#Fic: Learning Curve

[vikingsong]

WIP Wednesday (7/26/23)

Hushed voices drew Arthur out of his slumber. Eyes still tightly shut, he tried to remember why his face was smooshed against a book instead of his fluffy pillows. The fog of sleep thinned, revealing the memories of the language curse and the fruitless search for a cure. His neck ached as though he’d been on patrol, sleeping on nothing but unforgiving rocks and inconveniently-placed tree roots. Of course, he had no intention of admitting that to anyone, least of all Merlin. He squeezed his eyes shut against the slivered rays of dawn that filtered in through the east-facing window. Before he had mustered the courage to lift his head and continue his research, his attention was drawn to the murmuring voices that had woken him. Feigning sleep, he listened with morbid curiosity as the two traitors discussed Arthur’s fate.

“How early did you go out this morning?” Merlin asked with an audible yawn. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Gaius hummed disapprovingly. “You had fallen asleep on Galen’s De ossibus ad tirones. If you thought reading that was relevant to the situation, then I know you were too tired to be thinking clearly.”

“It could be relevant!”

There was a pause. Arthur could almost hear Gaius’ skeptical eyebrow over the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Merlin sighed. “I mean, I’d read every other book we have in here. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

A ladle clinked against a pot, followed by the double clunk of bowls being set on the table by the hearth. A bench creaked, and the smell of porridge drifted through the chamber.

“Did you find anything useful?” Gaius asked.

“In that book? No.”

“And the rest?”

“Also no.” Merlin sighed again. “Did you find anything in the library?”

“I did not find anything useful, either. Not even in the collection of books Geoffrey had…preserved.”

There was a thunk, and Merlin’s reply was muffled. “Of course not. That would be too easy.”

Arthur’s head was already on the table, or he would have added a thunk of his own.

A bench squeaked. “Wait,” Merlin said, voice unmuffled, “did you go through the books in the secret room, too?”

Gaius hummed. “No, not yet. I had forgotten about that collection.”

The scrape of spoons against bowls resumed. Merlin replied around a mouthful of porridge, “I’ll look after breakfast.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to do the morning deliveries first.”

“But—”

“People still need their medicines, Merlin. You know that.” Gaius’ tone softened. “Those books have been gathering dust for more than twenty years; they can wait for one more hour.”

“But Arthur can’t.”

“Arthur is still sleeping. Finish your porridge.” Ignoring Merlin’s grumbling, Gaius continued, “I was surprised to see Arthur here.”

“Me too.” Merlin sighed. “I…I don’t understand it. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be here, but he’s actually helping. Or trying to, at least. But I still don’t know what he’s going to do with me when—if—I break the enchantment.”

“That would be a difficult conversation even without the language barrier.”

“I don’t think it’s the language barrier; I understand most of what he’s saying. It’s more what he’s not saying.”

“How do you mean?”

“For a moment, it seemed like he was my friend again. He ordered me to get some sleep while he read.” The spoon clunked in the bowl. “But when I woke up, he yelled at me.”

“That could mean anything. He yells at you daily, cursed or not.”

Merlin huffed a sardonic laugh. “I’m well aware, thanks.” His tone sobered. “This was different. I told him it was my fault that Morgana turned out so twisted.”

“Why would you tell him that?” Gaius demanded, aghast.

“Because he asked,” Merlin said simply. “I’m tired. I’m tired of lying. Tired of hiding. He knows about my magic now, so there’s no point in lying anymore.”

“You didn’t have to start with that,” Gaius countered.

“I don’t care.” The bench scraped across the floor as Merlin shoved it back and rose. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I never wanted to lie. Not to him. Not to Morgana, either.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself; you had no choice.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin replied, crossing to the sideboard. There was a splosh followed by the sound of Merlin scrubbing his bowl with more force than necessary. “I did have a choice, but all the options were bad. It was the lesser of two evils, but it was still evil.”

Gaius sighed, and the weight of many years hung heavy on his words. “She chose Morgause over Camelot. You did what you had to do to save Camelot, to save Arthur.”

“I know. I just…” The rough scrubbing paused. “I’m tired of only having bad options, I guess.”

[gomzdrawfr]

content warning: blood

Loyal to a fault

bonus + other versions:

Bonus:

Alt:

the words on Ghost's body reads:

LOVE (level of violence)

it takes a monster to destroy a monster (poorly cropped i apologize)

Loyal Dog

Vēnor (Latin verb for hunt, chase)

this is something very different to what I usually do I hope yall don't mind....also this was me when I was sharing this with my friends...because priceghost/ghostprice dynamic really gets a grip on me

[cattewife]

consequences

a(nother) h/ual/ian modern au snzfic

fandom: m/xtx t/gcf rating: E word count: 4100 contains: the usual allergic! h/ua c/heng & fet!x/ie l/ian cat allergy sneezing series-typical having sex about an allergy attack series-HIGH level of MESS cw: some description/almost-play h/ual/ian sap continues as always

"Oh, hello," H/ua C/heng says, and X/ie L/ian peeks over at the couch to see that R/uoye has climbed very determinedly into H/ua C/heng's lap. H/ua C/heng is hovering his hands over where the cat is now covering his sketchbook and screwing his face up like he's not sure if he's going to sneeze or not.

>> read on archiveofourown HERE <<

[ pls do not reblog to non snz/kink blogs! ]

(look sometimes you just want to fondly caress the warm sensitive running nose of a man who's been sneezing helplessly and sometimes he'll just let you even if it's absolutely going to make him sneeze again and that's really what this fic was about)

[falling-star-cygnus]

me when i realize getting comments on my fics means i have to actually WRITE my fics: ... *sobs* -> nah, i love writing, really- even when my head tells me i suck at it

i wanted to write a scene in my last dbd fic, 'like a wishbone' that was after Charles reformed from being Chorb ↑ however, it was 5AM and i was tired and i wanted to post a fic. so i scrapped it. until now {tumblr post}

It takes nearly a week before Charles comes back to himself.

Being in orb form is.. kind of nicely fuzzy. It's warm and safe and he doesn't have to think and that makes it dangerous. Because Charles had never been safe a day in his life.

Being safe in death was.. well, if he was then that meant Edwin was not.

And that wasn't okay.

So he forced himself to recover faster, to reform quicker, even at the expense of his sturdiness.

The last time he had- ..hm. Edwin would have a word for... whatever this was. But he had been back in proper human shape within the hour.

He should not have been back in proper human shape within the hour.

Maybe he could've squeaked by with a quick reformation, if it had been less severe, but if it had been less severe he wouldn't of orbed in the first place.

Heh, orbed.

He'll have to pitch that one to Edwin.

Anyway- everything had seemed fine, at first. Charles' form had held up, as paper thin as it felt, as weak as it felt. All things considered, it had been pretty aces to be up and moving again.

If he ignored the way he could see the floorboards through his feet.

It had been fine.

Until he'd tripped.

Bloody tripped and hit the ground and then he was a goddamned orb again.

Unlike with the Edwardian, who's form sucked into itself as if trying to hide, Charles' form split like ripples in a puddle.

Why couldn't his earring ever stay on when this happened?

Unfortunately, he'd given his best mate a right scare during that stint. As obvious by the way Edwin had practically sandwiched him between his palms after.

Practically, because honestly Charles could've wriggled just slightly and been free.

If Edwin hadn't up and tossed him over his shoulder that one time, the younger ghost would be extremely worried about his lack of physical strength.

As it was.. Edwin was just gentle.

And pissed.

"Charles, what were you thinking," he'd hissed, thumbs shaking when they'd pressed over the little ball of light, "Did you forget you were cleaved in half!?"

Well.. no.

That had been exceedingly painful. But at least it hadn't been-

"I can tell what you're thinking and no, it is not better-"

Which brings them to the now.

If Charles had to rank all the different ways he's been orbed, which was four including this one, he'd put the first one at the very top. He'd only been out of commission for a day or two.

Why was it a cardinal rule that things had to get worse the more they happened? That wasn't fair.

Though... every time he reformed, Edwin was there to put his earring back in for him.

And that was nice.

"Oi! What are you-" "My apologies, Charles, but I thought this might be safer than letting you poke around in the dark and get a new hole. We don't exactly show up in mirrors." "...that's vampires, though, isn't it?"

It was nice, because Edwin's hands were always gentle- always precise- when it came to Charles. Like he couldn't bear to be the cause of any potential ache.

He hadn't been treated so carefully since.. well. Ever really.

Back in the office, a full week after his skull had been caved in, Charles sits on the armrest of their small couch. [Their small couch- his and Edwin's'- the younger ghost's chest sings.]

Edwin sits properly on the seat next to him, leaning just slightly into his side as if to assure himself that Charles hadn't gone and- Niko called it poofed?

...he liked orbed better.

"Oh-! Charles, your earring," Crystal suddenly leans to grab the little gold accessory from off Edwin's desk, "Here- let me.."

And.. he doesn't know why he feels disappointed.

He liked Crystal, a lot actually, even if they'd decided on keeping things platonic in the end. But..

"Give it here," his best friend all but demands, with his palm out all posh like.

Charles loves him, so much.

"What? Why?"

"Because we can't all move for one activity, Crystal, and I'm already on the proper side."

For some reason, Edwin's sudden insistence makes Niko let out a soft gasp.

"He's the boy you like.." and- well. Well.

Dwelling on that- on the fact that his best friend talked about liking him- would surely be enough to make him poof- orb- whatever again. So- so..

It's unbelievably lucky that Charles doesn't have to.

..or maybe not, actually.

Because Edwin was gently pulling him down by his chain to slide in the little gold star he'd been wearing all his afterlife back into place and that's something else he's going to dwell on for a very, very long time.

The older ghost runs his thumb over the lobe when he's finished, to make sure it sits neatly, before letting go.

"Cheers, mate," Charles croaks out, not quite having the right of mind to straighten up yet.

Crystal clicks her tongue and leans into Niko.

"Disgustingly domestic."

...what?

[jubilantmedusa]

Untitled Zukka Hurt/Comfort Ficlet #1 (because practicing drawing means I need to write little mini fics I guess...)

“You’re sick.” Sokka’s voice was as calm as the surface of water on a still night. Not a hint of accusation or contempt. No softness, no sting. Only observation. Reflection.

Zuko took a breath, deep to sooth his limbs that were threatening to shake. “I’m fine.”

Sokka frowned, and Zuko felt a knot form instantly in his stomach. His shivered, vision swimming as he saw the flash of another frown, superimposed. A different frown. Harsh. Sharp.

Sokka’s movements were calm. Fluid. Gentle as he raised his hand to Zuko’s forehead and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. “You have a fever.” Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up as Sokka’s lip began to curl, but as his expression settled Zuko realized that Sokka wasn’t angry, just concerned.

Zuko breathed deeply, pinning his arms to his sides before the other boy could notice that he was shaking now. Only, he must not have been fast enough because Sokka dropped his hand from Zuko’s forehead to grab Zuko’s trembling fingers. 

“Your hands are freezing.” Sokka hand tightened around Zuko’s as he pulled it upwards, pressing it against his mouth. Zuko couldn’t stop his hands from shaking even harder as Sokka’s breath warmed his skin.

—

“I can do that.” Zuko reached to grab his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” Sokka lifted it over his head like they were kids playing keep away. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms, but let Sokka keep it.

“You’re not fine.” Sokka spread of the blanket. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Ugg.” Sokka paused. He looked up, holding  Zuko’s gaze until Zuko finally drawled, two days? maybe three.”

“Three days?!” Zuko felt his pulse quickening again, his shoulders bracing. “Why didn’t you say anything!” Even though Sokka’s voice voice was high he didn’t sound angry. In fact… Sokka’s eyebrows were scrunched, lips pressed thin. “You were training Aang this morning. Zuko, you shouldn’t be bending like that if you’re sick “ Sokka was worried.

“I’m fine.” How many times had Zuko said that now? “It’s just a fever. It’ll go away.”

“I mean, sure it will, if you rest. Can you, uh…” He gestured towards the sleeping bag, laid out and waiting.

“Oh.” It felt awkward to lower himself down when his legs felt so much like jelly, Zuko was sure it wasn’t graceful. But Sokka didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyebrow raised. Waiting. Zuko realized, then, that he was supposed to lay all the way down. So he did, somehow feeling boneless now that he wasn’t holding himself up. 

He blinked as Sokka settled a blanket over to his shoulders. It took Zuko and absurd number of seconds to realize that it was a blue blanket, one of Sokka’s own. Woven. Thick. Soft.

“Comfortable?” Sokka asked. When Zuko met his eyes he smiled.

It was nice, seeing Sokka smile. Zuko wanted to smile back, but he… there was a quivering in his stomach. Not sickness, just… waiting. “I’m fine,” Zukp said. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, he added, “I… feel fine.”

“I doubt that,” Sokka said.

“I do,” Zuko insisted. Yes, his body felt suddenly heavy. And his skin buzzed strange sensitivity that made event he gentlest touch feel like a scratch. But he was lying on his side, on something soft, and he was warm. “I… thank you.”

Sokka shrugged. “I didn’t do much,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

Zuko thought for a moment. “Water?” He croaked.

“Coming right up, bud.”

Zuko let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to the sound of Sokka’s footsteps as he went back to the packs, the rustling of fabric as he was digging through something. Then there was a feeling, something hard brushing his fingers. Zuko opened his eyes to see a small, green glass. “A Ba Sing Se souvenir cup?”

“It was on sale,” Sokka said, chuckling. “Drink it. It’s medicine.”

“For what?” Zuko asked.

“The fever?” Sokka reminded him. “Do they… umm… not treat fevers in the Fire Nation or something?”

“Of course they do.” Zuko propped himself up just enough to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth before settling down again.

More sounds of shuffling as Sokka lowered himself, and then Zuko felt weight on his back as Sokka pressed into him, a hand settling itself onto his arm. Sokka’s touch was firm, but quiet. Soft. Sweet. “But not yours?” Sokka sounded sad.

Zuko swallowed. He remembered that feeling, tossing and turning as his skin crawled and his stomach churned. Waking up with a sweat drenched face but father still expected Zuko to do his katas. Run through his katas, go to school, sit up straight. There was punishment for slouching, even if he only slouched because he was shivering so hard he couldn’t mind his posture. “We were being trained to rule, Azula and I. Countries don’t stop because you have a cold.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, just started rubbing his arm. 

“You can rest now,” Sokka said after a while. “I can take care of you.”

Take care of him? Zuko tried to remember the last time someone had taken care of him. His Uncle had tried, of course, but Zuko had always pushed him away. He couldn’t let himself be seen that way - weak, sick. So he ignored the quiver in his Uncle’s voice when Iroh spoke to him from the other side of a metal door. And before that… before that his mother would, when father would let her. When Zuko was so sick that she’d block his bed with her body to keep father away, even if it cost her. Then sit with him and fuss his hair back with slender fingers.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Sokka said.

Zuko took a deep breath in. Not a sigh, just a breath, one to fill him up. He could feel his heart starting to race again, but... nicer this time, with Sokka so warm and solid against his back. He let the breath out. Slow. Controlled. Eyes still closed, he whispered, “Okay.”

[tacklemi]

brand new account, brand new art program, feels like a fresh start!

so of course, immediately: kakasasu lol

idc what canon says, kakashi will always bigger and taller than sasuke!! except when i need him not to be lolol

[yellowocaballero]

dude psyched ur reading orv, insanely curious about ur takes

My friend @charterandbarter put it best.

ORV is pretty fascinating to me. It's really just a self-insert isekai OP webnovel, and it is nothing else. Its medium is trashy and lowbrow, and its genre is almost devoid of high art. OP isekais are 'id' stories, meant to be satisfying and fun and contain very little of substance. ORV is a very well executed OP isekai - it contains the elements of the genre that make it satisfying, it understands why people read the genre and enjoy it, it reproduces those elements very well, and it is very concerned with telling an enjoyable story. ORV really, really loves webnovels and isekais and shitty wishfuillment stories. There's a lot more to ORV than the 'fist pump' moments of kdj doing something cool or pulling a fast one on a shmuck, but those moments are the undoubtedly the point of ORV, as they are the point of all SIOC isekai OP webnovels. And that's the point of ORV.

Metanarrative stories are cheap. Neil Gaiman's written 30 and millenials love waxing philosophical about the power of narratives. These metanarratives tend to describe stories as a theoretical framework through which we understand the world and our lives. Therefore, stories are tremendously important and valuable because they contain the totality of religion, history, culture, relationships, and lives. ORV says this too. But this theory tends to land at mystifying and exalting stories on virtue of them being stories, which I think misses the point. Stories aren't special because they're stories. They're not more sacred for containing our lives. What ORV says is that stories are important, because our lives are important. I like that a lot more.

ORV says that stories are our way of ordering a disordered world. A history, culture, nation, and religion are stories. None of those stories are true or real, because histories/cultures/nations/religions are constructs - they're how we interface with reality. They're created with a purpose, told for a point, pulled together into a narrative, and are satisfying or dissatisfying based on certain factors. ORV's perspective on fiction is deeply seeped in its own nature as 'low art'. There's something very cynical and commercialized about narratives in ORV, and every narrative in ORV is being told for a quick buck or to try and spread an idea for an individual's gains. It's a very unromantic, unimpressed view of narratives and fiction. It's pretty much the only way a SIOC OP isekai webnovel like ORV can talk about it without being disingenuous. And it's remarkably raw and visceral as a result, because ORV loves SIOC OP isekai webnovels like kdj loves yjh. Fiercely, insanely, like breathing, exactly for what it is. No pretensions.

It's bizarre, because ORV is about love. It's not about love for anything that deserves it. Not for a story with a lot of literary merit, a main character who is a remotely kind or lovable person, or art itself outside of its commercial or philosophical value. kdj really, really, really fucked loved TWS - because it was there, and because it lasted 15 years, and because it was fake, and because it was what he had. He loves yjh because yjh was his only companion in a dark world. That's fiction. Fiction helped him survive, because love is a way of ordering a disordered world.

I'm still reading myself, but ORV seems to be about how we manage to live in a hard world, and how to find it within ourselves to love each other and find meaning in that hard world. I see why kdj's the protagonist: he can find merit in something for existing, and loving it for being there, and he holds onto something because he has it. He sees the value in that. He read it in a book.

TL;DR: ORV is well-executed trashy commercialized art that is so obsessed with trashy commercialized art that it's looped straight back around into being somehow the most raw and visceral depiction of love I've seen in a long time.

[mishy-mashy]

Oh the temptation to write a Resistance fic where Kudo learns to take care of a baby during terrible times

[stellewriites]

thanks for the tags @dwarvenagenda & @pricegouge !! 💓

it was fun to check my stats for this year :3

funny to compare how i started my year vs how its ending (fandoms im writing for, fic length range, themes and tropes i’m preferring, etc).

i’ve found that although ive maybe written less and had less interaction in general from readers this year i’ve truly found some amazing people that i consider good friends on here now :’) and i wouldn’t swap that for anything!!

blank copy below and npt: @pricetagged @ohlawdthebirds @sentientcave @syoddeye @gloard @wraithdance @buttdumplin @luvrodite @mikichko @lewistoferrari @disgustingtwitches

[tackytigerfic]

Hi, Tacky!

I've been thinking about past fics I've read, and I had a scene come to mind that I just can't quite place into a fic. But I think I read it on your blog as one of your fics, so I thought I would send an ask to see if it reminds you of anything you've written?

It was a Draco/Harry scene where they were both laying on the roof outside some party their friends were hosting at night, and they were passing a cigarette back and forth while talking. I remember it just being a scene with this lovely ambiance, but I cannot remember what else happened to search for it.

Does this ring any bells to you? No worries if not. I hope you have a lovely start to your year!

Hi Anon! Thanks so much for this, I had actually completely forgotten it existed but I think it might be one of mine alright.

It's called Even the Night and it's a short I wrote for a fest that was based around the senses. It's dual POV and just a few snapshots of the development of their friendship—they smoke on a roof outside the party, and Harry shaves all Draco's hair off for him, and they have sex in a bath. Does that sound right?

I think I have them sitting out on rooftops a lot, there's a blowjob scene in one fic iirc, and in my current WIP they used to sit out on the roof and drink wine. I think it's my feral 90s upbringing, we spent a lot of time climbing out windows lol.

[x-girlinthecafe]

Writing or struggling, whatever you want to call it today. I was able to rewrite some parts and add some lines to the one-shot I am working on. Written 169 words today. Let's consider it a win, looking back on the past few days/weeks.

Note to self: just once in a while (or just always really) reread what you are working on. You'll find your vibe so much quicker - you know that. Just do it. We are not the type anymore to open the document and add a few hundred words on a whim. It's nice when that happens but we are responsible adults now so we sadly can't always write when inspiration strikes hard.

[intheeveningsunrise]

ooo ask game! what about 40?

ohoho hello!!! thank u!!!

40. best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten

i think the first thing that springs to mind is the positive feedback i’ve gotten on writing original characters and integrating them realistically in a story? Obviously this was pretty much entirely about my son Mikumo but it’s a really reassuring thing to hear that people find my “original” (even if slightly derivative from Izuku) characters interesting!

another good bit of feedback i get often is that i write grief Really Well - across a lot of different fics. and for that. i am So Sorry but also Thank You ! grief is a fundamental emotion i think worms its way into quite a lot of things i write, if not grieving a person but a life not lived or the way things used to be etc, so hearing that carries through well in my works is great!

i also want to highlight the best “negative” feedback i remember receiving, which was about a decade ago now and i wasn’t very experienced in writing but i had ideas well beyond my skill level, i was writing a very long story (over 100k) and eventually realised it wasn’t going anywhere and left in a note that i’d be deleting it. a commenter told me they were glad i was deleting it, not because they didn’t enjoy it, but because they felt that one day i’d be able to tell that story in a way that made sense and made me happy. they had been skimming it waiting for it to go somewhere over the first 50k didn’t really have anything to say, because they could see the potential in what i was writing.

i think that was a really interesting thing for me to hear when i was 15/16. the advice is often to write stuff anyway, even if it’s above your skill level - but this feedback taught me it’s okay to take a while. it’s okay to step back, to wait a while, to let the idea take form and not just toss things together. that understanding came to me with age, and i never lost the joy for writing, and i don’t regret the “wasted” time for that story i deleted (i never did touch it again, and ive grown out of the fandom, pairing, and general premise). people will still have enjoyment for it, even if it comes out later than you would have planned.

long winded and rambly but i did just say i wrote over 100k at like, 16 lol, so ive never changed!

[insomnianoctem]

I need a new hyperfixation that is not my OC and is tumblr/AO3 searchable

[studioeisa]

HI ILYSM. 8I PLS...

𝐌𝐈𝐗-𝐀𝐍𝐃-𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 ★ lemme give u the biggest KITH!!! ily most <3

8I. WHICH OF YOUR FICS DID YOU SPEND THE MOST AMOUNT OF TIME WRITING? DID ANYTHING SUBSTANTIAL GET CUT FROM IT?

with lost in translation being the longest body of work i have up (so far), it seems like a vouchsafed answer. i started writing it way before i started this blog, purely as a love letter -ish to hao. it eventually made a lot of sense to publish it on his birthday. it sits at nearly 26k words, but it definitely had substantial cuts! a whole, whole lot. [spoilers abound -ish] they have the tender moment at the beach but don't confess. there's instead a bunch of near-misses after, a scene where hao eavesdrops on mc airing her concerns, a scene where he gets drunk and almost messes around w/someone else (which mc sees and oooh, tension), and then a scene where the two are filming on jeju island for GOSE. that's where the confession happens! but i think that was an extra ~10k words, and at the time, i couldn't manage to iron it all out like i might have wanted. i felt a lot of those later parts were also rather ooc, so i cut them all out :") i have some scenes of them in a relationship that are raw as hell, but, yes!

[altschmerzes]

🌹🌹🌹 Can we see a little snippet of one of those cuddles Jamie gets in wriggle up please please please? :D

one THOUSAND percent. this is more than a 'little' lmao but. we know how i work around here.

this is from the fallout of the 2x08 debacle in wriggle up on dry land, after they've taken jamie home from the hospital.

cw for direct references to injuries caused by abuse.

Despite the late hour and despite the exhaustion making him feel like he’s been coated in lead, Ted doesn’t go to sleep right away. He changes into his pyjamas and then sits up on top of his still-made bed, leaning against the headboard and reading a book. Well. ‘Reading a book,’ insofar as ‘staring at the same page and not remotely processing any of the words on it for minutes at a time, occasionally flipping a page out of pure instinct’ can be considered reading. At this point, Ted doesn’t even remember what the book is, just that it had been sitting next to his lamp and it was better than grabbing his phone, what with all the anxiety-inducing crap that thing tended to contain at any given moment. It’s because of this avoidance of actual sleep that Ted notices immediately when the door down the hall opens.

Closing his book and setting it off to the side, Ted watches with a light frown as Jamie exits the spare room - his room, and starts down the hall. His posture is reluctant and closed-off, moving like he’s coated in the same lead that Ted is, and he makes the trip slowly. It’s hard to tell if the lethargic pace is due to pain or something else, and the thought makes Ted’s heart skip a beat.

When he reaches the doorway to Ted’s room, Jamie hesitates outside of it. The pause only lasts for a moment and then the boy is walking across the threshold and directly over to the side of the bed. Jamie is silent as he crawls up onto the mattress to Ted’s right, laying down facing the wall with his arms folded over his chest and going very, very still.

Book now entirely forgotten, Ted looks at Jamie and waits for him to say something, to reveal what it is he came here for, what he needs or wants. Nothing of the sort happens. Jamie doesn’t do anything at all. He doesn’t get up and leave but he doesn’t move any closer to Ted either. He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t make a sound. Jamie just lays there, facing the wall, curled in on himself and motionless - and putting all the pressure squarely on his bad shoulder, too. It has to ache something fierce, even with the painkillers the doctors sent him home with.

Ted’s heart hurts in his chest looking at him - literally. It literally, physically hurts. He watches the boy for a while, unsure what to do, his sternum throbbing and worry heavy and thick in his lungs. Jamie still doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything or move at all, though he’s too rigid to have fallen asleep. His arms are tucked tight against his chest, giving the impression of someone who is holding himself in a mimicry of someone else doing so.

That’s the thought that finally prompts Ted to take some kind of action. He can’t bear it any longer, watching the boy there and knowing that he needs something but not knowing what, and so he reaches out. The hand that he settles on the stiff crest of Jamie’s shoulder is slow and cautious, not wanting to do the wrong thing and spook or hurt the kid. All Ted gets in response is a muted, suffocated flinch - one he knows by now is far from an actual indication on its own that Jamie doesn’t want to be touched. There’s a subtle pressure against Ted’s palm that confirms the suspicion, even as Jamie’s body shudders with a laboured, tremulous breath - Jamie is leaning back against the hand on his shoulder.

Doing his best not to jostle either of them, Ted slides down the headboard a bit, pillow bunching behind him to create a support for the new, no longer upright angle. With gentle pressure and an abundance of care, Ted slips his hand from Jamie’s upper shoulder down to the other one, the one jammed into the mattress. He pulls at Jamie gingerly, guiding the kid around to face him and cross the gap between them, ever mindful of the pain he must be in, even still. Ted can’t stop seeing it in his mind: the permanent mental image of Jamie’s whipped back, the wounds now hidden by his shirt. The inescapable and acute awareness of the welts, the broken skin, leaves Ted as cautious as if he is handling spun glass as he curls an arm around Jamie, settling the boy in against his chest.

Jamie goes readily and without a hint of a fight. He leans himself fully into Ted’s side, his forehead pressed against Ted’s collarbone, though his hands stay tucked up in fists between them, not reaching out or holding on. Ted can feel the fabric of his shirt warm with Jamie’s heavy, ragged breaths. He isn’t crying but he is shaking, trembling all over and breathing like he’s just run a marathon as he lays, boneless and almost desperate, against Ted.

Normally, it’s a struggle for Ted to keep quiet. He doesn’t handle silences well and he never has, but this is an exception. It’s not that he enjoys the silence, really, he finds it just as disconcerting as he always does, but his brain is empty of things to say. So, because he can’t think of anything and because Jamie isn’t talking either, he doesn’t say anything at all. Ted just cradles him, holding the kid as tight as he dares to when the increase in pressure only prompts Jamie to press closer in turn, and thinks about how still he’d been when he first laid down - still and silent, facing the wall.

Jamie had not asked for this. He hadn’t reached out to be hugged, or asked to cuddle, or anything of the sort - and of course he didn’t. He had just laid there on the bedspread next to Ted, getting as close and taking as much as he dared.

It’s devastating to think about. He’s a kid. He’s just a kid, just sixteen years old, and Ted remembers being that age with a sharp and vivid clarity. Sometimes he wishes that he didn’t, but he remembers, and when you’re sixteen and something terrible happens to you, something annihilating happens to you, sometimes you need your mom or dad to hold you. And isn’t that something that Jamie probably has all but no experience with, huh. Not when his mom’s been gone for years and his dad- Well. Suffice to say it’s no shock he hadn’t been able to ask for what he needed, ask to be held.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Steddie fic Duology 'Dreamwalker/Subconscious' Posting starting January 4th, 2025

Masterpost Links: Dreamwalker * Subconscious

I have spent almost two years working on these fics, and although they still aren't completed I'm nervous the new season is going to start in either January or February of 2025 and I always swore I'd start posting before that happened. I'm almost to the 200k word count mark in total, I still have a little ways to go, but I don't think I can wait any longer. So posting will start the first weekend of January 2025.

This is a duology that will post simultaneously with each other, it's taken a lot of planning on my part to make the chapters happen in tandem but I hope it'll make an interesting read. Eddie's story 'Dreamwalker' is going to be a horror-survivalist story and will post on the first and third Saturday of every month. Steve's story 'Subconscious' will be more character-study driven with drama levels similar to the canon show, elements of mystery and suspense horror also prominent, and it will post on the first and third Sunday of every month.

The point of the duology is that whoever reads it can do so in whatever fashion they wish: you can read all of Eddie's story and it'll make sense, you can read all of Steve's story and it'll make sense, or you can read them chapter by chapter and see what is happening in real time with each character. For example, Eddie's chapter 1 and Steve's chapter 1 occur over the same period of time, so when they 'share' a dream then that dream will be in that chapter but from each character's POV. (I know normally when authors do this they write one story and then the other immediately after, so I kind of made this harder on myself than it had to be, but I also wanted specific elements to mirror each other in each story and sometimes I only come up with/discover those details as I'm writing. )

I will not be posting this on tumblr, because I have some formatting specifics that are only achievable on ao3, but I will make tumblr chapter announcement postings with links to the ao3 fic, moodboards, and song inspirations if they are important to the chapter. (Spoiler: this WILL happen at least once or twice.) If you would like to be on a taglist for these chapter announcements please feel free to drop a comment, an ask, or DM me and I'll do so. Or you can simply subscribe to the ao3 fic series if you have an ao3 account.

This is my first contribution to Steddie/Stranger Things so I'm nervous, but I'm a little in love with this weirdly-unnecessarily-complex story and it's been entirely self-indulgent for going on 20 months so it's time it's seen the light of day.

TL;DR: Chapter postings on the first and third weekend of every month! Eddie on Saturday, Steve on Sunday.