I'm also using it in the next story, but just a little bit near the beginning of the fic. So far.) This also allowed me to drop a couple of vague Easter egg clues for the ongoing multiverse story.

Anyway, in that draft, it wasn't Mitsuhide who doubled around and ended up there as he too searched for Yoshiaki, it was Kyubei, who, sent by Mitsuhide, was following Katsu to ensure she was ok. Katsu was aware he was following her, and when she and Yoshimoto discover Yoshiaki's plans to team up with Motonari and Kennyo in order to attack Sakai, she sneaks out of the castle (Yoshimoto creates a diversion), finds Kyubei, and gives him a message to give to Mitsuhide. Then she sneaks back in rejoins Yoshimoto (and then the plot continued more or less the way it played out in the posted draft).

I always write the "his POV" chapters last, and since I changed my mind on Act III prior to writing the his POV chapter, this never did get written, but what my original plan for "what was Mitsuhide doing while Katsu was in Genba was that he had figured out where Toshiie was, and he'd found her brother, and was 'drying him out.' He doesn't learn what happened to Katsu, until Yoshimoto visits Azuchi and tells him. Anyway. That didn't get written, because by the time I was writing the stuff that was taking place in modern Kyoto, I realized that the Act III wasn't working as written. So I dumped the Kyubei chapter and replaced it with the chapter where Mitsuhide connects with Katsu in Genba, the scene in the garden, and then I rewrote the scene on top of the castle wall to include Mitsuhide. I'm happy with that particular decision, because I think it ended up stronger that way. (Sorry Kyubei for dumping your chapter).

I don't think there was that much else I deleted between the first and the second drafts, but there was a fair amount added. Originally the priest who tries to buy Katsu on the slave ship was a one and done character and we never see him again. I later brought him back to that scene on the grounds of the temple that was used for the city managers meeting because the original scene felt a bit flat and needed more danger (originally Katsu just overhears a few different conversations, but that got repetitive). The decision to have him show up on the old video from Katsu's childhood was a last minute right before posting the chapter decision (originally the person in that scene was just a random stranger, but that didn't really pay off).

A couple of other more active scenes got added between the second and third draft to help the pacing. Most of that was in the second half of Act II, the stuff at and around the area where Mai and Hideyoshi were being held prisoner.

Oh a weird BTS thing for the chapter where Mitsuhide teaches Katsu how to pick and code crack locks, is that I actually ordered a couple of cheap antique lock knock-offs from Amazon, watched a few lock picking videos, and taught myself how it worked, to help write that chapter. That was a really fun chapter to write - I enjoyed trying to figure out the sexual tension subtext.

There is also a scene that I didn't write (because the modern section had gotten too long, and it didn't add anything except my personal fan service) but that I consider canon to the story (in my head), is that when Mitsuhide and Shingen were in modern Japan with Katsu and Sasuke, there was one night where they went to a games center and played Beat Saber. Maybe someday I'll go back and write it as a short story.

Again, thank you for asking. It's always fun to revisit this stuff, especially when I'm in the middle of breaking a new story and feel frustrated during the moments where I'm stuck. Helps to remember that the first draft is always messy and will change.

#asked and answered #directors cut #ten things #ten things I hate about mitsuhide #fanfic

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gurugirl · 10 months

Note

I love stepdad Harry! Always brings a smile to my face when i see youve posted (guilty pleasure yum). Thank you for the last one!

but i cannot get enough of stepmom reader. You’ve made that one into something really special. In fact I told someone about it last week and they were like ~ nope. Not into stepmom stuff or older yn. Nope ~

but then guess what? they wound up reading it and binged all three parts and admitted to me that they were wrong 😂 I’m like ‘yeah I know’

just wanted to share that with you! Your stepmom fic is so shockingly good (not shocking bc you’re not a good writer, shocking bc it’s a trope most of us were not interested in) that it’s quickly become my top 5 all time favorite.

i cannot wait for part 4! I adore them and you so much. Do you have any idea when part 4 will come out? Any sneaky???

ps.. sorry for the weird capitalization stuff going on there. My phone decided when to capitalize randomly and I’m too lazy to fix.

A Good Boy sneak peek under the cut below!

🥹 thank you so much, babe. Really glad you liked the stepdad!harry from yesterday! That was a quick little fun thing to write.

As for stepmom!reader - wow! I really love that you're liking it so much and talking about it with other people and that your friend changed their mind 😂 Seems to be the theme for that fic. So many of y'all didn't think you'd like it based on the trope alone but I'm surprised that you guys did enjoy it anyway! Makes me smile.

So, I'm almost done with part 4. I think I can have it out by Thursday? Maybe? I'm super busy today (well, busy for me LOL) and gonna try to write but I've also got something I'm working on that someone paid me to write so I'm prioritizing that. Thursday at the earliest I'll post part 4 but I'll let y'all know.

And the random capitalization? My phone does the same. 😂 The words can't, can, and don't often get capitalized in the middle of sentences and it's a crapshoot on when the beginning of a sentence will be capitalized or not. I need to turn it off so it just leaves everything lowercase. So no judgement from me!

Sneak peek below !! (just remember this is literally copied from the word doc I'm writing in and hasn't been proofread or edited so some changed may be made before I post part 4)

Y/n was wearing her newly altered peach silk dress. The alterations were simple. The straps and hem were adjusted and the back column was dropped down a bit to drape to her low back. Her strappy nude heels were well-worn but comfortable because she was just simply not in the mood to wear the stiff, new heels she’d just bought.

The estate of Rebecca Manera was impressive. Probably equally as impressive as Leonardo Styles’. Most of the guests had already arrived by the time the Styles’ walked through the front door a little late.

Leo scolded Y/n for taking so long to get ready and making them run behind but in all honesty, she didn’t give a fuck. They could be half an hour late. No one would care. Why rush to go to a party? It’s not like they needed to clock in and earn a paycheck.

“It’s rude, Y/n. That’s why it matters. You’re so goddamn rude sometimes. You only think about yourself.”

She turned sharply to look at her husband in shock. That was the first time he’d ever said such a thing to her. Normally he had no opinion on how she conducted herself. She was chronically late. Yes, she could admit that was a flaw in her character but she was on time when it really counted. But to get so worked up over a party? And to insult her on top of it?

That had set the whole mood for the night. And now she was even more suspicious about this Rebecca.

But when Rebecca did make her appearance and introduced herself to Y/n she was taken aback. The woman had to be in her 50s. She was pretty, sure, but not quite Leo’s type. If Y/n were any sort of indicator of a type.

Servers walked around with trays and served the couples in attendance. There were only ten couples there as well as Rebecca’s two daughters, Y/n learned. Quite the intimate affair really.

Leo brought a glass of wine to Y/n as she chatted with Mrs. Topman (she never learned her first name, as the woman literally introduced herself as Mrs. Topman).

“Here you are darling.” His green eyes shined down at her before searching the room casually. She was on to Leo. But she found it odd that the woman he was with in the Hamptons was Rebecca. She was intrigued.

She watched Rebecca mingle and sip wine and laugh and there was nothing there that made Y/n think Leo would be interested in her sexually. But maybe that was it, Y/n thought to herself as she cocked her head to the side watching the woman speak boisterously. Maybe it wasn’t sexual. Maybe it was a woman he felt a deeper connection with than he did with Y/n. Perhaps it hadn’t started sexual but led there.

The snack table was set up with decadent treats. Y/n picked up a toast smeared with something pink, topped with heart-shaped tomatoes on top as she scanned the room for Leo, wondering where he’d gone off to. It hadn’t been that long but knowing about Rebecca being with him made things feel like she was in some kind of true crime detective story and was trying to get to the bottom of a mystery. Though there was no crime being committed, she could entertain herself with that thought.

“Are you enjoying your time tonight?”

Y/n turned her sight to Rebecca who was next to her picking up the same toast with pink schmear.

“It’s amazing. Your home is so lovely, Mrs. Manera,” she smiled and noted the woman’s massive diamond ring in addition to her massive diamond wedding ring.

“Why thank you. Phineas has put in so much work to make this large shell into a lovely cozy home.”

Y/n nearly spat her bite out. The home was anything but cozy.

“It’s incredible. Where is Mr. Manera tonight?”

“Oh, just over there,” she pointed to a man in tweed with thick black-framed glasses, “You haven’t met yet?”

Rebecca led the way as Y/n walked in her wake to meet Mr. Manera. She had still not spotted her own husband.

“Phineas, dear, this is Mrs. Styles. Leonardo’s wife.”

The man held his hand out, “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Styles.”

“Likewise. You can call me Y/n.”

“Well, Y/n. We’re happy to have you here. Where’s Leo anyway? Haven’t seen him.”

Turning around quickly to look over her shoulder she shrugged and faced the man and his wife again, “Not sure actually. I haven’t seen him in a bit myself,” she laughed. And before she could even think about what she was implying she spoke to Rebecca, “But I’m sure you’ve seen enough of him since you saw him in the Hampton’s this weekend.”

Rebecca and Phineas’ smiles dropped as they looked at one another and then back to Y/n, “I haven’t been to the Hamptons in over a decade. Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for Parker? Our daughter? She was just there all weekend with her girlfriends.”

A Good Boy Masterlist

A Good Boy tags: @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @shishcabobsworld @daphnesutton @spinnerswife69 @holy-macncheese-balls @cookielovesbook-akie @lilfreakjez @itsgigikay @amateurduck

#harry styles #firstpost #ask #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #sneak peek #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #stepmom!reader

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sailor-aviator · 5 months

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I don't know how to formulate this question without make it seem like a critic or attack, it isn't and I'll still come as an asshole,but all these stories (or most of them) are gonna be on hiatus in the next months, right? Like, you said you are gonna be busy and won't have time to write, it's more than understandable cause you have a life and a job and writing is a hobby, no question, but you keep starting all these stories that it's starting to be confusing.

Valid question.

I’m not planning on anything really being in hiatus (I need to go and change my masterlist to reflect that, I just keep forgetting). Yeah, I’m gonna be a tad busier than I am now with my job and stuff, but I’m kind of trying to find a system that works for me which is probably why things are so confusing 😅

Basically, as things stand right now, I’m taking everything off hiatus and I’m gonna update whatever story strikes me at the moment. Yeah, I have a lot of WIPs at the moment but if I’m not updating something, then I have another thing to go to. That way nothing end up feeling like a chore to update and the updates are good instead of forced and lackluster. Does that mean some fics may go a couple of weeks without getting updated while I work on some other stuff? Yeah, but they’re going to get an update.

(This next bit is in now way directed at you, it’s just a thought I’ve discussed with others)

I think we as fic readers tend to forget sometimes that daily/weekly updates are not necessarily the norm. I know authors who update every 2-3 months with ten different WIPs active and that used to be the normal. I’m talking, you don’t know what they’re going to update and you’re lucky if they update every 2-3 months on multi-chapter fics.

I am absolutely not someone who can ignore an idea. A lot of the time, if I start a WIP, it’s because it’s been on my mind for a WHILE. Like The Horrors in the Wild has been a brain child for five years and I decided to work it as a fic to see how it does in that context. It will more than likely be placed on the back burner for a little while just based off of initial engagement. That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write it later, but I also like to see what you guys want to read.

Anyway, my prime focuses at the moment are probably HBAM, SLM, and MMATS. MMATS is actually almost finished, and I’ve been trying to flesh out some of the plot points for SLM, but I wanted to get something out for y’all, hence the “early” release of HBAM. Once I finish MMATS, I’ll probably shift focus back to TTSCA so I’m working on a fic for each guy.

I know I rambled near the end there, but does that make sense? TLDR; ADHD brain is confusing me too and I’d rather give you guys something than nothing, but can stop if it’s too confusing

Edit to add on: I also do this with other hobbies, this isn’t exclusive to writing lol my brain jumps all over the place and back in vicious cycles

#answered #anonymous #hey nonny nonny #Liz rambles #me to me: can you not talk so much oh my god?#sometimes I gotta work through the hyperfixation of a story #which is why sometimes I’ll update a fic four times in one week and then not touch it for two or three

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cielpansyhive · 7 months

Text

I haven't checked my stats on AO3 in a year or more. I know people rank things different ways. Some people go by hits, others kudos, some by comments, bookmarks, subscriptions, ect. You get the picture. Hits are tricky, I've heard of people getting hits by bots. Which throws everything off, you see 50 hits and zero kudos, like, "fuck, these people read and hated it?" Maybe, but also it could have been a bot. For me hits can be more discouraging than helpful. I go by everything other than hits. So, with that in mind, I want to talk about my most successful works. (This is in no way meant to be me boasting. I'm a small-time writer. My point is, if I can do it, YOU can do it.)

I believe my most popular work is Revamp, it has the most subscriptions and comments. It's the work I'm known for. It's a little on the lower end for kudos and bookmarks, but it's not finished. The very fic people know me for is also my first work. (Because of this I'm working on revising what I have before updating another chapter. No worries, it's not abandoned and never will be.) That said, I was terrified to post it originally. Not only was it my first but there were maybe ten other fics at the time with trans Ciel and that was it. I didn't know if there was a reason for that. Lack of interest? People getting hate? I was clueless. But I had a story to tell so I sucked it up and posted and I'm glad I did! I've talked to so many people and befriended some because of that fic. I take forever to update and people still get excited over it when I do update. It really means a lot! My life changed because of posting it and it gave me the courage to pursue writing and share my stuff.

My highest bookmarked and work with the 3rd most kudos is a smut one-shot (That Butler, Sensitive) that I was worried would be "too weird" for people. I know way more people who think hand kinks are weird than ones that are neutral or into it. It was another I was reluctant to post and bam people loved it. I'm still shocked by the feedback.

My highest kudo work, the first couple chapters were awful. They were quick little things I wrote for tumblr, I got enough feedback I decided to post them on AO3. Chapter 1 I wrote drunk, I'm not even joking. Did I have fun with it? Yes. Was it to my standard? Fuck no. I have since revised the first two chapters. The third chapter, Sebastian is so OOC, but once again I did have fun with it. The last chapter has figging, a kink I don't know anyone of really having...at least in my personal life. The work as a whole (Canon Divergent SebaCiel) is just fun debauchery. In the beginning it was difficult for me to post smut. It was difficult to write too, I'd get stuck in my own head. But if you write whatever thoughts flow out, it's so simple! Because I became more comfortable, I was able to write my second highest kudo work (Clathrus Archeri) that was inspired by a fungus. Yep, we get that freaky with it. My readers enjoy it, it's all good.

My fourth highest bookmarked and fifth highest kudo work (Relax) is one that I stated was "the worst smut I've ever written." It was extremely self-indulgent but at the same time I spent so long editing it that at the end I hated it. I thought in comparison to my other smut it was low level. It also had trans Ciel, so I'm glad one of my works with him made it in the top 5. Yet, I wouldn't have that had I not posted.

While most of my works are obviously Kuroshitsuji, I do have works for Voltron too. I have almost zero interactions with the Voltron fandom. I will reblog things and read (kudo, bookmark, subscribe), but besides comments on my own fics I haven't talked to anyone. A big part is that I'm shy. Another is that I'm too old for fandom drama, ship wars, and what have you. If someone wants to chat with me, I'm glad and I will talk, but I'm not putting myself out there. The same will go when I start posting Vanitas no Carte fics. I'm very ship and let ship and that will piss off some people. It's easier for people to approach me rather than me trying to figure out if someone will hate me for my ships or not. Okay, very long intro for my next point. My third highest subscribed work (Atlas Ocean Rescue) is for the Voltron fandom. They don't know me from anywhere, exception the kuro people that also like Voltron, but apparently my work has readers. This fic is super self-indulgent, I love mermen okay? I'd say overall my Voltron works aren't doing too bad considering I basically just post and run. As anxious as I get to post anything, posting for another fandom was really hard. There wasn't the pressure of people knowing my work, but there's the very real feeling of, "oh fuck, this could flop terribly." A few Voltron works have already surpassed my "worst" Kuro works...so success? I think so!

For anyone who read all my nonsense, you get a gold star. I hope you also noticed the patterns here. That is, write for yourself and your audience will find you. Don't censor yourself, be true to you and go with the flow, have fun! Write characters how you want to write and read them. Indulge in your kinks, I swear you aren't the only one that has them. Step out of your comfort zone every once and a while. If you post a fic and it flops, so what? It's not the end of the world. What if the fic you think will fail ends up being your best one? You'll never know what will happen unless you post it, it might surprise you. As your skills improve it's okay to go back and revise and edit. But don't let your skill level hold you back from posting in the first place, we all have to start somewhere. You can engage with fandoms as much or as little as you want. (I do encourage reblogs, kudos, bookmarks, ect.) But if you are too shy to talk or don't know anyone in a fandom, don't let that stop you from creating for that fandom. If you only have one work in you for a fandom, do it! If you have multiple? Do it! Rarepair? Go for it! Someone else will probably thank you for it! Vent writing? Dead dove? Extremely therapeutic for you and for others that are more so readers than writers. (Note writing dark stuff just for exploration and entertainment is fine too!! Horror is a well-loved genre for a reason. Fiction is fiction.) Bottom line: don't let you get in the way of yourself.

Will you get hate? You might, I won't lie. That said, people troll everything, any hate you get just shake it off. Odds are it's nothing personal or about your writing, it's they don't like the ship, or any AU, or the dynamics with smut, or the kink, or they're phobic, or if you write intense stuff it's too dark of content for them. If you tag things, it's on the reader if they ignore the tags or they purposely expose themselves to content they know will upset them. I highly recommend if you are concerned about hate, only let registered users leave comments. That's what I do with all my fics and I have had zero negative comments. People are less likely to leave nasty comments if they have to show their face, it's so much easier for them on anon. Some hate I've got on here (tumblr) could be from AO3, but I honestly think it's mostly just other tumblr users that have never read anything of mine.

I'm not as active as I once was on here. It's been years since I updated or posted a kuro work on AO3. I don't have the spoons (energy) to do as much one-on-one as I used to, but know I am cheering on all the creators, new and old. I am here if anyone needs some extra encouragement. But honestly, just write. Even on the off chance you're the only one that likes your work, you have at least one fan. If you don't write for yourself, then who are you writing for? I swear readers can tell the difference when you write something you're into verses something you think will be good, but you don't care about as much. Your best writing is the writing that YOU would read. Don't focus on what you think others will think. Your people will find you.

We all start as that person that's afraid to post our works, it's natural. Tackling that fear was one of the most difficult but best thing I've done for myself. If you want to post, do it! 💖💖💖

#personal #AO3 stats #writing pep talk #fuck do I ramble or what #this is directed at writers but can be said for all creators #do what makes your heart happy

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captainschmoe · 7 months

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If you don't mind multiple in one go, how about 20, 26 and 30?

(I'm especially curious about the small change. I always see people talk about huge changes they'd make to Awakening but not often the little tweaks)

Well, you’re in luck, because for 26 I could rant and rave and write a ten-page essay on Lucina’s inability to recruit the child units lol. Which should hopefully make up for the fact that I can’t really think of anything for 20 (since I don’t really interact with fandom in general too much).

Like, at the very least, she should be able to point out to Chrom “hey that idiot over there is one of MY idiots, go talk to them.” Especially because several of the children don’t recognize Chrom or their mothers. Especially because several of the children cite Lucina as a childhood friend. Especially because some of the children could be Lucina’s SIBLING and one (possibly two) of them is a cousin!! Why is Lucina’s only possible interaction with Cynthia fighting her to the death??? It’s just one of those things that makes me more irrationally angry than it probably should.

Speaking of siblings, another thing I’d love to see is the parent/child cutscene changing if they’re Chrom’s child, including a whole family reunion. When Cynthia faceplants, I’d love to see Lucina comment on “those boots of hers” and sending their parents into hysterics. Or Lucina gets angry with Kjelle or Inigo’s recklessness and starts really squabbling with them until Chrom puts on the dad pants and breaks it up. When Brady feels insecure about his inability to fight when his sister is the best swordswoman around, Lucina reminds him of multiple times where him being a healer saved her life. And Morgan, while he doesn’t remember anything, gets a strange sense of déjà vu when Lucina starts sobbing because she was so certain she’d never see him again and their parents’ hearts just crumble to pieces.

As for 30: Been thinking about Lucinigo a lot lately. Mostly of the Adult Stuff variety. I have a stream of headcanons and scenarios but you know, it’s pretty embarrassing to just throw that kind of thing out there.

Also every time I type “fire emblem” there’s a chance I’ll misspell it as “fore emblem” so now you can imagine your faves golfing lol.

Edit: Actually I thought of something for 20: platonic f!Chrobin. Maybe that’s an extremely obvious answer. But there’s plenty of fun little scenarios you can come up with for them if they’re not married. Maybe Chrom did ask her out and she politely turned him down, but then later secretly helped him hook up with someone else. Maybe they and their spouses go on double dates every now and then. Maybe Robin squees over Chrom’s adorable new baby. (Okay, that one’s not a maybe, she DEFINITELY does that lol.) I may ship it as much as any annoying fangirl, but more non-romantic f!Chrobin please.

#fire emblem #fe13 #someone asked me something #anonymous #long post #fe lucina

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war-on-mars · 1 year

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40 questions: 11, 38, 21

#11: Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

I wanna say both. It's something that started as a hobby but evolved into a passion. When I started writing seriously, it was for a class I took on a whim in high school. I figured I would get an easy A for indulging in a hobby I enjoyed. It quickly spiraled into something much bigger than that and now it's my college major?? Writing became something I want to do for the rest of my life. It's my passion in the sense that I want to finish my novel and finally get to editing my poetry book, but my favorite hobby is still writing fanfiction!

#38: Talk about a review that made your day.

"Every word is deserved. Your talents are simply beyond comprehension. I'm so thrilled every time I read one of your stories, whether for the first time or the tenth (and yes I have indeed read some of your stuff ten times)."

I shit you not, this comment from Shisumo blew my mind. It didn't just make my day, it made my year. I've always had a hard time liking the things I create, so to hear that someone has read something of mine ten times was shocking. Whenever I'm questioning my talents I tend to go read this comment. It's ridiculously motivating.

#21: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

The way I revise my stuff has changed a ton since I started posting fics. I used to look over the fic once or twice after I finished writing and then post it, but I've become a lot more patient with it lately. After I finish writing, I'll usually take a break from looking at the fic for at least a day, then I'll go back to it with fresh eyes and see if there's anything I want to change. I repeat that process at least twice and if I'm still not sure about it I'll ask someone to beta for me!

#ask game #fic writing

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thefandomwritersblog · 2 years

Text

It's back babes!

Better! Longer! More fleshed out than the last!! You may notice similar passages and themes, but also a lot of new stuff too! And all in all, I'm much more happy with it this time around.

Shout out and many thanks to @maelove21 ! Without her invaluable help and insights this would have taken much longer to get up off the ground. I cannot express how much I appreciate your patience, your kindness, and the wonderful friendship you've given me!

I do want to apologize to everyone. I very abruptly took this project down around the end of October with zero explanation, and I know that it confused a lot of you. I want to thank those who found a way to reach out to my friend, and asked about me. I was very surprised and touched.

The short of it, is that my mental health towards my writing took a very drastic and negative turn. I had to have a very difficult talk with both my partner and my therapist, and we all agreed that it was best to stop and pull back for a bit. I went cold turkey because I knew that if I didn't the emotions would only get worse.

I put a lot of thought into Ghost of the Ten while it was down, and I came to the simple conclusion that I still loved this story very much. It is by far the work that I am the most proud of, and I want to make sure that the work I post reflects that joy and pride. So this time around, I will be adding (and editing out) a lot more scenes that feel longer, and more fleshed out, and incorporate the ideas I wanted to incorporate the first time around.

I appreciate your patience, I really do. This fandom has been nothing but kind to me since I got into it in February, and I look forward to showing you all the next chapter!

Ghost of the Ten Horizon Forbidden West Hekarro x Fem!OldOne Action/Adventure/Hurt/Comfort/Romance Chapter 1

PART 1: Tomb of the Ten

“We never fully die even in what we think of as actual death. We change again and become echoes in others, and they carry us forward.”

― Eric Overby

Hekarro liked to think of himself as a reasonable and level-headed individual.

He was like that of a steel blade forged in the fires of conflict. Honed through the many trials he faced over his long years. As a result, there was little in the world that troubled his mind these days. He faced each challenge with tenacity and grace, guiding his people toward the unity and prosperity he'd envisioned since he first conquered the Grove nearly two decades ago.

Yet, there was an anxiety in his gut he couldn’t shake.

He kept a safe distance from the excavations, his hands clasped behind his back to keep his knuckles from popping. Aloy hovered by his side, bouncing with nervous energy. She recognized the importance of this work, both for the Oseram workers who darted around like frantic machines and for him. Hekarro had little tolerance for outsiders, Oseram more so than others due to their tendency to plunder sacred Tenakth sites.

Nevertheless, the work they performed today was vital, and Hekarro required the Oseram to complete it, regardless of his feelings. Regalla and her final stand had collapsed several tunnels beneath the Arena, tunnels that had already been weakened when her Rockbreaker had broken through the last time she tried to kill him. As a result, a number of sinkholes formed, destabilizing the entire structure and killing several of his guards. Cleaning up the damage and securing what was left was dangerous work.

“Almost ready, Petra!” called an excavator from the threshold of a nearby tunnel. Petra, a robust Oseram woman who stood on Aloy’s other side, gave him a wave,

“Keep that blast under control,” She barked back, her voice carrying across the arena, “Everyone else get clear!”

Hekarro followed Aloy and Petra to safety while the rest of the crews cleared the floor. They ducked behind a large pillar opposite the tunnel, and he listened to the sappers begin their countdown. He could almost taste the tension in the humid air around him, and saw it easily on the faces of the men and women around him. Suddenly, Petra nudged him in the arm. The smile on her was plain as the day when he turned to look at her,

“Nervous there, Chief?” She teased. Hekarro huffed at her; he admired her candor. Petra carried herself with pride, and easily held the respect of the men under her command. She was easy to get along with, but wasn’t a pushover by any means of the word.

“So long as your explosives don’t cause any more harm.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head there, Chief, my boys know what they’re doing. We’ll get that tunnel cleared and shored up in no time! Then, we’ll see about exploring that nifty Old One Ruin beneath your Grove.”

The explosives shook the arena floor with their tremendous force, and the Oseram were back to work before the dust settled down. Aloy chuckled nervously at his side before he could offer a dry retort,

“Maybe,” she said, casting Petra a sidelong glance, “Maybe it would be best for Chief Hekarro and I to go first. Just to make sure everything is safe. Besides you said it yourself, the ruin is under the Grove so he should have the honor of exploring it first.”

“Oh, I know!” Petra nudged him again with a grin, “I just like teasing him! It’s fun to try and get a rise out of someone so stoic .”

Hekarro suppressed his laughter with a cough and turned away.

Hekarro and Aloy watched on as Petra and her men worked. They were quick, efficient, and barely looked up from their own tasks while their Forgewoman barked out her orders.

“Do you have an idea of what we’ll find down there?”

"Not really," she said, shaking her head free of whatever reverie she was in, "but if I had to guess, probably JTF-10 Artifacts from the Old World. In any case, it's a fantastic find for the Tenakth."

“It is,” Hekarro agreed, “All the more reason I’m thankful that Kotallo called you here."

Aloy flushed with a scoff but didn't comment. Instead, she almost bumped into Kotallo who appeared at her side with Dekka in tow,

“There are few with the knowledge of the Old World like you, Aloy.” Kotallo teased, to which Aloy rolled her eyes. Dekka chuckled,

“And we are lucky for it and even luckier that you managed to convince the Chief to allow the Oseram to help.”

His champion grinned, “I can be convincing when I want to be.”

“When you’re not threatening me.” Hekarro deadpanned; Aloy scoffed once more and poked Kotallo in the arm when he laughed at her.

For the better part of an hour, they watched the frantic shuffle of the Oseram as they worked. In and out of the tunnels, tools and materials on their shoulders, until Petra herself finally emerged from the underground. She called them over with a wave of her hands, slapping the dirt and debris from her hands against the leathers of her things.

“Everything is in order,” she said, a frown on her face, “We shored up the tunnels as best as we could, but there are still a few areas that are structurally unsound. I need the both of you to be aware ; if anything load-bearing collapses you two could die, and I don’t need that on my hands.”

“We’ll be safe, Petra,” Aloy assured her. Petra replied with a grunt but allowed her to pass after giving her a stern glare.

"I also advise caution," Dekka warned, reaching for his crown. He let her take it, relieved to be free of the heavy thing, especially if he was going to explore the underground tunnels with Aloy, "Do not make me dig out your corpses if the worst happens."

Hekarro smirked, "You and Kotallo keep watch. Make certain that no one enters until we return."

She gave him a stern salute, and Hekarro turned on his heel to follow Aloy into the underground.

From the very moment he stepped into the darkness, he was keenly aware of the enclosed tunnel walls surrounding them. Cooler than the oppressive humidity outside, the air was thick with the smell of wet stone and damp metal. Along the tunnel, he noticed evidence of the Oseram's labors, such as support beams and pillars lined up against the rock, with the occasional flickering torch.

Then, a groan rippled along the ceiling above them, accompanied by the soft crackle of debris as gravel hit the floor. Hekarro tensed and reached out to grab Aloy's armor collar. He yanked her back and drew them both to the wall, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The groaning eventually subsided, and the tunnel fell silent except for the faint sound of his measured breathing in the darkness. Aloy was tense next to him, far too silent, far too aware, before she finally exhaled a soft sigh of relief.

"I think the tunnels are just settling," she grumbled. Hekarro grunted under his breath, but let her go when she tested her weight against his grip.

“Should we turn back?”

"If you want," he saw her shadow turn to him in the dark, "but I'm curious about what's down here, so I'll keep going."

He almost laughed at her stubbornness as he heard her footsteps retreat against stone, and he followed after her, determined not to let her wander off alone. They pursued the twisting stone path until the walls started to rust and they came to a fork in the path. The tunnel to their left opened through a broken wall into an empty and dark room beyond. To their right, it continued into the unknown shadows.

“Aloy?”

She hummed under her breath, “Probably best to take the left. It seems the most direct, and the safest. Oh! Before we go further in, I want you to take this.”

She reached into her belt-tied pack and pulled out a gleaming jewel for him to take. He examined it in the dim light. It was no bigger than the pad of his thumb and looked incredibly delicate. As he did not want to waste any more time, he placed the strange jewel on his temple like he had seen the others do. The world around him suddenly lit up in various shades of purple. The sight made his stomach tighten, images and glyphs he couldn't understand flashing before his eyes in disorienting waves.

“Aloy, I-“ he moved to take it off but stopped short as her tiny hand wrapped around his wrist

"I know it's a lot," She reassured him, drawing his attention back to her with a soft gesture of her hand, "But you're going to see a lot of strange things inside, and you'll need a way to make sense of it all. Just give it a second, you’ll adjust."

Hekarro closed his eyes against the onslaught of information to rein in his composure. In and out, he counted his breaths until the coil in his stomach disappeared and he reopened his eyes. Everything still seemed strange, awash in various multicolored hues, but with greater clarity, he easily distinguished between the jewel's projection and the physical world around him.

“Are you ready?”

Before he could respond, another rumble reverberated through the tunnel. Louder and far more powerful than the last. The very ceiling gave way above as huge, heavy boulders smashed down to the ground with a resounding roar. Before he could even process the thought, Hekarro pushed Aloy through the open threshold and she fell to the floor with a loud grunt.

"Hekarro!"

The wall between them collapsed, cutting her cry short.

With the tunnel out of the underground completely caved in, Hekarro dove into the opposite corridor and took off in a dead sprint. There was just enough illumination from the jewel to allow him to see where he was going. His pulse raced. His breath was labored and ablaze within his lungs. Raising an arm to protect his face from falling debris, he sped through the chaos as deftly as the narrow passage would allow.

Then he noticed a faint glimmer of low light ahead of him. Hekarro dug his heels into the floor and sprinted across a worn threshold just as it gave way behind him. A hot lance of pain shot up his arm as he slammed into the steel floor with a groan, but he bit down on the yelp that threatened to leave his mouth. In the small, unfamiliar room around him, the aftershocks of the cave-in rumbled, shaking steel and stone until it fell silent.

Now that he was no longer in imminent danger, Hekarro relaxed and took a moment to breathe. His shoulder ached, and he rolled the joint to stretch it. The fact that it didn't hurt too badly gave him hope that his shoulder hadn't been dislocated. Being at a disadvantage in an unknown environment was the last thing he needed right now. With an unsteady sway, Hekarro pushed himself to his feet and scanned the room in which he had found himself trapped.

The jewel at his ear cast a faint outline of ancient furniture in the darkness, haphazardly tossed as if the previous occupants had left it in a hurry. Beyond the wreckage, he noticed the shadow of a door that was half-open and extended even deeper into the underground. He approached cautiously, alert to his surroundings in case of an ambush.

“Hekarro?!”

Hekarro swore loudly and jumped a mile out of his skin. He glanced over at the door, where he half expected to see Aloy peeking through the crack but saw instead only pitch blackness.

"If you can hear me, just touch the Focus at your ear. It’ll open a channel for us to communicate."

Hekarro hesitated for only a moment before he did as she told, “Aloy?”

"You're still alive!” The relief in her voice was palpable, “Are you hurt?”

"I only sprained my shoulder," he explained as he tested the door's strength. He put his full weight on it, and it moaned but didn't give. "Otherwise, I'm in one piece. Where are you?”

“Somewhere on the other side of the facility, I think?" she replied, “It’s hard to tell. Do you see a way out from where you are?”

Hekarro noticed a rigid piece of a broken steel rod nearby, which he examined for a moment before he grabbed it and turned his attention back to the door.

“No.”

His shoulder protested in pain as he pushed against the broken door with the rod. Fighting him for every centimeter, it slid across the threshold until he finally had enough room to wiggle through.

"Nothing on my end, either," Aloy sighed, "but Kotallo says Petra and her team are already digging us out, so I'll see if I can find my way over to you."

“That’s all well and good, Aloy,” Hekarro said, “but only the foolish stand idle and wait for a rescue that could take hours.”

"Well, if you're going to go exploring, just be careful," she cautioned, "Old One Ruins are dangerous, and for good reason."

Hekarro simply grunted in reply. Aloy fell silent over the jewel, and it stretched into the yawning darkness of the corridor, his own shallow breathing his constant companion. The passage twisted and turned in seemingly every direction, far beyond what he knew to be the Grove's boundaries. Hekarro wasn't a fool; he'd known about the underground tunnels for years now, but every attempt to clear them out had ended in death and disaster until they finally lay forgotten in during the Red Raids.

Was it just bad timing that they were unearthed after Regalla's death?

Or, perhaps it was providence? Another indication from the Ten that he was prepared to learn more of their secrets? What would they show him if that were the case?

The uncertainty unnerved him more than he was willing to admit.

Hekarro turned a corner to another corridor that opened out into a large antechamber. Like the room before, ancient and broken furniture lay strewn across the room with no sign of its previous occupants either. Instead, a glimmer on a nearby counter caught his eye. It shimmered with a bright light in the darkness and drew him to it like a moth to the flame. Suddenly, the Focus chimed again in his ear, but instead of Aloy’s voice an image materialized before his eyes.

Hekarro frowned, perplexed by what he saw. Aloy had given this jewel, this Focus, to Kotallo as well, and he'd often found his Marshal enthralled by whatever it allowed him to see. And just as he’d witnessed Kotallo and Aloy do, Hekarro reached a tentative hand out to the symbols.

"I'm not sure where to begin," The voice of an unknown man echoed in his ear. So clear and concise that Hekarro almost believed they were standing side-by-side, “but the Colonel insisted I leave something, anything, behind.”

He could hear the painful shudder of emotion in the man’s voice, the subtle sigh as if his throat was thick with tears, “When all this chaos began, I was convinced that we were going to come out on top. Humans vs. machines, the dream sold by General Herres as Operation: Enduring Victory. Buy the scientists over at Project: Zero Dawn some time to finish their superweapon."

“It was all a lie…”

“There never was a superweapon. There never was a chance of winning against the Swarm. Herres lied, but I got a feeling that the Colonel had always known that something was wrong. She’s far too calm for a woman looking down the business end of the apocalypse and… She’s planning something. I served under Colonel Faraday for years, I know that look in her eye. It's not a secret that she called the Staff Sergeant into the base today. To be honest, I'm relieved to be here making this stupid audio journal. There’s always a fight when those two are together…”

The voice cut to eerie silence and the image blinked against the stark darkness around him. Hekarro remained frozen in shock, reeling at the brief glimpse into the past the Focus showed him. The Old Ones against machines- this…Swarm…

He reflected on his younger years. In the Valley of the Fallen, beneath the hulking carcass of a machine that had long since died. Even back then, he could not forget how tiny and insignificant he felt next to it. And the Ancients had lost a hopeless battle against its armies. That he was standing here and now proved it, but what had happened in the time since their fall?

What had finally stopped the Swarm?

What was Project: Zero Dawn?

And why did he have the impression that Aloy knew the answers?

Without a doubt, fate followed that girl wherever she went, and the earth trembled in her wake. He remembered that first day they met with fondness, the unstoppable storm that blew into his Grove, determined to get her way even if it meant crossing spears. It amused him, even then, just how much of himself he saw in her determined expression. Yet, whereas she was the wild storm that swept over the unprepared, he was the patient hunter who knew how to make even the strongest warriors submit to his will.

Hekarro shook his head to dispel his unsettling thoughts and continued through the antechamber to the opposite wall's door. He proceeded further and further into the bowels of the subterranean complex, passing by abandoned rooms and bunkers that lay in unearthly stillness.

“Hekarro?”

He once again jumped as Aloy’s voice cut through the quiet like a hot blade. She was nowhere to be seen when he looked for her, so he once again tapped the Focus and continued his explorations.

“I’m here, Aloy.”

“Good. Have you found a way out yet?”

Hekarro rounded a darkened corner and came to a halt in front of a closed door. The wall console blinked slowly in the dark, an unsettling contrast to the otherwise powerless rooms he'd passed through.

“I don’t know, I just found a powered door.”

“Really? That's strange…” She muttered, and Hekarro couldn’t help but agree. He pushed the button on the glowing console and winced as the creaking old door sprang open. When he crossed the threshold, he entered a glass hallway that looked out onto a room lit up by several power cores. Their intensity was such that he could feel them vibrate through the ground.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what their purpose was. He was aware that the generator beneath his throne powered the Grove and its visions, but that tiny room paled in comparison to what he saw now.

What was down here that required so much power?

Hekarro walked the entire length of the glass corridor to another closed door, whose console blinked slowly against the wall. The soft pad of Aloy's boots echoed off the walls before he felt her presence at his side. He gave her a quick glance over his shoulder, his hand hovering above the switch, and she simply shrugged at him,

“It’s your choice.”

His previous anxiety returned. A small part of him pleaded with him to turn around. To leave and let the tunnels collapse in on themselves. Let the secrets of the Ten be buried, because whatever they were, nothing good could ever come of them.

Nevertheless, Hekarro decided to press on despite his misgivings. The doors hissed open as the console chimed. With Aloy close behind, they crossed the threshold into one final chamber, and what he saw left him speechless.

He counted nine metal tombs in a room large enough to fit a small congregation of his Tenakth and still have room to move comfortably. Eight of the tombs lined the walls on either side; each with its own console, and each cold and dead with a single window that peered into dark interiors. At the foot of the tombs lay a footlocker, old and withered with age, the burnished rust eating away at the corners of the metal chests.

However, it was the tomb at the far end of the room that drew their attention. He could feel the thrum of power in the floor from where they were, a cold chill in the air around them. They approached with caution, wary of the empty tombs on either side until they were only a few feet away. It, too, had its own active and glowing console, as well as a footlocker at its base. The Focus on his temple caught a glint of another testament atop the lid and chimed as it materialized another display.

“This is Colonel Anne Faraday of the United States Air Force,” Hekarro dared not move a muscle, frozen in shock, “ and if you’re listening to this, then I’m dead and gone.”

“Is that…”

Aloy fell silent at the curt gesture of his hand,

“I… I don’t have a lot of time, and… sentimentality is lost on the both of us, so I’ll keep this brief. I know that you’re angry. That you probably have a list of things you want to say to me when you wake up, but… There are things I must do as a Colonel, and there are things that I must do as your mother, but this? This is the most selfish thing I will ever do for myself. I lived my life, Victoria, but if this experiment succeeds then you still have a chance to live yours.”

Hekarro's chest tightened, his eyes wide with awe and horror. He closed the gap between himself and the Tomb before he could stop himself, before Aloy could even protest. A pale blue light shone from within, the glass to the interior fogged and thick condensation, but he could just make out the shadow of a mysterious figure inside.

“I… I left something in my exhibit for you. Something to remember all of us by. It’s yours if you want it. I'm not going to pretend I was perfect. I made a lot of mistakes, but that doesn't change the fact that I have always loved you. And for however long it takes… I hope the future is kinder to you.”

Anne's voice faded away, and the only sound that remained was the monotonous hum of the tomb.

“I thought…” Aloy muttered somewhere behind him, “I thought they couldn’t perfect the technology in time…”

Wordlessly, Hekarro reached out a hand to wipe the haze from the window. His breath fogged up the encasement anyway, the moment he stood closer, squinting for a clearer view. And ever so slowly, a dawning realization sank into his twisting stomach when he found himself staring— not at his reflection, but at the features of another. Hekarro stumbled backward, briefly losing his footing as he tried to make sense of the sight of a sleeping woman encased in a thick rime of ice.

“Aloy,” he whispered, feeling as though the ground was about to give way beneath him, “Is that...?"

She gasped beside him, eyes just as wide as his own.

“It’s… a living Old One. ”

The golden field is bathed in the warmth of morning twilight, a kaleidoscope of colors on the never-ending frontier. The air is so sweet and clean that she can almost taste it on her tongue. There’s a breeze that ripples through her hair as she flies through the tall grass, astride a stallion that races towards the unknown horizon at breakneck speed. With each gallop, she can feel the muscles flex between her thighs, strength and power surging through the beast to her. She tightens her grip on his mane and urges him forward, faster and faster, her laughter brighter than the sun.

She does not know where the horizon ends, all she knows is that she is free.

#Hekarro #Chief Hekarro #horizon forbidden west #Horizon Zero Dawn #hfw #hfw fanfic #fanfic #horizon writing #old one oc #my writing

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exalok · 2 years

Note

1, 24, and 35!!

ah!!!! (under the cut after the first because it got Very Long)

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

i've taken to writing in calibri (after a period of testing comic sans) because it's round and pleasing and large and helps my brain not think This Is Serious Business Mistakes Are Punishable By Death (so yes i do care) but also i write quite a lot on discord so in that case i just use the default, which works in a similar way

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

oh god oh god. well i guess it depends on what your idea of prep work is, and on the story. there are stories i will hash out a couple of scenes for (basically let the movie run in my head and take notes on dialogue and movement and position in the room/on the furniture and inner thought and possibly on occasion actual descriptions i'd like to use) then, during the typing phase, add in about 70% of the actual finished thing on improv, based on what feels right in terms of progression/setup/getting the characters where they need to be and also on the various ideas that will pop up as i go. there are stories i will have scene plans and chapter plans and extra character info and mapped-out arcs and This Is What I Want From The Story files for, and all of it will change three to ten times along the course of the writing/rewriting (generally these are the long ones, which are much harder to keep in my head as a whole, so i need written notes to keep track of the things i would otherwise just be aware of in some corner of my mind). i very rarely research and when i do i tend to discard what i need the research for anyway because the first try always sticks out like a sore information thumb. lastly, i am incapable of not writing five sentences in my head to every one that reaches the page, which makes for very slow writing but decent initial results (and even now i do this less than i used to -- in the past i'd basically never edit beyond surface typo/tense checks because i'd already put So Much into trying to get the right sentence down the first time. writing is much more fluid, though less poetic, since i've learned to calm that instinct down) i cannot function without prep work!!!! or like i can't finish a story without prep work. i have somehow managed to write 50k words once with barely any prep but what i'd invent as i went (though it very quickly acquired a lot of stuff to keep track of) and started a number of stories without thinking very hard about them (then stopped when i started thinking Super Hard about them and got overwhelmed by all the Not Knowing What Happens Next) but everything i've finished is something i've prepped, and to be honest i really like it. it clarifies things, it's satisfying. sometimes i kind of want to publish my notes as-is even though without some idea of the end result they very well may be incomprehensible, because i still keep half the information in my brain without meaning to. (the number of times i've returned to an old fic and squinted at my notes like what the fuck did past me mean by that. ugh.) also making brain movies is half the fun of fanfictioning. however i have frequently gotten stuck on the reworking-the-chapter-plan part of the story and that can get very frustrating, so sometimes i do look at my dumptruck of a fic file and think i should just start putting words down or i'll never leave the rut

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

an excellent question, as most of the writing rules i've encountered i have either forgotten or fully integrated over time, by which i mean i don't know -- i guess it's not something i consider or think about? i'll take into account things like how a sentence sounds in my head, whether a visual image makes my dopamine centers wiggle, a character's thoughts and their gradual progression through whatever journey i'm inflicting on the day's victim, but as most of the words kind of come to me naturally/automatically, beyond my systematic rewording of everything for the right Vibe, i just let the writing happen and don't think about what's Allowed or Not Allowed except for the every sentence has several uses rule. if i want a sentence because i think it's pretty, into the soup it goes. if two years down the line i reread that fic and decide it actually serves no purpose and the sense of pretty has run its course, then out it will go, but until then i'm throwing whatever i can get my hands on into the pot (oh yeah and i pop adverbs like they're seeds and i'm a hungry hungry bird) writing is weird!! writing is wonderful!! there is a voice in every silly little writer's hand!! you lego the words together into something pleasing and you lego the sentences together into something pleasing and you lego the scenes together into something pleasing and you have, hopefully, something that pleases you at the end, and maybe it will reveal Deep Thoughts about the world and society and people and what they do and maybe it will relieve Deep Feelings in somebody somewhere and maybe it will just be Deeply Stupid and allow the shutting off of brains and the producing of mental fizz i dunno. my point i guess is Writing Delicious the rule i want to smash the most is the one that says i should take myself seriously

#thank you for sending in the ask!!#writins #this goes in the writing tag for thoughts reasons

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bloo-the-dragon · 2 years

Photo

Local robot jesters kidnap befriend a shapeshifting british dragon more at ten.

~~~

Some scenes for a story i’ve been wanting to write for some time now. Not sure if i ever will write it out though lol (plot n’ stuff bleh) but the setting would have basically been my sona wanders into the pizzaplex one day and ends up meeting the celestial twins.

For a more detailed version, here’s some story bullet notes for what i had in mind:

- The story would take place post-game (post Best Ending specifically, but the True Ending would still be happening later down the line. I’ve always seen the Best Ending as a sort of delay to the True one)

- Sun and Moon have been placed into separate bodies as plans had been made to repurpose the Daycare into an entertainment area where Sun and Moon would perform acrobatic shows for an audience, while management works to either fix or replace the Glamrocks. The plan is still underway and is not yet finished. (Moon still doubles as a security robot)

- Bloo (my sona) would wander into the plex driven by curiosity (and all the shiny lights) and gets overwhelmed by all the people and the noise and while trying to find a quiet place out of the way ends up in the closed off daycare area.

- She would explore the area and have an encounter with Moon who catches her. In her shock and panic the human disguise slips and Moon see’s her true form for a brief moment before she kicks him and legs it.

- However Bloo would have to return a short while later after leaving because in her escape Moon snagged her scarf (a very sentimental item she cannot leave behind)

- On her return trip, she meets Sun who is excited to meet a new friend, but wary of Moon appearing again and wanting to leave quick as possible Bloo explains she just wants her scarf back so Sun goes to fetch it from their shared room where Moon had stashed it.

- Moon would appear and catch Bloo again, but Sun would return and the two would argue, what with Moon not trusting her (and security protocals over intruders and all that plus the whole ‘not human’ thing) and Sun wanting her to stick around for a bit to play because it’s been so long since they had a visitor, even if this ones not human (they arn’t either he would mention which would give Moon pause)

- Bloo would most likely end up leaving but would come back again another day because she feels bad for the Sun robot, he seemed very sad when she left and over time, with glitter glue and shenanagins, ends up befriending the two.

Still no idea if i’ll ever actually write this lol but i had a lot of fun drawing stuff for the idea so i’ll probably just keep doing that instead!

EDIT 6/6/2023: A lot has changed since i initially made this post so the how they met part has been mostly changed fhkfgh (will be making an updated version later when i can)

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's security breach #fnaf moon #fnaf moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf sundrop #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf fanart #sona #Bloo's Art #I have no idea how to play UNO #Jester Bots and Dragons

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efingart · 3 years

Text

Just What I Needed - Chapter 1

ao3

Deleted Scenes: #1

Bell reflects on the few memories she has.

Author's note:

2/6/24 Reviewed, updated, and edited this chapter

This started as a comic. I wanted to see Bell and the Safehouse Crew interacting outside of the missions. Then it grew into a larger story and became too big of an investment as a comic. But the story is stuck in my head now and I have to let it out. So I'm just going to write it.

This first Chapter is a retread of the comic, but there is new stuff extra characterizations etc. Next chapter will be mostly new.

I know some of you were on my taglist for the comic, but since I've changed it to a fic just lmk if you'd like to be tagged still. No hard feelings if not. (I do plan on having illustrations in the future chapters as well)

Chapter 1

March 1, 1981

The paper in her hands, once filled with numbers and cryptic symbols, was quickly becoming a watery swirl of red and blue. Bell blinked a few times to clear and refocus her eyes. She looked down again and the page had returned to normal. How long had she been staring at this thing? Just a moment ago she had risen from the worktable to pin it back up on the evidence board and move on to something else. But as she stood she felt compelled to look at it again, feeling the spark of inspiration. But as soon as she tried to zero in on the thought and make sense of the jumble of letters and numbers, when the solution nearly seemed to lift off the paper, it would almost immediately slip from her mind. And this time was no different. So she stared at the paper in vain again, combing the depths of her mind for that lost something. And her head was pounding, which was not doing her any good. It was like her own brain was fighting against her solving this puzzle. She rubbed at her temples and considered taking out her ponytail. Deluding herself into thinking that maybe that was the cause of the pain and not the fact that she worked almost around the clock.

Of course this would happen when she was needed most.

Just behind her, Sims dropped a cardboard box onto the work table.

“Any luck with that disk decryption?” Sims asked. She looked over her shoulder at him. He had begun sorting through the box which looked to be filled with electronic junk. A cigarette dangled from his lips. She wondered if he cared about ash getting into the box.

“No,” Bell admitted, “I feel like I’m missing something.” Frustrated with herself she rubbed her forehead again and looked up at the evidence board hoping that maybe this time it would reveal it’s secrets. Instead a bright light flashed across her face. The sunlight beaming through the skylight above hit a metal object pinned to the board. She plucked the offending object off it’s peg and turned it over in her hand. It looked like a keyring with a deranged apron-clad figurine attached.

“What is that?” Bell muttered to herself, perplexed as to why anyone would want to carry around such a manic looking thing. Though it did seem strangely familiar to her.

“Find something?” Sims asked as he walked around the table to join her at the evidence board.

“Uh-” Bell paused. She hadn’t intended to pose the question to him and she felt a little silly showing him the keychain since it wasn’t related to her work, but she was still curious about it.

“No, but what is this?” Sims took a drag and looked it over.

“Looks like a keychain, Bell.” Bell looked at him pointedly and sighed, “I know-”

“I’m kidding you. Woods picked that up on your last mission.” He chuckled, “And he says Adler’s sentimental.” Bell looked back at the odd figure in her hand and scrunched up her nose.

“Why would he be feeling sentimental about this weird child?”

“You know, we all find ways to deal with the things we’ve seen- the things we’ve done,” Sims said, “And Woods has definitely been through it.” Then he shrugged before adding, “You should ask him- about the keychain, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Bell glanced down at the keychain again. She thought about putting it back on the evidence board, but instead she closed her hand around it. Sims studied her face. She must have looked as exhausted as she felt because he then said, “Why don’t you take a break? Get some coffee and try tackling it again in a few.”

“Yeah, but-” Bell protested and looked over her shoulder at Adler. He was in his office. His expression very grave. Sims followed her gaze.

“Even he doesn’t work 24/7. Shocking, I know.”

Sims nudged her side encouragingly before going back to his work. Bell pinned the paper on the evidence board, but held on to the keychain.

Why? Because it was Woods’?

She shook the thought from her head as she went to the kitchenette. The coffee pot was empty, as it often was. Just about everyone on the team drank coffee, or tea, round the clock. They had terrorists to hunt, and sleep could wait.

Bell began brewing a fresh pot and leaned against the counter to wait, surveying the Safehouse.

Her eyes landed on Park who sat at a desk nearby listening to recordings- of what Bell was unsure. One hand pressed a headphone speaker to her ear. In her other hand she held a cigarette and a pen, this was poised over an open folder. Occasionally her hand would drop down to jot a note or two in the folder as she listened. Sometimes she would bring her hand to her face to take a drag from the cigarette.

That’s how it was here. A constant chain of cigarettes and cups of caffeine. Not the healthiest lifestyle, but did any of them expect to live long?

Sims was still sorting and cataloging boxes. She could see now that they looked like old radio parts. He had removed his blue MACV-SOG windbreaker and tossed it over a chair. The beaded bracelets on his wrists clacked together as he moved around. And he was humming to himself, though she couldn’t make out the tune.

She couldn’t see Woods, Mason, or Lazar from where she stood, but she could hear them talking in low voices. Or at least as low as any of them talked in casual conversation. Shooting the shit as Woods and Mason were getting ready for their next mission. They were headed straight into Russia. Mount Yamantau. But to hear them talk it was as if it was nothing to them. She knew deep down that they took the job seriously and they maybe the both learned some time ago that a little levity went a long way in this line of work. It would be foolish to mistake their jovial attitudes for a lack of care or professionalism.

Directly across the room from her she could that Adler was still in his office. The door was closed, but the shades were up. He was on the phone, chain-smoking, pacing and generally looking pissed off. His desperation to catch the man who eluded him for so many years was coming to a head.

The coffee pot gurgled loudly through it’s process drawing Bell’s attention to it. Her friend was working his ass off and here she was, taking a break. Letting him down because she couldn’t cut it. She couldn’t figure out some critical puzzle piece. In fact, everyone in this room was waiting on her. The fate of the mission was on her shoulders, and what was she doing? Getting coffee?

She recalled the way Adler had been in Vietnam. Even when things had gotten rough there he was always encouraging. Making the best of things. This was different. He was different.

The faster they caught Perseus, the better it would be.

She’d have her friend again.

Bell shoved her hands in her pockets and debated on whether just to go back to work. She looked down at her boots and kicked the cement floor. Feeling, somewhat unreasonably, disgusted with herself. She heard someone walked up to the coffee pot. The familiar deep gravely voice dragged her from her thoughts.

“Hey, coffee,” Woods said, “Thanks, Bell.”

He reached into the cabinet just next to her and grabbed three mismatched mugs, turning them over and lining them up next to the pot. Woods poured the fresh coffee into the mugs and handed her one.

“You take it black, right?” He asked.

“Yeah,” She said, a little surprised, “Thanks.”

No one really thanked anyone for doing something as mundane as making coffee around here. It was so automatic. She looked at the other two mugs, one for Woods of course, and the other probably for Mason. It was then that she remembered the keychain.

“Hey, Woods?”

She looped the keychain around her middle finger and let it drop so the little figure dangled in the air just below her hand before asking, “What is this?”

“It’s a keych-”

“I know it’s a keychain," Bell said, "But what is it supposed to be? This weird little man-”

“Bubby.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you seriously not know who Bubby is?”

“Well, I saw the bigger version. The talking one at that restaurant-”

“Burger Town,” Woods said as he gave her a curious look. He tilted his head and moved his arms in a gesture of disbelief.

“Bell, do you not know what Burger Town is?”

By this time Park walked over and was filling the electric kettle with water at the sink.

“Not everyone shares your undying love for American fast food, Woods,” Park said over her shoulder.

Woods tipped his mug at her, “I’m sure you’d never be caught dead inside a Burger Town, Park.”

“Got that right,” She replied as she placed the kettle in its base and turned it on. The kettle clicked and hissed as it heated the water. She then walked back to her desk to jot a few more notes down in her notebook.

“Bell,” Woods said drawing her attention away from the kettle. He had a serious look on his face set down his coffee mug and took a stride towards her. To her surprise he took her wrist in his hand. Shaking his head in disappointment he slipped the keychain off her finger.

“I don’t think I can trust you with this. I’m putting it back.” Woods then looped a finger through the handles of both of mugs and picked them up as well. Bell watched him go. It was only when he had disappeared around the corner did she realize that she was holding her hand, the hand he had just touched, to her chest. She quickly dropped it to her side.

Someone cleared their throat. For such a large man Adler had managed to walk up to her without making much noise. He looked down at her over his sunglasses. His expression was smooth. Everything about him was smooth. She had the distinct impression of a giant cat crouched down, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting animal. Have you ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?

“Now that you’re done goofing off with Woods, can you get back to work, Bell?” It wasn’t a question. His was voice measured, but his eyes narrowed. Unconsciously, she took a step back. She felt the strange urge to throw her hot coffee in his face. To run. Alarm bells were ringing in her head and somewhere deep down there was another voice telling her-

In a low voice, Adler said, “We have a job to do.” She felt a cold rush hit her. Her body relaxed while her mind snapped to focus. The feeling of anxiety washed away. In front of her stood her old friend. His expression was soft, not angry. He just wanted to find Perseus.

Of course. Bell couldn’t believe for a moment she had thought there was anything sinister about him.

How ridiculous. “Of course, Adler,” She said and picked up her coffee before heading back to work.

Don’t worry, Adler. I’ll figure this out. I know you’re counting on me. Then everything will be like it was.

It was nighttime when Bell left the Safehouse. Pulling her sweater on she stepped out onto the porch and looked out into the dark field the team used for a parking lot. It wasn’t too cold out, even for early March, but Bell wrapped her sweater tightly around her all the same. She found it was constantly falling off her shoulders and she had to wonder why she had bought something so ill-fitting.

But she couldn’t actually remember buying it. Or where she even got it.

As soon as she started thinking about it in any detail the dull ache in her head returned. A clear sign to her that she was just overworked. Of course she had bought it. She just couldn’t recall where at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Maybe after this mission she would take it easy for a while. Use some vacation time and catch up on sleep.

A soft breeze blew across the lot. The cool air helped to soothe her.

At least she had finally managed to crack the code on the paper tonight. However, she still wasn’t sure how it connected to the rest of the evidence. It felt like even with her best efforts she was only inching forward. And it was only more frustrating when she realized she couldn’t recall the last time she ate. The last time she drank anything that wasn’t coffee. Bell knew she wasn’t taking care of herself the way she should be.

Working on very little sleep, going home, and almost passing out on her bed still fully clothed, smoking the stress away- she wasn’t sure how long she could manage it. But whatever Perseus whatever he was plotting, they needed to get ahead of it, or things were going to get bad. Her health could wait.

Bell lit a cigarette and stepped out into the parking lot. Leaning on Adler’s car, she smoked and enjoyed the peaceful darkness of the night.

The pain in her head was subsiding, though she knew it was only temporary. She needed to eat. Bell placed her cigarette between her lips, freeing her hands. She yanked on her hair tie and pulled out her ponytail. Running her fingers through her hair she shook it out and rubbed at the pressure points along her skull.

“Ugh, my head. Stupid ponytail,” She groaned.

The sound of a lighter clicking drew her attention. She peered into the darkness ahead and saw Woods astride a motorcycle. He was lighting a cigarette and his face was briefly illuminated by the small flame.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Bell said.

“Yeah,” Woods said and shrugged, “You looked like you needed a minute to yourself. Didn’t want to bug you.

Then he added. “You get enough from Adler anyway.”

She opened her mouth to say something in Adler’s defense, but stopped. Instead she walked over to Woods, curious about the motorcycle. She hadn’t seen it in the parking lot before. But then again Woods had been in Kiev up until yesterday.

“Cool motorcycle.”

“Thanks,” He said flashing her a grin, “I’m borrowing it from a friend.”

A moment of silence settled over them. Bell would have liked to talk to him, but she didn’t really have anything to say beyond their work. And she wasn’t interested in talking about that.

Woods was looking out at the road just ahead. He seemed like he was thinking something over and he took a long drag from his cigarette.

“So, Bell,” He started, “I can’t quite let go of the fact that you’ve never had Burger Town before.”

It definitely was not what she would have expected him to say.

“You-“ She paused before repeating him, “can’t let that go?”

He looked her over like he was assessing her. Sizing her up. Like he didn’t know what to make of her.

“No,” He finally said, “Doesn’t sit right with me. Everyone needs to understand the joys of greasy fast food.”

A wide grin spread across his face. Bell wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“Sounds appealing,” She said with a flat voice. With the way she felt, junk food wouldn’t have been her first choice.

“Look, it’s a nice night, and I was going for a ride anyway,” Woods said as he gestured ahead.

“Do you want to come?” He asked.

Bell considered it. She hadn’t been looking forward to going home and making dinner. Not with the way she was feeling. This would be easy and a nice change of pace.

And if she was being honest, spending some time with Woods away from everyone else, sounded pretty good.

At the same time she felt the pull of her work. Something was telling her to head back inside. She had the uncanny feeling that if she did turn around Adler would be in the window watching for her. That disapproving look on his face.

There she was goofing off with Woods again.

Adler’s voice sounded in her head like a radio playing in the back of her mind.

Get back to work, Bell We have terrorists to catch. We’ve got a jo-

She shook his voice from her mind.

“It’s that important to you?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s important.”

“Well, if it’s not important,” Bell said with a shrug.

Woods sighed and picked up his bike helmet holding it out to her. She took it in her hands. Her image, or rather a shadow of her as it was too dark to pick up much detail, reflected in the surface.

It’s how she felt. A shadow of herself. Working herself so hard she was barely even sure she was alive.

“Come on, Bell. Live a little.”

The static in her head had quieted at the sound of his voice. It was like he knew the right words to say. It was a little curious to her why Woods was pushing. No one else seemed concerned or interested about what she did as long as she was working.

Was he really just this passionate about his favorite fast joint? Or maybe this was just his way of getting to know a new teammate. Couldn’t hurt to go especially since they would be continuing to work together.

“Fuck it.” She said softly. Bell took the helmet from him and hopped on the bike.

“All right, hold on,” Woods said.

And before she could do anything, he grabbed her hands and placed them around him.

“I’m not scraping you off the side of the road.”

After some time they pulled into Burger Town. It felt to Bell like Woods may have taken a longer route than necessary. There wasn’t much open road in West Berlin and surely if it was so popular there would be more than one Burger Town location inside the city. So by her judgement they should have reached one sooner. Bell dismounted the bike and handed Woods the helmet.

“Only Burger Town in the city?”

“Wanted a ride, took the scenic route.”

Good enough for her. The ride had been fun so she wasn’t about to complain.

Bell turned towards the brightly lit building. There was a slightly smaller statue of the Burger Town mascot, Bubby, outside to greet customers as they walked in.

She studied his face. His green eyes seemed to follow her wherever she moved. It was as if he would come alive at any moment.

Friend or foe, Bubby?

The one in the Soviet facility had spouted communist propaganda. She wasn’t even sure if this one could talk.

Bell leaned back to look over the entire building. It wasn’t freestanding, but the facade and the interior looked the same.

“Looks so much like the one we saw in the simulation,” Bell said as Woods walked up to join her.

“Yeah, except no Soviet soldiers to contend with.”

Hopefully.

Woods patted one of the outdoor picnic tables.

“You hang out here. I’m gonna go order. Don’t wander off, or Adler’ll kill me.”

Bell rolled her eyes and hopped onto the table. She moved to light a cigarette but realized Woods was still looking at her. It seemed like he was expecting her to confirm that she actually wasn’t going to wander off.

“Where do you think I’m going to go?” She said, laughing a little in disbelief.

Instead of responding, Woods just shook his head and chuckled to himself as he walked towards the restaurant. Bell turned her head and watched him. He tapped the Bubby statue with the flat of his hand before stepping inside.

Bell braced her hand on the table and leaned back looking up into the night’s sky. She didn’t know what to make of Woods. He projected a certain level of toughness, which was expected. His beard and his style of dress seemed to send the message that he was’t someone to mess with.

But at the same time of all the people she had interacted with at the Safehouse, he was the only one who didn’t seem to be holding her at arm’s length. Well, him and Mason. She would have thought, given their reputation, they would be tougher, intimidating.

Hell even mean.

But they had surprised her. Woods especially. Formidable in the field, a good and capable leader, but at the same time able to shamelessly get excited over something as simple as fast food.

Isn’t that healthier? With a job as hard as his, isn’t a little levity necessary?

She blew a puff of smoke into the air and looked up at the stars. A vague memory of a little dog floated up in her mind—a dog in the stars.

A bag landed next to her causing her to start.Bell turned as Woods hopped up on the table next to her.

“You couldn’t just hand it to me like a normal person?” She asked, lazily flicking her cigarette butt away.Woods narrowed his eyes at her, “You’re one to talk about being normal.”

Bell picked up the bag and carefully opened it.

“Hmm,” She peered inside, “It smells good.”

“What did you expect?” Woods was opening his own bag.

“With you? I can’t be sure.”

He chuckled, “Probably a good policy.”

Then he handed handed her a drink cup. The cup was freezing.

“What’s this?” She asked, pulling up her sleeve to wrap it around the cold drink.

“It’s a milkshake-” Woods began.

“Oh, I love these!” Bell interrupted, her eyes lighting up. Woods gave her a surprised look, but she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.

“Can’t remember the last time I bought someone a milkshake,” Woods said with a grin.

“Oh! Did people really do that in the 50s?” Bell asked as she unwrapped a straw and stabbed into the hole in the lid of the milkshake.

“How do you know about that?” Woods asked, giving her a puzzled look, “How do you not know about this Burger Town, but you know that?”

“I saw it in a movie on TV-” Bell started, but this time Woods cut her off.

“Don’t start singing. All those movies had singing in them,” He rolled his eyes, “Besides, I wasn’t a teenager in the 50s.”

Bell drank from her straw and studied him for a moment.

“Old man,” She said finally, grinning around her straw, Woods pointed a french fry at her.

“What was that kid?”

Bell rolled her eyes and looked away from him out into the street.A car drove up and parked right next to Woods’ motorcycle. Pop music blared from the speakers. A group of teenagers hopped out and headed into the restaurant. Though one stayed behind and leaned on the car. He lit a cigarette. They had left the windows rolled down and the engine running so the music kept on playing. It was loud enough that they could hear it from where they sat. It was a familiar tune, but the lyrics were a little odd.

Bell was surprised to see Woods tapping his foot to the beat.

“Didn’t take you for a pop music fan.”

“You spend a lot of time driving you kind of have to like a variety of music, you know?” He said with a shrug, “Anyway it’s catchy.”

Bell could agree with that.

Then she grunted and grabbed the bridge of her nose. Her head had begun pounding again.

“Brain freeze? You’re drinking that thing too fast,” Woods said, “Anyway you should eat something, your burger is getting cold.”

Grabbing the bag between them he handed it to her. Bell wasn’t sure if her head pain was from the cold milkshake or not. But he was right, she did need to eat.

She took out the burger and folded the bag in her lap. Then with great care she peeled back the wrapping on the burger as if it were something delicate. Finally, she took a bite.

It was so good it surprised her. The bun fluffy and sweet. The burger patty itself a bit smoky. Just a little charred on the outside but nice and juicy on the inside. There was also a tangy sauce that complimented the meat well. Not quite mayo and not quite ketchup. And she was certain there were some vegetables in there somewhere. Nothing like farm fresh veggies advertised in the pictures on the menu of course. But a little limp lettuce and a sad tomato didn’t detract from the experience.

Maybe Woods was onto something. Or maybe she was just hungry.

She took a few greedy bites of the burger.

God she really was hungry.

“Ok ok, slow down!” Woods chuckled, “You ever eat?”

Bell looked sheepishly at the remains of the burger in her hand.

Instead of responding to his question she said, “Thanks Woods, it’s nice to do something- something different.”

“What do you mean?” Woods questioned her. His brow was furrowed as he asked, “Don’t you- I thought you, Sims, and Adler were old pals. Don’t you ever- I don’t know, go for beers or anything?”

“This mission is different. Adler is so focused.”

Bell took another bite then set her burger back down on the paper bag in her lap and debated continuing her thought. She brought a crumpled thin napkin to her mouth, dabbing at whatever food debris might be on her face, while she chewed away and considered things. It would be nice to tell someone what had been bothering her. Let it all out. But she didn’t know Woods like that, they had only just met.

Bell briefly glanced at Woods, who gave her a curious look. Something about it seemed to say she could trust him. That he didn’t mind listening to whatever she had to say.

Is that why he took her out here? Maybe he saw it too? Or at least sensed it. A good leader would notice something was wrong, right?

She looked back out in front of them to the street. The teenagers had bought their food and left. And a new car was pulling into the vacated spot.

“I feel like he’s keeping me at arm’s length,” She said finally, keeping her voice low, “Sims is friendlier, but I think he’s still following Adler’s lead.”

“Oh,” Was Woods’ only response. He sounded surprised. They both let that hang in the air for a moment. Neither saying anything.

It seemed to her like Woods was giving her room to talk if she wanted it. And she did want it. She wanted to talk to someone about how she felt. Holding it all in her head was making her feel like she was crazy. But at the same time talking to someone else about Adler, about her friend, felt like she was being disloyal to him.

After all, shouldn’t she at least try to talk to Adler about it? Why did she feel like she couldn’t?

“Look if you ever want to talk about it. Doesn’t have to be now…” Woods trailed off. She knew what he meant, he was leaving the door open to her.

Bell nodded. Then she chuckled to herself.

“He’s gonna be so pissed,” She said by way of explanation.

“Adler?”

“Yeah,” She said with a sigh, “He wants me to just focus on this mission. It’s like he thinks I’m-” Bell paused, thinking over her words. Then she looked at Woods and shrugged before continuing.

“I don’t know. He thinks I can see things differently. He doesn’t want me distracted. You know what I mean?”

And there she was, unloading, just a little. She sighed, it felt so nice in the moment to just say it. Just let it out.

Bell studied Woods’ face for his reaction. He had invited her to talk to him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d believe what she said. Woods ran his fingers through his dark hair, the movement drawing her eyes up. She hadn’t noticed before how in the midst of the thick black hair there were little bits of white mixed in. The white was especially prominent by his temples. He even had a few streaks in his beard. It was such a stark contrast she wasn’t sure how she had missed it.

His blue eyes were fixed ahead, he must have been thinking through what she said.

“Adler’s pretty intense. But even for him, that’s-” He stopped short as if he just realized something, “Shit, Bell, I didn’t want to make things tense between you two. You wanna head back?”

“No,” Bell said with a shrug, “He’s going to be mad no matter what at this point.”

She took a bite of burger and chewed slowly, thinking.Then she nudged him in the arm, saying, “Anyway, it’s worth it.”

Woods blinked at her then his face broke out in a grin.“So, you like the food?” He asked hopefully.

“And the company.”

She nudged him, again and he chuckled softly. They ate their last bites of food in silence. Bell shoved the burger wrapper back in the bag. Woods hopped off the table and took the bag from her crushing it into a tiny ball and tossing it into the trash.

They walked the few feet to the motorcycle and Woods unlocked the tail box to grab his helmet. He handed it to Bell and shoved his hands in his pockets. When he looked at her again his brow was furrowed.

“Say, Bell. I was wondering, how did you get to Vietnam-”

That was not what she had been expecting.

“Do you really want to trade war stories?” She asked as she fitted the helmet over her head and secured the chin strap.

He kicked the sole of his shoe across the sidewalk, then seeming to make his mind up about something hopped on the bike.

“Nah,” He said finally, “Not really.”

July 1981

Something was off. The worn mattress, stained and smelling vaguely of mildew was somehow worse than it had been the last time she woke up on it. Even with it’s ancient springs that poked out of the thinner sections of fabric, those rusty prongs that somehow hadn’t yet given her tetanus, something that had already been the bare minimum of better than sleeping on cold concrete was now inexplicably worse.

Bell was awake now, but did not open her eyes. She breathed in and coughed as tiny fibers of mattress entered her dehydrated throat. Her jaw ached in protest at the movement. Bell groaned and her jaw ached again.

She was on her belly, sleeping at an angle, her entire right arm and shoulder hanging off the edge of the mattress. The back of her hand and her forearm were touching the cold floor. For a moment she thought she couldn’t feel them. The tips of her fingers were so cold she thought they had gone numb. But they hadn’t as she was able to brace them on the ground and lift herself up.

The blanket that had been draped across her- who the hell would even bother to do that- slipped to the floor. She shivered. By her own measurements she could guess it was summer but this place seemed determined to retain the damp and cold.

And she looked up to the single window in her cell, high up on the ceiling, grated, but open, exposing the room to the elements. A drain sat on the floor beneath it to collect rainwater. How she hadn’t caught pneumonia yet was a mystery to her.

She felt the heaviness in her head of lying in one unsupported position all night. Her lower back felt stretched out in the wrong way. Her chest ached like she had been punched.

She curled her legs under her body and dragged the threadbare blanket off the floor as she wrapped it around herself again. With her right hand she massaged her ice-cold toes, her fingers occasionally running over the soft bare nail beds. The feeling of her missing toenails was unsettling and still caused her to shiver. She pushed them from her mind and looked around sorting through the events again in her mind. They must have drugged her. Again.

And that’s how she hadn’t noticed, until this very moment, that they had taken her bedframe.

Bell looked over the mattress. A new dark stain had blossomed over the spot where her head had just been. A vague memory came back to her, the origin of pain in her jaw. She touched her face and with a fingernail chipped away at the thin crust of blood that had settled over her chin.

A realization pushed through her drug-hazed brain and panic thrilled through her. She shoved her finger in her mouth, feeling around, just to be sure. And she relaxed when she found that amazingly all her teeth seemed to be intact. The kick seemed to have only skimmed over her jaw, probably cutting her lip, thus the blood. She didn’t know how they would manage a broken tooth here, but she could imagine that they wouldn’t have the patience or the skill of a practiced dentist. And even if they did they would go for the most painful option anyway. Bell hadn’t been the most cooperative of prisoners.

She rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. The pressure at least helped to mitigate the ache for a time. Then bracing a hand against the wall behind her, she stood up. Bell fell back into the wall again but was able to just catch herself with her hands.

“Too fast,” She muttered to herself.

Bowing forward slightly to keep the lightheadedness at bay, she once again rose onto her feet. The mattress squeaked in protest, and she walked the long way off of it so she could keep her hand braced on the wall.

The head rush caused the ache in her jaw to throb and send little shocks to the nerve endings across various points in her face.

It had been worth it. She couldn’t recall exactly what lead up to her being kicked in the face, but at a certain point in her stay she realized she might die here. And she made up her mind to make her captor’s lives hell as much as she could until then.

The bed frame had been part of a poorly devised escape plan.

Had it worked it would have been something. And she would be miles away trying to figure out her next steps.

Anyway what does a person with no friends in the world and about six months total of real memories do with freedom?

Where would she go? Well she and-

Bell shook her head. She needed to take things one at a time. First escape, then figure out what to do. Even a carefully laid plan could have some hiccups. She had been down here for months without a clue what was happening outside. Her face could be plastered over every newspaper and post office in the world. That was the consequences of being a part of a plot to blow up a quarter of it.

No no, neutron bomb, remember? Organic material.

Just the people.

Monster.

She sighed and leaned against her hand still braced on the wall. Her fingers curled over the pockmarked concrete. Her empty stomach churned as the acid inside it threatened to rise up her dry throat. She coughed.

“Don’t vomit,” She ordered herself. She had nothing to vomit, it would just be burning acidic mucus and make her feel worse rather than better.

But her stomach did seem to settle. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks and fell from her face and staining the concrete by her nailless toes. Bell pulled her dirty shirt over her face to wipe her cheeks and her nose before pushing off the wall and staggering over to the opposite end of the room.

She pressed the palms of her hands into the wall while she carefully and slowly kneeled. She felt around the floor for a suitable sharp piece of broken concrete. Finding one, she stood again and studied the growing collection tiny marks she had made on the wall as she tried to remember where she left off.

Did it really matter?

Bell ran her fingers over the grooves. Some of the paint around them flaked off and disintegrated when it hit the ground.

Based on the amount of marks she could just about guess it was July. But hell it could be August for all she knew. Between the drugging and all the games they played she could be missing whole days.

She placed her forehead against a clean patch of wall letting the cold concrete soothe her aching head.

How much of her life had slipped away from her?

She couldn’t focus on it. Bell closed her eyes and tried to push it from her mind.

With her mind nearly blank, a song she had heard, maybe once or twice, in the short period of her life that she remembered came to mind. It was amazing how she could be made to forget a lifetime, but an earworm would always stay an earworm.

“Wasting all my time-“ Bell sung into the wall, her voice cracking at the last word.

She firmly, placed her hand on the wall and carved a line into it, starting a new row of tics.

The song continued to run through her head. It was like she was there again. In her tiny collection of memories there were only a select few that she would have described as happy. And even those were tainted now weren’t they?

She raised her fist and slammed it against the wall. More paint flaked away turning into dust on the ground. Bell turned and leaned against the wall.

Then she slid her back down the wall to sit on the floor.

What motivation did she have to keep going?

What was the point of her being here when she could have easily just died on that cliffside? She looked to the window where she could just see the waxing moon in the sky.

Bell shook her head.

“No,” She whispered to herself.And then she recited the same lines she recited every night for the past few months. Words that Adler had embedded in her head, like the song, played as if on repeat.

If I am captured, I will continue to resist by any means available.I will make every effort to escape.

Those words drove her forward. Kept her on her feet. She rolled the concrete stone between her fingers.

Bell smiled and rested her head against the wall again. Maybe the means to Adler’s destruction.

“I know what I’ll do if I get out,” She whispered to the room, “I’ll fucking kill them.”

Tomorrow she would try again.

Tomorrow she would escape.

#call of duty #cod bell #fanfic #frank woods #alex mason #helen park #russell adler #eleazar azoulay #lawrence sims #jason hudson #cod cold war #frank woods x bell #efing fanfics #efingfanfics #my art #myart

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fbfh · 3 years

Text

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#leo valdez x reader #leo x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez imagine #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader

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akvtsuki-ari · 4 years

Text

Around Your Neck

Warning: smut, unprotected sex/creampie, post!prison reid, fingering, oral both recieving, throatfucking, slapping, bruises idk??

Length: 4.8k

Authors note: you know that tiktok audio that goes “whats wrong with you?,” over and over again. thats how writing this fic made me feel. based loosely after a conversation me and my wife @pastanest had sdkjhjkef and that gifset of spencer with that gold chain on that has me so tight. so disrespectful...

Edit: heres the gifset!!!

Plot Summary: Prison changed Spencer. That damn chain around his neck made sure you remembered.

Spencer Reid was… different after prison. It was something about him when he left, like a part of him was always far away somewhere when you spoke to him. He was fractured it seemed like - even though he was saving lives everyday there always seemed to be something on his mind. He was still Spencer of course, still sweet-talking and soothing when he needed to be. He never lost that odd charm about him and after those first few months he grew back to be more comfortable in his own skin but there was just something there. Something on the back of his mind that he seemed to be handling alone.

You’d been with Spencer for a while before he went to jail, a few years and other traumatic events later - you had an idea of how Spencer dealt with pain and difficulty. He liked to let things sit and stir inside of him for a long time before he lets it show - then he gets snappy and mean for a bit after that till he sorta just breaks. In many ways, when something bad happened to Spencer you sorta just knew what things would be like for a bit, but no matter how many times he slipped you caught him. When he got shot and nearly died twice, you were there right next to him - making sure that he was going to be okay. That's just what you did, to say you were Spencers ride-or-die would be an understatement. You gave him whatever he needed, whether that be some tough love or being pampered for a few days straight.

Spencer knew that about you, and even before prison he had this affinity for you that always made sure you knew how much he adored you. He wanted you to know that he only ever had eyes for you and that he was beyond grateful for how patient you seemed and how loving you were to him. Spencer made sure he never stopped chasing you before he went to prsion. He bought you flowers, supported you when you switched careers, and generally made sure he returned the favor in loving you but he was always chasing you still. Part of it was out of disbelief that someone could love him like that, but the other part was out of insecurity. You always told him you were always his, but he never seemed to believe you.

Prison changed a lot of things for Spencer, but that thing about him chasing you was what changed most. Spencer was always possessive in his own right, but he wasn’t jealous necessarily. He just wanted to make sure you were okay and that no one was fucking with you or bothering you. It didn’t bother him before if you talked and flirted with Luke, or if some guy was hitting on you because you were normally so adamantly rejecting it. He wasn’t someone who was particularly upset about not having claimed you as his - before he didn’t really care.

For the longest time you didn’t really notice just how much Spencer had actually changed how he acted towards you - mostly because he was still really sweet to you. It wasn’t like he was treating you any worse, or necessarily any better. It was honest to God, just different, more.. something. You don’t wanna use the word aggressive because Spencer isn’t the aggressive type. Spencer was calculated, and he could be angry sometimes but not often. He didn’t have a shorter fuse - hell, you could argue that prison made him more patient since he was often just lying in wait.

The best way to describe it is probably just more confident, really. He was assertive about you being his and his tolerance for crude jokes that came your way was a lot lower. Most of the time, at least before, he’d let shit slide if it was too small. Nowadays though, if he even catches something bothering you he steps in - always finding the small of your back and pulling you closer to him like he was keeping you close to protect you. He doesn’t curse them out or get angry, just stares at them with a blank expression that's arguably more intimidating.

You were a flirt by nature, too. You were never trying to flirt with people, but you’re one for flattery and compliments so it sure can be read that way. You loved receiving the same energy so when you did your jokes and compliments would increase ten-fold. It doesn’t bother Spencer because he knows you’re just being silly but before, he didn’t mind if the other person was serious because he knew that you’d never continue like that. Now though, when someones dropping any lines your way he’ll tell them to leave you alone no question, unconcerned about any consequence or even if that person could beat Spencer's ass. Spencer wasn’t concerned about strength like he used to be - and when you asked him about why that was he simply shrugs.

“I’ll play dirty if it gets there,”

Those were all small details but there were so many of them that it was starting to pile up and draw you to interesting conclusions. Sex was also a clear example of change. The first time the two of you had sex when he came back from prison was relatively the same, but you could tell he was holding something back. For the longest time, you didn’t really know what until it was the heat of the moment and Spencer wrapped his hands around your throat and ask if he could choke you - something that you’d ask for previously that he was rather unsure about doing. It was the way Spencer's eyes looked into your eyes when he did it, the way his fingers curled almost carelessly around your delicate neck - so instinctively as if the whole endeavor was so natural. When he lets you go and kisses you - you’re more than into it but you can’t help but wonder where his desire came from. You didn’t really mind how Spencer got when he was like that but damn, you couldn’t say you saw it coming.

The more you thought about it, the more it became clear to you that Spencer has changed a whole lot more than you understood initially, but maybe the last straw was when you made a sorta silly joke about the necklace worn around his neck after prison. It was a thin gold chain, for the most part tucked underneath his clothes when he went to work. He said in many cultures gold is a symbol for blessing and spirituality and he wanted to keep that with him, and that a lot of other people in prison wore gold chains. You made some stupid joke that if he were gonna wear it all the time - he should at least have your name around his neck. You knew stuff like that wasn’t really Spencer thing so when you’d said it, even though it was pretty hot, you were mostly just joking.

It’d been a few weeks since then. Spencer had a case that needed his attention and you were at the bullpen with Penelope waiting for everyone's arrival. You were nearly bursting from anticipation, a busy case that made you particularly clingy and had you missing Spencer more than you can explain. There everyone was, walking through the doors when Spencer walks through and wraps you up in his arms. Spencer picks you up and spins you around for a few seconds before giving you a small smile. You just hug him again, noticing the cool metal on your skin when you do. You pull back before Spencer speaks and look down - his chains never had a pendant before

There it was. Your name, hangin around his neck like it was nothing. Spencer was sporting it with a more casual version of what he normally wears, which was basically just no tie. A white shirt and blazer, and your name around his neck. You try your very best to ignore the heartbeat in your jeans while your fingers went up carefully to touch it. Spencer gives a coy smile, watching the way your eyes look at it so hazy. Just like he wanted. He places his hand on top of yours, seeing your pretty eyes flick up to meet his. You can barely contain yourself - the chain around his neck always brought you to some interesting places but to see your name - your fucking name, around his neck so casually brought you somewhere rather interesting.

“Um - nice necklace,” you squeak out. Spencer laughs brightly, his arms circling around your waist as you bury your face in his chest instinctively . You can feel the way his laugh reverberates and you just whine in annoyance.

“I’m glad you liked it, might be a little awkward otherwise,” Spencer jokes. It was your turn to giggle, Spencer left terribly endeared by the sound.

“You ready to head home, doctor?,” you say softly. Spencer nods, taking your hand as you lead the way and feeling his heart burst out of his chest, grateful to have you on him always.

You guess that Spencer buying your name as a pendant on his chain was really what set you off in realizing just how possessive he was. He didn’t take it off around the house, walking around your shared apartment shirtless with it on at all times. He’d play with it constantly, fingers brushing the smooth metal while he was doing something a little mindless or that required his focused attention. It was driving you nuts, the image of Spencers chain hanging in your face was already one you returned to a lot but - now that your name was there it made the stakes of such a situation so much higher.

Spencers just sitting and reading the paper when you finally are fed up. He always liked reading the actual newspaper, claims there's nothing quite as good but you’re tired of… well, you’re not sure what you were tired of but you knew you needed his attention asap before you lost your marbles for good. You walk over to him, moving the newspaper carefully out of his hands and folding it before sitting across his lap and crossing your arms. Spencer laughs loudly, especially as you take his arms and wrap them around your waist. Spencer just gives you a quirked eyebrow, a questioning look. You shake your head, because you’re honestly kind of unsure for what you’re asking for - you just wanted something. Dick, maybe.

You give Spencer a look as you take his chain around your fingers again and play with it’s pendant. He already knows why you’re here, but he decides to let you figure it out. He knew before that you were the submissive type, but his response to that changed in prison. He carried that picture of you with him everyday, looked at it for hours sometimes so he could sleep - and it pissed him off when people would see it and talk about you. Spencer missed a lot of things outside of jail but you were number one - your love and affection of course, but there were other things too. Prison made Spencer particular about his possessions, that picture of you was one of the few things that was his and his alone. He didn’t let anyone go as far as touch that picture, so when he saw you again that possession just carried over. He didn’t really care, especially since it didn’t seem to bother you. Prison made Spencer realize how much he really cared for his possessions, books, chess boards, you - all things he already cared about but became a lot more particular after the fact.

Spencer just knows. When you sit on his lap, all he can picture is him out in the yard but instead of isolated and paranoid, he’s with you by his side giving him all the restraint in the world. He’d be damned if he let anyone take that from him. You give Spencer a look he can’t explain, there's a certain innocence written on your face that makes Spencer's chest hot. His hand sits between your bare thigh as you sit on his lap, and the second you look down on it, you seem to get the clue. Spencer grips your thigh, eyes following the way yours move to try and make sense of what's happening. Your eyes are fluttery, as your head twists to meet Spencers, the two of you nose to nose. Spencer just gives you a smile, before looking down at your lips then right back up to you. You blush.

“You’re close,” you say, not knowing what else to do. Spencer chuckles.

“Would you like me to move?,” Spencer asks politely. You shake your head.

“No,” you say stubbornly. Spencer licks his lips for a second before smiling again.

“Okay. Then, what would you like me to do?,” Spencer says, holding back a laugh. Your eyes fixate on his lips when he talks, and you scrunch your face up.

“Kiss me,” you mumble. Spencer grins ear to ear.

“Say please,” Spencer replies, leaning in as his lips brush onto yours. He pulls away before you can kiss and you sigh.

“Please,” you manage out meekly.

Spencer pushes air out of his nose before he does just that. His lips are smooth, stubble touching your smooth skin as your hand moves to one side of his face. Spencer smiles into the kiss, feeling the way you melt into him. The moments before things get heated is fast, Spencer's hands underneath your shirt as his tongue slides between your lips. He kisses you slowly, patiently but that’s not quite what you want. You give him a whine, but he shows the same attitude. You keep kissing like that for a while, moving yourself to straddling Spencer's lap before using your teeth to lightly tug on Spencer's bottom lip. He gives you a small groan and you return it with a noise of approval. Spencer pulls back to look at you, his eyes telling you to be careful but his body language betraying him. You can feel the tent in Spencer pants as you weigh yourself down on his lap.

“Don’t hold back,” you ask, hoping it’s the right thing. Spencer gives you a weary look.

“Are you sure?'' Spencer asks. You nod, eyes looking into his.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for go,” you say repeating your safewords to him. Spencer gives you a kiss on the forehead, both for remembering your safeword but as an assurance. He’d never really been rough with you - he was a soft dom at heart and wouldn’t go as far as hurting you. You just give him a pleading look - you wanted him to be rough with you, bruise and mark you, just for a little while. The idea made your skin flush, but who was Spencer to deny you of such a request. Spencer nods softly, leading you to the bedroom.

Spencers the first to close the door, pushing you up against as he lifts one of your legs up and kisses you slowly - fingers pressing into your thighs as Spencers tongue toys with yours. He always kisses you like that, slowly but surely introducing as much of himself to you as possible - his erections pressed against you when he does. The sound that leaves your mouth is a cross between a whimper and a moan - a broken sound that makes Spencer a little more eager. He smiles when you make, giving you a look of surprise but you don’t have anything to say. Spencer smiles down at you.

“Go lay down for me,” Spencer requests. You just nod as you get comfortable on the bed - watching Spencer take off his grey sweatpants and boxers, the chain still around his neck. Your eyes follow his figure, landing on his erection before widening. Spencer just chuckles at you - signalling for you to take your shirt off which you do with no question. You watch his eyes as the rack themselves over your figure, panties forbidding the rest of you from being on display. Spencer walks towards the bed, pulling your legs over the edge as he kneels between them. You yelp at the sudden move, but quickly settle up again.

One thing is for certain, Spencer always wants to make you feel good first. It didn’t really matter what headspace he was in - whether or not he was super dominant like he was today or if he was super submissive like he was when he was stressed. His touch is careful, your legs over his shoulders pull him closer instinctively but he doesn’t seem to mind. He merely pushes your panties to the side before he eats you out, kissing your clit to be gentlemanly. His tongue is careful at first, experimental lickes before he lays his tongue flat - with a soft rhythm, slowly increasing his pace to your pleasure. He gets you close like that, pausing for a few seconds on moving before sucking softly on you, making you twitch your legs. Spencers careful about this part, his speed only testament to how much he can push you, the knot in your stomach carefully being undone as Spencer continues.

“Can I cum, please?,” your voice scrapes the surface as you ask. Spencer is busied with his mouth but he hums - feeling you unravel as your orgasm hits you with astonishing impact. Spencer feels the way you pulsate on his tongue, humming again so you feel that little vibration that sends your hands in Spencer's hair to pull you off. You’re trying to catch your breath as you finish, Spencer still adamantly eating you - making your body shiver with pleasure. He holds your hips down for a few minutes like that. You don’t really want to argue with him but you’re unsure how much you can handle as he makes you cum for the second time, a small wave of pleasure brushing against your spine as cum for the second time. When Spencer pulls away from you, orgasm covers his lips and manages to get onto his stubble. He gives you a light smile as he leans up to kiss you, hands holding your thighs as he does. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

“Do you think you can handle letting me fuck your throat?,Spencer asks. You give him a look of surprise, trying to remember if you still had any cough drops before nodding - more than eager to let him do that if that's what he wanted to do. You just nod, ready to get on your knees before Spencer stops you in your tracks.

“I wanted to do it while you were laying down, you know,” Spencer says, voice unsure. You’re surprised but you just shrug, laying down, your head back on the edge of the bed. It weird to see everything upside down like this, so you just shut your eyes and open your mouth up. Spencers cock twitches at the site of you laid back for him like this, pushing past your lips a lips a bit, feeling your tongue along his tip. You pat Spencers leg, letting him know you were comfortable to let him go further, feeling his length push past your throat. You let your throat relax, gripping your thumb as Spencer buries himself nearly fully in you. His fingers find the column of your neck, brushing the bulge in your throat which makes it hard for him to contain himself. Spencers fucks your throat slowly, carefully not to push you too hard even though you were more than ready for it. You steadied yourself, the other hand in your underwear rubbing your clit to the feeling Spencer fucking you like this.

“You’re so pretty with me down your throat like this,” Spencer comments. You moan around his length, letting him know he’s free to continue.

“Prison made me think of all the things I could be doing to you, fucking you like you were the only thing I thought about all day. Maybe because you were,” Spencer laughs when he speaks, his hands reaching down to toy with your nipples, his fingers carefully twisting them, relishing the way you writhe under his touch. You tighten your throat around Spencers length causing him to jerk into your throat - sorta how you planned for this to go anyway. Spencers expression changes as he watches you take all of him in, his hand lightly around your neck, maybe too turned on by how the air leaves your lungs. When you pull out, spit covers your face and chin - but you just give Spencer a thumbs up and a smile, not phased at all. Spencer didn’t think he could be anymore in love with a person, yet here he was.

Spencer helps you sit back up, sitting for a few moments to readjust to the world around you. Spencer cups your jaw, pulling your face to look at him - giving you the most adoring eyes like you didn’t just take his dick all the way down your throat, well that may be the reason why. Spencer leans down to kiss your forehead, hands around the base of your neck as he does.

“Good girl,” Spencers use of that phrase is spare, only using it when he really meant it. It fills you with a certain intensity you weren’t expecting, your throat already a little sore from the endeavor. You give Spencer a small hum of approval.

“Thank you, Sir,” The honorific makes Spencer's heart ache. Spencer was a soft dom, which mostly meant that in bed you called him by his name. Sir was a sometimes thing, like when he got rough on the occasion. Sir was earned, just liked good girl was.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl,” Spencer asks. You do as you're told, arching your back completely for Spencer without questions. Spencer admires you, running your hands over the curves of your body, admiring the little wet spot that forms on your slit for him, cum running down your legs. Spencer wanted to fuck the shit out of you, wanted to see his cum spill out of you - as filthy as the thought was. You’d always talked about letting him go raw but Spencer was normally too cautious. You getting pregnant was much less of a consequence these days, like if anyone were to carry his baby into the world it’d be you and no one else.

If anyone got to fuck you like that, it needed to be him and no one else. That was one thing Spencer knew was so different. Spencer needed to fuck you like that, raw and shameless just like only he could. Spencers fingers are too curious for his own good, one hand around your waist to play with your clit, and the other posing two fingers inside of you - brushing up against your gspot with ease. You shudder under Spencers touch, getting fingered from the back like this wasn’t what you were expecting but you weren’t upset about it. Spencers voice is warm in your ear.

“You’re gonna have to cum one more time before I even think about fucking you,” Spencer warns. You just nod, chewing your lip as Spencer pads his fingers along you, curling them up for you to feel. He stretches you out comfortably like that, and you’re unable to really think clearly. His mouth works on your neck, biting hickies onto your throat as he does. The bruises are red and pulsating, the dark marks only bound to get darker and more visible as the days pass. Not that Spencer minded, though you did. It was a worry for later though, of course. You cum around Spencer's fingers again, unable to comprehend the level of exhaustion that seemed to come over. Still, you’d be damned if Spencer didn’t fuck you senseless. You tighten around Spencers fingers.

“Spencer, fuck - please, please,” the begging has no particulars. It’s never for anything, instead a mindless response to Spencer and his ability to turn you on this much, to the point it was all you thought about. You were exhausted but all you wanted was for him to cum inside you and make you feel so pliable. You always were, for him anyways.

“Sir - fuck me raw, please,” that last plea was a demand. Spencer groaned into your neck, nodding lightly, no response to your request. His fingers burned bruises into your waist, gripping on to you like he was gonna lose you if he didn’t. That feeling comes at you so quickly you can barely make sense of it, Spencers hands rhythmic in their ability as you convulse, cumming around Spencers calloused fingers and feeling every inch of them in you. You whine in disappointment when he pulls out. He just chuckles, taking his fingers and slipping them between your lips and down the back of your throat. You don’t choke, unsurprising to Spencer really. Saliva coats his fingers which he smears across your lips, just degrading enough for you to giggle.

“Lay on your back from me, I wanna see you,” Spencer doesn’t need to finish his sentence to say that he wants to see how his cum fills you up, such a pretty sight it doesn’t need any words for description.

You lay down, waiting for Spencer who doesn’t wait to get on top of you. That’s when you catch it again - his fucking chain. His name around your neck, hickies from you around his neck just like your name was. Spencer gets on top of you, chain hanging from around neck and all you can think is how fucking badly you needed this man inside of you. The way he had you, feeling this possessive over him made you fucking insane. You knew he’d always keep that chain on, like you were always hanging around his neck anyways but you needed to do more. You wanted to scratch his back up, steal his soul when you gave him head - everything, you wanted to do everything for that man. When he fucks you and you feel all 7inches, stretching you out - cumming inside you like he owned you because he did. So carelessly fucking you, making you cry out his name and now he had your name hanging around his neck. You’d be damned if another person even got near him.

“Say my name when you fuck me,” you request. Spencer groans, slowly doing just as he promised, hitting your cervix before bringing his hips up - ready to fuck the daylights out of you with no question. Your eyes fixated on the jewelry that adorned him as he pounded into you, your voice totally lost to you as you feel his cock pulsate inside of you. He was relentless, the sound of his hips making contact with your backside filling the room with such a filthy sound. It was filthy the way Spencer fucked you. He leans down to you, his chain resting on your chest as he hands move to the side of your face. He wants to hit you, call you his pretty slut before he fills you with his cum. You just flutter your lashes and before he can ask.

“Green,”

Spencer's hands hit the side of your face roughly, the stinging sensation rather pleasing in all reality. Spencer's voice is low, an octave lower and hoarse as he pounds you out like it was nothing.

“You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you baby? Taking all of me in, like it’s easy. What were you doing while I was gone? Bet you were getting ready for me do this to you, weren’t you. Did any of those toys you used feel as good as me,” Spencers words are callous, and degrading but you loved every second of it. You shake your head.

“Nothing was as good as you,” your response was forced out. Spencer laughs, voice tinged with something dark.

“Nothing,” Spencer pushes his hips as far as he can, making you cry out as he reached the edge “Nothing ever will be,” Spencer finished

You tighten yourself around Spencer, looping your legs around his waist to make sure all of him shoots inside you. He finishes with a loud groan, fucking the cum into you a last few times before pulling out. You’re more turned on than you know what to do with so you loop your fingers in Spencer's chain and kiss him, wet and sloppy as he finishes. He presses his forehead to yours as he kisses you, eyes locking with yours as the both you stare at eachother in euphoric post sex glow. Spencer breaks out into a giggle as he comes down, falling into you when he pulls out and you do the same.

“All this because of a chain?,Spencer asks. You just nod, placing a kiss in Spencers messy hair before sighing.

“If you ever date anyone else, I’ll be the person in prison,” you say stubbornly. Spencer just laughs a little bit more, the two of you lying comfortably as Spencer places kisses over some of the hickies he left.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,”

----

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds self insert #sfhajk this fic was interesting to write tbh.#idk how to feel yet #dom!spencer

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