Signal Lost
I've had something happen to me that's so incredible and that I could have never hoped, something so touching and so unbelievable that it made me rethink a whole lot of stuff: a wonderful reader on Ao3 started reading my long-form fic (101k words!!!) and commented basically every chapter after a certain point. And wow, I would have never thought something like this might happen.
And yeah, it is my first fic with plot in it, yeah I will never believe it to be perfect, but it's good enough. And receiving all those emails from Ao3 really was the highlight of my days over the course of which I saw said reader slowly go through all my favorite parts!
And so I wish to give it some spotlight here, while I'm finishing up my school year and work and whatever! I will post this here for now, but I will drop chapters every few days and make a Masterlist for it this weekend. I have too many loose ideas in my head so this is just to pass the time till the brain worms wiggle all in the same direction
So without further ado:
Link to AO3 here : Signal Lost - a John Price x reader fic
----- here's a blurb to pique your interest!
“I don’t think I’ve ever received a document as classified as this one. What am I supposed to do with it, Kate?” he says, dragging his thumb across the pile of papers, each file filled with more ink than the last.
“You asked for proof, there’s your proof,” Laswell says.
“You said you’ll bring someone competent, and who can help us, this doesn’t tell me shit.” He stares blankly at the screen, tired. She stares back.
“The Captain specifically asked to keep this under wraps.”
He rubs at his face, scratching at his beard. It’s getting long again.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
He groans again, picking up the file on top. No photo, no name, no age, no height, weight, no nothing . And he thought Simon was secretive.
“What can you tell me?”
“It’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to him. Did things a particular way.”
He shifts through the papers. “And the discharge?”
“Left after the entire team got wiped out. Messy stuff.”
“That why he doesn’t show his face?” He bends forward, grabbing the cigar from the ashtray and bringing it to his lips.
“John.” Her voice carries a heavy warning.
“Just sayin’,” he says, biting around the cigar with one side of the mouth. “What kinda captain doesn’t go down with his men?”
“Got enough guilt as is. You’re lucky I convinced them.”
They both remain silent. They know the missions would be a slippery slope. One wrong move and a war is started. He puffs a cloud of smoke.
“Anything else?” John asks.
Kate looks to the side, her face illuminated by another screen. He can see her hesitate, her lips are pursed in a thin line as if she’s debating her options.
“You’ve worked together before.”
His face lights up. “Finally! Who?”
Her face immediately hardens back up. “Can’t tell, John, my hands are tied.” She sighs. “You were still a Lieutenant.”
Years ago then. He mentally catalogs everyone he’s ever worked with, but he knows that at that age, he was throwing himself at every available mission, wanting to make a name for himself. “So an old fart then? How’s that gonna help us?” If the guy was a Captain when he was still a Lieutenant, and he felt himself grow old, he can’t imagine who Laswell is bringing back from the dead.
Laswell’s face distorts, he knows he’s pushing her buttons, but he has to know.
“Not older than you John.”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh?”
---
or
returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder.
a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story
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Tags and other CW:
will be posted for each chapter containing warnings for more hardcore stuff (i.e., torture and angst namely), but this is a fanfic, with smut, so if you want all the tags feel free to check the ao3 link bc there are a LOT and I am lazy to retype them all here
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HIIII i LOVE your blog!! could i request a bard reader performing a song in front of the party, and it slowly dawns upon chilchuck that the song is about loving him? 🥺
a way with words
…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader
…tags! fluff, reader is a bit of a poetic shit <3, reader plays a string instrument (envisioned a lute or mandolin but i don’t specify!)
…wc! 1092
…notes! OH MY GODDDD this is so cute. what the hell. we need more bard representation in this got damn dungeon. (i know thistle could technically be one but one in a party i beg)
To me, some parties employ a bard if they plan on going on ‘legendary’ outings into dungeons.
Somebody needs to be there to document their exploits through the written word – how else are legends made?!
You probably stumbled on the party with the intent to write a song of legend. Eating the dragon that ate one of you sounds pretty legendary after all, right?
Safe to say if you’re not exactly humble about your profession you get on the nerves of a certain union man.
Even if your reason for joining the party was… less than virtuous, you did bring a certain joy to the party that they all appreciate.
If journeying is getting tiring, all you need to do is pluck a few strings of your instrument and hum a travelling song.
Sometimes you’d make a little ‘game’ out of it. You know using the drunken sailor melody to make your own songs? Well…
“What shall we do with a big red dragon, earl-ye in the morning!” Your voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon around you. You eye the party around you before your gaze lands on the half-foot seeming disinterested in your performance.
Well, that simply won’t do!
You lunge, dragging him back by the shoulders, eyeing him expectantly. He only gives you a wide-eyed look of surprise for a second before realising everyone is watching. He’d hate to interrupt the song, so…
“Tie it down and eat it for dinner?” he suggests, only guessing the rhythm vaguely. To his surprise, you seem to really like it. You laugh and pick up the music once more to sing his lyric once again.
He has to admit, at least you’re having fun. He doesn’t realise until you reach a stop that he’s been singing along at the end.
I imagine half-foots have a cultural appreciation for music. It’s a big scene! They have drinking songs, travelling songs, work songs… I wouldn’t be surprised if most bards are half-foots!
And Chilchuck is no exception. Have you seen his little jig? Of course he likes music!
He has great hearing so he’ll also pick up on little accents in your music and singing others wouldn’t really get.
If you’re performing a campfire song, Chilchuck will likely join in (especially if he had a bit of drink).
It’s nice. He seemed to be relaxing around you, and you seem to be becoming more of a friend to the party rather than a glorified biographer.
You have to admit that the half-foot has been growing you a considerable amount. What a complex individual. So much to read into and inspire…
It would be one night when you’re on night watch that Chilchuck’s sensitive ears end up waking him up. ..
The half-foot was going to hiss and complain about you being too loud at this time in the night, when he realises you’re playing a melody and mumbling words to yourself.
…Huh. Are you writing a song? Chilchuck tries to remain still with his eyes closed and listens closely. It’s handy having such keen senses sometimes.
He could only pick up a few words; brown, warmth… something about a kind soul?
Chilchuck figures you might be setting up for the party’s “legendary” song. Maybe you’re focusing on Falin. Her hair is a very pale brown, and she’s a kind soul if a bit of a people pleaser.
He rests easy, listening to your gentle plucking of your strings. It’s a different melody from usual… he likes your softer side he can identify through your music.
He never tells you he listened to your little jam sesh. If you knew he’s using your music as a way to fall asleep easier… He can see your smug smile now, and it makes him endlessly frustrated (or flustered rather).
Chilchuck’s feelings are something he never really… knew. They just sort of existed, and he let them. It’s not like anything will happen.
Sure, he gets more red in the face around you… and MAYBE he gets a softer look in his eyes as he looks at you… and perhaps he thinks your singing voice is one of the prettiest sounds he has ever heard…
So what?
It’s a colder night when you take out your instrument and announce you finished writing a song. It took you a long time to complete it, you admit, but you put a lot of heart into it.
A unique starter, the party might think. Usually you write for fun. Specifying putting heart into your music is something that rings an alarm in their heads.
You start playing a melody. It’s a type of sombre, deep sound. It resonates a less folksy mood and something more… personal.
With eyes closed, you don’t notice Chilchuck perking up in familiarity. That’s the tune he heard you playing weeks ago. You only just refined it? At least he can actually hear what the words are.
Your eyebrows are furrowed as you sing about a character that has a kind soul, with deep brown eyes. His warmth is something that you find yourself wanting to bathe in once a journey ends. Chilchuck listens with a small smile.
It’s only when you start mentioning things like silver strands of hair you wish to weave through your fingers, things start to fall into place. Wringing his hands too often for a well-prepared man is a lyric that is too specific to merely be about some fictional character.
He doesn’t say anything even as he joins in the applause at your finished peace, pretending the heat in his cheeks is from the frosty temperature.
That night, he catches you alone refilling your waterskin. The atmosphere is thick with a kind of calmness.
Where Chilchuck is usually so stubborn, he finds the words escaping his lips in a soft voice.
“Are you in love with me?”
You don’t respond instantly. He expected as such. He follows your form with his eyes as you widen your eyes and glance away with a small laugh.
“Wow. Wasn’t as subtle as I thought,” you dryly tack onto your chuckle.
He laughs along, approaching you. He doesn’t do anything drastic, instead offering his own to you.
“It’s okay,” he tells you, surprised at his own lack of embarrassment despite the situation. “The fact you notice all that about me is… flattering. You really have a way with words.”
You return the grin he gives you and take his hand, squeezing it.
“How could I not notice, when you are my intimate muse?”
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Z for...Zella!! 😜😄🩵💙🖤
I grew up with horses, and definitely wanted to be a cowboy or something horse-related growing up (one of my school mascots was even the Cowboys, so bonus points to that!), but Zorro was like, my first hero. He's the guy I always imagined myself as when I was sitting in the saddle (except when I had my Batman costume on), and looking back, he's influenced so much of my life and love for stories (especially a lot of favorite character aesthetics 😜). And he had the coolest horse (which is my dream horse, just with a different name)!!
All that said, I'm going with Zorro Della for Cowboy Della. I think she would've loved the character, too. 🖤
This was a bit rushed, admittedly, but I got to play with some perspectives, clothing choices, and shading, so good exercise! ^_^
+ bonus Della sketch though, bc I also loved this idea:
Young Della's trying on Scrooge's old cowboy clothes (from Life & Times of Scrooge) - they're still just a pinch too big for her. 😝🥹🤠
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NOT QUITE DEAD YET IS SO CUTE ISN'T IT... Definitely agree it was a missed opportunity to not have her pursue her music though, it feels like that was set up better as a conclusion 😔 BUT HER MOM OH MY GOD... queen... such a solid movie overall, 8/10 makes me miss my dad too...
Speaking of Moms. And Dads. I've been ruminating on some older asks... I feel like it's not too far-fetched for Jo to recognize Ikumi in Masato's features? Because that particular style of flashback appears to represent the character's own memory rather than an "objective" viewpoint.
Hence Ichiban's memory of Akane is extremely indistinct and uses a generic NPC model; Ikumi has more screentime, but for the purposes of the story, she didn't really need to be any different. So if I were to read into that difference, Ichi is "filling in the blanks" with women he's seen before, while Jo isn't. Anecdotally I guess, I still remember what the people I was close to at that age looked like even if I've forgotten their names; so, if Jo remembers what Jiro and Arakawa looked like, I would guess he must remember what Ikumi looked like.
I guess it's kind of muddled because the story is being told to both the audience and to Ichi, by both RGGS and Jo, but that's how I'd look at it. On the flip side, if Ikumi's still out there somewhere in Japan... she has to have seen Aoki's face, right? And his date of birth is publicized as 1/1. I wonder if she's ever seen that and thought he'd be exactly the same age now... what became of her son?
Allegedly™️ the brain never forgets a face, never mind That just being a whole event enough to warrant remembering everyone involved from how significant it was. SO. In review... it definitely wouldn't hurt to say he could be reminded of Ikumi when he looks at Masato, even if it's subconsciously/he can't place exactly why. Certainly a concept I've ping-ponged in my dome for a while..
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