#A five year old fandom that is still - judging by the fic count on AO3 - going strong and we binged that on iPlayer

[lothcatthree]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

thank you for tagging me @forloveofcodywan (i've been wanting to do this one for a while)

under the cut so i don't plague your dash

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

16 (i used to have >30 but i orphaned half of them bc i wrote them when i was 14 and nobody needs to see that)

2.) What’s your ao3 word count?

162,724

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

star wars all day babey. i dabbled in steve x bucky from 2017-2018 ish, but star wars has had my brain in a vice grip since 2015 (i was another victim to the sequels causing a sw renaissance).

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

the right feeling - from my finnpoe days :') this is part 1 of a soulmate au series. this one has 4.7k words.

i think i was blind before i met you - steve x bucky (damn we're going way back, this is 7 years old) modern au with barista steve and college student disaster bucky. 15k words.

please stay for awhile now - finnpoe, again for the win. this is part 2 of the soulmate au series. 5.6k words.

we should just kiss like real people do - finnpoe. this is the fourth and final part of the soulmate au series. hurt/comfort, recovery, all the good stuff. 8.2k words. (i suppose we all needed the soulmate finnpoe fluff in 2016, judging by these stats).

but through it all, i will need you anyways - current codywan WIP!! fix-it fic with just an insane amount of disgustingly tooth-rotting fluff. no clone death, just good feelings. this has been ENTIRELY self-indulgent and i started it when i got initial codywan brain rot. 64k words and counting!

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

oh my god yes, i love comments and it puts the biggest smile on my face knowing that people took time out of their day to write something nice for my little ramblings :')

6.) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

jesus, literally none of them. i have to do happy endings, i'm too fragile. closest would be i hate you, fuck you, please never stop looking at me which is wolfwren PWP, except they still kinda hate each other at the end. (this barely counts because i am writing a follow-up that explores more of their feelings for each other and has a happy ending)

7.) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ALL OF THEM. idk what to tell you. probably the cheesiest ending is the dinluke modern soulmate au i just wrote - how did i ever live without you?

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

no, thank god. i keep things pretty vanilla and i tag very thoroughly to do my best to avoid any hurt feelings. (also i've just simply been lucky to never experience that)

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

oh fuck yeah. 2/3 of my fics are explicit. mostly m/m, one f/f and two m/m/m. we have fun over here.

10.) Do you write cross overs? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no, this would break my brain. next question.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, unless it has been and they're very good about hiding it (doubt it, tho. i'd be a weird choice to steal from)

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but i would love it!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no, but i have been thinking more and more that i would love to do this!!

14.) What’s your all time favourite ship?

this is so hard. . i think codywan has been the one ship that has just slapped my across the face and gave me stockholm syndrome. I think about them.... All the Time. second closest would be finnpoe, judging on how many stories i wrote about them. and they just fit so well together and i adore their characters and they had so much chemistry and. (i'll stop now)

15.) What’s a WIP you’d like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

my brain will simply not allow me to leave a WIP uncompleted. by god, it's going to happen even if i am chaining myself to my laptop and typing through tears.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

i have received many compliments about my dialogue and smut scenes flowing very naturally :) i try to make them play like a movie and have it immersive enough that a character doesn't do/say something unnatural to make the reader stop and say wait what?

16.) What are your writing weaknesses?

oh god, PLOT and ANGST. can't do it for the life of me. i work best in oneshots so i can brain vomit and move on. i have a hard time planning out fics and i deeply envy writers that can create beautiful long fics in a timely fashion. i deeply lack the patience for something like that.

as for angst, yes i can technically do it, but it pains every cell in my body. just let the sad old gay men be happy.

17.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

closest i have ever gotten is mando'a, but it's been very fun to learn!

18.) First fandom you wrote for?

oh boy. one direction (the aforementioned orphaned works).

19.) Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

i am cursed with "i immediately hate everything i write as soon as i release it" syndrome. recently, though, i was particularly proud of safe. warm. mine. because it was very outside of my comfort zone due to the involvement of three people and it was the first a/b/o i have written!

no pressure tags for @veelawings @apricusapollo @shy-wookiee. these are all the mutuals that write (that i know of) and haven't already been tagged (i think)! but please, anyone who i missed or who sees this and wants to chime in and tag me, please do!!!

[zonerz]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by da bestie @a-problematic-writer for this !!!!!

How many works do you have on ao3?

There's 14 atm!!!

What's your total AO3 word count?

Sitting at 569,356 rn :] thank u Answers LMAO 😭

What fandoms do you write for?

MCSM, Sonic, Kingdom Hearts, and anything that catches my fancy and eye in the meantime! Basically whatever! Also got some FF and Danganronpa peeking in :]

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Answers, Would You Like To Dance, MCSM Prompts/Drabbles, Demyx Drabbles oop-- 😳, Sonic and the Black Knight? More likeSonic and a Lot of Trauma

Do you respond to comments?

Yes all the time and all of them!!! I love interacting with readers and having conversations!!!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably the SatBK one LMAO sorry my beloved. Maybe I LIED HOW COULD I FORGET. ALVI. IT'S THIS ONE.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Im honestly not sure??? They all, despite having their angst, tend to end on some hopeful notes or some kinda resolution 🤔it's also kinda hard to judge tho bc a lot are just drabbles and little thought experiments for me :]

Do you get hate on fics?

I've had the pleasure of not yet encountering any!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not my thing! I can barely write two characters holding hands without feeling like a whore LMFAOOOOO

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not typically where I specialize!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of 😭👍

What's the longest you've spent working on one fic? And the shortest?

ANSWERS. MY GOD. I've been working on Answers since December of 2018 and she's still going and gonna be 5 years old soon which is CRAZYYYYYY 😭😭😭 That said, I wouldn't have it any other way and I'm still very excited for it and the future of it as I'm FINALLY getting into some of the meat of it that's been on the docket since 2018 :]

As for shortest, I'm pretty capable of getting a fairly long drabble out in just a few hours, so that'd probably be the shortest time I have.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not on Ao3!

What's your all-time favorite ship? From all fandoms?

I can't easily pick one but I do feel like Sonic and Shadow's dynamic has like. rewired my brain LMAO

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

the Demyx Drabbles mentioned earlier. Mainly because they were a set of character explorations and a lot of my own ideas and thoughts have changed pretty drastically from when I started writing those, so I've lost the idea spark on that line of thinking. Im still COMPLETELY unwell about that little weirdo, but in a different flavor now

What are your writing strengths?

Character relationships, motives, and dialogue and maybe a bit of ilke??? Atmosphere????? I do my best to write it well at the very least!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences are always a fucking bitch bro 😭 same with like physical descriptions and scenery--I don't know if it comes across like that but I always put in extra effort and time to refine these aspects before putting something out because I want them to be the best I can make them at the time 👍

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm open to it but personally would like to have a little familiarity with the language and its nuances myself before attempting too much lest I fall into the trap of like. Google translate ruining shit 😭

First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic!

Favorite fic you've written?

Answers is VERY much my pride and joy rn :] to me it's more than just an MCSM fic/continuation, it is 100% a love letter to MC as a whole which was just huge to me growing up. I've completely thrown myself into all corners of it's world and lore as well as throw in fun little references from things I loved over the years and done my best to stir them all together in a way that feels naturally cohesive, fun, and semi-realistic in a way that doesn't like snap a reader out of their suspension of disbelief! I want it to be engaging and natural and overall just a fun experience :] 💖

I can't think of anyone to tag rn (brain so so empty) so if anyone wants to take a stab at this go ahead!!! :]

[xavantina]

I am so very bad at actually doing these things, but I was tagged by the lovely and talented @gavotteangel, so I finally got off my butt and went to town.

Fanfic Writer 20 Questions!

1. how many works do you have on ao3? A measly 31. But in my defense, I’m ancient, so I have posted at least twice as many on LiveJournal back in the day.

2. what’s your total ao3 word count? 162,236  

3. how many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Six are represented on AO3, including a mix of various RPF fandoms, Hannibal, Law and Order: SVU, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and recently Loki. But back in my teenage years I wrote fic in the Lord of the Rings fandom, Harry Potter, and as I got older even more diverse RPF, mostly centered around US political media and, uh... Top Gear. Look, I have a past, okay, leave me alone.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

Assemble, a lighthearted, non-graphic-but-still-very-shippy Marvel RPF

As Loud as the Hell You Want, smutty Will Graham/Frederick Chilton

The Ties That Bind, a Barisi soulmate AU

Arrest Me - another Barisi fic, this one smutty

Young Police Cadet Bottoms for Busty Blonde - a Carisi/Amaro (and Carisi/OFC) porn fic where I’m actually super proud of the title. it really sets the tone 😂

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not? Almost always. If you took the time to comment, I will take the time to say thank you. Especially when I get the really juicy comments, like those that quote favourite lines and stuff. I love those comments, they’re so helpful!

6. what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I’m really bad at following through on angst, I wrap that shit up with a vaguely happy ending. That said, Control You is pretty bad. It’s also locked, because I lock RPF religiously. kill them; kill them with fire is technically still a WIP, so it doesn’t count, although it’s some of the angstiest fic I’ve written.

7. do you write crossovers? Not so much these days, but I used to

8. have you ever received hate on a fic? Oh yes, before the US Pundit fandom hid all the RPF away in secret, thoroughly locked LJ communities, there were some pretty ugly instances of hate going around.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? Ahahaha, yes, I do. 23 of those 31 fics are rated E. And it was the same back on LJ.

10. have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know.

11. have you ever had a fic translated? I’ve received requests for a couple of fics to be translated into Russian. I gave my permission, but I have no idea if they followed through with it.

12. have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes. Way back when I was 18 I had a 42 year old BFF from California who shared my brand of absurd humour and we co-wrote a sprawling 20K+ Pundit RPF comedy zombie AU, where we took turns writing the chapters as we went along, playing off what the other person had written in the previous chapter. I was a great experience, like the fic equivalent of improv comedy groups. An entire story based on ‘yes, and...’ as a concept.

13. what’s your all-time favorite ship? I can’t possibly answer that question, I’m a bit of a whore in this respect. I mix and match. Although judging from my AO3 account it’s ChillyWilly and Barisi, and it’s true that I love those ships.

14. what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? kill them; kill them with fire probably. It’s a ASOUE Zombie AU with stand-alone chapters focusing on different characters in different locations, but in a vaguely chronological order. Can you tell that I adore zombie AUs? Anyway, I was very proud of this one, because this particular zombie apocalypse is totally “realistic” in-universe. It takes an existing killer-fungus danger and replaces ‘certain death’ being the result of infection with ‘zombies’ being the result. So yes, it’s The Last of Us-style “zombies”. I actually stole the terminology from there as well, because I couldn’t be bothered with creating too much lore. I never care about the actual zombie horror anyway, I care about the human reaction to a deadly crisis. 

15. what are your writing strengths? A writer I admired very much in ye olden days once told me that I was good at blending genres and moods organically, in those day it was combinations of action, humour, and smut. She then asked me, me, for advice on a fic. I still think about that every single time I feel down.

16. what are your writing weaknesses? Definitely a tendency for overly detailed, flowery, self-indulgently elaborate prose. I spent years forcing myself to use a plain ‘said’ more often, because God knows I struggled with the concept from the beginning. And commas. So many commas. I often joke that Ernest Hemingway would fucking deck me if he was alive and reading my stuff. Oscar Wilde would you rather discuss writing with? Case closed.

17. what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? I think it’s fine in controlled doses, especially if you consult native speakers to confirm that google translate isn’t about to make you look really silly to native speakers of the language in question.

18. what was the first fandom you ever wrote for? Lord of the Rings, I think? At least in English. I was 14 when the first film came out, so it was around then. It was really bad. English is my second language, and my grammar... left something to be desired. Okay, technically I wrote fic for The Hobbit first, because our teacher was pretty cool when it came to assigning various writing challenges, and in this case he made us all write fanfic that should be a twist on the pretty anticlimactic (according to him) ending of the book. I proceeded to literally kill off half the dwarves in a gruesome Smaug-fight. Very indiscriminately, I might add. Completely random. Just piling up dead, scorched dwarves for shits and giggles.

19. what’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written? Okay, bear with me here, but I’m just really proud of Young Police Cadet Bottoms for Busty Blonde. Probably the smuttiest smut I’ve ever written. I enjoyed every second of the writing process, I had a wonderful time, and it lives up to its title in terms of balls to the wall PWP insanity.  A Guide to Recognizing Your Ghosts and Unfortunate Living Arrangements are also up there, because I’m still a Chilton fangirl at heart.

20. who do you tag? all of my old ASOUE peeps! @beatricebidelaire, @virginian-wolfsnake, @kitsnicket etc. etc. You know who you are.

[greenjudy]

writer check-in question set

Tagged by @ladykittenfair - many thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

29.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

114,928. So smol

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Because of the way I tag, there are some overlaps here in the FFVII department.

Compilation of Final Fantasy VII (18)

Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997) (14)

原生之罪 | Original Sin (TV) (3)

Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children (3)

Sherlock (TV) (2)

Dragon Age: Inquisition (2)

The Avengers (Marvel Movies) (2)

Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII (1)

Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII (1)

Final Fantasy XV (1)

Including crossovers:

None that I can recall.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Remember Pearl Harbor; Purl Harder Answer Man Judging the Mark Xiao Hong Your Collar So Blue, Blue

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do. 

I come from a time and a culture that privileges long, drawn-out discussions in the comments area of fics, kind of a ghost of the old LiveJournal way of interacting. I have not always been consistent in responding, but recently I’ve been making efforts to be more assiduous. 

I know some folks feel it reflects arrogance on the part of the writer. I’ve also heard people say that it’s inflating the apparent popularity of a fic if you respond to comments. As far as I am concerned, though, comments are about community, not popularity.

I’ve been really lucky to get incredible, thoughtful, interesting comments on my work. All of them are lovely. 

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

“Most Known to Few, Some Known to None,” my list-fic about Tseng. “Escapement” is also actually pretty dark.

7. Do you ever write crossovers?

I haven’t yet, but never say never.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, I haven’t. 

I’ve had a few... exasperated responses from readers, and some excellent constructive criticism regarding some of my own inbuilt white nonsense. I’ve been very grateful for all the critical comments I’ve received, but I’ve also been fortunate to have very astute readers.  

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

As a separate category? Not really. I guess “Haymaker” starts to slide in that direction, but that’s insinuation, not depiction. “New Junon” is fixing to be the most explicit thing I’m working on, but we’re still talking rated-R.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

 I don’t think so. My works are not high-profile, but I guess people are getting pretty brazen about ganking someone else’s work and trying to sell it on Amazon.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly. I used to collaborate on bjd photostories with a friend of mine, back in the aughts. I also worked for a short time with a few other folks on a sprawling, multi-stranded project that included a set of interconnected storylines, but in the end, as more and more people started to participate, I found it more stressful than enjoyable. I think successful writing collaborations are quite rare and very precious.

12. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

My beloved canoe, Tseng X Reno. 

I must say, I feel like if I came to VII via the Remake, I would not have seen the potential for this pairing; Tseng is so clearly connected to Rufus in Remake.  

My VII work is all rooted in the OG’s pre-rendered backgrounds and the suspended time and silence of the written dialogue. Tseng and Reno came at me out of the pixels; then, in a handful of decades-old pieces by other writers, I saw how they could interact. 

Now they anchor an entire ecosystem inside my head.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Final Fantasy VII, the original game.

14. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Not easy to answer. I feel like technically, “Now”, “Xiao Hong”, and “Escapement” might be my best work. But I have a soft spot for “Answer Man,” and probably always will.

15. BONUS QUESTION: Do you have a WIP that haunts you?

I have two unfinished pieces hanging out on AO3, tormenting me. This is a callout post to myself to get cracking and wrap them up.

“Body Work” (for the Original Sin fandom) is having a knife fight with a plot issue right now, that is forcing me to analyze exactly what I’m trying to say in this story.

“New Junon” (Compilation of FFVII) is my beloved problem child. I was a different person in many ways when I first conceived this story; my sensibility has definitely shifted over the years, and the whole damn thing needs re-anchoring and a lot (a lot) of arc work. 

I’m coming back for you both. #NO STORIES LEFT BEHIND

I also have MANY OTHER STORIES IN MY BRAIN, so buckle up, FFXV in particular.

Tagging @allsortsoflicorice @razziecat @shutupreno @wandererriha @twocatstailoring @themossstomper @the--calamity @willowcatkinblossom @mementomoryo @bluewindfall @tyramir @thuriweaver @lunarlegend @ltleflrt @jupiterjames @clevermanka @filigranka 

[zabiume]

Fic Writer Review -tag game  

Thank you @recurring-polynya for tagging me! I wish I could say I’m a Pisces so I love talking about myself, but I think that’s just a core personality trait at this point so! Let’s go!

1. How many fics on AO3?

17 Bleach fics (but many of them are short enough to be drabbles), 1 The Mandalorian fic, and 1 DC Comics fic under my pseud that I created specifically for Jason Todd. zabiume is where I fawn over Orihime and lazarus is where I fawn over Jason -- hence the distinction.

2. Total AO3 word count?

219,317 over two years but there are some fics I wrote that are only on Tumblr so maybe I’d add a couple 100-500 words to that? It did say AO3 word count, though, so maybe not.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I used to write for the TV shows Psych and Supernatural when I was really little but I never posted it anywhere lol. I’d say the fandoms I wrote the most for were Bleach and the 80s Batfamily, which was my favorite Batfamily era and probably still is. I don’t write fic as much as I read fic, so there are some fandoms I really, really love but never actually wrote for like the Spiderverse fandom, or the Death Note fandom (lol, don’t judge me). I probably write for Bleach the most.

4. Top Five by Kudos?

six hearts beat as one (164)

Make My Wish Come True (120)

The Epic Highs and Lows of Ghost-Hunting (102)

with you, anything is pawsible (100)

Tell You My Sins (97)

I’ve got a higher kudos count on my old Batfamily account I think, but I will not plug that here because I’m embarrassed and want to leave it in the paaaast.

5. Do you respond to comments, why/why not?

Absolutely! I feel grateful when people take the time out to leave a comment so I try my best to reply to all of them. Sometimes people might be binge-reading my longer fanfics and commenting on every single chapter (which is fun) but I don’t know if I’m supposed to reply to all of them so I might have just replied to the earliest/latest one and thanked them for all of it. Sometimes I get comments that are only emojis/in languages I don’t speak, and I don’t know what the proper etiquette is to reply to those but trust me I saw them and they made me vvv warm :’) I never reply on ff.net because I have no idea how that website works lmao but I get a lot more reviews there than I do on AO3 so it’s always exciting to post there even though the formatting makes me cry.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t write a lot of fics with angsty endings as much as I do with angsty beginnings and middles, but the ending for Tell You My Sins is something I still get a few comments about saying “Oh my god!! How could you leave it there!!! Why do you hate me!!!” but I’d say that was more of a bittersweet, yearning ending than an angsty one, but who knows!

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t write crossovers, but I have a lot of them in my head; my most buckwild one is probably Mom!Orihime Inoue/Mom!Talia Al Ghul but I’m not going to go into it unless someone actually wants to hear it sfjfjjf

8. Have you received hate on a fic?

Once? It wasn’t hate, per se, it was just the condescending brand of “oh I like your writing, but I’d like it better if you wrote [ship name] instead” which is...a bit annoying but I generally get a lot of kind comments from people I know here/on ff.net/on AO3 so I can’t complain.

9. Do you write smut?

In theory

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked if they could translate my fic and post it on a Brazillian fanfic website, but I kind of hesitated because I had to make an account there and I didn’t want to make an account I don’t actually use, so I refused :/ We’re still talking about having it up on AO3, though, so you never know!

12. Ever co-written a fic before?

I’m very shy/self-indulgent so I usually do everything myself (both writing and editing). The most I’ve collaborated with people is when they send me prompts or I send them prompts. Hehe.

13. All-time favourite ship?

IchiHime, if we’re talking romantic, but if platonic relationships count then nothing will ever beat Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd for me!

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

Technically, Epic Highs and Lows is a WIP, but it’s not a WIP I want to finish, so no? I’ve made my peace with giving up on that one but I still get a few comments every now and then asking for an update (I’m sorry).

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at describing feelings, and how much characters care about each other. I’ve been told I’m good at writing the relationships between characters, too, but if I had to pinpoint one strength I’d say it’s probably...my characterization? Characterization is pretty subjective but I’d say I like that I write characters exactly the way I see them. Sometimes I might write a light-hearted fic and go, “This could have been an excellent premise for a filler episode if Studio Pierrot weren’t absolute cowards” but I think that’s a bit egotistical.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m not very good at writing Plot/World-building, and my best fics are generally born from a short-term, situational idea, rather than a long-term fic that spans over chapters and chapters or across series. I don’t have a distinct writing style, which is something that bothers me sometimes, because I feel like I don’t have any Trademarks(tm) that would make a reader go, “Oh, yeah, that’s a Zabiume fic.” I feel like that makes my writing forgettable idk. I get very excited about sharing my fics with my readers so I hurry on the editing sometimes and might end up overlooking a tiny spelling error here and there, but that is just because I am excited to share my things with you guys okay!!! I’m a Golden Retriever.

17. What are your thoughts of writing dialogue in other languages?

Hmm, this is an interesting one. Since I write a lot of IchiHime fics, I feel like the honorifics make a lot of difference in their relationship i.e the tenderness that comes from calling someone by their last name, especially if you’re shy. I mean, the whole reason Ichigo calling Orihime by her first name in the epilogue is so special is because of how long it took for them to get there. I’m also fond of how softly Masakazu Morita says “Inoue” so now I can’t unhear it when I read the manga/write fic lolol. I’m Asian (and obviously I don’t want to generalize because there are. many countries in Asia) but my culture has a few similarities with the Japanese culture and some of my aunts call their husbands by their last names+honorific sometimes after marriage as a joke/term of endearment so that’s why I think I use the honorific sometimes, but mostly I don’t. Depends on the context. I’m not from Japan, but I’m not from America either, so I try to avoid “culturizing” my fic too much and keep it like,,,as universal as possible but I do try to do my research to the best of my abilities and not offend anyone. If I mess up somewhere, I’d love for people to correct me/teach me, though. Mostly I just write in English.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote Psych fanfic on MS Word and made my sister read it when I was like, ten I think. Mostly I just wrote fic in my head and never posted it anywhere because I’m horribly shy.

19. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

My favorite fic I’ve written ever is my Batman fanfic, All the Memories Left By the Day, but my favorite fic I’ve written for Bleach would probably be my five lifetimes, one love series because I’m having a lot of fun writing it and roll back, like press and rewind, which is a fanfic where Ichigo Gets Pegged by Orihime.

Tagging: @ulquiorracifer, but no pressure! If any of my followers want to do this, you can just say I tagged you :)

[contraststudies]

Thank you for tagging me, @tawnyontumblr​! I’m very bad at doing these writer meme things, so here goes nothing.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

45 and counting!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

376,429. Holy moly that is a fuck ton of words (I only properly started posting on AO3 last May iirc).

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Four: Critical Role, Good Omens, Hades, and Kill La Kill.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

This list is bookended by two PWPs, which I find hilarious given that I seem to have misplaced my smut brain cell sometime in the last couple of months.

On The Matter of Traffic Violations (Good Omens, E)

“Officer Fell,” Crowley says, and leans forward, enough to give Fell a good view of his décolletage. He tilts his head in the way he knows people find deliciously coquettish, glad that he’d had the foresight to apply some mascara before heading out. “I’m so very sorry about this,” he says, looking up at the officer through his lashes. “It’s late, you know, no cars around… Didn’t notice how fast I was going, that’s all.”

[Or: Crowley flirts his way out of a traffic violation.]

Unbinding (Critical Role, T)

This is a great honor, Essek reminds himself, trying not to recoil as fingers run through his hair, working through the tangles. A braid is made of three strands, symbolizing the inextricable bond between the soul, the den, and the Luxon. A recognition of an achievement by the drow who bears it. With each braid, the soul is bound ever closer to its den and to the Luxon.

It is a lesson Essek learned long ago, but one he is never permitted to forget.

[Or: the story of why the Shadowhand wears his hair cropped short.]

No Church In The Wild (Good Omens, E)

The stem of the wineglass in Aziraphale’s hand snaps cleanly in two, but no one seems to hear it—every eye in the room is trained on the redheaded dancer sashaying to the gleaming silver pole, centre stage for all to see.

Oh, Aziraphale thinks faintly. Good lord.

[Or: the one where Aziraphale gets assigned to the red light district.]

abide gold with me (Critical Role, T)

“Okay, Cay-leb,” Jester says, stretching out the syllables affectionately. “You sit right here so we can watch you and Essek try an orange for the first time.”

The Primal Scene (Good Omens, E - a collab with @lookitsstevie​!)

Harriet notices that there’s a crack of light at the end of the hallway coming from the door to the library, and her mood brightens considerably. Perhaps the tutors are still here, putting together their lessons for the next day before they leave for the night. She leans down to pick up a piece of cloth that’s fallen on the rug. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes what it is – a necktie with a familiar tartan pattern.

She nearly drops the tie in shock at the unmistakable sound coming from the closed door of the library. A sharp, quickly stifled moan.

[Or: Harriet Dowling accidentally bears witness to divine ecstasy.]

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try. I really do. My friends (and maybe some of my readers) know that this is difficult for me, mainly because any sort of recognition reduces me to a gibbering pile of tears. I’m working on it though, even if it does take me a million years to respond to anything on AO3. 

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

God, which one do I choose. I have been referred to as an angst gremlin for a very good reason. I’m gonna go with The Remains of the Day, a Good Omens fairy tale AU I wrote loosely based on Bluebeard.  

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I HAVE. I wrote philtatos, a crossover of Good Omens and The Iliad/The Song of Achilles. It’s the only crossover I’ve ever written, unless we’re counting Variations of an Arrangement, which could loosely count as a crossover of the book/radio/TV versions of Good Omens.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have not. And hopefully never will.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, and it’s usually of the angst with a happy ending variety.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hm. How do we define stealing? Just kidding. The short answer is no.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Got one in the works for Critical Role!

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes was actually the first ship I ever really got into, and they’ll always have a special place in my heart even if I never wrote anything for that fandom. Crowley/Aziraphale from Good Omens of course, and more recently Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss from Critical Role.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Variations of an Arrangement. I loved writing it, and I still want to finish it one day, but it took a lot of brainpower to write and keep track of the plot and I feel like it’s beyond me, at least right now.

15) What are your writing strengths?

I… hmm. Judging by the way people are always yelling at me in their comments, I guess it’s that I can write stories that make people feel things very deeply.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I repeat words so often, it’s embarrassing. I use too many “-ly” adverbs. Also, I find myself using the same turns of phrase across several fics lmao.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Language is a tricky thing. I don’t want to bore you with discourse. I try not to write dialogue in a different language (especially if it’s not one I speak myself) unless it’s absolutely called for, or if they’re just basic phrases and I’m 100% certain I won’t be getting it wrong. I have read fics where this was done very well though, and I’ve found that it really adds to the atmosphere in those cases.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was for this old anime called Princess Tutu. I danced ballet when I was younger and loved it so much – I believe I was only twelve at the time?? But I think the fic may still be floating around on FF.net somewhere.

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I wrote philtatos in a four-day fever dream. It’s not the most technically perfect fic I’ve ever written or anything like that, but I think it’s the one that reveals the most about who I am as a person. That is an incredibly cheesy thing to say, I know. I always joke that posting that fic felt like offering my still-beating heart on a silver platter to the void, but there you are.

For Critical Role, surprisingly enough it’s this ficlet I wrote called sinners, a small bite of Shadowdrei where I was parsing my ideas on Astrid and Eadwulf’s dynamic and where they stood when it came to Bren/Caleb and Essek. I didn’t realize how fully formed my thoughts were until I wrote that. Fascinating what your own writing will show you about the things that are in your mind.

Tagging with no pressure whatsoever: @naromoreau @jenanigans1207 @saretton @theseedsofdoom @musegnome!

[neuronary]

Fic Questionnaire

(blame @ford-ye-fiji for my being obnoxious.)

How many works do you have on AO3? publicly mine? 32. there are about fifteen or so that i have orphaned and/or posted anonymously

What's your total AO3 word count? again, publicly: 45 875. after some quick tallying of my orphaned and/or anonymous works: roughly 600k (listen twelve year old me did not write well but she did write a lot)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? sixteen: a:tla, the umbrella academy, dirk gently, skullduggery pleasant, the adventure zone, dimension 20, h*rry p*tter, s*pernatural (AS A JOKE. as a joke.), doctor who, percy jackson, spider-man, the loki tv show (not as a joke, regretfully, but i am an unironic sylvie/b15 truther), the descendants trilogy, kingsman, carmen sandiego, and the witcher

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? five very unoriginal gift fics that are only popular because they’re remix fics of fic by a popular author. i don’t regret writing them but i don’t like that they’re my most popular.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? sometimes! if the comments are particularly heartfelt, or i can think of a witty reply, then yes. but i do get quite a lot of them, so i don’t have time to reply to all of them. also, i know some people try to judge fics by the number of comments so i don’t want to skew those numbers too much.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? so those of you who recognise the term ‘genetic irohny’ might be happy to hear that there’s a full fic for it! you might be less happy to hear that it ends with azula being publicly executed in front of mai and ty lee. it got very dark, very quickly, and it still requires some heavy editing before it’s going to be light-hearted enough for me to be comfortable posting it.

Have you ever recieved hate on a fic? oh yeah. lots. luckily my early days in fandom were defined by a lovely group of older teens on fanfiction.net that hyped me up endlessly and gave me a lot of tips on improving my writing. (i owe them so much.)

Do you write smut? If so what kind? nah. i do kinda wanna try my hand at it though.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not as far as i’m aware. tbh i don’t think i’d necessarily give a shit because like. it’s fanfiction. it’s really not that deep for me.

Have you ever had a fic translated? everything i write is translated! my usual writing process starts with the rough outline and taster scenes being written in french, and if i’m struggling with a scene i’ll switch back to french and translate it later!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, but i’d love to. (fij i am side-eying u so hard rn)

What's your all time favorite ship? i’m really not a huge ship person tbh. romance is always secondary to me. unless a ship really icks me out, i’ll read anything with a good plot.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? friendly bentacles my beloved. you are so hard to write but you are such a fun concept. so much angst to be delivered.

What are your writing strengths? hmm. i think i’m pretty good at adapting/changing my style for different stories and genres. also the angst.

What are your writing weaknesses? the run on sentences. good god the run on sentences. i use too many fucking commas.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? if it’s a language i speak, then sure!

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for? skulduggery pleasant. oh the joys of being groomed age nine on the internet

What's your favorite fic you've ever written? uhhhhhhhh currently i hate pretty much everything i’ve written but once i’ve stopped doing that probably the one i wrote for my bad happens bingo card.

Tagging: @ultranos, @jenny-green-teeth (pls ignore me if i am being obnoxious) also anyone else who fancies it.

[coffeebeannate]

Taken from @werebearbearbar

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in  2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

I started writing fic years and years ago. And have done so in other fandoms before taking a long hiatus from the writing world in general. I stuck with written roleplay only. For  what I assume to be around four or five years, I did not write a single fic. (I also wrote short stories in childhood, teen years and young adult years)

(I want to point out though that this absolutely does not negate roleplay writing, and that writing with another person, or in a group is a lesser form) My break from fanfic came with one of the worst periods of my mental and physical health, and everything I had written was purged from my Ao3 account in a single night.

I started writing for The Old Guard in August, and below, are the things I like a lot that I’ve written for it. To do this, I decided to use the criteria of ‘fics I like the most’ instead of what seems to be the most popular to read. For me, if I really love a piece of work, I recall the creative process fondly, and have lines and bits of dialogue I truly adore within it.

1. Precision Mission Fic. Gala. Post-Movie. Current Group (Nile, Andy, Joe, NIcky)

Rated  M (Mature) 4846 words

My second fic for the fandom that I published, but the first I actually conceptualized. This one is just..so special to me. I have phone notes typed at five am. I can recall the excitement as I was so eager to share this story and get it off the ground. I wanted to see this complete so bad. I loved nearly every second of writing it, and it’s always going to hold a special place in my heart as a result. There’s so much overdone clothing talk and I can only think of it with fondness. 

Excerpt:

None of them are comfortable. Except Joe, it seems.

Joe makes it look easy. Simplistic, even, judging by the way he effortlessly glides and charms his way through the expansive ball/congregating/entertaining room. Something that never failed to fascinate Nicky was the way Joe could integrate himself almost seamlessly into any scenario, situation, or environment. Neither Andy nor himself had that ability. Not when it came to cavorting, anyway. Nicky more quietly reserved, Andy lacking in the ability to care enough to fake it.

Nile seemed to be more in the middle. She did not appear overly comfortable with the mingling, but she had enough personal grace and adaptability to make it seem somewhat effortless to have a decent time.

All their eyes remained sharp on the surrounding area, awaiting the arrival of their target. And for all his schmoozing, Nicky knew Joe’s surveillance was tack-sharp, multitasking to a degree no one he was currently conversing with could have possibly noticed.

“You going to move at some point, or have you taken up permanent resident status here?” Nile asks, appearing at his side where Nicky has spent the last half-hour molded to the furthest left corner of the solid black bar. “I know you have an excellent view, but.”

Nicky snorted, though only Nile could actually tell, “Why waste a good opportunity?”, momentarily ceasing his Joe watching to stare back into the depths of his glass, which currently contained some horrifically shocking pink abomination, Nicky’s second drink, since he was letting the bar tender dictate them, too utterly distracted to care what was touching his lips, and curious with the way the bar tender had delighted in being given free reign to make whatever he desired.

To be fair, it didn’t taste that bad-something frighteningly sugary and weirdly noxious smelling, but it’s not exactly ‘crime against humanity’ levels of alcoholic nightmares.

--

2. Old

Post-movie. Current Group. (Andy, Nile, Joe, Nicky) Mortal Andy. Character study.

Rated T (Teen and Up Audiences), 2903 words.

My first attempt at Andy-centric writing. Andy is a character I consider a challenge to write, and that makes me want to write her more. This fic centers mostly around her and the others trying to come to terms with how much has happened, within day to day life and taking the comfort that they can in one another.

I really like this fic. A lot. Sure it’s short. Sure maybe not much happens, but Andy’s character fascinates me, as does her relationship with her family.

Excerpt:

Old.

Old

Old

So motherfucking old.

Someone is calling out to her, her hearing and senses long fine-tuned to knowing. It’s Nicky- she can easily pretend she can’t hear him, he knows when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, after all.

She’s being petty, and she knows it’s unfair. That the nearly untouched plate and nights spent not sleeping gives them reason to be at her. But facing them with that fact feels about as ideal as jumping into a flaming volcano right about now. They’re just worried. It makes her stomach turn, sour and vicious. Venom in the gut, acid in the heart.

Said volcano would be kinder.

--

3. Spice it Up (Or Not)

Joe and Nicky. Pre-Movie. Fluffy Lovings

Rated: E (Explicit) 3030 words

This one was just fun. I am such a sucker for banting, and the most established of established relationships that Nicky and Joe have going on. This one is indeed not safe for work, and honestly, the opening paragraphs are what came first, and I actually had to build the story around it.

Something that I think makes this fic fun to me as well is that, just because something that sounded like a good idea fails, it doesn’t make it an ending. Healthy communication, knowing each other..it’s so blissful to think about.

Things aren’t always perfect, but that’s okay. And it’s not always a threat. Oh and because this is me, what was supposed to be fairly light hearted gets all sappy and reflective mid-way.

Excerpt:

He knows Nicky in every way. He knows his scent from battle, from sex, from showers and from sleep. He knows his eyes in darkness, in light, in dread, excitement and worry. He knows his grief, his love, his sadness, and adoration. Excitement, passion, fear, and pain.

He could count each tear that Nicky has shed, could recall each tone of his voice in every language they know. From the first he heard to the current. The sweet harmony of song and the rough gasp of drunk intoxication. He’s heard him yell, heard him scream. Heard his shouts and his cries.

He knows how Nicky tends to favour his left shoulder even though there’s no reason beyond psychological to do so. A spot Joe stabbed so long ago. So far back in another life. He knows how he likes to pause and do surveillance before they enter any new location. Knows he likes vehicles that move fast and has a fondness for roller coasters.

He’s seen those hands, so large and skilled break bone, wield a sword and cut vegetables and fruit. Seen them card through his hair, felt them map out each knot and ridge in his spine and ribs, felt them so deep inside himself he can taste it. Rolling into it. Demanding, needing.

“Yusuf.” Nicky’s not calling him back, Nicky’s just as far gone. So often they seem to share thoughts.

Nicky knows Joe in all ways and more. Knows that Joe still sometimes seems to speak ancient by-gone languages in his sleep. Knows that he tends to carry the strongest personal scent in the dead of night. That no shower, no soap, no life experience or battle has truly ever masked the delightful musk he has to himself. There could be a cologne out there that would modify it, and Nicky would bite and lick it away. Demanding and asking, why take this from me? How dare you try to alter what I know and love so furiously?

--

4. Touch Before Heart

Historical Kaysanova. Early Years. Pre-Movie. Getting to Know Eachother.

Rated E (Explicit) 5030 words

As is pretty obvious by now, I write a LOT of early years Kaysanova. A lot. I am addicted to it.

This one..I love it. This might be one of my favourite pieces of writing of all time. If I was doing these numbers strictly in order preference, then I’d put it as number one I bet.

I think the summary I made for it sums up well just how much I love it. And maybe why.

The first moment they’re able to have a bath, they resolutely do not look at each other. Picking opposite ends of the small stream bed, backs turned to one another. A strange show of both trust and distrust; their backs were exposed, but it was up to their tentative mutual agreement to not partake in the opportunity to stab each other for it.

The..idea that they had so much to learn, so much to understand. So much confusion, anger mistrust..I just really really adore this fic and I think I did a good  job with it.

Excerpt:

He curses in unison with Nicolò, both holding fast and steady as the thing finally rights itself, Nicolò letting out a slow, shaken breath of relief.

“Are you alright?” Yusuf asks, both to break the silence and mend the irritating gap they’ve created for themselves.

“Better. Thank you.”

Yusuf wants to scream.

He wants to grab Nicolò, shake him until he can do nothing but give him answers.

Why do you drive me to the brink of madness?

Why do I know your touch, but not your heart?

Why do you tempt me, consume me?

What does it mean?

Why are we here?

Why!?

It is an unfair desire; he’s hardly given the man any more clarity.

--

5. Curated

Post-Movie. Current Group (Nile, Andy, Joe, Nicky)

Rated G (General Audiences) 1807 words

Alright, I admit it, I had trouble picking number five. I picked Curated because it’s just..so fluffy. But it’s so sweet I always feel so sugary when I think of it. The softness that I tried to convey, and I think I succeeded.

Nile is another character that fascinates me, that  I just do not explore enough, and this is all the comforting goodness I could ever hope to create.

Excerpt: 

She’s grown used to the easy intimacy they all share, but the sight before her, Nicky’s eyes half-lidded, face a perfect serenity she rarely see’s on it, Joe lost, far-away in reciting but still wholly present, creates an odd, near-throbbing ache in her chest. Something powerful and raw. It’s hard to imagine that people who have been alive this long can be this content.

Everything they’ve seen, experienced and done. All the stories they’ve regaled her with. All the prep, the anxieties, the concerns, and curiosities. None of it seems to exist in these moments. Joe speaking in a language the world might think dead, the true master of softness within the room.

--

And there we have it! I have so much more I want to write, I have so much more I want to explore, and I thank you all for sharing in these journey’s with me. May there be more writing in our future!

[qrbie]

The Masterlist

Hey. I know it’s been ages since my last fic rec, but my motivation is slowly building again and I think I’m going to have a big one coming up soon. Meanwhile, I tossed a ton onto @0nceuponafanfic, so she might have something brewing for y’all. Anyways, I’ve been updating this thing, so if you ever need a pile to fall back on when I’m MIA, here you go!

Please tell me if I’m missing something, like a trigger warning or a link to someone’s Tumblr. Also don’t be afraid to rec me your favorite fics or even your own fics! I wanna see them. If you want to request fic recs, I’m open for those too! Even if you don’t have fics or even a specific purpose, come to my inbox and mess around. I’m bored and want human interaction.

‘allo people! yeah yeah yeah It’s been AGES since the last update so I’mma dump some new fics into here soon. I’m also gonna fix up the organization a bit. so sayonara and see ya later!

As always, stay hydrated!

Happy pride, everyone!

Last updated 6/23

1-Chapter bits of fluff or angst or something else

one hell of a hook | A TodoBaku fic... but don’t let that drive you away! This is an amazing fic, so please give it a try before you judge.

Mafia Au | What if Present Mic was a yakuza boss and Aizawa was a spy? (There’s a lot more to this, including a lot more art, over at @nartothelar‘s blog)

UA Music Conservatory | a series of one-shots in an AU where UA is actually a music school.

Silent Shadow | has the potential to evolve into something bigger. Nomu!Midoriya is Kurogiri’s protege. So cool.

Present Mic’s Awesome Mixtape 2.0 | Aizawa doesn’t like any kind of music. Shocking, right? After discovering this, Yamada has a new goal. Find a type of music Aizawa likes.

cultivating something so divine | Vet!Kiribaku, with so much fluff and animals and mutual pining that even the hardest of hearts can be softened.

The story of how Midoriya Izuku won the Sport Festival | I love a good dose of Crack Treated Seriously, and here’s some.

Trash Goblin Finds Love | “Bakugou. This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

president of the krbk club | Whenever something exciting happens, what does Midoriya do? Whip out his notebooks, of course. So what happens when Bakugou isn’t pushing Kirishima away?

It's Hard to Get Past Some Things | Whenever Midoriya’s drunk, Todoroki’s his designated caretaker. What happens when drunk Midoriya decides to talk about kids (or pups, whatever)? (A/B/O)

it's just the little things | Bakugou’s interactions over the years (stealing from the official summary here)

The Knock-On Effect | There’s only a couple types of knocks that Bakugou likes. Kirishima’s knocks in the middle of the night are one of them.

Smile for me, would you? | Unlike the rest of us, Present Mics has goals, and actually follows through with them. This goal? Make his neighbor, Shouta Aizawa, smile.

Shadowed Soul, Electric Eyes (We'll Be Okay) | What if Tokoyami and Kaminari, people with completely different quirks, got quirk-swapped?

A Matter of Pride | How everyone in BNHA came out. That’s it. It’s so fluffy, though.

firedancer | Unlike the rest of these, this one has the tiniest bit of angst. So little you’d need a microscope, though. Whenever someone falls in love, romantically, platonically, or any other way, a flower appears on their skin. Kirishima has a ton of flowers, but where are Bakugou’s?

A Mile in New Shoes (and A Mile Too Far) | Artist!Bakugou is invited to his first house party... Luckily he has three guys showing him around.

Boy things | Ashido loves her friends, but sometimes it gets lonely being the only girl in the Bakusquad. Good thing they understand!

come home to me | Kiribaku might’ve gotten a telepathic connection... There’s so much fluff in this one!

one to ten | Kirishima wants to date Bakugou, but he’s gotta climb the ladder of friendship first!

Get Mad! | Bakugou teaches Eri how to cope, and Eri returns the favor.

bakugatsu | Yeah, I know this is 20 chapters long, but it’s basically 20 drabbles compiled together by the amazing wonhaebunny!

a mix of six | Probably my favorite series of all time, no matter the fandom. What happens when Aizawa and Hizashi adopt Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and Eri?

KiriBaku Week 2020 | A series by PoorUnfortunateSoul - full of fluff!

Safety In Numbers | A little bit of fluff and a lot of parental Erasermic.

Multi-chapter Stories

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A | Good old fashioned school fluff. (WIP)

Dandelion | No masterlist is complete without at least one fic from the legendary Broken Realities, right? So here’s @owlf45‘s fic... (there’s a lot more! Check out the Broken Realities Collection on Ao3 for at least some of them... I bet there’s a lot more floating around.) (WIP)

Phosphenes | A Naruto/BNHA crossover, Mina is reborn from Naruto, and learns to navigate life even with such a big burden on her shoulders. (WIP)

Flour Power | Kirishima and Bakugou are supposed to take care of a sack of flour for a school project. What could go wrong?

Not really a villain, but close enough | “Aizawa didn't expect the raid to go so well. he didn't expect the informant to be so useful and well-mannered. who was hi kidding? Aizawa didn't expect the informant to be a kid. but the green-eyed boy cuffed to the interrogation table was wiling to help, and Aizawa wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth“ (WIP)

green haze | Vigilante!Midoriya is known as the Green Haze, a vigilante, Eraserhead’s supposed to capture. Shenanigans happen.

2am Knows All Secrets | One of those classic Kiribaku fics that trickle through the ranks. Lots of fluff, with good ol’ tropes like sharing a bed and mutual pining and Good Friends, and-it’s great.

The life of a hero | Such a good series. It’s so amazing. It gives angst and pain but then soothes it over with fluff, but then it tears you apart... and then it gives you life... a great read.

The Last Resort | This is basically pure angst. It’s so painful, but it’s such a good story... Shinsou was sold as a young child to a yakuza. This yakuza would rent out people for their quirks... This is an amazing read, but don’t expect any fluff from this. (Check the tags! WIP)

¥300 Shampoo | When Aizawa’s working on a book at the cafe, he certainly doesn’t expect someone pulling his hair. He definitely doesn’t expect getting a free haircut out of it, either.

quote love unquote | Take the official summary “When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.”

lovin is easy | Blasty doesn’t get “feelings,” so here’s five times Bakugou doesn’t get love and one time he does. (WIP)

The Empath & The Mind Reader | Bakugou is a mind reader, and Kirishima is a empath. If both of them can literally know what the other person’s feeling/thinking, why are they still dancing around each other? (WIP, Contains smut, Anxiety attacks)

and finally I see the world in color (the violet stands out, thanks to you) | This fic deserves a LOT more than just 76 kudos. Sometimes people miss out on amazing fics just because it’s a femslash. Momojirou, where Yaoyaorozu is a businesslady who is bored with her life and everything else, until she happens upon the rambunctious band Dark Shadow. Seriously, please read this! (WIP)

Behind The Scenes | A KiriBaku actor AU. What happens when you start falling for your co-star - and your on-screen love interest? (WIP, It’s rated E for smut, but there isn’t any yet)

We Didn't Start the Fire | What if Touya decided to make something out of himself instead of becoming a villain? This is amazing, by the way. (WIP)

it seems i'm never letting go | Here’s how I summarized it to myself... “Koi no yokan... will Blasty experience it? (His sister left)” By the way, koi no yokan is basically love at first sight, Japanese-style. (WIP)

Lips Like Blood | What happens when Bakugou, a mage, falls in love with the one person who can’t love him back? (WIP)

Charm Me, Loser | A Hogwarts AU that has no right being that ingenius and amazing. My only problem with it is sorta small... There’s already a wizarding school in Japan... Why aren’t they going there? (WIP)

Gotta Get Away | Tsuyu and Bakugou are out getting some new hero merch together because of the new buddy system at UA. What happens when they’re mistaken for a couple? (WIP)

Opposed to the Typical | A fashion AU. This is ridiculously good. It feels like the author was actually in the Japanese fashion industry! (WIP, smut, past child abuse, mental health issues)

One Day at a Time | Pretty genius idea, actually. Bakugou and Uraraka are trapped in what is essentially a time-speeder-upper. What’s going to be a day for their classmates is going to be a year for them. What will they do in that year together? (WIP, it’s rated Mature but it’s pretty innocent so far)

The UA Quarantine Collection | Basically, a bunch of authors got together and made a ton of one-shots of what Class 1A is doing in quarentine. Technically it isn’t a coherent story, but I’m counting it as one. There’s two versions, a clean version and a version with all the smutty bits. The smutty one’s the second story in the series. This one’s linked to the clean one. (WIP)

Midoriya Fuckin' Izuku | This is an amazing fic! It has a ton of TWs, though. Make sure to read the tags before starting it! (WIP)

Seeing Double | A very good, and very long, fantasy AU. (WIP, smut)

Broken, but Still Good | Bakugou was rescued, after four years, from an illegal alpha fighting ring. Can Kirishima, a beta, help him back to society? Pay attention to the tags. (WIP, A/B/O)

Broken Wings | Kirishima’s a dragon who was rescued from the dragon slave trade by the mysterious Bakugou Katsuki, I don’t know what else to say. (WIP)

The Roast of Class 2-A | Have a crackfic. (WIP)

The Space Between | Midoriya’s a photojournalist who is just starting out. One fateful night, he goes to photograph the Antiheros in concert. (WIP, mild smut)

A Fissile Family | Bakugou’s been kidnapped by the League of Villains again. They’re actually sorta a weird family. (WIP)

Mochi Mochi | Just take the official summary. “Ochako never saw a problem with DM-ing an internationally known actor her grocery lists, absolutely certain that he'd never see them. That is—until he replies. And who the hell does he think he is to tell her mochi isn't real food?”

Green as the Leaves, and Red as a Rose | A TodoDeku flower shop AU. (WIP)

remember my name | Post-UA, Bakugou realizes that some things are for forever.

Blinding Shapes | What happens when soulmates, a blind abstract artist and a burnt out barista meet?

a heart swelled to bursting | Mind the tags, here. Training camp part 2 for Class 2A. (WIP)

manly man falls for manliest man | What happens when businessman!Kirishima meets his idol, and maybe biggest celebrity crush ever, actor!Bakugou? (Smut)

Miscellaneous Stuff From Other Fandoms

I have some Harry Potter fics lying around somewhere, so I’m going to add those later.

Stucco Hearts | One of my absolute favorite soulmate fics ever, from Percy Jackson.

Christmas and Chill | A old series I sorta just came across again from PJO.

The Florist and the Punk | Maybe another old series from PJO.

Hearts Need Love | Keep an eye on the tags! This is my favorite PJO fic of all time.

Our Songs | It’s good if I spent half an hour trying to find it again. It’s a Solangelo songfic.

Some random writers I recommend (A lot more coming along-I’m in the middle of a ton of different fics right now)

aloneintherain | @captainkirkk

wonhaebunny | @wonhaebunny

rosedvst

Sif (Rosae) | @intothedarknessigo

kiritime

sinderellaa

aloera | @aloera

Argentina | @junepixel

KuriKuri | @letaizawarest

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter One

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Whoo buddy, why is it so scary posting something for a new fandom? Maybe it’s because I’ve been suffering severe writing burnout for the past handful of months, or maybe it’s because I didn’t even realize I was going to write anything for this pairing until the idea struck me. Whatever it is, I guess welcome to my first ever BakuDeku fic lol please be gentle with me Gonna go big or go home with this bad boy, so I hope you guys like it enough to stick around for the long haul with me. Anyway, this is the If You Could See Me Now AU I always wanted to write, but never had a pairing that I thought fit it the way I wanted it to be.

***********************************

Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile.                                                                                            -Yagi Toshinori

***

Staring down into the brown depths of his coffee, Midoriya Izuku wills the caffeine to enter his bloodstream through instantaneous osmosis. It’s all in vain, he knows, but he’d do just about anything to combat the fatigue that has turned his brain into mush.

The tired that he feels is a different kind of tired than what he was used to.

Before, the black bags under his eyes were somewhat of a badge of honor, only proving how much work he was putting into his latest case.

Before, while he would feel the quiet ache of his sleep deprivation like a second coat around his shoulders, it had never felt suffocating or as if it was sucking the very life out of him.

Of course, before, he had been working his way through the ranks of the Tokyo police department, married to his job and returning to a quiet and empty home at night with his only care in the world being how he would tackle his next day of work.

The sound of the chair beside him grating across the linoleum as it’s pulled out drags him forcefully from the depths of his mug as he looks over to the 4-year-old girl who has joined him.

Eri had been the result of his greatest work accomplishment.

The department had been working on trying to land a blow on the Shie Hassaikai since before Izuku had shown up as their newest recruit, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and wholly unaware of the fact that in just five years time he’d have a hand in the biggest bust of a criminal organization in Tokyo’s modern history.

Years of planning, and stakeouts, and undercover had led his team to the front door of a warehouse. Tucked in a corner of an unassuming commercial dock, they had burst through the front door with gas and guns, and managed to capture the group’s tactical mastermind, Chisaki Kai.

After putting the biggest names of Shie Hassaikai into the backs of several police cruisers, they’d searched the docks only to find a shipping container filled with kids. Ranging in age from 4 to 14, they had cowered instinctively against the opening of the doors, shrinking back into the shadows and looking at the policemen in a way that had made Izuku’s stomach turn.

It had taken time to get them all out of there, and then to find the homes that they had been torn from. Reunion after reunion had come until finally there was one left.

Eri, the youngest of the group, had been the slowest to open up to them and even when she had, it had only been to Izuku. She had clung to him by the end of the first week, only taking food and drink from him, and very quietly whispering answers to his questions.

That was how he had found that of the 23 children they had rescued that night, Eri was the only one whose parents wouldn’t be coming to pick her up. The couple had found themselves on the receiving end of Shie Hassaikai’s anger. Their ending had been somewhat of an easy out in comparison to the future they had unknowingly subscribed their daughter to.

The department had told Izuku what the next steps were to be. Eri would be placed in foster care where she would hopefully find a new home before she turned 18 years old and found herself out on the street.

There was no secret as to what happened to most kids in the system, and as far as he had seen it, Eri was going from one horrible situation to another, and all because of the folly of adults. No one deserved that.

She didn’t deserve that.

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He adopted her.

And even now, three months later in a new home in an old town and temporarily jobless, he doesn’t regret.

That being said, he is fucking tired.

Who knew raising a 4 year old alone would sap the very life out of you?

Well, besides most parents, and now, Izuku.

In hindsight, he supposes it only been a matter of time. He had been running on fumes and caffeine before he even brought Eri into his life. There was only so long that he could have viably maintained properly caring for the girl, getting her to daycare every morning, working a ten hour shift, picking her up, feeding her, getting her to bed, going over what needed to be done for his latest case before passing out for a few hours of sleep, and then waking up bright and early to do it all again.

At the end of it all, he’s sure the only one who was surprised by his collapse at work had been himself.

You’re working yourself to the bone, his best friend and coworker Shinsou had said. Something has to give, Izuku.

The truth of it was that he had known that.

Had known it since the first couple of days when the gentle embrace of general fatigue had evolved into a sharp ache that he couldn’t shake. He’d made it two months, 6 days and 13 hours before it had finally caught up with him so that had to count for something.

Shinsou was right, and that’s how Izuku found himself sitting at a brand new table, in a brand new house, in the small town that he had run from all those years ago.

Moving back home had been the next logical step in the grand scheme of things. His mom could help with Eri, the price of living was significantly cheaper, and their police department was a branch off the main department in Tokyo which only made transferring all too easy.

After a couple of phone calls, a significant dip into his savings, and a seven and a half hour drive later, Izuku had officially started a new life.

About a month had passed since then, and while he hadn’t expected to have everything to be miraculously better, he had at least hoped he’d feel rested enough before starting work in a week’s time.

That, it seemed, had been a fruitless hope.

Because god damn, he was tired.

And judging from Eri’s wide yawn, she was too.

“Good morning,” he says, trying to ignore how his own voice is thick with sleep as he pushes a plastic container of chocolate donuts towards her.

“Morning Daddy Izuku,” Eri says sleepily, grabbing one of the small donuts with her small hands. As she munched on her donut, with her eyes locked on the table, Izuku looked over her. Her long, silvery blonde hair was knotted with wild bedhead that he was sure would take them quite a bit of time to tame, and lots of treat blackmail on his part to ensure she sat still for.

Slightly hunched and with her legs swinging as she continued to eat, and with her bright pink pajamas still slightly too big for her frame, she looked even smaller than she already was. She’d come such a far way from how Izuku had found her, but it still twisted his gut when he thought about how the sweet girl had seen more in her life than most adults.

Deep down, he knows it wasn’t his job to make up for the wrong the world had done to her, but he feels he owes it to her anyway.

If not his job, then whose, he wonders as he takes a sip of his coffee to swallow down the grit of sleep clinging to his throat.

“Want some milk?” He asks after resurfacing, getting up at the first sign of her small nod. Gently putting his mug on the mahogany table, he turns toward the kitchen.

With his back to Eri, he misses the way her eyes shift quickly to the chair next to her, and the wide grin her mouth pulls into as she reaches her hand into the plastic container for another donut.

Placing it on the table, she nods before stuffing the rest of her own donut in her mouth.

When Izuku returns, Eri’s own small pink mug in his hand, the donut beside her is gone.

***

There was something comforting, yet altogether depressing about the fact that his mother’s home hadn’t changed at all in the 26 years that Izuku had been alive. Just walking through the front door had transported him back to a time that had been altogether easier.

At the time, he had taken the ease for granted, instead focusing on how he had always felt like something had been missing.

Not that Izuku had ever thought anything as grand as being meant for so much more, but he had always had dreams that at least amounted to so much more than the town of Noto and its population of almost 18,000.

And now he was back and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel small.

It didn’t help being surrounded by photos documenting his life, most notably the large graduation photo on the mantle, taken just after he’d received his badge from the academy.

“Izuku,” his mom’s voice was gentle as it prodded him straight out of his thoughts and back onto the grey couch in which he sat. Her eyes conveyed the same gentleness, encapsulated in a green that was a little less like the hard emerald of his own, and more like a calm sea.

They seemed to see through him as he made a questioning sound in his throat.

“I asked how Eri was liking that daycare! They had wonderful reviews, and while I’m sure they aren’t as good as Mrs. Tanoshi was, I guess we don’t have much of a choice since that poor woman is almost 80 now,” she says, her voice comforting as it rambled just slightly about Izuku’s old caretaker.

He bites back on a comment about how he had thought she had already been closer to ancient, even back then.

“She seems to like it,” Izuku says instead, shifting his gaze over his mother’s shoulder and toward the patio door where he can see Eri smiling and playing by herself in the yard. “She’s been happier at least, especially the last couple of days.”

Outside, he sees Eri run as if she’s chasing something, her mouth split wide around a laugh he can’t hear. His heart squeezes with a feeling he’s starting to realize is a mix of pride and something like adoration.

“That’s so good, Izuku,” his mom says warmly, her eyes still cutting through him as he turns his gaze back to her. Lips pulled up gently in the corners, she’s looking at him with that all knowing mom look.

“What?” He finds himself asking, fully indignant like the teen the house made him feel like again.

In his peripheral, he sees a ball fly high as it arced across the yard.

“Nothing, honey,” she says, gently grabbing his knee as she leans in. It’s a soothing sort of touch before she continues, “I’m just so proud of you, is all.”

Heat rises up and over his neck, racing to his cheeks and turning his skin what he’s certain is a terrible shade caught between sunburn and tomato.

Admittedly, he and his mom had always had a good relationship.

If anyone had asked her, she’d tell them Izuku had been a wonderful child, filled with imagination and idealism and dreams. If anyone asked Izuku, he’d tell them his mom had been a sweet mother who had taught him with a stern but loving hand, and who had always supported him in his dreams even when she was worried.

She’d always said she was proud of him, but something about the way she said it now, her eyes sparkling with something unknown to him, made his eyes burn.

“I know you always wanted to be a hero, Izuku,” she says, squeezing his knee, “and now you are one.”

The acknowledgement buries itself deep in the center of his chest as he tries to swallow down the lump that’s forming in his throat.

“I know it’s hard, trust me. Parenting isn’t easy, honey. But you have to know that you’re that little girl’s hero,” she concludes before smiling wider at him. Letting go of her hold, she pats his leg before pushing herself off the couch and turning to look out the patio doors.

Keeping his gaze on his mother’s back, Izuku clears his throat and quickly passes the back of his hand across his eyes to catch the moisture that has collected at their edges.

“We should probably get going,” he manages to get out as he stands up beside her. Izuku stands taller than her by a head, yet he still feels small as he looks out towards the yard and the girl sitting in the middle of it. With one hand, she’s steadying it on top of a finger on her other hand, face twisted in concentration before she gives it a spin. For just a moment it looks as if it may actually balance there before it falls down to the side.

There’s a breath where she watches it roll away before she laughs.

“Mom?” Izuku says, keeping his eyes trained on the four year old.

“Yes, sweetie?” She hums, not bothering to turn back toward him.

“Thank you.”

Her answering chuckle is low as she moves around her coffee table and in the direction of her kitchen.

“I’ll pack you both up some cookies,” she says before disappearing to make good on her word.

Left alone in the living room, Izuku takes a steadying breath before pushing his way out into his mom’s backyard. Eri is standing now, having gotten up to chase after the ball that had rolled towards his mom’s herb garden in the corner. With her back to him, she seems to be looking at the plants with the ball hugged to her chest.

Moving in her direction, he’s a couple feet away when he hears her small voice.

“— Grandma Inko is a really good planter,” he hears her say almost conspiratorially. There’s a heartbeat of silence before she giggles and shakes her head.

“It’s not boring! They started as seeds and now they’re plants!” Eri exclaims, turning her face as if looking at something. Izuku watches as her smile grows before she shakes her head again.

“You’re silly, not everyone can make plants. Daddy Izuku says he once killed a plastic plant and those aren’t even real.”

Then, her mouth forms a look of surprise as she fully turns to face him.

“Hey Daddy Izuku!” She says happily, closing the small distance between them with a slight bounce. Clutching the ball to her tummy still, she looks up to him with her smile still wide. Warmth spreads through his chest as he drops down to her height and reaches out to pull a piece of grass from her hair.

“Hey Eri,” he smiles back as he flicks the offending piece of plant life away. “Who are you talking to?”

The question is out of his mouth before he can think to swallow it. It earns him a confused look before Eri turns to look to her side for a barely there moment before giving a small nod and turning her attention back to him.

Pulling a hand away from her ball, she waves it to her side as if showcasing something.

Izuku isn’t sure how it happens, but her smile seems to get brighter as she says, “This is Kacchan!”

***

Izuku’s room is too dark and too quiet as he stares up at the ceiling from where he lays in his bed. His sheets are pooled at his waist and his arms are folded across his chest as he imagines he can see paint shapes in the shadows across the white above him.

It was already usually pretty hard for him to get to sleep here. He’d grown used to the sound of the city, and hadn’t realized it had been its own sort of lullaby until he had moved. Tonight, however, the issue is less the lack of noise and light, and more the interesting new development that seemed to have landed in his lap.

Kacchan, he thinks as he breathes heavily out his nose. Eri’s new imaginary friend.

After she’d introduced him, it seemed that whatever wall she had constructed around the imaginary fellow had collapsed, and she had chattered with this Kacchan for the rest of the evening.

In the back of the car, at the dinner table— where she’d even asked for Kacchan to have his own place setting— and even at bedtime when she’d told the specter goodnight. It was, in a word, odd.

Yet she had looked so genuinely happy that Izuku had bit his tongue as he just nodded along, acting as if he could see this pretend friend of hers and even setting down a plate for him next to Eri. Even though it was a small amount, he still lamented the wasted curry. It was one of the few meals he actually knew how to cook well, and though he knows all the books say to encourage the imagination, it still stung a bit knowing he would end up throwing away the food at the end of the night.

At least, so he had thought. He isn’t sure how she had managed it, but at some point he must have looked away because when it was time to clean up, the plate had been cleared of its food.

It wasn’t the only weird thing that had happened in relation to this Kacchan, either. When Eri had first introduced the friend, Izuku could have bet a heavy sum that he had actually heard someone there. The soft sound, something like a haughty scoff, had caused a chill to run down his spine and momentarily consider the possibility that maybe Eri was actually being haunted. He’d quickly chalked it up to his own lack of sleep playing tricks on him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he was being watched for the rest of the day.

Shaking the phantom feeling and bewildering thought, Izuku squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again to the darkness of his ceiling.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with having an imaginary friend, he knows. Hell, he had had one as a kid.

All Might had been his name. Izuku remembers him vividly. He was the reason he’d wanted so desperately to become a hero before he grew enough to know that imaginary friends were only that, and that it was severely frowned down upon to run around in spandex and a cape.

All Might had been his best friend though, helping him right after his father had walked out on him and his mom. He supposes after everything she’s been through, it only made sense that she would come up with an imaginary friend. In fact, with that in mind, he could probably say it’s a bit weird that it took so long for it to happen.

Eyes burning and vision blurring, Izuku’s eyelids start to fight against his insomnia.

He’ll have to keep an eye on it all the same, he thinks as his blinks start to grow longer. Izuku still remembers the pain he had felt when his own had disappeared.

It isn’t too much longer until sleep finally pulls him into its inky embrace.

************************************

[patsdrabbles]

A Winter Night

Title: A Winter Night Fandom: M*A*S*H Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce/Charles Winchester Rating: Gen Word Count: 4094 Summary: The last person Charles expected to find on his front door steps at 9pm during a Boston snowstorm had to be Hawkeye Pierce, wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf and looking like he was about to pass out. Aka Utter Fluff with all the Good Tropes: clothes-sharing, conversations over hot beverages, bad pick-up lines and slowdancing :D A/N: Part 22 of my Daily Fanfic Chocolates calendar :D I got the lovely prompt “slowdancing” for Hawkeye and Charles from the wonderful @blue-ravens! <3333 Thank you so much for this prompt, because this fic ended up being one of my favourite things I’ve written this year! ^-^ Please enjoy ❤

(links to AO3 and the DFC masterpost are in the reblogs!)

The last person Charles expected to find on his front door steps at 9pm during a Boston snowstorm had to be Hawkeye Pierce, wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf and looking like he was about to pass out.

Charles was literally rendered speechless for a moment – a moment that Hawkeye used to hoarsely mutter, “Had nowhere else to go, Chuck.”

And Charles doubted that Hawkeye had no other place to go, at least, generally speaking. But before he could utter his incredulity, Hawkeye was already stumbling forward. Charles managed to catch him just in time, because as he looked down to ask him what the heaven he thought he was doing, he realized that Hawkeye had passed out.

Charles’s predominant reaction was worry and, after shifting Hawkeye in his arms somewhat, he pulled him inside the house as carefully as he could, given that he was handling a grown adult of no little height.

After a short trip, he put him down on the couch in the living room. He took a long look at the thin, lanky man in front of him, his hair even grayer than it had been the last time Charles had seen him. There were still lots of snowflakes all over his hair and coat, only slowly starting to melt now that he was in the warm. Charles shook his head in wonderment. Then, he got to work.

Hawkeye was regaining consciousness by the time Charles had spread a warm, cozy blanket over him and moved his head to rest against a soft cushion. The smell of tea and warm pastries already filled the room, as he slowly blinked his eyes open and was met by the sight of Charles, who sat in an armchair opposite of him, wearing a cozy-looking sweater and a concerned expression.

“I passed out, didn’t I?” His voice seemed to surprise him with its scratchiness, and Charles silently pushed a mug of tea over the coffee table between them and toward him.

“Thank you, Charles.” Hawkeye smiled at him, but his smile was met by a raised eyebrow.

“I have to admit that I have some questions. The most important one, as you can probably imagine, concerns your being here.”

Hawkeye took a slow sip from his tea and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of the hot drink running down his throat. Then he opened his eyes again and looked straight at Charles.

“I think I managed to tell you before Morpheus got the better of me.”

“That’s one way to put it. But it doesn’t explain why you are here, in Boston during a snowstorm, of all places.” He paused and looked at Hawkeye, whose gaze wandered down to the floor for a second. “Please, do go on.”

Hawkeye took a deep breath, holding onto his mug of tea with both his hands like a lifeline. “Alright. But the story isn’t as dramatic as you might expect it to be. Sorry if I disappoint you.”

Charles didn’t let it on, but he felt relieved somewhat. The humorous Hawkeye Pierce he had known in Korea wasn’t a pale, cold icicle anymore, but thawing instead and crossing his legs as he made himself more comfortable on Charles’s couch.

“You know, there was this medical conference at the Boston General that ended earlier today.”

It was a question and Charles nodded. “I gave a lecture there today.”

“I know.” Hawkeye gave him a little smile. “I was there, in fact. In the back.”

The room had been rather large, so Charles didn’t feel bad about not having seen him. He was surprised though.

“You came down all the way from Maine to attend a two-day conference in Boston?”

“I heard you were giving a talk and I didn’t wanna miss it.”

Both of Charles’s eyebrows rose of their own accord, and he blushed. Then, rationality returned, and he shifted in his armchair, hands interlocked as he looked Hawkeye in the eyes.

“I’m not sure if you’re planning to play a very strange, very elaborate sort of practical joke on me five years after we last saw each other, Pierce, but–”

Hawkeye sighed.

“I am not.”

He didn’t meet Charles’s gaze as he raked his hands through now his slightly wet hair for a moment.

“I will gladly explain everything to you, but... ah.” He looked at Charles sheepishly. “Could I perhaps borrow some dry clothes from you first?”

Charles was beginning to itch to know more about Hawkeye’s sudden arrival, but, after a closer look at Hawkeye and his damp-looking clothes, he relented.

“Give me a few minutes, Pierce. You can already discard your damp clothes in the bathroom; we can wash them and put them in the dryer later.”

After showing him where to leave his wet shoes, he pointed Hawkeye, who was looking around the house in badly hidden curiosity, toward the bathroom and left to select some clothes his visitor could wear during his stay.

Charles found himself rummaging through his closet for a good couple of minutes until he settled on an old but soft beige sweater and some warm, black pajama pants that he hadn’t worn in ages. He also picked out a warm pair of socks – he had no idea how long Hawkeye had spent outside in the snowstorm, but judging by his boots’ state it must have been a rather long time. As unexpected as his visit was, Charles wouldn’t let anyone coming into his house get sick due to a lack of care on his part.

He knocked on the bathroom door and placed the folded clothes on Hawkeye’s outstretched hand. Then, the door closed again, and Charles turned around to return to the living room.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Charles paused and turned around halfway.

“Don’t mention it, Pierce.”

Somehow, Hawkeye’s last name came out softer than he was used to saying it.

Charles made for the kitchen and placed the croissants he had been warming up in the oven on the table in the living room, as well as two glasses of red wine, and waited.

About ten minutes later, a much more comfortable-looking Hawkeye returned to the living room. He had his hands stuffed into the pants pockets awkwardly and gave Charles a smile when their gazes met.

“Thanks again, Charles. I don’t think I’ll turn into Frosty now.” The joke fell flat somewhat as Charles gave him a court nod and indicated for him to sit down on the couch next to him.

“Wine, Charles?”

Charles nodded as Hawkeye sat down on the other side of the sofa.

“I thought you might enjoy some later. Now, how about you finally explain to me what had you come to my house of all places?”

Hawkeye nodded slowly, then turned slightly toward Charles, not quite looking at him.

“I booked a hotel in the outskirts of the city... I had only heard about the conference pretty late, and most hotels in the city center were either full already or overpriced.”

Charles nodded, even though he kept wondering what had Hawkeye make such a last-minute decision. It couldn’t have only been his lecture.

“Anyway, as you surly noticed, the snowstorm outside kicked in some time after the conference ended. Just when I was about to return to my hotel.”

Hawkeye still wasn’t looking at him, fiddling with his fingers instead.

“I, ah–” he started. “I looked up your address in my address book and saw that your place would be closer. I thought I could make it before the storm got too bad.” He laughed drily. “Well, I miscalculated.”

Charles didn’t notice that he was leaning in closer, interested in hearing how Hawkeye’s story continued.

“I realized halfway here that my money wouldn’t be enough for the entire cab ride, so I walked the rest of the way. The storm caught me and I spent the last forty minutes or so outside in the lousy weather. ...the end.”

Hawkeye gestured to dramatically underline the end of his story. He blinked in surprise when Charles caught one of his hands in his own hands and carefully ran a thumb over it.

“May I?” Charles said, then shook his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I should have asked in advance.”

Hawkeye mirrored him.

“No, no, it’s alright, Chuck. Nothing warms me up more than a little hand-holding.”

“You could have gotten serious frostbite on your hands, Pierce,” Charles commented with a hint of worry in his voice. “Your hands are still cold and red, despite how long you have been in the warm already by now.”

He let go off Hawkeye’s hand and looked into the distance pensively for a moment. When he spoke again, Hawkeye was quietly staring at his own hands as if he was trying to figure something out.

“How long are you staying in Boston?”

Hawkeye looked up and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Depends on a couple of things, I guess.”

Charles looks at him, disbelieving.

“Such as the snowstorm out there. I obviously can’t fly back as long as it’s still wreaking havoc across the city.” His answer sounded almost defensive and Charles leaned back again a little.

“How long have you booked your hotel room for, then?”

“...two more nights.”

Charles nodded, not knowing what to add, or rather, how to ask what Hawkeye was planning to do in Boston the next two days. For some reason he wanted to know if there was anything else to Hawkeye’s visit besides a medical conference and perhaps some sight-seeing.

“You can stay here for as long as the situation outside remains this bad,” Charles found himself offering without thinking.

Hawkeye’s answer was a soft smile.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Charles wondered what prompted the occasional shift from Hawkeye’s nickname for him to his given name, then chided himself for feeling an odd warmth in his chest at considering the question.

This wasn’t Korea anymore. They were two doctors who weren’t colleagues anymore, but they also weren’t strangers anymore. A lot of their differences had been circumstantial. And the remaining ones...? Charles found that they didn’t matter even half as much as they used to anymore.

Trying to think of something to do or say, Charles spotted the wine glasses on the table next to them and picked them up. He handed Hawkeye his glass and smiled a little tightly.

“You worried me earlier, Pierce. The way you passed out on me without warning...” He took a sip of his wine and watched Hawkeye over the rim of his glass.

“Sorry about that again.” Now Hawkeye was hiding behind his glass. He looked... pensive and a little sad and Charles wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“It’s not like I don’t appreciate the company. But you could have called in advance. I could have sent you a cab.”

The thought had apparently escaped Hawkeye before and he looked up at Charles, his cheeks flushing.

“I might not have thought that far when I saw the heavy clouds after the conference. Sorry, Charles.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, Pierce.” Charles turned away a little, looking out of the window in front of them. “Lousy weather, that. I haven’t seen a snowstorm this bad since I was a young boy of about five years.” He looked into the distance, making a mental note to check in on Honoria as soon as possible. Perhaps they could go on a walk through the snowy Boston Common park sometime in the next few days.

He felt the couch dip slightly and saw Pierce turning around to look outside the window, as well. Somehow, he was sitting closer to him than before, and the tingling warmth inside Charles’s chest returned.

“You have a lovely home, Charles,” Hawkeye commented, looking outside and sipping slowly on his wine. They both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes, and Charles nodded gently.

“Thank you.” Sometimes, however, a big house like this does feel lonely, is what he wished he could add but gulped down instead.

“I mean,” Hawkeye said, turning his head more toward Charles. “It’s not the house I mean, or not only the house. Ah–” He looked a little helplessly at Charles for a moment. “It’s clearly your house. It’s cozy and warm and just. Really nice. It’s not what I expected your house to be like but... I like it a lot.”

Charles could hear the sincerity in his voice and felt the warmth in his chest grow even further.

“I changed some things around here when I returned.”

Hawkeye nodded in understanding.

“A lot changed for all of us when we returned.”

He looked at Charles, and a smile spread on his face as he remembered something.

“Hey, did you know that BJ and Peg have a little son now?”

Charles looked at him in surprise.

“No, I didn’t. I’m afraid I haven’t been keeping in touch with many people from Korea. I never found a good enough reason to write.”

Hawkeye laughed softly.

“Charles, sometimes simply wanting to say ‘hi’ is a good enough reason. ...Peg let me know in confidence that she and Beej are working on organizing a reunion meeting next year.”

“That’s... really sweet.”

“I know. That’s just... how they are.” He fell quiet for a moment, then looked at Charles with slightly watery eyes.

“They named their newborn son Ben, you know?”

Charles didn’t know what to reply for a moment, he was rather touched by the gesture himself. Then he smiled.

“Congratulations on being the little Hunnicutt’s namesake then.”

“Thank you.”

“You... look rather sad – what’s the matter, Pierce?”

Hawkeye didn’t reply at first and put his glass of wine down instead.

“I just haven’t seen them in a long time. It must have been over a year now – last summer, when Ben was born. Erin has grown older and taller every time I see her. Did you know she calls me ‘uncle Hawk’?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised that the Hunnicutts have taken you into their family. They seem like fine people.”

Charles looked at Hawkeye for a long moment, hoping his attempt at making this conversation a little lighter and less sad was going to work. Somehow, Hawkeye looking sad even now that the worst was long over felt awful, and Charles wanted to fix it.

“The finest kind.”

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“You mentioned your father a lot – how is he doing?”

Hawkeye smiled.

“He is well and still working more than he probably should at his age. But his hands are as steady as ever, and... he smiles a lot. I’m glad I came back and could give him that. He sounded older than he is over the phone back then.”

Charles turned a bit more toward Hawkeye.

“I’m glad.”

Charles genuinely was. He wondered, however.

“Did you ever settle down?”

“No, still as free as a bird. How about your sister, is she well?”

Charles pretended not to notice the swift change in topic.

“She is, thank you for asking. I see her at least once every week when we take walks through the city’s parks together.”

Hawkeye smiled again, and Charles felt oddly proud.

“I, ah,” he started. He might just tell Hawkeye now that he was here. “I did try to... make some friends at the General since I came home.”

“You did?” Hawkeye looked surprised, then somewhat ashamed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” Charles said, reassuringly. “And you’d be right with your assessment. I didn’t have a lot of friends before Korea. And I must admit I still have some trouble striking up friendships as fast as you do, but... Your and Hunni– BJ’s friendship taught me that it’s good to have someone to talk to who understands.”

Hawkeye looked at him rather intensely, and Charles soldiered on.

“I haven’t found anyone who quite understands what we saw in Korea, but... I did make some work friends, at last.”

He smiled at Hawkeye, who was still looking at him silently.

“So – thank you, Pierce.”

Hawkeye just shook his head lightly. Charles wasn’t sure if he heard correctly but Hawkeye muttered something sounding suspiciously like “You keep amazing me, Charles” under his breath. Then, Hawkeye looked away and nodded.

“It’s good that you’re meeting people, Chuck.”

“Work colleagues, but... yes.”

“I know how hard it is to find someone who understands.” Hawkeye’s voice was quiet, and he picked up his wine glass again. “There are some other things... most just don’t understand. Still not, sadly.”

The non-sequitur made Charles hold his breath for a moment. He didn’t want to misinterpret what Hawkeye was saying but...

Charles realized that Hawkeye had noticed his wondering look and was staring back at him. And, all of a sudden, something in the atmosphere shifted.

Hawkeye laughed hoarsely, and Charles knew that it was his nerves. He knew he was expecting something to happen, but just what it was, he couldn’t tell.

“You should be a cardiologist, Charles.” Hawkeye’s eyes darted away for a moment but found Charles’s again when Charles froze.

“You do some very odd things to my heart...”

Charles’s stomach did some funny things at that, but, despite his open mouth, he didn’t know how to reply. His face felt hot, but he couldn’t look away from Hawkeye’s almost hopeful expression.

“I’d specialize in you, you know?”

“Pier–”

“I know all the causes for heart attacks, but... I can’t explain why I feel about you the way I do. Still.”

Still?

Charles’s own heart did something he couldn’t quite explain either, and Hawkeye was going to have to stop soon or Charles might just end up having a heart attack himself.

“Maybe...,” Hawkeye started again, shifting a little bit closer to Charles. “You should take my temperature?” He was seemingly starting to regain his nerves, while Charles was on his way to lose all of his. “Because I’m feeling rather hot right now.”

He was smirking, oddly proud of what was perhaps the cheesiest pick-up line Charles had ever heard.

“This is horrible, Pierce,” Charles couldn’t help but reply, his trembling hand covering his eyes for a moment and the laughter evident in his voice. There was an appreciative sparkle in Hawkeye’s eyes when he looked back at him. “What, did you lose all your charm back in Korea?”

The second it was out, he already regretted what he had said. The smile on Hawkeye’s face had faded for just a moment, then it was back again, but Charles wanted to, needed to apologize.

“Pierce, I–”

He hadn’t wanted to break the moment they were having.

But Hawkeye was much closer all of a sudden and Charles could feel the ghost of his breath against his throat.

“I beg to differ. How about you... let me prove you wrong?”

And Charles’s gaze escaped to wherever Hawkeye’s didn’t meet his, and his breathing hitched. Then Hawkeye laughed, his hand resting on Charles’s chest warmly – grounding – for a moment.

“I didn’t think you were this easy, Chuck!”

And Charles flushed and glared at him. Tilted his head and moved closer than Hawkeye had and countered in a much quieter, meaningful voice: “I think it takes more than whispered words to prove one’s charm.”

And he about smirked more than Hawkeye had ever seen him do and leant back against the couch again. Inside, he was shaking with nerves, but the result was more than worth it: Hawkeye was left staring at him with his mouth slightly open and his gaze full of confusion and awe.

“Pierce, I–”

“It’s ‘Hawkeye’, Charles.” Hawkeye’s voice was soft.

“Hawkeye, I–”

He didn’t know what to say, where to start. Hawkeye did, however. Of course he did.

“I already liked you six years ago, Charles. Back in Korea.” Hawkeye scooted closer, and their knees touched lightly.

“I always assumed you were flirting with everyone because that was your... ‘Thing’.” Charles shook his head, not looking away. “I... didn’t think you could have been serious, not about me.”

“You never reacted to any of my attempts at getting something out of you.”

“Did you think I would, back then?”

“You never said ‘no’, either.”

“But I avoided your hints, as you well noticed.”

“Would you do so now?”

Charles noticed Hawkeye’s hand resting between their legs only then; an offer, perhaps. And, suddenly and with a surprising certainty, he just knew that this was going to be alright and that he could finally let go of the burden he had carried all of his life.

The moment he did, his hand covered Hawkeye’s softly, and Hawkeye’s eyes were wide open like he was still unable to comprehend that Charles was not avoiding him any longer but was actively reaching out for him.

Charles smiled, and he couldn’t help himself, his eyes kept flickering down to Hawkeye’s lips once or twice before they returned to the most gorgeous set of blue eyes he had ever seen.

“No, not anymore.”

And yes, he knew very well that Hawkeye was expecting a kiss, it was written all over his body language, and Charles would have complied happily, but something inside him made him stand up slowly, telling a confused Hawkeye ‘wait here for a moment, please’, and put on one of his favorite calm records.

He smiled down at Hawkeye as he returned to the couch and offered him a hand up.

Hawkeye looked at him in surprise but followed him to the middle of the living room, his hand holding gently onto Charles’s. And Charles’s heart started beating even faster when Hawkeye moved to stand in front of him without a single word from Charles.

“You are one of a kind, Charles. And I mean that in the best way only.”

Charles didn’t reply, but he felt color rise to his cheeks as he reached forward and carefully pulled them closer together.

The first steps around the room were awkward, Hawkeye moving far too stiffly and neither of them sure where to hold the other, but then Charles placed his hands on Hawkeye’s waist and steadied him.

It went more smoothly from there on. Yet, Charles could see the great vulnerability Hawkeye was feeling in his eyes, could feel it in his still somewhat stiff posture.

Charles felt brave enough to continue acting as the more confident one and reached out and placed Hawkeye’s hand over his heart.

“Relax.” He felt his own heart hammering against Hawkeye’s fingertips. “I feel it, too.”

The sweet smile Hawkeye gave him in return was worth it.

They continued dancing around the living room slowly. Hawkeye eventually moved closer and rested his head on Charles’s shoulder, and Charles could feel that he was starting to relax at last. He considered the vulnerability Hawkeye was openly letting him see and vowed to never betray his trust.

“Charles, I–”

Hawkeye broke the silence and lifted his head slowly. Charles turned his head to look down at him, and, for a moment, they both hesitated, simply breathed into the air between them. Then, Hawkeye closed his eyes with a shaky breath and kissed him.

Charles found himself kissing back without needing to think about it, and he started to gently run his fingers through the back of Hawkeye’s hair as they kept kissing. He felt the urge to close his eyes and savor the feeling as well, but he kept them open to savor the sight of Hawkeye right in front of him, instead.

It took them several minutes until they managed to break apart, slowly. Hawkeye held onto Charles’s arms as if to steady himself.

“I came to Boston to see you.” Hawkeye looked at him, his gaze urgent. “But I didn’t plan on coming here to take shelter from the storm.” He gulped. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to kiss you, Charles.”

He turned his head, looking out of the window, but kept holding onto Charles’s arms as he added, with a chuckle and in a much quieter voice: “But maybe, I was hoping for a chance after all. Maybe that’s why I came here all along.”

Charles reached out and gently turned Hawkeye’s head back toward him, smiling at him happily.

“If so, please let me know how I can offer my thanks to you for following your heart.”

Hawkeye just smiled and kept his eyes open as he leaned in again and kissed Charles softly.

“Slowly, if you will.”

“I would love that.”

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Green Sauce

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Pre-Friendship, First Meeting Word Count: 3100 Summary: Routine is the only thing keeping Shane staggering forward. Interruptions threaten what little momentum he has, and there's no interruption worse than a gregarious farmer. Also on AO3.

Shane’s head throbbed, and the grinding noise that the conveyor belt had started making two hours ago wasn’t helping. It seemed to only be getting louder, though the belt itself churned onward, pushing box after box toward him, relentless.

It hadn’t slowed. It would never slow. So long as there was a truck attached to one end of it, it would never stop. He had been in this room damn nearly daily over the last two years, and never once had he seen the belt shut down. The back room was always filled with the soft whir of its movement. Forging onward.

Despite the pounding in his head, and the vague taste of alcohol at the back of his throat, and the nausea churning in his stomach, he moved around the conveyor belt in practiced motions. He could do this in his sleep, now. The belt did the hard work of reading and sorting for him; all he had to do was replace the bins when they got full, and take whatever product was in them out to the floor to stock.

Someday, Joja would dispense of his manual labor entirely. They would run conveyor belts through the entirety of their stores. Tiny, agile, metal arms would emerge at the appropriate point to drop products onto shelves. No humans would touch anything made by Joja.

That fleeting vision felt like a fever dream—or maybe just an inebriated one. It faded as quickly as his mind's eye had provided it, replaced once again by the ache in his head.

He was just about to take a cart full of Joja-Os—and other variations of cookies, crackers, and cereal, all with Joja somehow worked into the name—when the conveyor belt let out an unexpected, unwieldy clunk and jolted to a stop.

He stared at it, waiting. This had to be just a momentary hitch; it would move again any moment. But seconds passed, more and more of them, and the belt didn't move. It felt as if the entire world had jerked to a halt, stopped rotating; that was how unlikely the conveyor belt’s demise seemed.

Then, from far away, all the way at the loading dock at the other end of the warehouse, a voice shouted, “Hey! We’re going to get behind schedule!”

He considered—strongly—the merits of continuing out to the floor. Letting the next person who walked into the back room deal with the problem. Maybe it would be Sam. Maybe it would be Morris. Shane would love to see that greasy face contorted with horror at his precious productivity thwarted.

But if anyone found out he’d just walked away from a problem—well, he doubted he’d get fired, but it wouldn’t look good for him. He couldn’t afford to look bad.

No matter how much his head was killing him.

He cleared the worst of the rasp from his throat and called back, “Something’s wrong with the belt. I’ll take a look.”

He left the cart by the door and went to examine the spot where that last, resounding clunk had originated.

“Hurry up,” the driver urged. “If I’m late to my next stop...”

“Cool it,” Shane muttered, not loud enough to be heard. He thought he could see the problem. Something had gotten caught in the mechanism—judging by the cardboard shreds littering the gears, it was one of those pre-packaged dinners or burritos or something. He peered through the mess and located exactly that: some kind of small, cardboard box, wedged deep.

He began to reach in to try to tug it out, but before his hand could get really deep in the guts of the machine, he pulled it out. As far as he knew, as soon as he loosened it at all, the mechanism would grind back to life—and grind his fingers up in the process.

“You know how to turn this thing off?” Shane called, looking around for an obvious switch.

A face appeared in the back of the truck. It came as a shock, seeing as it was kind of like looking in a mirror: the same ill-fitting uniform, the same uneven five o’clock shadow, the same dark circles under the eyes. The driver’s hair color was hidden under his cap, and Shane knew, logically, that there were obvious differences—the shape of the nose, the set of the eyes—but he saw in the graying stubble exactly what fifteen, twenty more years working for Joja would do to him.

If he had a grave, someone had just walked over it.

“It doesn’t turn off,” the driver said. There was a wildness about his eyes, a frantic desperation to move this along. “They never turn off.”

Shane glanced around again, looking for something that could help. The shelves back here were littered with all kinds of things...aha. There. A battered old toolbox sitting back on one of the shelves, dingy red, forgotten. He opened it up and dug around inside. The faint smell of oil wafted up from within; he fought down a gag, swallowing hard, and came up with a sufficiently sized wrench.

If he jammed it in the gears, he could get the cardboard thing out without getting his hand caught.

“I hope,” he muttered, returning to the mechanism and kneeling down beside it. Raising his voice, he said, “You think this thing can cut through metal?”

“Maybe?” the driver replied. “Seen these things cut through all kinds of stuff. Can’t believe anything made it stop.”

Shane wedged the wrench into the mechanism, reached a hand behind it, and began to pull at the little box. As pieces came free, the gears shifted. Groaned. Tried to move, straining against the wrench that now bound them. He worked at the box, beginning to sweat. Much as he’d love to take a settlement from Joja—it would probably be decent—he also wanted the continued use of his hand. With all fingers intact.

Finally, the box came fully free. There was an anxious instant as Shane pulled it from the bowels of the machine as quickly as he could, while the gears strained against one another, churning toward his vulnerable fingers—and then his hand and the box were both out, and some kind of green sauce was leaking from the pulverized food item all over his hand. The wrench continued to hold the gears in place, but the whole contraption squealed in outrage.

With a quick pull, Shane reclaimed the wrench. It had been dented by the gears.

This whole place was about a hundred time more dangerous than he’d believed.

Returning to the old, quiet whirring, the conveyor belt jolted back to life. Boxes began to move. The driver yelped and scrambled out of the way before he could be mowed down by a stack of six-packs.

On the dirty floor of the warehouse, Shane managed a grim, amused smile. His allotment for the day. His ounce of flesh, taken, somehow, from Joja.

“You’re welcome,” he called, as the driver scrambled back to his seat without so much as a thank you, and got up to toss the green-sauce-leaking-box into the trash. Plenty of spoiled food in there already. More wouldn’t even be noticed.

All this commotion, and Morris hadn’t even come to see what was going on. Probably for the best, but Shane couldn’t help but feel a pang of resentment. If Morris didn’t even care about his precious machine—if he wasn’t even going to notice—then why should Shane?

He glanced at the old, schoolroom-esque clock hanging on the back wall. It didn’t matter, really. It was finally time for him to leave.

He washed the weird green sauce off his hands, stepped into the employee locker room—little more than a bank of decrepit lockers and a cracked tile floor with a bench he didn’t dare sit on—and changed out of the ill-fitting uniform. Hunching into his sweatshirt, he slouched out the back door, all the better to avoid Morris.

The grassy, early-evening scent of the valley hit him, hard enough to ramp up his nausea a little before it faded back again. It was better than that oil smell from the toolbox, at least. Better than the weird green sauce and all the other spoiled food scents that filled the Joja warehouse. He breathed deep, steadying himself, and began the walk to the saloon.

He didn’t think much about it. He’d done enough thinking, these last ten minutes. Filled up the quota for the week. There was no twinge of guilt about going to the saloon instead of going home. Instead of checking in on Jas. Marnie could handle her. She was better at it, anyway, and the vague foul taste of alcohol in his mouth had turned into a thirst instead. There was no resisting that call. Already, the Event—the unstoppable conveyor belt, stopping—had faded to the back of his mind. Soon to be summarily forgotten, he expected. Just like every other minor blip in his relentless routine.

As he pushed open the door to the saloon, however, he encountered yet another blip.

He had lived in Pelican Town, deep in Stardew Valley, for two years. The local populace was small and set in their ways. They didn’t appreciate interruptions to their routines. Oh, sometimes they took to outsiders—if they were friendly, at least. Willing to embroil themselves in the local customs and become a part of the community. If you wanted to go about your business, buy the occasional item from the General Store and keep quiet through the transaction, you got a judgmental glare and a mutter as you made your way out.

But he still knew the names of everyone who came to the saloon on a Tuesday night; he knew where they would sit. If he paid a little more attention, he would probably know what they drank. He doubted they were asking Gus to mix up anything new and exciting. This was a beer-and-ale kind of place, not the sort of establishment where you found cocktails, no matter how many dusty bottles of spirits Gus had up on his shelf.

They were exactly like all the boxes and packages and bins on the conveyor belt. They all had their places, and they went right to them, just as if some cosmic hand—or unfeeling machine—had put them there.

Point being: there was a new addition to the saloon. A green sauce in the machinery.

He’d never seen the woman before. She was sitting at the bar counter, hand curled around a shiny copper mug, and chatting amiably with Gus as if she’d known him her whole life. Gus was nodding and smiling along like he’d known her his whole life. Emily, too, was standing nearby, wiping down a glass and wearing her usual cheery smile as she listened to the newcomer.

Shane had slipped into an alternate timeline, apparently. The conveyor belt stopping had been the divergence.

There was no reason to alter his plans. Gus knew a paying customer when he saw one. Maybe he was having a nice conversation, but conversations didn’t produce money.

Sure enough, Shane slouched up to the bar—at the opposite end from this little conversation—and Gus immediately noticed. “Emily,” he said, but it wasn’t necessary, not really; Emily set down her glass, said goodbye to the newcomer, and stepped over to the other side of the counter, where Shane was waiting.

“What’ll it be?” she said, cheerfully as ever, and exactly what she said every night, without fail. Never mind he’d been drinking the same swill for two years. “Gus got a new stout in—Northern Tundra. Hints of molasses.”

It was nice of her to pretend he was a connoisseur drinker, and not just an alcoholic.

“Just the Stardrop,” he said, like he said every night. It was the cheapest. Well, setting aside what he could get in cans at Joja, at least. But it was more acceptable to do the bulk of his drinking at the saloon—not at home, where Marnie could find all the empty cans, or by the lake, where someone might happen across him. Here, he was in the right place for his activity of choice.

“You got it,” she said, not put off by the way he’d ignored her recommendation in the least, and went to fill up a mug.

This whole conversation had required laser focus—a focus he paid for when a voice beside him said, “Hey,” and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Gus and the new woman had drifted down to his end of the bar. An odd, spicy, citrusy scent drifted up from her mug, and she looked at him with a small smile.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” she said. “I’m Lydia. Just moved into the old farm west of town.”

She stuck out her hand—presumably for him to shake. He stared at it. Hadn’t anyone told her yet? Newcomers didn’t talk to him if they wanted to fit into this tiny, insular community. Gus should’ve warned her.

“I don’t know you,” he said. Rudely. As rude as he could make it. “Why are you talking to me?”

He could feel Gus’s glare, scorching the side of his face. This is your fault, he thought, silently. You didn’t do her the favor, so now I have to.

Usually, people were either offended or cowed by Shane’s attitude. Everyone in Pelican Town had learned by now that no overtures of friendship—or nosiness, call it what it was—would get him to divulge anything.

But Lydia didn’t huff and turn away, or hunch her shoulders and scamper off; she picked up his hand, gave it two firm shakes, and dropped it. He was so surprised that he didn’t think to pull away until she’d already let go, and then he looked like an idiot snatching his hand out of midair as if he’d been burned. She didn’t once look away from his face; her smile didn’t falter; and her steady hazel eyes seemed like they were trying to bore a hole right through his brain. He found himself unable to look away. It felt, somehow, like she was challenging him.

“Well, you know me now,” she said lightly. “I’m trying to get acquainted with everyone in town, since I’m new.” She raised an eyebrow. “You do live here, right?”

“‘Course he does,” Gus said, depriving Shane of the joy of delivering a truly blistering, awkward silence. “Don’t get any tourists round here this time of the year. This is Shane. Marnie’s nephew. You know Marnie?”

“Of course,” Lydia said, still looking at Shane. “She brought me Archimedes.”

For a moment, even Gus seemed flummoxed by this. Shane allowed the silence to go on. He certainly wasn’t about to ask.

He knew Lydia’s type. Give her an inch, she’d take a mile. She’d already shown no compunctions about forcing a handshake. What next? Regular small talk?

“Archimedes?” Gus ventured, finally.

“He was a stray, poor thing. Marnie thought I could use a dog on the farm. I call him Archie, for short. Only when he’s feeling silly.”

Gus laughed—a sound of relief, if Shane wasn’t mistaken. “Oh. Of course. Your granddad always had a dog too. Sometimes two or three. Said the sheep liked the company.”

“Exactly,” Lydia said, finally breaking the staring contest she was having with Shane to flash a smile at Gus.

As luck would have it, Emily arrived at that moment with Shane’s beer. He passed his money over with relief and turned away, ready to beat a hasty retreat to his usual table by the fire now that Lydia’s attention had been briefly diverted.

There was something unnerving about her eyes. It felt as if he’d been trapped by them, like they were the origin point of some sinister tractor beam. He’d never had trouble walking away from anyone before.

He didn’t want to stay and risk a repeat performance. Definitely not.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said to his back.

He hustled away without responding, though not fast enough to miss Gus’s low comment. “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you he can be kind of...unfriendly.”

Shane snorted to himself. If she had a reply to this, though, he missed it; he was well away from the bar counter now, close enough to the fireplace that the crackle of flames swallowed low conversations that were half a room away. With disproportionate relief, he took his seat.

He worried—maybe unreasonably, a paranoia born of wanting to be left the fuck alone all the time, no exceptions—that she’d wrap up her conversation with Gus and follow him over here. She seemed like the type. Not cowed or offended by his attitude, but considering it a challenge, something to overcome.

But though he stole covert glances at her over the rim of his mug for the next hour, she didn’t once look his way again. Emily brought over a refill; he drank this one more slowly, letting the rosy warm glow begin to kindle deep in his stomach, fueling his general surliness. By the time Lydia pushed her strange copper mug across the bar and said good night to Gus, he’d amassed an arsenal of scathing comments to send her scurrying away, and she hadn’t given him cause to use a single one.

She crossed the saloon, saying quiet good-nights to the acquaintances she’d made, all in an hour’s time. The smiles and words she received in return were guarded, but intrigued. What a perfect story. Girl moves to grandfather’s farm, is immediately accepted by community. Fucking heartwarming. But not him. She wouldn’t say goodbye to him. He wasn’t part of the community. She didn’t need his approval.

At the door, she glanced over her shoulder. As if she’d known exactly where he was sitting all along, her eyes immediately caught his. No hesitation, no searching. She gave a little smile, just a crook at the corner of her mouth, and waved. Before he could do more than narrow his eyes at her, she was out the door and into the night.

Just wait, he thought, gulping down another swallow of beer. If you thought that was rude, you haven’t seen anything yet.

He had no patience for green sauce in the machinery. No room for nosy new girls in his routine. A few more interactions like that, and she'd be steering clear of him, just like everyone else.

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} Green and Grey (part 2)

Fandom:  Critical Role (Wildemount Campaign) Rating:  M Chapter Warnings: Death, car accidents, grief/mourning, drug mention Relationship:  Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Past Fjord/Mollymauk Tealeaf (YEAH, I CHANGED THIS ONE, DON’T JUDGE ME) Word Count:  2,786

Found here on AO3. Read from chapter 1 on AO3 here.

The long-awaited actual first chapter. (Hopefully now that the semester’s over, I’ll be able to write more and will be updating, ah, at least semi-regularly.)

If you want to follow along with the songs I get the chapter titles from, I’m making a playlist of them that will be updated as this fic updates!

__________________

Chapter 1: Come Away, Little Light

Come away, little light, come away to the laughter, Show yourself so we might live. Come away, little light, come away to the laughter, To the ones appointed to see it through. We are coming for you. We are coming for you. (“Come Away to the Water”, Glen Hansard)

Five Years Earlier

The room was dark, and it smelled like metal and cardboard and brine. It halfway comforted Fjord with its familiarity, the way it was the same scent that he woke up to and fell asleep to day after day. It was like the well-known movement of the ship, the heartbeat-sway rhythm that he’d learned to counterbalance with. It only caught you off-guard if you spent a few months on land, tripping you up and sending your legs and stomach reeling.

That was the other half – the half that filled Fjord’s lungs like he was drowning, smothering him and blanking his mind out. This was a dizziness, a head-spinning panic that was mostly induced by the man in front of him with the grey eyes and the buzzed-short gold-brown hair and the simple device clutched in his left hand.

“Don’t,” Fjord said, hands up and fingers spread as if to grab but not to hit. “Sabien, don’t. You don’t have to do this.”

“Kind of do, though.” Sabien blinked – slowly, distinctly, a motion that always drew the eyes to his face. Fjord knew well that look, that blink. He’d seen it on Sabien’s face since they were seven years old and Sabien was convincing Fjord to steal the quarters from their housemother’s wallet, lying sweetly when they were caught. “This whole shitshow’s rotten to the core. You ought to know that by now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should blow it up.” Sabien’s hand twitched, and Fjord froze. He had no idea how sensitive the switch Sabien held was. “Where’s the bomb, Sabien?” he asked calmly. “We can still stop this. You  can still stop this.”

“It’s one ship, Fjord,” Sabien said, tone dripping with a mockery even Fjord could recognize. “One fucking Navy ship. One fucking metal machine of death. What’s one ship, more or less?”

“Exactly,” Fjord said urgently. “What will blowing up one ship do? It won’t help. There’s a couple hundred people on here. You’ll just be killing innocents.”

“No one on this ship is innocent,” Sabien spat, and he took a step back from Fjord, further from the doorway, deeper into the shadows of the darkened room. “Every fucker on this ship deserves what I’m going to give them. Including the two of us.”

“Some of them didn’t have a choice,” Fjord said. “And what about Vandren? You gonna kill him too?”

“Vandren’s just as bad as the rest of them,” Sabien said. “You’re a fool for thinking otherwise. A fool who believes the lie that he cares about us – that he cares about you .”

Fjord flinched back as if stung. “Come on,” he said softly. “Sabien. Please. I know you. You don’t want to do this.”

For the first time, Sabien’s eyes dropped from their razor focus on Fjord’s. “I do, though,” he said. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get it. I do want to do this.” His eyes flicked back up, and for one odd, vertigo-inducing moment, Fjord thought they looked completely colorless in the darkness of the room. Colorless as a glass of water, but with nothing behind them to distort.

“Run, Fjord,” Sabien whispered. “You have to run, however you can. Sometimes this is the only way.”

Fjord saw the movement a second too late, and he could only get to the door before he heard the ear-splitting sound of an explosion.

Pain tore through his back.

He was sinking, sinking, sinking through ink-green water.

*****

The next thing Fjord remembered, he was in the hospital with no hearing in his left ear and an uncontrollable tendency to flinch and freeze at loud noises.

There were no other survivors.

 Present

Mollymauk Tealeaf’s funeral was on a cold day in November.

It was a private affair; Molly hadn’t known many people – he’d left his birth family behind long ago, and the people he’d traveled and performed with more recently. As it was, there couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen people there, only one of whom Fjord recognized, and he didn’t really feel like saying hi to her. Jester was sitting with her shoulders hunched and her knit hat pulled low over her curly hair, giving off more don’t-touch-me  vibes than Fjord could ever remember getting from her.

Maybe this was the first funeral she’d been to.

It wasn’t the first Fjord had been to, but it was the first one in a while, and he’d forgotten how goddamn much it hurt, losing someone.

You were too good for this world anyways, Molly.

The funeral was outdoors, and there was no ordained priest. Molly wouldn’t have wanted that, despite his fondness for the Catholic faith, and besides, Fjord would’ve been surprised if he’d have been allowed to be buried in a parish cemetery. He probably would’ve been annoyed by the somber atmosphere, honestly, but Fjord didn’t see there was any way around that. It was winter, and the snow made everything seem sharp and painful and also muffled, like silent tears. They’d set up a few folding chairs; they’d each said a few words that Fjord couldn’t really remember.

A quiet, skinny young man with ash-pale skin and long, dyed pink hair in a side cut – he’d introduced himself as Caduceus Clay, the groundskeeper of the graveyard – had offered them tea and said a prayer over the grave in a language Fjord didn’t recognize. Irish, maybe. It sounded a little like Molly’s slight burr.

Yasha, Molly’s best friend, hadn’t been able to stay through their makeshift ceremony. They hadn’t even known if she was going to be able to come, only just out of the hospital as she was, but she’d shown up with her arm in a sling and looking strange without her usual dark eye makeup. She’d taken one look at the grave, tombstone-less because they’d barely been able to scrape together enough money to bury him, and let out a wordless scream that made Fjord think of stormy days at sea where all he could hear were the crash of the waves and the bereft cry of sea-birds caught in winds too powerful for them, tossed through the skies until they were dashed against the surface of the ocean. She’d dropped to her knees and stayed there for a long minute, kneeling in the snow, before getting up and walking off before any of them could stop her.

Fjord couldn’t say he didn’t understand the impulse.

He shivered, bringing his hands up to his mouth so he could breathe onto them. He was wearing thick gloves, but even they didn’t completely shield his fingers from the dry, biting cold.

Another man who’d stuck around, not someone Fjord recognized, was wearing gloves as well – fingerless, threadbare. During the service, he’d been sitting next to a skinny white girl of about nineteen with a medical facemask and a shabby green hoodie. She’d been fidgeting with a Bic lighter until he put a hand over hers, and she’d stilled for a few minutes before resuming. Now she was standing near Caduceus, and her friend was at Molly’s grave.

Fjord watched as the man crouched down and started writing something with his finger in the light dusting of snow over the freshly turned, frozen earth. Part of him said he should leave the man to his own grieving, but something – whether a morbid curiosity, or an aching wish to know someone was feeling similar pain to his – made him get up from the spindly folding chair and walk over.

Mollymauk Tealeaf,  the man was writing. Shine bright, circus man.

“You knew him?”

The man’s voice was startlingly soft, rough and low and coiled with a German accent. His words sounded heavy, like drowning, like a thousand gallons of water filling your lungs and dragging you under.

Fjord would know.

“Yeah,” Fjord said, and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his down jacket. “Roommates, actually. We, uh…” He swallowed. “Yeah. I knew him. You?”

“We were friends, I think,” the man said. He was wearing a long coat, shabby as his gloves, over several sweaters layered on top of each other. A scarf, handmade by the look of it, was wound around his neck. He had badly cut brownish-orange hair that covered his ears, and scruff that went a few days beyond a five o’clock shadow. He smelled like cigarettes and sulfur. “He was kind to me. Kinder than I deserved. He… we…” He trailed off, then shrugged.

“Well. Glad you came. He shoulda had more people here.”

“It was the least I could do for him.” The man glanced up, and his eyes were grey-blue, and they looked tired, and they looked like the ocean during a storm. “I am Caleb, by the way. Caleb Widogast.”

“Fjord.” He didn’t bother offering a last name. “Who’s the kid?”

“Her?” Caleb inclined his head towards the skinny girl. “Nott. My sister. She was friends with Mollymauk as well.”

“You know anyone else here besides her?”

“Beauregard.” Caleb gestured at the other woman, dark face twisted in grief, besides Nott and Jester. She was standing about twenty yards away, leaning against a tree. Fjord had seen her punch that tree halfway through the makeshift service, then swear and grab at her bleeding knuckles. “You?”

“Jester. The one in the tights. She’s pretty broken up.” Fjord’s eyes dropped back to Molly’s grave. “So’m I, if it comes to that.”

“He was a special person,” Caleb said softly, reaching out and resting his fingers on the snow-dusted dirt.

“Aren’t you cold?” Fjord asked. “Your hands…”

Caleb flexed his fingers. They were long, and spindly, and red. “Not too bad,” he said.

“I have gloves…”

“I’m fine.” Caleb stood, crossing his arms over his chest and burying his hands in his armpits.

Fjord was startled to realize Caleb was only a few inches shorter than he, and that not taking into account his hunched shoulders. “All right. You goin’ to the, uh… the party? Wake? Whatever it is?”

“Ah. I suppose. He would want me to.” Caleb nodded at the grave. “He wouldn’t like all this silence and sadness. He liked life.”

“He sure fuckin’ did,” Fjord said. He closed his eyes for a moment, hit by a sudden wave of pain as the realization struck him that he’d be going home to an empty apartment tonight. No Molly making a mess of the kitchen or keeping him up with his parties or stopping him before bed to do a one-card tarot reading.

No Molly.

Fjord wiped at the hot tears that managed to trickle down his face with the back of his glove. “I’m gonna miss that colorful son of a bitch,” he said.

“He was the best of us,” Caleb said, and closed his eyes, head bowed.

“Caleb?” The girl’s – Nott’s – voice, creaky and uncertain, stuttered through the snow as she slunk over. “Are you all right?”

“Maybe. Come here.” With one arm, Caleb reached out and pulled Nott into him, the two of them huddled together, now.

Fjord, not wanting to intrude, backed away. On his way back to his seat, he stopped by where Jester was sitting. “You okay?” he asked gently.

“No,” she said. Her nose was red from cold and crying. “I just… can’t believe he’s gone. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s going to appear and ask why we’re all so sad.”

Fjord settled into the seat beside her, unsure of what to do, how to comfort her. She was scrunched into herself, arms twisted into a knot across her chest, tight-clad legs wound around each other. “It’s so stupid,” she continued, voice clogged. “It’s so stupid, Fjord. The world is mean.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

It was their fault.

His  fault.

It was a stupid decision, but he’d never been able to say no to Jester, and she’d wanted to go to the party so badly. One of the kids who’d been coming to her storytimes for weeks now had been adopted unexpectedly, moving away, and Jester had needed something to cheer her up. So Fjord had remembered the party he’d been invited to by a friend of a friend, and said that he hadn’t planned on going, but sure, why not? He could bring Jester.

She’d been so happy about it.

He’d never seen her so unhappy, now, not even he was driving her up from the coast that first time. Two years ago, now. She’d been twenty and the entire back of his Jeep had been packed with her bags and she’d waved to her mom until they couldn’t see her anymore, and then she’d cried for a couple miles. This was different. She couldn’t call Molly on the phone when she missed him like she could with her mom. She couldn’t write him letters like she’d told Fjord she was going to do for Kiri. No one could, where he’d gone.

And it was his fault.

Fjord was suddenly struck with a desperate need to leave. He stood up abruptly, the chair tilting back. “I gotta – head out, Jes,” he mumbled. “Gotta head home, I –”

She nodded, still staring at Molly’s grave, where Caleb and Nott were still standing, and Fjord had a feeling he should be worried about her, but. But. He couldn’t be – not right now.

He couldn’t even go to the goddamn wake, he thought as he walked, head down and barely paying attention, towards the street where he’d parked. Couldn’t even give Molly that much. He unlocked his car with shaking fingers, slipped into the driver’s seat, and closed the door behind him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and let his head tilt back to hit the headrest.

He couldn’t stay there forever, as much as he wanted to, so after a moment, he started the car, turning the heat up as high as it would go, and carefully navigated the snowy streets home. It wasn’t far. Ten minutes, maybe. They’d chosen the graveyard closest to where he’d lived. Where Fjord still lived.

The eleven minutes it took Fjord to drive the distance felt too short.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in the place since Molly’d died. He lived there – of course he’d been in it. But now Molly was in the ground, and there was a finality about that that felt different, somehow. At least Molly’s car wasn’t parked in front; it had been totaled, Fjord had been told. (It was his name on the insurance papers. Of course it was. The other option had been for Molly not to have insurance at all, and Fjord had not been about to let that happen.

Not that it mattered, in the end.)

The hallway was dark when Fjord walked in, and Fjord kept it that way. He stripped off his coat, stuffing his gloves in one of the pockets, and hung it on the hook beside the door. Headed straight for his room – or meant to.

Molly’s bedroom was right across the hall from his.

He stopped, halfway into his room. Molly’s door was still open a couple inches – he always forgot to pull it closed when he left, and the gaudy tapestry that hung on the back of it was always getting caught. Fjord could see the corner of the tapestry, now, black fabric and silver thread. He could almost imagine Molly’s sharp-fingered hand pulling back the tapestry, Molly leaning in the doorway (Molly had been a leaner; doorways, walls, people, it hadn’t mattered to him) and asking if Fjord was going to spend the entire evening in his room, or if he wanted to hang out with him instead. Fjord would smile and say he didn’t have anything better to do, and he would end up in Molly’s room, and they would listen to one of Molly’s albums – Hozier, maybe, or Saint Motel, or Liam Lynch, Molly’s record collection seemed endless – and Fjord would doze off against Molly’s shoulder, and Molly would nudge him awake because he didn’t want you to wake up with a sore neck again, you’re practically an old man, after all, Fjord.

The doorway stayed empty, of course.

Fjord would have to go through that room eventually.

Not today. Not when Molly still haunted it like a ghost, like a phantom feeling in the back of Fjord’s throat akin to the beginning of tears, like the smell of Molly that still hung heavy in the apartment (incense and marijuana and something like metal, or maybe blood), like a Molly-shaped space in the air that he couldn’t step through for fear of disappearing himself.

Not when Fjord was responsible for that empty space.

He shook his head and closed his bedroom door behind him.

[maychorian]

Get to Know the Author

Tagged by @eastofthemoon. Thank you!

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

“Maychoria” was the name of the main country in the fantasy novel I wrote when I was thirteen and fourteen. It means “happy land,” based on two words I found in a Greek dictionary we had in the house. So “Maychorian” basically means “inhabitant of the happy land.”

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos).

On AO3, A Split-Second of Violence still has the most views and kudos and bookmarks, over 46k hits and almost 2500 kudos and 762 bookmarks. The first and second Boom Crash stories combined beat it, though, and Sell Me Your Nightmares beats it for comment threads. Over all platforms, I’m pretty sure my most famous fic ever is still Entertaining Angels, a deaged Castiel fic I wrote at the cusp of Supernatural fandom, just as Castiel was starting to get popular. I  happened to write that story at the exact right time, in the mid-season break when everyone was hungry for more of the intriguing character we’d just been introduced to, and cute deaged angel boy trying to help Sam and Dean with their respective traumas was bound to be a hit no matter who wrote it. Plus I gave him pneumonia. It’s a thing I do.

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

Same as my current tumblr icon. Cuz Lance has the best expressions and he’s the cutest and the best.

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

I do, and I love them and appreciate them so, so much. If you comment on a lot of my fics and/or chapters, you’d better believe I notice, and I love you, even if I don’t respond.

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Basically anything in this tag: https://maychorianrecs.tumblr.com/tagged/personal-favorite.

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

Oh, golly. My work subscriptions at AO3 is currently at fifteen pages. A lot of those are completed or abandoned, though. No idea how many fics and authors I’m still subscribed to on ff.n, mostly in dead fandoms. I have 80 bookmarks on AO3 at the moment, but that is not an accurate representation of the fics I like and recommend others read. That would be @maychorianrecs, which currently has 681 posts and isn’t even complete even for the Voltron fandom, let alone the other fandoms I read now or have read in the past.

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

The Dream Seam ‘verse is definitely the one that owns the largest part of my brain right now, but I’m also looking forward to getting back to my DnD AU once I finish my current big projects. I tend to write more canon-divergence AUs than alternate realities, in most cases. I like exploring how things can differ across time if one small (or large) change is made in the setting we know and love. Like what if Castiel went back in time and ended up as Sam and Dean’s older brother? Love that one.

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

User Subscriptions: 617 Kudos: 27064 Comment Threads: 5019 Bookmarks: 5631 Subscriptions: 2713 Word Count: 1169905 Hits: 325489

That’s insane, and it’s only in the last three or four years, since I didn’t really start using AO3 until mid-2014. I have a lot more before that on ff.n and other sites.

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

If there’s something I want to write and share, I will find a way.

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

I wish I was better at action. It always takes me a lot time to sort of choreograph it in my head and then describe it in a way that makes sense. I also need to work on writing believable romance, since I want to eventually write more mainstream fiction, and it’s pretty normal for characters to have romances. I can’t just write everyone as being aro/ace or siblings, though I kind of want to. I wish I wasn’t such a procrastinator and had more energy to spare on responding to comments, because I really do love them and appreciate them.

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Only if you count gen as a rarepair, which it kind of is. Otherwise, no ships for me, ever. I tried it. Didn’t much like it.

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

70. Some of them are reposts. Eventually I need to get all of my fics over to AO3. It’s definitely the superior platform nowadays.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

Unposted? Mm, more than five, less than a dozen. I tend to post things as soon as I’m halfway satisfied, because I crave that sweet, sweet feedback.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

They’re mostly up in my head. If it changes by the time I start to write it, that’s fine. And if I forget an idea, a new one will come along sooner or later. I write in the now.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

Yes, a few times, most recently with ardett for Sewing Patches. It was a great experience.

16. How did you discover AO3?

Back when it was just getting started, I got an invite to the beta from an LJ friend. It wasn’t until years later that I got into sports anime fandom and decided I wanted to start using it, so I searched my email to find that years-old invite and used it.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

I’m well-known in the gen corner of my fandom, which is not the same thing as being a BNF in the fandom as a whole. I have no doubt that 99% of Klance fans have no idea who I am, and Klance basically IS the Voltron fandom, much to my annoyance. But I’m fine with the way things are. I interact with cool people all the time and get to show them awesome stuff and get nice feedback when I post fics, and that’s what I want.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

Nah. That seems kind of pretentious and arrogant.

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

I’ve wanted to write since before I knew how to read, as far back as I can remember. As soon as I understand that those scribbles on a page meant something and told stories, I wanted to tell my own. Certainly in my teenage years I was very inspired by the fantasy and science fiction authors I adored, like Tolkien, Lewis, MacDonald, Orson Scott Card, Stephen King, Tamora Pierce, etc. I have been encouraged along the way by many, many fellow writers, as well. But as far as an instigating person at the very beginning, I can’t think of one. I just always knew that this was what I wanted to do with my life.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Just do it. Post it if you’re brave, keep it to yourself if you’re not. Make yourself happy first. Find one person who will read and enjoy your stuff, otherwise it will get stale writing only for yourself. But first and foremost, stoke the fire in your own belly until you have no choice but to use it, to let it fly from your fingers in words and paragraphs. Once you start, keep going, even when the fire burns low. Discipline is more important than inspiration in the long term, but inspiration is how you start.

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Mostly the latter. I’ve written from outlines in the past, and I sometimes do extensive freewriting before I start something to give myself some semblance of structure, but working from a strict outline isn’t really fun for me. I’d much rather  discover the story as I go. I subscribe to the Stephen King school of writing, the idea that a story is a boulder you dig up with a lot of hard work and exploring. Granted, that doesn’t always work perfectly, and it can lead to stories that are overlong and oddly structured or dissatisfying, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take in order to enjoy the process as much as possible.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

Occasionally, mostly not on AO3. My feedback there is by and large very kind and enthusiastic. Every once in a while I’ll get a weird comment on ff.n complaining about some choice I made or chastising me for not doing what they wanted or expected with the story. Mostly I just laugh and let them go, though they used to bother me a lot. Once in a while they’ll make a solid point, and I’ll think about it, and maybe change the story a bit to satisfy the issue that’s bothering me, not for their satisfaction but for my own. That’s exceedingly rare, though. I think I’ve done it twice.

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Action is hard, yes. Dialogue and emotional scenes come easily, so naturally that’s the bulk of my stuff.

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

My ongoing series and stories are all currently in posting. I have some ideas on the backburner that I haven’t started working on yet, but I’m not the kind of writer who finishes a project before posting, so there’s nothing going on that my readers don’t already know about.

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

Often as I’m finishing up a long project my mind will already be working on what’s next, yes. Not really planning so much as just daydreaming and working out scenarios in my head, but I do like that I never run out of things to do.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

I try to write at least 750 words every day. Not always fiction, though, sometimes it’s freewriting or a diary entry. This post will probably be my writing for today. 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Indubitably, since for the very first story I wrote I asked my mom how to spell the word “fan.” I was five.

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

Oof, that’s hard. In Voltron, probably Bury the Sun. I keep going back and re-reading that one. It just…hits my buttons. On purpose. I did that. In all of my fandoms ever, probably Coming Down on a Sunny Day. It came together in an extremely satisfying way, and I’m very proud of it, even though the last part never got very much feedback since the fandom had moved on by the time I wrote and posted it.

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

I started writing an original fantasy fiction called Cat by Night with the idea of posting it on Amazon and making money with it. But I started it out in very YA fashion with an incipient romance, and it just bored me to tears. I hated it. I couldn’t do it. Romance is not for me.

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

I would love to develop my original fiction and discipline myself enough to actually start publishing stuff on Amazon and eventually make enough money to live on, maybe with the help of Patreon. RIght now, though, fanfiction takes up all my creative energy, and I don’t know how I would justify making a living off that.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

Making characters cuddle.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Getting characters to the point where the cuddling makes sense and feels in character.

33. Why do you write?

For the sake of the cuddles, mostly. Also because I can’t imagine not writing.

No tagging today because I’m exhausted, but feel free if you want to do this. 

[muzzmurray]

year in fic review (2017)

You can find all of the fic mentioned below on my ao3 account, savedby. If you’re looking for my football fic edition, you can find it here.

Year at a glance: Total number of completed stories: 32 Total word count: 77707

Overall Thoughts:

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? I wrote way more than I realized for this fandom, um, wow. There were a couple of months where I was writing like four or five fics and I have no idea how that happened.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? Oh, the Vegas Golden Knights! Because when they signed two, I was joking around on twitter about how I could ship them now, and my friend was like ‘well, why don’t you’ and then that evolved into Sabaton and by extension into the Bold in Gold series, which was one of the most rewarding parts of my year for sure.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? these tornadoes are for you, which was Nick/Bob and written for the Cannon Fodder exchange. The combination of magic realism, humor and their general softness was really nice to write, and @frecklebombfic did a beautiful podfic of it.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Purely in terms of style, I wrote descent, in second person, which I know tends to polarize opinions. I love it, for whenever I want to write something that feels more immediate and intimate. I actually tried to rewrite it in third person, because the friend I was writing it for told me she wasn’t a big fan of second person, but it just wouldn’t work. It had to be written exactly as it is.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I’d like to finish this chaptered Mcdrai magic AU fic that I’m working on and I’d like to continue writing the Vegas Golden Knights as their narrative unfolds, so the Bold in Gold series can become a sort of written history of the team and its fandom. Ambitious, but. We’ll see. I’m already working on the next part.

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year: armet. I think this was in the works the moment I realized that there was a possibility that Flower might go to Vegas and it ended up becoming exactly what I had hoped it would be.

My most popular story of this year: i still get jealous of your old boyfriends, judging by kudos, which is actually funny to me, because for the longest time I really hated what I wrote for that fic and I ended up posting it after having it written for a period of time.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: foundations, my Marleau/Thornton fic. I mean, it’s a niche pairing and a character study, so it’s probably as good as it’s going to get, but it’s basically peak me and my love for old men and their narratives.

Most fun story to write: world i can call mine , which was my Pod_together project with @frecklebombfic . Having her input on it was so essential (as it was in many of my fics this year) and I had such a fun time discussing Auston, Zach and Mitch, and poly with her. And her podfic ended up being perfect. It was just a great project.

Story with the single sexiest moment: Man, I don’t know, I’m an ace essentially floundering in the world of smut. But I did manage to post, like 4 explicit stories this year, which just goes to show you that you can be anything you set your mind to, kids. As it is, I’m nominating this line from wake me up come tomorrow

Oscar does, adds another finger only when he feels Adam completely relax into the first. He fingers him slow and easy, watching his face as it relaxes from discomfort to pleasure. Adam makes these noises too, cut off moans, helpless and involuntary. Oscar adds a third finger and he whines, high in his throat.

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: circumstance, which I hadn’t realized was still posted on anon until right now. So I’m owning up to it, I suppose. I’m not ashamed of it, because it still makes me laugh a lot on re-read, but please heed the warnings.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: your morning cup, my Tim Horton character study. I didn’t even really know anything about him when I decided I was going to be writing this fic. But as I researched and wrote, the story ended up being one of the most important things I wrote this year.

Hardest story to write: something like hope was an exercise in frustration, until I figured out how to frame it with quotes from Pekka’s Players’ Tribune article.

Biggest disappointment: I don’t really post things I’m actually unhappy with.

Biggest surprise: I was most surprised by how well fandom received Sabaton, because I figured it was something so niche that only a few people would actually click on, but it became one of my most popular stories. I’m really grateful for that.

Highlights + Wrap-up:

Favorite Opening Lines (4):

From tomorrow is going to be pretty pawsome

Ryan is halfway through his breakfast when he hears his front door opening. It’s 9am and he’s not wearing pants, so if he’s going to be robbed, he’s pretty much defenceless, unless he pelts the robber with some granola.

What still gets me is how real this ship became as the season progressed.

From Sabaton

There’re a few things Vadim expects to see when he lands in Las Vegas. His new teammate holding up a big sign with his name on it, decorated with footballs and pucks and glitter, isn’t one of them.

Am I still prissy about how badly they treated Shippy? Yes. Absolutely.

From LXXXVII

Sidney Crosby isn’t high on the list of people that Vadim expects to see in the hotel bar in Pittsburgh before the Knights game against the Penguins, and yet, there he is. Crosby is wearing a pair of thick rimmed glasses and a hat, presumably as some sort of disguise. It only makes him stand out more.

He also seems to be getting closer, swapping stools whenever Vadim glances away, until they’re sitting elbow to elbow.

Ridiculous Sid is my favorite plot device and he was in full effect in this fic.

From your morning cup

Strictly speaking, there’s never been a hockey player called Tim Horton.

I just liked the way this commands attention when you read it. I think it when you have something so niche, you need the first paragraph to grab your attention, and I think I did well here.

Favorite Closing Lines (5):

From dust in your veins

Then, Geno pulls him into another kiss, desperate, his chest shaking under Sid’s hands and Sid thinks that maybe he won't have to separate them after all.

That he can have this – his heart beating rapid fire in his chest, and Geno’s steadying palms on the muscles of his back, and the ghost of ice above them both.

I love the removable heart AU (not to be confused with the escaping heart AU) because it just works so incredibly well for those sports narratives.

From knight

“You know, it’s actually a pun, because I used to play for the London Knights and-”

“Oh my god, please stop.”

From we were a house on fire

“I want.”

“It’s been years.”

“Want still.”

“...yeah, okay.”

“Like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

I love how deceptively simple this is, with no dialogue tags, but it feels like it packs a lot of punch, cutting through the complexity of their situation.

From descent

The streets of Edmonton turn slick, coated with fallen snow. Daylight is scarce, and cold besides, and you wear a jersey that doesn’t mean much to you and you watch out for the boy that means everything.

At night your curl around Connor in your bed. He always runs hot, burning in your bones and warming you from the inside out.

He presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, and you blink, mind muddled with sleep, and you realize you don’t know which one of you is the one doing the protecting.

Ask me sometime about my thoughts about enforcers and their relationships with star players, and why end up romanticizing them so much.

From armet

“Fleuuuurrrryyyy,” the fans scream, without a hint of mocking, echoing off the concrete of the building,  “Fleuuuurrrryyyyyyyy!” and it’s all he can do to smile through his tears, waving at these people who have crucified and martyred him over the years, but have loved him through it all.

His crease hasn’t changed. He pats the pipes, feels them steady beneath his palm, familiar. His teammates are all on the ice now, circling his goal, and he catches sight of Nealer coming forward with the puck. His face is grim and determined, and Flower remembers he’s got something to prove too.

He gives Nealer a sharp nod and crouches. Smiles.

He’s ready.

Flower’s game against the Pens in Vegas was emotionally devastating and I can only imagine how it’ll be when they play in Pittsburgh.

Favorite Lines From Anywhere (6):

From be your spine

The Bruins seem just fine without him, which is just a metaphor for his life, really. He notices the absence of Boston, but Boston is too big to notice he’s gone.

He limits his texts to Tuukka, and eventually they taper off, growing sparser and more impersonal as months go by. It’s understandable. Anton feels the absence of Tuukka like a phantom limb, but Tuukka is too brilliant, too beautiful, to be affected by Anton’s absence.

My first fic of the year was a homage to the journeyman player, the one who isn’t a star anywhere, the one that’s expendable. And this was one of the lines that summarized it pretty well.

From teddy bear

“I just want to be a cool dad, like Bozie! You’re the lame dad, Zach is the big brother figure and Leo is the grumpy grandpa. We all have roles to play!”

Matt bites back his first comment, and the second one. They’re both swearwords.

This whole sequence between Mo and Matt still makes me laugh really really hard.

From foundations

The Sharks are Joe’s team by virtue of wanting him more than anyone else did, but they aren’t his team like they’re Patty’s, who’s left pieces of himself in every crack in the Shark Tank concrete and who wears the jersey with more pride than anyone Joe’s ever known.

This fic hurts more now that Patty got traded.

From heart like a home

Roman is still sprawled across PK’s bed, entirely naked, reading one of PK’s magazines. His tanned skin glows in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamps. The sight never fails to make PK’s mouth go dry. As if sensing his gaze, Roman looks up, arching an elegant eyebrow, a stray curl falling across his forehead.

I want to eventually try to capture the various details of Roman/PK in a longer fic but for now this image of naked Roman will have to do.

From these tornadoes are for you

Bob is standing at the stove, muttering something to himself. He still looks like he did last night, little bolts of lightning racing across his skin, and when he turns around his eyes are still glowing pale in his face. It’s a little disconcerting, but Nick goes with it.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks, walking next to him to look at the pan and wincing. He’s careful not to touch Bob, doesn’t know what it’ll do to him. “Was this supposed to be scrambled eggs?”

I really enjoyed writing the whole scene of Bob releasing his magic in the woods, but what made me happiest to write was the morning after and how all that magic becomes somewhat of a hindrance.

From i still get jealous of your old boyfriends

“Are you telling me that Connor McDavid’s favorite show is My Super Sweet 16?” he asks incredulously. Mitch grins at him.

“Oh, no,” he says and Auston lets out a sigh of relief, “it used to be his favorite show. I think his favorite right now is Extreme Couponing.”

Connor and Extreme Couponing is the greatest love story I’ve written this year.

Fic Goals for 2017: I want to finish off the four WIPs that I didn’t manage to this year. Beyond that, I don’t have any particular expectations. I hope I can continue to enjoy writing in this fandom and that people will continue to enjoy my work.

year in fic review (2016)

[fyodorsuggestions]

Tagged by @fy-soukoku

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

My A03 username, and main blog and twitter and facebook and freaking discord and literally every single thing is Darke_Eco_Freak either with hyphens, spaces or underscores and basically I was an edgy 11 year old who loved Jak II and the concept of the evil version of the protag Jak. Only I wanted to be extra Edge™ so I added an extra E to dark.

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

Hits: Sex Pollen isn’t a real Thing (it was one of the first smuts I wrote and it’s kinda bad now whoops)

Kudos: Sex Pollen again

Comments: T(w)o Me, Fo(u)r Us, or as I call it 2/4

Subs: 2/4

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

It’s been Virus from this piece of art for some months now. Why? Because Kat made it and I love it a lot so you know

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

Um damn, I haven’t gotten regular comments in a few months except from my friends whom I spam with my many many fics. I’m actually in another fandom I made another archive account for because reasons but yeah. My friends are my fave

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

I haven’t actually read fic in a while, there’s one or two Daredevil ones I think about but I don’t go back and re-read, my attention span’s been pretty shit for a while.

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I’m not subbed to anyone but I have bookmarked 6 fics

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

None really. My latest fandom isn’t really open for AU’s, well written Au’s at least and yes I’m forever salty over that. Hmm, if there’s one I like to toy with though it’s Evil AU’s, you know the villain turns bad AU? Love em

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

Subs: 465

Bookmarked: 2133

I don’t really care though because A) I’ve been in a lot of fandoms since 2014 and I know most ppl are here for the porn as per comments on said porn.

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

Idgaf. I’ve written necro, cannibalism, torture porn, self-insert stuff. Honestly I dump most of what my other fandom wouldn’t accept on this one. Plus Fyodor is a very easy character to manipulate for me so it’s always fun.

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

I’d like to be better about my chaptered fics, not abandoning them and things like that. Also, action scenes, I want to get better at those.  

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

I multiship myself to hell. For this fandom I write whatever catches my eye because I don’t know the characters all that well? The running meme of me not watching the show is still a thing. In my other fandom, I’m one of the few writers around and I write every single ship I can think of cause I can.

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

One my darke account: 73, on my other account; 10 but I post a lot to tumblr and don’t really cross post all that much.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

I can’t tell you that because I just keep huge word docs around but for the year I’ve written about 600 k so that’s cool.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

I just write off the top of my head most of the time, I’ll talk out a plot with a friend sometimes but otherwise it’s just whatever I feel as the day goes.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

I have, two, soon to be three.

16. How did you discover AO3?

I think I saw someone on ff.net mention it and I started looking at the site.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

Fuck no lol. I’m here writing the rarest of pairs and writing oc/characters, not to mention in first person sometimes and those tags alone mean ppl won’t read. Eh, I’m just posting to archive to bolster the number of fics a character has tbh. (this is for BSD fandom but I’ve never been a popular/famous author in any fandom)

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

Umm, half the time I’m not sure I have ppl beyond friends who read my fics so yeah.

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

I’d say Lakshmi Persad, a local author. Mostly because I hated having to do that book in lit class and wanted to do better than her.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

If you want it, make it. I’m serious, don’t count on anyone to make the content you want to see, do it yourself and people might follow suit, if not, at least you made it. Hella.

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

I finish stories and still have no idea if I figured them out or not.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

I’ve gotten a few, mostly I ignore them. But there was this one fic, it wasn’t for anyone but me and I shouldn’t have posted it at all but I did and someone told me that the characterization was completely wrong for the character I was writing and I ended up leaving the fic alone for months and months. I got back to it eventually but I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish that fic tbh.

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Action gives me joint pain. I just how do you make it flow?

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

I want it All

Deathless Sleep

Missing Pages

Five times he fell

Divine(d) Visions

2/4

Many lil drabbles and sexy times.

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

I can’t plan to save my life

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

It used to be 300 a day now it’s 2k because apparently I hate myself. Most of the time I meet it, between the two fandoms I write for daily so yay.

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Absolutely.

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

Step back Through Time and Remember my Touch, definitely those two. One’s the original fic and the other is the sequel. Best things I wrote all year

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

Maybe Gone, that’s a really old one but god the cringe.

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

Hopefully I figured out those damn action scenes.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

I think bringing the characters to life in my own head is the easiest thing.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Not letting lack of feedback get to me cause I’m not writing popular shit, I don’t expect it but god damn it gets discouraging as fuck to see something I worked hard on just kinda flop and drown.

33. Why do you write?

I can’t do anything else and crave validation like the attention whore I am.

I’m tagging @chuuyasuggestions @kyusakusuggestions um idk who has archive shit. If you follow me and you see it, you have to do it okay?