these are all reader inserts, using the second person “you”.
everything about a certain series, including my fics and things I’ve reblogged that fit their vibe, will be tagged as “#Garrick and Angel”, “#Brennan and Duchess”, etc. see this post for further information.
requests are currently CLOSED / VERY SLOW until I get more caught up, but my ask box is always open to chat about FW, the girlfriends, or whatever!
last updated: 2.19.25
standalone fics / headcanons
Aaric Graycastle
- intimacy alphabet
Bodhi Durran
- by your side
- where were you in the morning?
- not that bad at all
- the night we met
- intimacy alphabet
- fractured
- defective 🆕
Brennan Sorrengail
- you're somebody else
- this is me trying
- intimacy alphabet
- older (agegap!Bren)
- you called
- rest
- defective (platonic) 🆕
Dain Aetos
- midnight snow
- part of the family
- intimacy alphabet
Garrick Tavis
- all the small things
- intimacy alphabet
- one for the books
Imogen Cardulo
- the dress
Liam Mairi
- harvest day
- intimacy alphabet 🆕
1. the spider
2. one too many
3. change of plans
Mira Sorrengail
- reunited
- mercy
Ridoc Gamlyn
- not joking
- love at first fight
Xaden Riorson
- a brief history of Navarre
- intimacy alphabet
- together
1. i wish i hated you
all fourth wing boys:
- excuses, excuses
- under the weather
- that time of the month
- bedtime 🆕
- pet 🆕
all fourth wing boys + girls
- study season
random thoughts about multiple boys
- dragon rings
- xaden's birthday
girlfriendverse
Sawyer and Peach masterlist
Liam and Spark masterlist
- relationship questions
Garrick and Angel
about Angel
1. keep her safe
2. resson (garrick's version)
3. letters from samara
4. what was I made for?
4.5 thank you (optional spicy chapter in the middle of #4)
- misc relationship asks
- together (platonic Angel / Gare / Xaden)
- he can call me angel if he wants to
Brennan and Duchess masterlist
Ridoc and Sweetheart
about Sweetheart
1. love at first fight
2. like snow on the beach
3. questions 🆕
4. not alone
- relationship questions
Bodhi and Darling (no particular reading order)
about Darling
- not that bad at all
- by your side
- the night we met
- deja vu
- glad it was you
Dain and Love
about Love
1. falling, floating, flying
2. reunification day:
3. five thirty
4. two reunions
Aaric and Sunny
1. conscription day
2. assessments
misc girlfriend stuff
- modern!girlfriends' music tastes
poly fics
Dain + Xaden
- our girl
Ridoc + Sawyer
1. hey roomie
Garrick + Bodhi
- three in the morning
Xaden + Liam
- liam's lesson
not reader inserts
Garrick / Sloane
- wrong to love you
Ridoc and Sawyer
- lean on me 🆕
“princess” is just that — the runaway crown princess of the mid-rim planet kaldea. while the story of why she ran changes every time she tells it, she’s left that life behind for good, and found a new one working with greez. but cal showing up changes everything, and the two of them are forced to confront their complicated pasts and their abandoned cultures’ teachings as they search for the holocron and run from the empire.
jedi: fallen order
love-fix (start here! this isn’t the beginning of their timeline, but it’s the first piece I wrote to introduce princess!)
collapse
slice of life #1
dire circumstances
kashyyyk
slice of life #2
where do we go from here?
??
??
after years apart, cal and princess reunite at pyloon’s saloon. she reluctantly joins him on his quest to find tanalorr, and his new friend catches her eye along the way. cal is less than pleased with that, but attachment is forbidden, and their relationship is beyond repair anyway, right?
cal loves her softness. he notices the time and dedication she puts into her self care, and instead of seeing it as frivolous or unnecessary, recognizes how akin it is to his meditation — a quiet, solitary practice that aims to center her and quiet her mind — and how it is as healthy as the exercise he does every morning on top of all the fighting, climbing, and running he does in their joint quest to uncover the Zeffo’s secrets and fight the empire.
she’s turned the cramped little bunk space above the hyperdrive into a comfortable mini-room, having accumulated a pile of blankets and pillows to soften the brick of a mattress the ship came with. none of them match in color, size, or material, but they all smell like her; melted sugar and the mild scent of some flower native to kaldea.
she’d forced him to lay there one day while she tended to some phillak-inflicted wounds he’d come back with, and he’d just melted, truly comfortable for the first time since… ever. if it weren’t for the sting of the bacta, he’d have fallen asleep right then and there. that explains why she’s so fond of sleeping in, always the last one awake of their ramshackle little crew, padding her way to the breakfast table in tooka-shaped slippers that were definitely intended for a child.
it’s the bogling’s favorite place, too. he loves to spend his afternoons under the blankets like it’s the soft ground of bogano, only the fluffy tip of an ear or a tail peeking out from the edges. cal always takes the second shower, to give her more time to arrange her hair and get changed afterward in some level of privacy. the water is usually cold by then, but he doesn’t mind — he’d been brought up as a jedi, after all, with few creature comforts. when he returns, clean of zeffonian mud and stars-know what else, the little creature will be curled up with her there.
he walked in on her reading to it aloud once. it was watching her as if it understood, hanging on to her every word like a child being read a bedtime story. she’d stopped abruptly when she felt his presence, her normally calm, yellow force signature pinkening at the edges in her embarrassment. he’d just smiled, finished rubbing a towel over his still-damp hair and draped it over the solitary chair in their room, climbing up into his own bunk.
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
Xaden said we’re leaving as soon as possible, but I’m not going to make her leave it behind. Her comfort and safety are my highest priorities right now.
A quick glance around the room tells me she didn’t unpack much else — she’d bathed and gone straight to bed at what could only have been three in the afternoon, skipping dinner, but we all knew she needed the rest more than anyone.
hiii it’s totally fine if u never get to this but if u get the chance, i was wondering if u could write liam mairi with a very clingy reader who follows him around everywhere, and he really loves it but ridoc makes a joke of it, in a lighthearted way, but she takes it kind of seriously and stops trailing after liam as much and he gets concerned?
I really like this idea! Her following Liam who is following Violet would be cute. A little trail of ducklings, hehe.
Maybe it’s just deja vu and/or me having a bad memory but I feel like I’ve read something really similar to this on here. I couldn’t find it easily, but it might have been a different one of our boys, though — maybe Bodhi?
Liz I finally just finished playing Jedi Survivor please tell me you have too so we can talk about it 😭
I’m so close to being done with the storyline! like 95% probably. but shit got real in the last few hours of gameplay and I got scared. I do want to finish it this week or next though, and I’ll definitely dm you from my main account when I do!
so 👏happy 👏 you're 👏 back!!!👏 srsly missed the fw gfs
thank u thank u
I missed my fw readers too <3 thank you for your patience and tolerating me writing all my other fandoms when I was procrastinating lol
I finally resumed onyx storm and am sitting at chapter 45. I have to stop and write every few pages because I keep getting new ideas for the gfs, hehe. lots more to come.
🏷️: Nightwing climbs through the wrong window trying to get to Jason’s place. I know this is terribly cliché and over written but I couldn’t help it. I chose a gif from titans because that’s my fav visualization of dickie but it won’t follow that storyline. ~800 words.
Third window from the left. Or was it from the right? No, definitely the left. Fuck, his head is killing him. But Jace will have a long-expired bag of peas he can use as an ice pack, and a shitty sofa he can crash on for the next few hours. And blackout curtains — it’s nearly sunrise already.
“Jeez, J, when did you start locking that window? I almost broke it trying to get it… open,” he finishes, staring at you.
You definitely aren’t Jason. Not even close. No, you’re his neighbor, who is clearly in the middle of an all-nighter, if the mostly empty bowl of popcorn, widespread array of textbooks and notebooks on the coffee table, and Hello Kitty pajama pants you’re wearing are anything to judge by.
So it was the third window from the right.
You stare back at him for a moment, blinking. “Nightwing?”
“Sorry, wrong window. I’m just gonna, uh…” he steps backward, about to climb back onto the fire escape, when you notice the tear in his suit.
He’s bleeding. That needs sterilization and maybe stitches, sooner rather than later.
“No, you’re hurt,“ you protest, “I’m a med student. Let me take a look at it. You don’t have to take your mask off, and also, like, HIPAA, so…”
He doesn’t speak any further, but he doesn’t make any attempt to run. Okay.
“Just… stay here.” You dart into the tiny bathroom, digging in the drawers for supplies. You still aren’t fully unpacked, and don’t remember where you put them all.
Wait. Wrong window? Who in your building is close with Nightwing? You don’t know any of the other tenants except your next door neighbor. He looks like he has connections, but not the Batman-and-company kind.
Moving to this godforsaken city was a terrible idea that you should have let your family talk you out of. But this is where they need doctors, and where they accepted your below-average test scores, so…
There’s a thud from the other room, and you pop your head out the door, seeing your houseguest collapsed on your secondhand IKEA rug.
Fuck.
Guess you’ll have to do things the fast way.
He’s still breathing, which is a comfort, and he’s vaguely conscious. Kneeling beside him, you press a hand into the large wound in his side, feeling it close up under your palm.
He’s still limp, but there aren’t any other tears in the suit, and none of his bones seem broken — it must be his head.
You run a hand through his hair, feeling for blood on his scalp. Sure enough, you’re met with sticky crimson at the back of his skull, coming from a laceration that’s probably an inch long. Sealing it up seems to do the trick, because after a few seconds he sits upright with a gasp, his hand flying up to his heart.
You scoot a few feet away to give him space, knowing that this kind of reaction is typical— the few people you’ve saved have told you how disorienting it felt, the sudden rush of adrenaline and… healing. Nobody’s been able to describe it any way else.
“What… just happened…” he pants, looking down at his side. The skin is completely closed, a thin stripe of silver in place of the gash he’d shown up with. It looks just like the rest of his scars, ones that are years old. The only evidence is the smears of blood on your hands and the floor, and the tear in his suit.
“You had a wound on the back of your head, and I… closed it. And probably fixed the concussion you probably had.”
But there’s no tech that can do that, and certainly nothing you, a civilian, have in your apartment. “You’re a meta.”
“Please don’t tell anybody,” you blurt.
His face immediately softens from shock to… something else. It’s hard to tell with the dim lighting and the mask surrounding his eyes. “Hey,” he soothes, “your secret’s safe with me, alright?”
You nod, chewing your lip. He hangs out with Batman. He’s gotta be trustworthy, right? He’s probably friends with some metas, even.
Speaking of Batman…
“You should probably take it easy for a while. Is there someone I should call? Does Batman have a burner phone or something? He has to, right?”
He laughs. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be okay getting back on my own.”
Ah. Okay.
“If you ever need anything, uh,” you grab a stray notebook off of the table, scrawling your number on a page, “Give me a call. No questions asked.”
“Thank you. Get some sleep, okay? Whatever you’re studying for, you got it.”
angel put everything she had into healing the wounded after the battle of basgiath. now it’s her turn to be taken care of. 839 words.
🏷️: end of iron flame spoilers. mentions of blood and wounds. angel is never not going through it unfortunately. makes for good television reading though. tried to weave a few onyx storm references in here, let me know if you find any hehe
Two minutes. Two minutes, and then you’ll go back to the infirmary. Nolon and the healers can hold things down for two minutes, right?
On any normal day, it wouldn’t be a question. But today…
Even though things are reportedly okay out there, the wards raised and immediate threats mitigated, there’s still too much to do in the aftermath. Too many fractures to fix and wounds to seal, too many injuries that were beyond your skill level.
Sawyer’s, namely.
That’s why you came in here to begin with, to scrub his blood off of your hands.
And because it feels like your muscles are being peeled apart fiber by fiber.
And because your vision is starting to darken at the edges.
“You need to stop this before you collapse.”
“I can’t…” you manage, gripping the edge of the sink to keep yourself upright, ignoring the throbbing in your knuckles. “They need me.”
“If you continue at this pace, you will cease to be useful for the rest of the week. Is that motivation enough?”
He knows exactly how to hit where it hurts, you’ll give him that. But as long as he doesn’t tell—
“Angel?”
Of course he knew exactly what you were thinking. Of course he told Chradh, who told Garrick, who came running as soon as he heard, somehow always just seconds away from wherever you are in moments like this.
Thankfully it only takes a thought to unlock the door, because walking toward it might tip you over.
He’s at your side in a heartbeat, checking you over for injury, but finding none.
“I thought it was over,” you whisper, more to your reflection than to him. “I thought I was fixed.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, starting to tidy up your hair, the only thing he’s not afraid to do, that he knows won’t hurt — you’ve been mending all kinds of wounds today, and touching any part of you could cause you pain.
You let go of the basin, the blood rushing back to your aching fingers, and turn toward him, wrapping your arms around his waist and closing your eyes.
His hands remain at his sides. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please.”
The desperation in your voice, and the fact that you’re asking at all, is enough for him. With the utmost gentleness, he slowly, carefully, wraps an arm around you, settling his hand on your back, and waits for a sign of discomfort — finding none. His flight jacket is unbuttoned, and he adjusts the lapels to let you burrow into the fleece-lined leather.
The warmth of his skin against yours starts to soothe the chill — but there’s nothing he can do about the pain.
It’s changed, no longer the localized agony of a broken bone or a stab wound, but now a full body ache, your muscles and joints protesting with every movement. And with Garrick here now, his heart pressed to yours and his palpable love and care for you, his deep concern… it’s suddenly just all too much.
“There’s just too many of them. I can’t… I can’t fix them all.”
Gods, it even hurts to cry.
“I know, angel. I’m so sorry. But you did everything you could. You helped so many people, saved lives, even. And now you need to rest. We’ll figure this out, I promise you. We’ll fix this. I don’t know how yet, but we will.”
“Okay,” you whisper.
“Attagirl. Do you have it in you to shower?”
Not really, no. But you need one, after dealing with… all of that. And maybe it would help, somehow. Not with the pain, but with… whatever this feeling is. Defeat? Guilt?
You’ll put a name to it later.
You still haven’t responded to Garrick.
“I did.”
Tab deserves a tropical vacation for putting up with you, and communicating to Garrick and Chradh like this when you’re too tired to talk or too afraid to speak for yourself.
“Not enough livestock in the tropics. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He’s got it down to a science by now, after many such instances where you’d reached your limit and been unable to properly care for yourself. You don’t need to do much, just comply with his gentle prompts and put one foot in front of the other as he guides you back to the dorms, gets you both through the shower and dries you off with a gentle breeze before dressing you in your favorite pajama — one of his old, time-softened shirts.
It’s unclear whose room this is now, if it’s anyone’s at all, but Garrick is still able to unlock it, and it doesn’t show signs of being inhabited. The furniture is still in the same spots, the bed still made up, and it’s still so natural to climb back in with him, to synchronize your heartbeats and finally start to unwind.
You may not have figured things out yet, but until you do, Garrick will always give you a safe place to land.
spark gets a gift that might help her regain control of her signet. <1k words.
🏷️: mentions of near-death drowning experiences. I’m not happy with this, but oh well.
“I’ll make it look like an accident!”
“Ohhh-kay,” Garrick says, steering you away as you dig your heels into the floor. “Inter-squad murder isn’t on the agenda this morning. Bodhi, can you…”
“Don’t,” Xaden calls. “I have something else.” He jogs the last few steps over and presses a glass sphere into your hand, and it all just… stops.
The overwhelming feeling dissipates almost instantly — replaced with a icy sensation in your palm. You nearly drop it, fumbling it between your hands. “What is this thing?”
“A conduit. It’ll draw some of the power out and store it.”
The orb looks like it’s full of swirling water, waves crashing against the glass.
Interesting.
“How do you feel?” Liam asks softly.
“Less,” you answer, still staring at it. “Just… less.”
“Less is good,” Bodhi supplies. “Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift to you, from our sister.”
Oh.
So the two of them had written to her after all. What exactly did they say? That you were inches away from losing your grip on reality, weren’t strong enough to handle your bond with the third-meanest dragon in Navarre?
They were probably a bit kinder than that. But only because they feel such deep pity for you.
Though with this thing in hand, you might be able to survive.
If only you’d had it from the start.
———
Somehow, the normally-shitty water pressure of these showers has increased tenfold in the last two minutes, coming out much faster than it can drain. Twisting the knob in either direction doesn’t help, either. You’re going to flood the whole bathroom at this rate.
The water isn’t even following the rules of physics anymore. It’s drawn to you somehow, wrapping around you like a blanket rather than like a liquid that’s supposed to fall down with gravity.
A blanket that quickly covers your nose and mouth.
You’re going to drown.
You’re never going to see any of your friends again. You’ll never see Liam again, won’t be able to protect him or the other younger marked ones next year when they show up.
You’ll never see another of his soft smiles, never hold his hand again or feel the gentle touch of his roughened fingers against yours.
Focus. Focus, stay calm to conserve the air in your lungs, and you’ll live through this. You can get the fuck out of here, and someone with a much better command of magic will fix this.
“It’s YOU making this happen. Control it, or I’ll have to start over and pick another human.”
Like your death would just be an inconvenience to her.
Relax, relax, think calm thoughts. Imagine the water draining, and the faucet turning off… the water melting off like it’s supposed to. But how are you supposed to relax if you can’t take deep breaths, or any breaths at all?
Control it, she said. You’re in charge of the water. It’ll do what you want if you ask it.
Stop.
Drain.
Dry up.
It obeys, the flow reducing to normal, and the water falls to the floor, pooling around your ankles.
“Maybe you are competent."
You don’t acknowledge the remark, too busy heaving onto the tile.
Your hair is still dripping when you sit down at the table for breakfast, hanging flat down your back and soaking into your shirt.
You’re fucking freezing.
Xaden eyes you with suspicion. “What happened to you? You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks. I almost drowned in the shower ten minutes ago.”
Garrick snorts in amusement. “How did you manage that?”
You glare at him, and everyone’s eyes widen as their cups of coffee start to rumble, threatening to spill over.
“Holy shit. You’re a water-wielder?”
“Evidently so,” you say, stabbing your fork into a piece of potato. “The gods certainly have a sense of humor.”
———
“Now, what was going to look like an accident?”
“Dain’s demise,” Garrick answers before you can open your mouth. “She was quite descriptive. Something about him having to collect his own teeth off the floor…?”
“Harming a member of your own squad is prohibited in the codex. You know that,” Xaden says, looking entirely disaffected. “I’ll also remind you that it was your idea to move into his command.”
You can’t argue there — it was in fact your idea, a hasty decision made immediately after you’d found out that Xaden was transferring Liam to a different squad to act as Violet’s bodyguard.
It had felt great in the moment, though.
“Richfield and Mairi reporting for duty, squad leader,” you greeted, clapping a hand onto Dain’s back as you passed him by, settling into an empty space beside your friend as Liam fell in with the first-years behind you, giving them a shy smile.
The look on his face was fucking priceless.
“Devera already approved the transfer. Good luck.”
“At least she can’t kill you now,” your friend supplied cheerfully, seeing the stricken look on Dain’s face.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to be expelled for violating the codex.”
This might actually be fun.
Not for Violet, though.
“I don’t need one bodyguard, much less two.”
“Ungrateful little brat.”
“First, I’m not here for you, I’m here for him. Second, did you really think that you made it all this way entirely on your own, or by dumb luck? Look around you. Every person here, myself included, has done something to keep you alive since you got here. You do need protecting, because you have yet to convince anyone otherwise, and I am not going to let you of all people be the reason Xaden meets his end.”
“And what exactly have you done to help her?”
“Not killed her.”
“Satisfactory.”
“You can make this as easy or as difficult as you want. We’re both stuck here either way.”
jamie matches with a girl on bantr who invites him to watch her production of the nutcracker. the only problem is, he has no idea which of the fifty girls on stage is her.
chapter 1 of ??? / 1.0k words
🏷️: the world cup is making me miss jamie, so I decided to work on one of my two wips for him. one might be too similar to someone else’s series, so I went with this one! yes, it’s mid june. but I’m hoping working on this will get me out of my writing slump! reader is not from england, but otherwise that’s it for the description! I chose the above pic because I thought the guy looked kinda like jamie, you don’t have to look like the girl there!
Friday, December 3rd — opening night
BALLETGIRL: 7:00. I left a ticket at Will Call for “Harold P. Sanderson”.
MANC97: That’s the fakest name I ever heard
MANC97: How do I know which one you are?
BALLETGIRL: That’s the point. You won’t :)
The crunch of snow under boots has you looking up, meeting eyes with a man in a blue hoodie.
Why is he back here? The theater’s main exit is around the corner, and the parking lots, too. This is just a back door for emergencies and for the cast members who smoke.
And for having a good post-show breakdown.
He doesn’t look dressed for the theater, though. Maybe he’s just out for a late night walk?
“You alright?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
The response is automatic. But what other option is there than fine, especially when you’re talking to a stranger?
“You’re the fairy, right? You were amazin’.”
So he did come to the show.
You shake your head. “I tripped, I… I almost fell.”
“I didn’t even notice. I don’t know shit about the ballet, though.”
The heat of the stage lights has evaporated from your skin, and the quarter-inch of day-old snow on the ground is soaking into your pointe shoes, likely ruining them.
Another slice off the top of your paycheck.
“The director noticed. I’m sure she did.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” you say, more presently now, “thank you for checking on me, but I’ll be fine.”
Someone calls your name, another young woman from the company, one who has bothered to change shoes and throw a coat over her base layers. “There you are!”
She stops short in front of the kind stranger, whose name you still don’t know. “The director wants to see you,” she says softly, notes of remorse and empathy in her voice. Her boots crunch in the thin layer of snow as she retreats.
You need to follow her, to go meet your doom.
He extends a hand to help you up. You reach out to take it, and he gently pulls you to your feet.
You linger there a moment longer than appropriate. “I need to go get yelled at, so…” you say, looking up at the man.
His hand is warm, firm, as is his gaze. “I meant it, love. You were amazin’. Tomorrow will be better, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, a puff of warm breath curling into the air.
“Attagirl,” he says softly. “Take care of yourself, alright?”
It’s a decent walk home, but he counts it as workout number three-and-a-half for the day. Time to get — he checks his phone — six hours of sleep before Roy is banging on his door to start it all over again.
But first, he should text that girl from Bantr.
MANC97: That was amazing
MANC97: Still no idea which one is you
BALLETGIRL: Thanks. Wish the director thought so, too.
He holds his breath.
MANC97: What do you mean?
BALLETGIRL: She’s pissed that I slipped on stage. I didn’t fall, but it came close. I don’t know how it happened.
So you’re the girl from the parking lot.
MANC97: I’m sorry
MANC97: Hope you’re alright
It feels lame, but what else is he supposed to say?
BALLETGIRL: I’m okay. And tomorrow will be better. Goodnight :)
MANC97: goodnight
He reaches back into the pocket of his hoodie, finding the program that he’d stuffed in there as soon as he’d been handed it. Clara, no, Ice Queen, no… Aha. Sugar Plum Fairy.
Time to do some research.
Saturday, December 4th ———————
Tomorrow — well, today — is a Saturday, with both a matinee and a five o’clock showing, and a social hour in between them for audience members to linger and meet the top-billed cast. Part of the company’s attempt to charm more well-off people into becoming donors, no doubt.
Whether or not you’re getting paid extra for this remains unclear. But it’s been nice so far, mainly because most of the attendees are bright-eyed young girls who want to be like you when they’re grown up. You chat a while, ask what level of classes they’re in, do a few pliés together and take a picture for mom’s FaceBook, rinse and repeat.
But the next person to approach you doesn’t have a little girl in tow.
“Miss Fairy,” he greets with a grin and a shallow bow.
You just blink at him for a moment. “You came back.”
You don’t have much time to ruminate on it before a woman standing next to him captures your attention.
“Oh, you were brilliant, love,” she gushes in an accent just as thick as her counterpart, “Pure class. How long have you been at it?”
“Nearly my whole life,” you answer modestly, “but this is my first year as the fairy. I’m honestly terrified.”
“Ah, love, you have nothing to be scared of. That was amazing.”
“You’ll have to excuse my mum and her enthusiasm,” he adds, and you breathe a mental sigh of relief — this woman isn't his wife.
“No way is this your mother. She doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”
She laughs at that, warm and full-hearted. “You’re too kind, dear.”
You take the next step. “I’m so sorry, I never caught your names.”
“Georgie,” the woman offers. “And this is my son, Jamie.”
“Georgie and Jamie,” you repeat. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
“I told you today would be better,” he says softly.
You just smile.
“How are you liking England?” Georgie asks.
“Quite well. I haven’t gotten the chance to explore much yet, though. Hopefully I can stick around for a few days after the season ends and be able to see some sights.”
“You’ll have to go to a proper football game. And watch one in a pub. Oh, and see the palace, of course. The London Eye, Tower Bridge…”
Your roommate slips through the double doors and around the stragglers in the lobby, two stacked trays full of coffees in her hands. “It was my turn to go get drinks for the snow crew,” she explains, sounding out of breath. “How long until the cast meeting?”
You pluck the top tray off the stack before she can drop it, taking one of the paper bags from her as well. “They said five minutes a few minutes ago, so probably like, now.”
You turn back to your guests. “It was lovely meeting you both. And I’ll be sure to get some football in before I head back to the states. Thank you for coming!”
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
“All I’m askin’ is that you take it easy on her. And on our girl. I did some readin’ on Kaldean culture when I took her in, yknow, because I had no idea what I was doing. And her fighting with you today… that was a lot.”
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
and is a re-run from our very first word game back in 2020!
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How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
“Mmm. It rains there at least once a standard week. It’s comforting to listen to, it sustains all beings... And it’s a weird sentiment, maybe, but knowing that there’s even a tiny bit of danger and discomfort out there, while you’re safe and dry inside, with people you love… that’s it for me.”
yes it's back for a few weeks for the 40th anniversary of the og ('86)! and i feel you, i made myself go in the middle of the work week because that's the discounted movie day in my country lol. i will broadcast it to you with my brain ✨
oh that makes more sense! and broadcast received, thank you 🫡
