Jasiper trash. That's what I am.

Valentina | 23 | I have declared Piper McLean as my eternal queen. Been stuck in this fandom since like 2011 and I can’t remember what life without Percy Jackson is like.

[hiccuppedstudio]

Set after Last Sacrifice, someone is bad mouthing Dimitri and Rose won’t stand for it. Dimitri is a little tired after dealing with the last four people Rose punched while defending his good name.

He secretly like her defending his honour, so his complaints are half-hearted.

[bettsfic]

writing cheats

i know i’ve probably written about these all individually but i’m putting them together in one post. these are writing tricks that are extremely cheap and dirty; when you use them it feels like cheating and honestly by posting them i’m probably exposing all the easy moves in my own work, but more than a writer i am a teacher, so here you go, some writing cheats that have never steered me wrong.

quick character creation

what’s really annoying is when you have two characters sitting at a restaurant or something and the server has to come by. to what degree do you describe the server so that it’s clear they’re just a background character but that they’re not just a faceless form, so that the world has texture without taking up too much space on the page? rule of three, babeyyy: two normal things and a weird one.

she had pale skin and blue eyes but her hair was dyed black like a 2010 emo kid.

he was tall and broad, and he wore a sweatshirt with an embroidered teddy bear on it.

the woman stood there comparing the prices of toilet paper. she had a short angled bob and carried a keychain the length of a trout.

why does it work? it gives the reader something to hang onto, a brief observation that shows the world exists around your narrator. it also works when introducing main characters, but there’s so much action going on that you can’t take time to write a rich long paragraph about them. all you need is a little hook.

quick setting creation

i used to TOIL over descriptive paragraphs. for years i was like, description is my weakness, i must become better at developing imagery. i believed this because a famous writer once projected a paragraph i had written onto a screen and asked my cohort, “count how many images are crafted in this paragraph.” there were none. none! my friends were sitting there like, “we are TRYING” but they couldn’t find any.

i would say that after years of studying imagery development at the sentence level, i am, perhaps, competent at it, but what was more helpful was for me to shrug and tell myself, “i’m just not a writer who does that.”

anyway. my cheat is thus: 

there’s not much you can assume about your audience. the audience is not a homogenous whole. but your ideal audience is something you can guess at, and that means you can play around with their existing knowledge and expectations. 

if you say your characters are in a tacky shit-on-the-walls restaurant, if your ideal reader is an american who went to restaurants during the maximalist era of franchise design, they will conjure their nearest memory of one of those places. and for those readers who aren’t familiar with it, they’ll use other context clues to conjure that space. the point is, you don’t have to list every single stupid license plate nailed to the wall. you can leave it as one detail of one sentence and let your reader extrapolate from there.

if i say the dentist’s office looked like a gutted 90s taco bell, maybe no ideal audience would have ever seen a place like that, but a lot of people can mentally conjure a dentist’s office and a 90s taco bell and overlay them together to create a weird and fun image.

you can go even simpler than that: a bathroom the size of an airplane lavatory. a tiny studio apartment with a hotplate instead of a stove. a mansion with a winding stairwell. the point is that you want to define the size of the space and its general vibes.

in some ways detailed description can be overrated, because your reader conjures images even in absence of them on the page. and for those readers who can’t mentally conjure images, it doesn’t matter anyway; they take you at your word. the trick is to figure out what details are unexpected, relevant to understanding the story and its characters, and those are the things that you add in.

one other note: after working with hundreds of writers on drafting, for *most* of us it’s difficult to develop images and establish setting in a first draft. it’s nearly always something to be saved for a second or later draft. i think it’s because while we’re writing we tend to put character and action first.

nail the landing

there’s a joke i heard once from a writer i really admire: “you know it’s literary fiction if the story ends with a character looking at a body of water.”

and god it’s so painfully sad and true how easy it is to nail the landing of a given story by ending on a totally irrelevant piece of imagery. the final beat of a story followed by your character looking up at the sky and seeing a flock of birds in the shape of a V flying past. or maybe they’re sitting in their car and they count the rings of a nearby church bell. or maybe they watch an elderly couple walk down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. i don’t know!! when in doubt shove an observation, an image, whatever, something neutral at the end and it’ll sound profound. 

(this cheat is the only one that can really bite you in the ass because if the image is too irrelevant you risk tonal incongruity. for use only in the most desperate of times.)

sentence fragments

when writers ask me how to punch up their writing or start developing their own style, my go-to advice is to give up the idea of a complete sentence. fuck noun-verb-object. if you have a series of character actions, knock off the sentence subjects like in script action. if the clause at the end of your sentence is particularly meaningful, don’t separate it with a comma but a period and make it its own thing. if your character is going through something particularly stressful or heinous, that bitch is not thinking in complete thoughts so you don’t have to convey them that way. make punctuation bend to your will!!

rhetorical moves

this one opened a lot of doors for me stylistically. remember that famous writer who called me out on my lack of imagery? i always thought his prose was beautiful, that he’s one of the best living prose writers, etc. once i learned more about rhetoric though, i realized he just employed it a lot. 

usually when we talk about beautiful sentences it means a sentence that uses rhetorical devices. the greeks were like, you know what, when we give speeches there are certain ways to phrase things that make the audience go nuts. let’s identify what those things are and give them names so we can use them intentionally and convince people of our opinions.

i love shakespeare, i really do, but one of the big reasons he’s still a household name today and his plays are still performed is because every sentence of every goddamn play utilizes a rhetorical device. the audience is hard-wired to vibrate at the sound and cadence of his writing, like finding the spot on a dog that makes their foot thump. for five hundred years, william shakespeare has been scritching that spot for us.

i have no idea why, cognitively, rhetorical devices are so effective. i’m no rhetorician. all i know is that well-deployed anaphora makes a reader want to throw their panties on stage. my intro to rhetorical devices was the wonderful book the elements of eloquence by mark forsyth, a surprisingly fun read! hopefully that will open some doors for you the way it did for me. 

the downside to this is that once you know rhetorical devices, it’s like learning how the sausage is made. on one hand, as a writer, you’ll have a lot stronger grasp of style, but as a reader good prose loses some of its magic.  

pacing it out

many writers, myself included, rely on the tried and true “he bit the inside of his cheek” or other some such random action to help pace out dialogue. one time my thesis advisor sat me down and said “you’ve got to take all of those out.”

“all of them?” i said.

“all of them,” she said.

i thought, but that will weaken the text! it didn’t. once i cut what i came to call cheek-biter sentences i never went back. and now when i edit for other people i’m like, look i know where you’re coming from but just cut all these out and see how the scene stands. if it doesn’t feel right you can put some back in. a lot of times when you’re drafting you put those in the way some people say “um.” they’re just sentences you jot while you’re thinking of what the other character says, so from a writing perspective it seems like you’re pacing, but readers don’t read it that way. they just want to get to the next line of dialogue.

but sometimes you really do need to pace out a scene and i think there are other ways to do that that don’t rely on banal physical movements, such as:

interiority: a sentence or paragraph of relevant cognition, bonus points if you weave in background context. good interiority defines the voice of your writing.

observations: i know i just said description is overrated but idk sometimes you just need a character to note the back and forth clacking of one of those desk ball toy things.

character texture: maybe your character notes something about the person they’re talking to. a wilted pocket square. a mole that looks like it needs looked at by a dermatologist. a scar on their forehead. some detail that deepens or complicates our understanding of a character.

narratorial consciousness and access

this one is less a cheat and more a problematic opinion i have that doesn’t win me any popularity in writing circles.

i believe that if you’re writing in first person or close third or any narration which is dedicated to the mind of one character, you are only ever obligated to convey the experience of that character’s consciousness. and nothing else.

by that i mean, if your point of view character is unobservant? then they’re not going to even notice the flight attendant is missing one of their canine teeth. if your pov character is focused and obsessive, they’re going to think lavish, detailed paragraphs about that which they’re obsessed with and have no acknowledgement of the rest of the world. if your pov character has no understanding of time, does your story even need to be linear?

defining the scope of a narrator’s cognition early on can give you parameters in which to work. even if you don’t consciously do this, you still do it. if you write in third person limited present tense without really thinking about it, that’s your scope. i’m just pointing out you can choose to do it differently. you get to define your narrator. 

whenever we talk about narration we also talk about information access and the order of information being revealed/conveyed. writing must always be in order; even if you’re writing multiple concurring things, it still has to be rendered on the page in order one after the next, because the human mind can’t read two sentences over top of one another. 

if we’re restricted to the mind of a character, that means we’re also restricted by their knowledge and experiences, and this can be used to your benefit. i don’t want to take too much space for this but i do talk more about the relationship between narration and reality here.

in short, you the writer get to chose 

what the reader knows,

in what order they know it, and

its relationship to the presumed real events of the story, which develops the (un)reliability of your narrator

okay going to cut this off now before i go on more rants about narrative scope. i hope you found this helpful and go on to put some of these nasty lifehacks in your own writing!!

[homunculus-argument]

Oh hey btw: If you're starting your second draft of something and you're having a hard time editing out the useless fluff that doesn't lead the story anywhere, consider changing tactics: Condense, don't cut.

"Kill your darlings" is bullshit, you shouldn't throw out things that spark joy, just put them into good use or somewhere they're not in the way. Combine scenes, characters and locations. You've got two beloved but unimportant background characters with only a vague scraping role in the story? Combine them. Have just one, who now has the traits, speaking lines and the role of both of them.

You've got a Super Important But Boring scene, and a scene that doesn't progress the story but was basically just you indulging in describing a wonderful location? Combine them. Have the characters have that Super Important Conversation in the pretty rose garden or the lovely bookshop you wanted to include.

You've got two really cool locations that are in the same city but both only show up once, and it feels like a waste to indulge in describing them in detail? Combine them. The smoky tavern and the smoky witch's brew shop are now working out of the same building - the witch and the tavern keeper are now married.

If you feel like you have too much description or too many characters, don't throw anything out before you've checked if you have an empty shelf to put them in. Give the Cool Character Description to a previously nondescript character who only shows up to tell the protagonist the One Important Thing. Make the Cool Location You Described For Three Pages But Which Only Shows Up Once show up again later.

[tom-nippleston]

I have waited ALL FUCKING YEAR TO POST THIS

Santa is coming tonight.

[lich-of-the-golgari]

@alltheshit-althetime

[suntosirius]

THE ONLY CHRISTMAS POST I DON’T BLOCK

[fozby]

dancer is my life

[thedanliest]

YES HERE IT IS, JUST IN THE SAINT NICK OF TIME

[stagkingswife]

I love these funky little deer, gotta reblog at least once!

[siminiecricketart]

Grief

The idea of piper cutting her hair because she’s in mourning at the end of ToA is so sad - piper deserved better

[sound0fvenus]

we made it guys this is literally percabeth

[siminiecricketart]

What a sad, beautiful tragic love affair

[rinadragomir]

RIORDANVERSE: FAVORITE GIRLS

Taglist

@the-reader-who-reads-and-reads @wtf-is-reality @bookishjules @themysticalbeing @hope92100 @axhicleos @gabtapia @magnus-the-maqnificent @bookquotes6096 @jaceherondale780 @elettralightwood @priorities-as-straight-as-alec @claryamidala @fangirl-taylorsversion @winterdollsblog @make-me-ur-aphrodite @asterrismm @anika-thestollsister @learningshelfcontrol @thestarkster1465 @noah-herondale-lightwood

let me know if you wanna be added ✨☀

[achillesep]

I think that Leo and Piper are responsible for a lot of Jason’s healing from his child soldier and Titan war trauma not because they acted as his therapist or anything but because they just do so much stupid shit together that jason has so much fun that the memory of cruelty fades. The three of them will be terrorizing hedge and jason will realize that he’s the happiest he’s been in years because they’re his friends and he loves them

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

.... what are the chances that the Lone Star writers can finally have Marjan fast for Ramadan this season ???

I would love it if they got more into the Muslim community (the arc where she got shunned from the Masjid didn't sit right with me at all, my Masjid would have applauded at having a female firefighter, hell they applauded any of the women doing live saving jobs, be it cops, docs/nurses, or dv advocates).

[lonestardaily]

911 Lone Star | 3x12 “Negative Space”

[tailoredshirt]

FIC: Ride or Die (Paul & Marjan)

Later, Paul would wonder if he would have reacted the same way if he hadn't been talking. If he would have swerved more gently or slammed on the brakes, or if he would have swerved in the opposite direction, knowing that the lane was clear of oncoming traffic and that the other side of the road was flat.

Instead, Paul jerked the steering wheel to the right, barely missing the deer but sending the vehicle off the side of the road, where it skidded down a steep embankment and slammed into a large oak tree.

—

Paul and Marjan have a heart-to-heart while they’re stuck in a vehicle after a major car accident.

—

2.4k words / AO3 / For @badthingshappenbingo

Content: Blood, semi-graphic injury; mentions of transphobia in healthcare; spoilers for 3x09 and 3x10

A/N: This fic addresses trans body autonomy and healthcare issues. I am cis. I originally felt uncomfortable putting words in Paul's mouth about trans-specific opinions and experiences, but I feel strongly that his POV should have been shown at some point during his medical emergency arc, so I wanted to incorporate it in this story. I am basing this entirely on things I have heard from trans people, both in person and online, although I know that my interpretation/portrayal may not get it right. If anyone has any criticism about how I've written Paul in this story I will listen.

Thank you to longhornletters, thekristen999, and neojana for all of their help!

---

"I mean, Rudy's isn't bad, okay? It gets the job done. But the sausage…" Paul shook his head. "I'm from Chicago. I have high expectations, okay?"

"As you've been saying," Marjan said, glancing down at her watch, "for the last half hour."

"Judd said I gotta try Sam's Barbeque on 12th street," Paul said, turning onto Loop 360. "Just some old-school, no nonsense Texas barbeque. I'll ask him if it's halal so you can go with."

"Joy," Marjan said, plastering a sarcastic smile on her face.

"What, you don't like me talking about food?" he asked, glancing over at her briefly.

"I mean, I like when you make food. But you have strong opinions about food that–"

"Oh, and you don't have strong opinions about things?" he said, flipping on his turn signal before moving into the right hand lane.

"I mean, sure. Tacos? Yes. Barbeque? Not so much."

Paul shook his head. "Whatever, I'll just go with Judd then. At least he–"

Something large and pale darted out onto the road in front of them. Later, Paul would wonder if he would have reacted the same way if he hadn't been talking. If he would have swerved more gently or slammed on the brakes, or if he would have swerved in the opposite direction, knowing that the lane was clear of oncoming traffic and that the other side of the road was flat.

Instead, Paul jerked the steering wheel to the right, barely missing the deer but sending the vehicle off the side of the road, where it skidded down a steep embankment and into a large oak tree. Paul's torso was propelled into the steering wheel on the way down, right before the airbag deployed, and Marjan screamed as the car hit the tree. Metal crunching, glass breaking, and then nothing but the sound of Marjan's breathing and the blood pounding in his ears.

Paul was too shocked to do anything but blink slowly and look at the leaves on a tree branch draped across the dashboard in front of him.

"Paul."

Paul looked up at Marjan, who was watching him with wide, worried eyes. "Okay?" she asked.

It took him a moment to take stock of what he was feeling, but then the tight, throbbing pain in his chest came swiftly into focus. His lungs burned with every shallow breath. He looked out the driver's side window and saw that they were not on flat ground. The car was tipped forward at an incline, suspended between the embankment and the tree. He tried to look at the hood crunched up against the tree trunk but could barely see through the shattered windshield.

He took another shallow breath, wincing at the deep pain in his chest. "Yeah, I think so." He swallowed and looked around him, at the pieces of glass on the console. "Are you–are you okay?"

"Um…"

Paul looked up at her. "Marj?" Then he looked down.

He wasn't sure how he hadn't seen it before. One of the branches that had gone through the windshield – thick and gnarled, with smaller branches growing out – was impaled in Marjan's chest.

For a moment he couldn't even process what he was seeing, but then his heart rate picked up and it felt like the entire scene came into focus all at once. The deer, the crash, the precarious position of his car, and… Marjan.

"Need to call 9-1-1," he told her, and she nodded. "Do you have your phone?"

She looked at the floor by her feet. "It fell. I don't know where."

Paul's phone was in his backpack in the back seat. He was afraid to unbuckle his seatbelt due to the angle the car was at, but he reached one arm behind him, feeling blindly for the bag. The sharp stab of pain in his ribs hit him so suddenly that he jerked back into position.

The car barely shook from the motion but Marjan cried out.

"Oh god." Paul froze where he was and looked at Marjan's wound. Her shirt and the bottom of her scarf were stained with blood. The branch had entered slightly above where her heart would be, although they wouldn't know what kind of damage had been done until someone could get them out of this car. Which needed to happen fast.

"No moving," Paul said breathlessly.

"Not going anywhere," she said with a wry smile, and he released a breath that might have been a laugh if he wasn't so terrified.

Paul couldn’t tell where his bag was, but he hoped he could use his phone anyway. "Siri," he said as loudly and clearly as possible, "call 9-1-1."

There was a long pause, like maybe Siri was considering whether or not she wanted to help them out, but finally the electronic voice said, "Calling emergency services in five seconds…"

"Thank god," Paul breathed.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Yeah," said Paul. "Yeah, our car crashed and we can't get out. My friend is impaled on a branch."

"What is your location, sir?"

"We're off Loop 360," he said. He paused to take another breath, careful not to inhale too deeply. "We were going south from Lake Travis."

"Do you remember which exit, sir?"

"We were eating at Rudy's. Maybe a mile south of there? We were almost to Mopac."

"We're dispatching fire and rescue to your location. Sir, did you say a passenger was impaled?"

"By a tree branch," Paul told her.

"Is the passenger responsive?"

"Yes, she's awake."

"Okay, it's very important that you don't try to remove the branch. Please wait for first responders."

"We know," said Paul. "We're firefighters."

The dispatcher asked them a few other questions, which they both answered to the best of their ability, and then she told them that she would stay on the line until help arrived.

Paul looked over at Marjan, who was looking straight ahead at the tree in front of them. He reached over very slowly and pressed his fingers to her carotid artery to take her pulse, and she let him. It was elevated, although not alarmingly so, which meant she was probably edging towards the second stage of hypovolemic shock. Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do for her. He couldn't remove the branch, and he didn't have any fluids to administer. All they could do was wait.

"Your ribs?" she asked him.

He nodded and leaned his head back. "One of 'em's probably cracked." Both of them knew that a cracked rib was the least of his concerns with this kind of chest trauma. He could only pray that he didn't have a cardiac tamponade or a pierced lung, both of which could kill him before he made it to the hospital.

"How is your heart?" she asked him, reaching out to take his pulse, but he brushed her hand away and made a show of doing it himself so she wouldn't try again.

"Well, it hasn't zapped me yet, so it must be fine," he muttered. He hoped that was true anyway.

Marjan watched him for a long time, breathing shallowly, before she said, "You're still mad at me."

"About…" Paul looked at her, confused, before he realized what she was saying. He sighed. "Marj, I told you, we're good."

She licked her lips. Her brow and upper lip were dotted with sweat, but her eyes were zeroed in on him. Her pupils were huge. "You think I don't know you by now?"

"What do you think you know?"

"That you're frustrated. Every time you mention the defibrillator."

"Of course I'm frustrated. Wouldn't you be?"

Marjan sighed irritably. "This is different."

"Why are you bringing this up now?" said Paul.

"Well, it may be now or never," she said, raising her eyebrows in a smirk.

Paul gritted his teeth. "Don't say that."

She shrugged, then grimaced. "Just answer me."

"Marj, seriously–"

"Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"Fine. Yes!" Paul closed his eyes against the wave of pain in his chest. "Yes," he whispered.

It took him a moment before he didn't feel like he was going to throw up, but finally he opened his eyes to look at her. Her nostrils flared as she took several shallow breaths.

Paul tried to think of how he could say this, how he could explain, but he was so tired of explaining. "You don't understand," he said finally.

"Maybe I would if you told me." Her breathing was growing more rapid.

Paul had to fight with his body not to take the deep breath he so desperately needed. "Someone made decisions about my body that I didn't consent to," he said finally, breathing out of his nostrils. "I wasn't awake, but you were. You knew I didn't want it. You could have told them."

"They weren't exactly asking me for my medical opinion, Paul."

"I know, okay?" he gritted out. "I know."

Marjan was silent for a long time. Paul leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He was so tired. Physically, mentally. Tired of everything.

"You know how many times I've been put under for surgery?" he said finally. "I'd need more than one hand to count 'em out for you. You know how many times I've woken up, scared as hell that someone did something to my body that I didn't want? Something they couldn't fix? Something they wouldn't even be held accountable for, because the healthcare system is just that fucked for people like me?"

Marjan held his gaze, eyes watery, waiting for him to continue.

"And for the first time," he said, swallowing, "I woke up and that's exactly what had happened."

The car was silent except for the wind blowing through the trees. Paul wished for a moment that he could call his mother. His mother who had sat in so many waiting rooms for him, had confronted doctors and nurses and receptionists on his behalf, had been by his bedside when he woke up scared, his hand in hers, telling him everything was going to be okay.

"I'm sorry," Marjan said softly.

Paul wiped at his eyes. Suddenly he remembered that they had an audience. "Dispatch?" he called out, but no one answered. "Dispatch?"

"Bad connection out here," Marjan murmured tiredly.

Paul pressed his finger to her throat again, and she let him. Her pulse was getting weaker.

"Not good, huh?" she asked, looking up at him. For the first time, he could see the fear in her eyes.

"You're going to be just fine," he told her. Her skin was a sickening shade of gray. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

Marjan took a shallow breath and made eye contact with him, although it appeared to be a struggle. "You're my best friend," she said between rapid breaths. "I'd never want to hurt you."

"I know." He reached over and took her hand, which was cool to the touch. Why had he chosen now of all times to talk to her about this? What if this was the last conversation they ever had?

Paul took another series of shallow breaths, and when he paused he thought he heard sirens. "Hear that?" he asked her.

"What?"

The sirens were growing louder now. Paul's heart rate picked up. "Sirens. They're coming."

"Okay," Marjan said, closing her eyes.

"Marj," he said insistently, squeezing her hand. Her eyelids fluttered like she was trying to open them, then closed again. "Marjan."

The sirens grew louder and finally stopped somewhere behind them. He heard doors slamming, voices shouting out orders.

He might have been imagining it, but he thought he felt Marjan squeeze his hand.

—

Paul was in the hospital for two days.

He had a bruised lung and two cracked ribs. They put him on a ventilator and gave him some diuretics and antibiotics.

Marjan didn’t fare quite as well. She had a lacerated aorta, which could have killed her instantly if that tree branch had hit a few millimeters to the left and torn it open entirely. Paul thought of all the ways it could have gone wrong: if he'd swerved even a tiny bit harder; the deer hadn't walked out at exactly that spot on the road; if that tree hadn't grown in exactly that spot, with the branch at exactly that angle. But by some turn of events, all of those things had happened exactly the way they did. And she was going to be okay.

"They're letting you out of here?"

“I think the nurses here are sick of me,” Paul said, not looking back at Yolanda, the young nurse pushing his wheelchair. He could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

“Pretty natural response to being around you for any length of time,” Marjan quipped from her hospital bed.

“Back in five,” Yolanda told him, setting the locking brake.

"Thank you," he told her. He turned back to Marjan, who was swaddled in blankets. "What is all this nonsense?” he said, gesturing to the cards and flowers on the table next to her bed. A stuffed Bernese dog was in bed next to her. "I didn't get any flowers or stuffed animals."

“The flowers were from Tommy, and this is from Cap and Buttercup,” she said, petting the dog’s head.

“Man, Cap just brought me some sudoku books.”

Marjan frowned. “But your hatred of sudoku is well-known.”

“Right?” Paul exclaimed. “Come on, at least give me some crossword puzzles.”

Marjan shook her head sadly. “It’s like he doesn’t even know you.”

Paul leaned his elbow against the arm of the wheelchair. “So when do I get to come back and spring you out of here?”

“Ugh, who knows,” Marjan said, pulling the stuffed dog into her lap. “They want to make sure that infection is cleared up first.”

“Ah.”

“But when they do let me out, we’re going out for some decent food, because this cafeteria food is disgusting.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Barbeque?"

"No, I'll leave you to go on your little barbeque date with Judd," she said with a dismissive hand motion.

“Shoulda told Cap to bring you one of his smoothies,” said Paul. “I’m sure he would have agreed.”

Marjan rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she said, “once I get out, maybe we can have a conversation about some things while I’m not about to pass out from blood loss.”

Paul laughed, and Marjan smiled at him. “Okay," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Deal.”

“And," Marjan said, pulling him in for a hug, "if you let Cap get within 50 feet of this hospital room with a smoothie, ride-or-die privileges are revoked."

[fictionfreakazoid]

I love how Marjan was like sorry imma need to bitch slap Sadie outttt before I pass out from literally getting stabbed in the back with a knife

[raypakorn]

911 Lone Star | 3x12 “Negative Space”

↳ paul’s futile journey to stop marjan

[911verseficrecs]

Hi! Do you have any recs for Marjan fics?

Our favorite big time badass? Absolutely.

We recommended this one in our first round-up — it's an awesome glimpse of where Marjan is at the top of S3:

Accept Defeat by @ourfreewillfanfic

And we'd love to see more Marjan-focused character studies like this! If anyone has written one we haven't found, feel free to post a link in the replies. In the meantime, here are some fics focused on Marjan and other members of the 126:

Marjan & Mateo:

in the meantime by hollyhobbit101 (@morganaspendragonss)

Marjan &/ Paul:

Be Careful by Annide

hope that you're happy with me in your life by barelyprolific

It always pays to fake a smile by brilliantbanshee (@marjansmarwani)

mutual concern by barelyprolific

Marjan/Nancy:

in the hope of open hands by brilliantbanshee (@marjansmarwani)

i've got you by @thatnerdemryn

finally on board by @thatnerdemryn

Worth the Climb by Regent_of_RarePairs

[dragonydreams]

911 Fic: Even if you're miles away (I'm by your side) 1/1

Title: Even if you’re miles away (I’m by your side) Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star, 9-1-1 Rating: Teen And Up Audience Pairings/Characters: Marjan Marwani, Eddie Diaz, Marjan Marwani & Paul Strickland, Evan “Buck” Buckley & Eddie Diaz Summary: After her fight with Paul, Marjan needs someone to talk to. Timeline: S03E09 The Bird Word Count: ~1300 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Reamworks, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Television, and 20th Century Fox Television. Betas: Thank you to shanachie for looking this over for me. Author’s Note: This story has been poking at me since I saw the episode and finally demanded to be written. Author’s Note 2: Title from “Anytime You Need a Friend” by Mariah Carey

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Marjan growled in frustration as she threw herself down on her couch. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her text conversations until she found the one she was looking for.

MM: How did you deal with your boy being so stubborn?

She didn’t have to wait long for a response. Ever since the wildfire, she and Eddie Diaz had kept in touch. They texted every few weeks, regaling each other with stories of crazy rescues they’d each performed. And, sometimes, had more personal discussions when they needed someone outside of their teams to talk to.

ED: You’re going to have to be more specific. He’s always stubborn.

MM: You said he pushed himself too hard after his leg was crushed by the ladder truck.

Instead of seeing the three dots flashing to indicate that Eddie was responding, her phone began to ring. 

Marjan wiped her eyes and cleared her throat before answering. “Didn’t expect that question to warrant a phone call.”

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[raypakorn]

“i love you, marj.” “you better.”