#I spent a few hours just working on it while hearing a fanfiction

[casuallyawkardd]

Close Encounters of the Spiderkind

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Single Mother!Reader

Summary: When reader refuses to go on a mission, Miguel decides to pay a home visit to figure out why 

Warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ATSV! fluff, slight hurt/comfort and angst if you squint hard enough, Miguel is a softie around kids, it’s giving slow burn/platonic vibes, not fluent in Spanish so feel free to correct my wording/punctuation

A/N: This is kind of my way of dipping my toes back into the world of fanfiction writing, if ya’ll end up liking it I was planning on making it a little series of sorts. Not necessarily a multipart story, rather just little moments following the same general characters. I took the liberty of assigning a gender and name to the reader’s daughter since that sounded like it’d be easier in terms of writing, the rest is still like any Y/N story. Reader is also a spider person, but I’m not married to the idea for future oneshots? Drabbles? I don’t know what you kids call them nowadays...

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

It had only been a couple months since you had joined Spider-Society and, while you were still trying to find your footing, things were going a lot better than expected. There was a comradery with being around other people with the same abilities, who had experienced the same losses, victories and all that came with wearing the mask. You had found some good friends among the other Spiders, particularly with Peter B and Jess, as there was a common ground there that you had yet to share with them; something that the three of you had in common.

That commonality was currently asleep in the other room, your daughter Vada. For once, it had been a day where the radios were quiet. No calls from HQ to go on missions, no worrying chatter on the police radios, so you had taken the day to spend time with your daughter. The three year old was going through a phase where she was having nightmares almost every night, so the day was spent at home relaxing. From watching movies, to cooking meals together, Vada had been your little shadow all day and you had enjoyed every second of it.  While your toddler had tuckered herself out, you were restless, curled up on the couch watching TV at a low enough volume that only you could hear, thanks to your heightened senses. It may have been almost midnight, but that was still considered an early night for you. Used to the regime of patrolling until early in the morning and crawling into bed to get a few hours asleep before Vada came in to ask for her breakfast. Just as you were starting to feel the pull of sleep on your eyelids, letting the quiet calm sink into your bones, the moment was then yanked from you. When the beeping started the first time, you had acted on instinct to silence the noise. Your hand practically slapped the Gizmo on your wrist, the same Gizmo given to you by Miguel when you had joined his Spider-Society.  Ugh, Miguel. It was a damn shame that such a pretty face was wasted on a sourpuss like him. While being the leader of an elite group of Spider-People sounded like no easy task, there were times the man definitely took it too seriously. Sure, he had a great work ethic and was a respectable leader, but that all came with the downside that you couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. You two hadn’t gotten off on the right foot and it seemed like he wouldn’t let you live that down. Ever the stern, cold-hearted leader, barking orders and chewing your ass out if something went wrong. He hardly ever smiled and when he did it was condescending, almost smug as he questioned just how intelligent you actually were. A waste of a pretty face indeed.

That pretty face came to mind when you looked down at your Gizmo, which was beeping once more, finally processing that it was Miguel who was trying to contact you. Shit.

“Hello?” your voice is quiet, wary as you answer him finally; trying to keep quiet for the toddler sleeping in the other room. Also because of the worry that you’ve pissed him off once again.

“Why aren’t you answering?” his voice cuts through the silence, monotone and firm. “An anomaly was detected on Earth-616, go take care of it. Ben Reilly and Peter Parker from Earth-13122 are already en route.”

“I....can’t,” you cringe as the word leaves your mouth. The pregnant pause that follows feels like an eternity.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” He spits the word back at you, like you offended him with just the one syllable. More silence follows, Miguel waiting for your answer and you not knowing what to say. “...Is something wrong?”

“I have to go,” you end the call, not even registering the concern that had slid its way into his tone. With a heavy sigh, you lay your head against the back of the couch, regretting how you handled the situation, but thankful it was dealt with. That is until the familiar sound of a portal opening and closing disturbs your precious quiet once more. 

It makes you almost jump out of your skin, physically lurching off the couch, the warm hues from the light of the portal filling your living room and disappearing as quickly as they came. In their place is Miguel, clad in his spidersuit from head to toe. A wave of emotions goes through you, the look of shock, confusion and anger crossing your face in less than a second. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, glancing around the space and disengaging his mask when he doesn’t register any immediate threats.

“What are you doing here!?” it takes all you have not to shout the words at him, instead resorting to a sort of hiss to keep your voice down. Miguel doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“This is why you couldn’t come? Because you’re too busy lounging around and watching trash TV?” he isn’t shouting per se, rather his tone makes him sound louder. That and the quiet of your apartment probably amplified his voice even more. “I know the weight of keeping the multiverse intact might go over your head, but the least you could do is be there for your teammates. I don’t allow slackers in my-” “Shh!” you’re moving towards him without even realizing, motherly instinct telling you to silence the noise that dared try to wake your daughter. Your hand reaches to cover his loud mouth and Miguel takes a step back to avoid your touch, the frustration reflecting in his eyes turning into red, hot anger. 

“Did you just ‘shh’ me!?” he sounds as if he’s in disbelief, his voice now actually rising in volume. You stumble over your words, trying to apologize and explain yourself all at once. Now it’s his turn to step towards you, his imposing frame towering over you and you can’t help but shrink back, “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you don’t get your ass in your suit, I’ll-”

“Mama?” Vada’s little voice cuts through the air, both Miguel and you freezing. When you turn to look at your daughter, who’s standing in the doorway to her bedroom, it feels like everything around you fades away. The static of the TV, Miguel, everything until all you can focus on is Vada. She’s clearly distressed, as you come to kneel in front of her you can see the tears in her big round eyes, the redness around them and on her nose, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. You know what’s wrong before she even has to explain.

“Sweet girl, another one?” you ask calmly, a hand going to stroke her hair. Vada nods, confirming your suspicion that she had been roused by yet another nightmare. The creak of the floorboards alerts you of Miguel taking a step closer and you’re suddenly very much aware of his presence once again. However, your eyes don’t leave Vada’s crying face. “Let’s get you back into bed,” you try to coax her into heading back the way she came, your toddler only resisting and shaking her head firmly.

“I want Mama’s bed,” she demands, sounding groggy as the sleep she had just risen from had yet to fully leave her. Vada doesn’t even let you respond before her tiny arms wrap around your neck, face pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder, “Want you,” she mutters against you, the exhaustion and distress in her voice making your heart ache for her. “Vada,” you sigh heavily, exhausted as well. Exhausted from the heavy workload of being Spider-Woman not just for your universe, but other universes as well. Exhausted from the fact your child couldn’t get a wink of sleep and seeing her frustrated made you frustrated as well. You cave, scooping your daughter up in your arms and standing. Her body molds to yours, relaxing against your frame like it had done so many times before. As you rub her back and kiss her temple, you’re forced to turn and deal with the elephant in the room. Or rather the spider. 

You expect Miguel to look annoyed, as usual, but he isn’t. In fact, the anger he was prepared to unleash on you moments ago seems to have vanished, replaced with a look of curiosity, intrigue and dare you say....awe? He’s looking at Vada, who’s about to pass out in your arms, with a softened expression, the sight of the small girl seeming to tug the corners of his mouth up just slightly.

Huh.

Miguel seems to catch himself staring, shaking his head to clear the fog and meeting your gaze once more. “I...didn’t know,” is all he can say, not as confident in the way he stands.

“No one knows,” you reply in a much harsher tone than you intended. After a deep breath, you adjust how you speak, “I’ve only been on the team for a couple months. It’s not that I don’t trust the other spiders...I just want to be careful, yah know?” Miguel nods along with what you say and you can’t help but keep talking to fill the now awkward silence, “Usually I have someone to watch her, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a day to just give her all my attention- I promise, it won’t happen again. I know that I should answer if you call-”

“Cállate,” Miguel cuts you off and you’re almost grateful he’s saved you from rambling. There’s another moment of silence before he sighs, “You don’t have to explain yourself, really. If I had known,” he waves a hand to indicate to your daughter, “this was the reason you were ignoring my calls, I wouldn’t have been so hard on you. Your daughter comes first, I get it.”

His words hit harder than they should. Every Spider-Person had heard the story. How Miguel was willing to put his own duties aside to live in a universe where he had a daughter of his own. Replacing the him of that universe, who had died tragically, to live the life he had always wanted; only to have that universe crumble around him. Literally. It explained his cold demeanor, you’d probably be a bitch too if your daughter died in your arms, but that coldness you had become accustomed to seemed to melt away the longer he took in the sight of you holding your daughter.

“You said her name’s Vada?” he asks, stepping a little closer. Normally, you would probably keep your distance from him, maternal instincts in overdrive with an imposing figure like Miguel so close to Vada, but you stay in place. Not bothered by his presence for once. He’s looking at you, expecting an answer, and you nod your head. He hums, “How old?”

“Three,” you answer and he hums again. “...Is everything okay? Regarding the mission?”

“Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, adjusting his stance and taking a small step back. When had he gotten so close to you? “I think those two should be fine on their own. Earth-13122′s Spider-Man knows what he’s doing and-”

“You know, you can just call him Lego Spider-Man. Everyone calls him Lego Spider-Man.”

“That’s not his correct title.”

“Uh-huh,” you smile, holding back a laugh at how serious Miguel seemed to be about the subject. “...Well, I think it’s time we go to bed.”

“Right, right,” Miguel moves like he’s about to walk out the front door, seeming to forget that he had come via portal and catching himself as his hand grasps the handle. Has he always been this socially awkward? He turns to look at you again, “Should I just...?”

“Yes, please open your noisy portal outside.”

“Claro que sí,” he nods in understanding, opening the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses again, turning to look back at you, “Even if you’re busy, you should still answer when I call. I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” you repeat, a bit of teasing in your voice.

“Worried as in the normal amount of worried.”

“Sure, sure, O’Hara.”

“I’m leaving now,” he huffs, turning to leave again. Yet he can’t help but stop one more time, “Goodnight.”

He finally leaves, door shutting with a soft click. You go to the door to lock it, carrying Vada into your room for bed. It seems that she had managed to fall back asleep despite your little interaction with Miguel. As you lay down and pull the comforter over the two of you, Vada snuggling impossibly close to you once more, you lie there thinking about what had just transpired. 

Maybe his pretty face wasn’t a waste. 

Tags:

@l0sert0wn​ @deputy-videogamer @arctic4life @sasaleleselfships @autismsupermusicalassassin @snert-bees @qundadedingle11 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @fangirlreice7 @mouse-teagreat @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @yellieeeee​ @thesrtuggleisveryreal @escherichiacolli @sweeteaacorner @marvelouslovely-barnes @meeom​ @candlewitch-cryptic​ @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap​ @melovetitties @ilovemycat6808​ @vegas-writing-den​ @pippethealien @shibble​ @mommyhange1​ @chiikasevennn @pokhouu @jenniferdixon05207​ @m0sscr3ates​ @momos-peaches​ @insanelycrazyanddelusional @miggyoharaswife @justtnat​ @imliquidesmooth @thedevillovesflowers @mvc2019  @starrynightnight​ @risinglightmoon​ @charming4u @whitetearx @blueparadisecollection16s @idontknowwhatimgoinghere @ziyahshinez

[writingoddess1125]

Nerdy S/O 🎮 📖 🧛

The guys and their uniquely nerdy S/Os who they love!

Soap 🧼, Ghost 👻 , König 👑 x GNREADER

Soap + Cosplayer 🧛

• Johnny had met you when you were both at a bar, You typically werent too into the bar scene but it had lead you to meet the man of your dreams.

• Afterall who could resist that Scottish Charm?

• It had been 3 years of bliss shared between the two of you-

• Johnny knew from the beginning you were- quite the Nerd. He found it cute however! Even if he didn't understand it fully-

• Often getting back from deployment in the nice flat the two of you shared to see you dancing around listening to music while stitching some sort of fabric together.

• Johnny spent hours with you, Enjoying the craft of building your costumes and often wanting to join in the fun. Even if he knew nothing of the media this was involved in.

• "What is this costume for again?" He asked setting down the freshly cut foam to the side while you glued your peices down on some fabric-

• "This my Darling is a costume from the 1999 Mummy with Brendan Fraser" You say cheerfully as you stitch the costume.

• "Movie?-" He questions and you comfirm "Movie-"

• Will eventually start watching the Movies and TV shows with you. And gets really really into them as well- Turns into a big fantasy guy

• "Love- I want to cosplay with you at the next convention.. I wanna be a elf" He said shyly

• You damn near cry at this and hug him "Oh Honey I've waited to hear those words!"

• "I need to do the inseam-" You mumbled as you measured inbetween the man's leg to get the measurment.

• Will definitely want to roleplay in the bedroom. Feels like it has opened a new door for him and is more then excited-

• Comes in dressed like Han Solo with a wide grin- Fake gun and all on his hip as you laid on the bed in your own costume. "I do believe that you ruined my last smuggling trip- Sorry darling but you'll be paying for that another way"

• Will show you and his costumes off when he visits friends on base. Showing the last convention the two of you went to together- if anyone gives him shit he has no issue punching them.

Simon + Book Nerd 📖

• You and Simon had been married for years, the famed Lieutenant knowing from when he first met you that you were a book fiend

• It was a major part of you- And one he adored

• Simon was quite the reader himself but truthfully not as deep as you. Havibg seen you so engrossed in stories before that you forgot to eat.

• But books were also how you showed love.

• "Love, I know this is a long deployment for you.. so I want to send these with you so you don't get bored" You say softly, holding up a 3 book series to your husband as he prepared for his job.

• Of course he accepted and read them while on his missions.

• Enjoys whatever you give him, be it fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction or what have you. He will always read them through and even take a note so he can talk to you about them later.

• Will also love when you read outloud to him

• "Honey I just got this series I want you to check out" You called out excitedly as you rush to your husband who is watching his Football (Soccar) game and sees you holding the collectors box. Calmly mutes the TV and gestures for you to sit and read out loud to him the new book.

• He had built you a library and Many shelves to store your hoard of books and got you a special couch to sit in and read.

• Does have a deep appreciation for Spicy Books and will happily warm up to prepare for your want to experiment.

• He had gotten you the book 'Den of Vipers' and had heard from the book store owner it was a spicy one- so he waited.. It took a few hours but you came into the bedroom flushed face. Simon having already stretched and was ready-

• He also knew about your fanfiction even if you were embarrassed and secretive about it. Occasionally you'd let him read over your work, which he would appreciate and genuinely enjoy the stories.

• Also will grab books while he is on his deployments or secretly read your fics on his phone.

• Buring a Mission he is stuck in a book store, as he is ready for the attack he spots one of the fantasy books you had wanted that had sold put before you got your little hands on it... so he slips it into the vest of his armor and goes on with his mission.

• Saved him 50£ anyway-

König + Gamer 🎮

• When you and König start dating he is a bit surprised by you playing video games.

• He was taught it was something children do- so to see his Partner playing is a big surprise for him.

• However you help him open his eyes to the media and introduce him to the fun interactive stories and escapism that video games help you with.

• This peaks his interest and ask to join your gaming adventure.

• "Schatz are you sure about this?" He ask softly as you get him to play some Mario Kart 8. He's nervous at first but after a round his competitive spirit comes out and gets very good quickly- Cheering loudly as he wins and gets first place.

• After this a massive gaming room is built in his home for the two of you to share. König now understanding why you love games so much and supports you hobby fully.

• Even if it's a very expensive one.

• The two of you having funny cute arguments over the games subtitles or language.

• "I want it in German with English subtitles so I can practice" You wine as König shakes his head- "Liebling I want English with German subtitles"

• This often ending with the two of you giggling together over it and a passionate session between the two of you.

• Will support you wanting to decorate the home with some gamer merchandise and even gets his own to throw in there.

• Will eventually start playing some other games without you. Something to help him relax and take his mind off things-

• Mainly Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing are his favorite at the moment. It helps him unwind after his deployments

• After the hardest of deployments will just want to relax with you and watch you.

• Will love to just have the two of you cuddle in a warm bed and watch game play videos if you guys aren't up to playing a certain game. YouTube being a wonderful addition

• Will download some games on a burner smartphone he keeps and play it in his bunks. If it's multi-player will invite you to join him so the two of you can spend this time together even at a far distance.

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal x Reader - Here with me

Summary: During his time in Morrocco, Pedro finds himself in need of reassurance. You are happy to help.

Relationships: Pedro Pascal x Reader

WC: ~1200

Tags/Warnings: RPF, Gender-Neutral Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pedro is a softie in this, the morroco pics made me do it, pedro pascals cream-colored hat, age differene (not specified), insecurities

AO3 LINK

Notes:

i hope yall like this! it is my first time posting a pedro work so id love to hear your thoughts on it <3 also watch me settle the six pack debate through the power of fanfiction.

_________________________________________________________

“I look stupid.” He muttered under his breath as he stood in front of the mirror. You weren't sure if he was talking to you or to himself. Still, you had caught every word.

“You do not look stupid.” “Fine, then I look- I don't know - bad.”

You sighed, finally turning your full attention towards the man you adored so much.

“You do not-” You crossed the bedroom in a few strides until you were behind him and could gently brush your hand over his back:” look stupid or bad-” He opened his mouth to protest but you immediately cut him off:” or whatever other similar attributes you have prepared.”

Pedro grumbled but it soon turned into a soft sigh as you carefully brushed the wrinkles out of his white tee and stood on your tiptoes to look over his shoulder, glancing at him in the mirror. He looked more than good, in your opinion. His skin was sunkissed, the colorful trunks went well with the basic shirt, he had put on some comfy sneakers and the light fedora he'd brought from Los Angeles. His hair was still a little messy after the shower you had shared and bits of it stuck out below his hat, making him all the more adorable.

You pressed a small kiss to his shoulder, just below his neck. The skin was soft and warm, having absorbed the sun throughout the long day you had spent exploring the streets of Morocco.

“You were so excited about bringing the hat when we packed, baby.” You mumbled to him, searching for his gaze through the mirror in front of you. He still didn't look at you, his eyes instead wandering over his body once more. Your lips were still on his skin and the vibrations of your voice carried into it as you spoke:” What's going on?” Pedro let out another small sigh:” Its nothing, I'm sorry. Just a long week.”

You knew shooting had been draining, the long hours combined with the physicality of the role and the heat- you admired how well he coped with it. Then again, maybe he didn't. Very gently, you stepped back and lowered your heels to the floor, returning to your normal height. You placed a hand on either side of his hips and slowly nudged him to turn around until he was fully facing you. Your left hand stayed on his hip while your right one wandered up to cup his face. He hadn't shaved in a while and you ran your thumb over his beard.

“What's going on?” You asked again, gazing up at him. You both knew he couldn't resist opening up to you. Not when you were looking at him like that. The words almost tumbled out of his mouth.“I just want to go somewhere without it ending up on social media. I want to go out with unwashed hair and a stained shirt and not worry about repeating an outfit or looking stupid or old or-” You shushed him gently, your hand still caressing his cheek.

“Baby, you can. Noone will mind, I promise.” He still looked doubtful. You didn't want to push him but at the same time you felt like you wanted to get to the bottom of this. You knew he needed the reassurance.

“You're afraid you'll look old?” He shrugged a little but it was accompanied by a small nod. So, that was it. “Can I ask something?” Your thumb had begun to draw circles on his cheek and he gave another silent nod.

“Are you scared that someone will think you're old?” You paused for a moment:” Or are you scared I will?”

His large brown eyes finally met yours and-

Oh.

Pedro barely had time to react as you leaned up and pressed a desperate kiss to his lips, trying to convey how much you adored him, making up for the words you couldn't find. He wrapped his arms around you, almost protectively and it suddenly occurred to you that he must've had that thought for a while.

“Pedrito, I- I don't think that.” You mumbled:” What makes you think I do? And don't say it was the stupid hat, you've worn that before.” He kissed you again, buying some time before he had to reply. “When we were at the beach a few weeks ago and I didn't have my reading glasses with me.” You knew exactly what he meant. And you immediately felt guilty. It had been a rare day off for the two of you and you'd decided to pack up some towels, books and snacks and spend the day at the beach. And then he had realized that he'd forgotten his reading glasses. And you had teased him about it.

“Baby, I didn't mean- Why didn't you say anything?” You asked quietly. You had pulled back a little more, to properly study his face. Just like you, he seemed to struggle with finding the right words. “I didn't want to make a whole deal about it. And I didn't- I didn't mind it. At first.” He explained gently. His voice was low and his gaze kept flickering away from your face:” I don't want you to miss out on things just because I, well, just because I'm older.” You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at that. Pedro stared at you like you had gone crazy:” What's so funny about that?” He demanded. You grinned up at him, your thumb still rubbing circles into his skin:” I'm not some rich Hollywood guy with a fancy yacht. I'm not going to trade you in for some young hunk with a six pack.”

You could tell he still tried to look a little mad but the corners of his lips curled a little as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile. That earned him another small laugh from you. “With this role, I might have a six pack soon, you know.” He teased as he finally looked down at you again. Your hand that had rested on his hips slowly moved under his shirt, finding his small, soft belly.

”As long as it makes for a comfortable pillow, I don't mind either.”

That elicited a small smile from Pedro. He watched your expression closely as you shifted, turning a little more serious. “I knew how old you were when we started dating. In fact, I'm pretty sure I knew before that.” You said gently:” I don't mind. I want to be with you. Siempre.” Your thumb had found the small, bald spot in his beard and rested in it for a moment. They fit perfectly. “Okay.” He whispered. And then it was his turn to try and convey an emotion he couldn't quite grasp with a kiss.

You understood.

After a while, you pulled back and studied his face for a moment, the way his eyes seemed a little watery, the shape of his nose, his slightly reddened lips. You smiled.

“If you wear the hat, I'll wear the dress.” It took him only a second to catch on:” The yellow one?” He asked, his face lighting up at the idea. ”The yellow one.” You confirmed.

You'd never seen him wear a hat with more pride.

[coralpolyp]

I'm not dead!

Hey look here's a redraw of the really terrible bit of digital art I did for last year's Mar13 day as proof! Apparently I didn't even finish the first one on time! Yikes!

I'm well aware that it's been a minute or two since I last posted anything on here or on AO3 - to be more precise, it's been since Splatoon 1 died and I wrote that 8000 word depressing thing - I don't know why 8000 words always seems to be my sweet spot, but it's good to know that I have one. That being said, and with Side Order: Dark Side Mix currently MIA, I thought it'd be a good idea to to have what it is that I'm doing right now on-record in some capacity, for the one or two people who were wondering.

The next few weeks are exam season, so I don't think it's going to be smooth sailing per se, but Dark Side Mix will be completed. After running into a snag with the opening act - namely with the fact that it sucks - I started reworking the entire fic from top to bottom under a new name...and then I lost motivation to do that because perfectionism set in, and I haven't really touched it in a little while.

In the time that I've been away from it, I feel like I've become increasingly aware of how that perfectionism negatively effects me and my work - namely the fact that very little of it actually exists. I mean, sure, people seem to like the stuff that does exist, but there isn't much, and a lot of things are unfinished - usually because I placed too much value on the potential of "the idea", and spent so long labouring over the start of it that by the 10,000 word mark I had realised the flaws of the idea and lost interest in it.

I can't help thinking that's a bit lame. Every other writer has 100s and thousands of words of terrible amateur works they can go back to and laugh at, before they created the masterpieces they're known for now, and my story is that I just kinda show up every once in a while.

I think there's a real beauty to that - creating for the sake of creation, with no fucks given. Maybe this isn't the finest example, but I finally started listening to My Dad Wrote a Porno recently and...I mean... the sheer lack of fucks given is well and truly a gift that keeps on giving. Same goes for Philosophy of the World. Or SMG4 back in like 2014. Or old Eddsworld stuff. There's just a certain carefree joy (or existential dread in the case of the Shaggs) to it all that you never get anywhere else. It's like the difference between a 30 second gesture drawing and 6 hours of carefully-deliberated-over anatomy.

All that is to say - Dark Side Mix is a fundamentally flawed story. It is not high art, it never will be. I should probably just get it out there in it's entirety for the world to see in the time I have available to write, and then move on to the next "brilliant-idea"-that's-actually-just-ok. Nobody likes an "idea guy" - what good is it to spend one's entire life going around saying "I never finished this story, but it was great in my head, and the bit that you can actually read was alright too,"? Creativity should be about getting in there, making a mess, and having fun - let fanfiction be fanfiction, with that being addressed to nobody but myself, because nobody else needed to hear it.

Oh, also, another reason for my absence besides creative block and exams - I'm getting into comics! That, and practising my art fundamentals a whole bunch - I don't think my drawabox is particularly interesting to look at, so I haven't exactly been posting it. I've decided that I want to try giving an idea I had for what would've been another depressing Squid Sister 8000-worder the comic treatment, although you shouldn't expect to see that anytime soon, considering how long it's gonna take, and the fact that I would want to release something like that in no more than two parts.

[sasha199]

You Promised Me

Hey yall, posting my first ever BG3 fanfiction here, about my Tav a she/her female high elf wizard name Gwyneth. She is widowed at the start of the nautaloid adventure and doing research work in the city of Baldur's Gate when she is abducted. She does end up pairing off with out favorite Wizard of the Deepest Water. Trigger warnings for some gore and ickiness, lots of smut coming soon! Enjoy!

Chapter 1

(3 years after the death of Professor DeMarco Daneil and on the cusp of the beginning of our story.)

"I just don't understand it, Professor."

Gwynnie smiled slightly, exasperated and amused. She set her wine goblet down absently on a passing tray that was floating through the room of its own accord. "Gerrett, please don't address me as professor here. This is an informal setting." She had thought long and hard about what to wear to this event, the black form-fitting gown she'd chosen was perfect, formal and floor length but sexy with an open back, revealing and hiding just enough. DeMarco would have loved it, or rather he would have loved getting her out of it, once all this posturing and networking with the bigwigs of the wizard community was done.

She sighed and picked up a fresh drink from another floating tray, DeMarco had always hated attending industry and academic conferences and galas. It all took time away from the actual work he could be doing preferably in the field, but research needed funding so Gwynnie had always ushered him into some formal robes and taken it upon herself to lead him into the fray of their colleagues' annual dinners, cocktail hours and other social events. The department needed to put faces to names and they deserved to know what an asset he was to the industry, how wonderfully funny and witty her husband was… She took a long slow drink from her goblet and blinked hard. She could do this, she could bear it for DeMarco.

"Are you alright pro- ah sorry I mean, Gwynnie?"

She blinked again, adjusting her spectacles, "Yes, Gerrett, much more than alright. And in response to your statement I quite agree. Very little makes sense regarding the progress made by the department of Transmutation. They claim that many of their recent breakthroughs prove theories that the gods themselves, while divine are not infallible. In fact, some deign that we are not as far removed from the higher powers that rule our lives as they would have us believe."

"Would that it were true," Gerrett tugged absently at his collar, "but if the veil between the mortal and the divine is so thin, why have the gods at all?"

"Do I hear you casually speaking heresy, Mistress Deneil?" came a gruff voice from over her shoulder. Gwynnie felt a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in months as she turned to see the Sage of Shadowdale shambling over. His formal robes were threadbare and his cheeks ruddy from wine. Long winded though he was Gwynnie always found the archmage amusing, and she never had to work hard to be taken seriously by him, unlike a few of the mages in his entourage that were following in his wake. Rumor had it that he had spent some time in his long existence on the material plane as a woman. She couldn't say exactly why but she found the idea of this powerful man choosing to spend centuries as a woman hopelessly endearing.

"Always, Magister," she inclined her head politely, "though I'm sure your sweet and forgiving mistress will spare me from the ire of her silver fire."

"Mystra spares those who deserve it, or who have earned it. She does what she does for divine reasons, I know my place in that equation." He suddenly turned serious and took Gwynnie's goblet free hand between his own. "My personal condolences are long overdue, my dear," his voice was low and somber, "DeMarco was such a talented and forthright elf. I know he is sorely missed by many."

"Thank you." Gwynnie felt a mask slip over her face, "the flowers you sent were lovely." She glanced sideways at Gerrett who was standing to her side slack jawed at this informal exchange. "May I introduce you to Gerrett Highchamber, he is our - my - primary research assistant and a great talent regarding Abjuration magic. I would not be standing here before you without him."

Gwynnie tuned out the continuation of the conversation, silently congratulating herself for being so composed. She was so tired of all the condolences, the sympathy. Her face ached from smiling somberly and graciously, it was all beginning to feel like an act, a performance. She missed DeMarco deeply, of course she did. Everything and everyone was a reminder of his absence, being here mingling among their colleagues and friends on her own felt as if someone had cast Inflict Wounds on her heart again and again. Part of her wanted to disappear, to vanish to become someone else.

Hours later she made her way back to her home that evening alone and exhausted. Gerrett had been a perfect escort, and she was grateful for his help this evening but he had a family to get home to. She trudged up the stairs to her tower, still strange to think of it as her tower now, slipping off her high heels at the door. She padded barefoot into the kitchen unzipping her dress as she went, letting it pool on the floor around her and leaving it where it hit the floor.

There was nothing in her icebox but a half pint of frozen sweet cream with the spoon sticking up out of it. She popped the lid on a half empty wine container and took a swig directly from the jar. She pulled the pins out of her chignon until her hair brushed her bare shoulders in pink waves. Sticking a spoon full of the sweet cream into her mouth she half-heartedly waved at the dusty piano covered with documents in the corner of the room. Something began to play, she didn't recognize the tune but it was better than the immensity of her own thoughts.

She looked at the scroll spread before her on the table where she'd left it that morning. Baldur's Gate. She had never been there, but from what she knew it was a big city, not as large as Neverwinter or as grand as Waterdeep but still, easy to get lost in. She had never heard of this Lord Gortash, the noble who had signed the document, but his seal did look official.

"Fuck it," she muttered around the cold spoon, "I can do research anywhere. The work will get done." She glanced up at a painting of her and DeMarco, that hung over the mantle, there were cobwebs in the corners of it. His face was bright, looking at her caught in the moment between a laugh and a smile. Could she still remember his laugh? Worry suddenly gripped her belly through her drunken haze and with a flash she conjured Silent Image. Suddenly a shimmering translucent copy of a dark-skinned curly-haired elf with grey eyes appeared before her. He took out a book from his pocket and crossed the room towards her. She stood there naked, metal spoon still in her hand, she opened her arms wide… and let the image walk through her. She felt nothing as it became invisible for a moment, became one with her and continued on. She turned to watch it dissipate as it reached the opposite wall behind her and hot tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks. "The work will get done, DeMarco. I promise you."

Thanks for reading!!

[allthewriteplaces]

Magnolia In May - Chapter One

Hello, everyone! I have been working since May to create this fanfiction and now, I am here to share it with you all! 🤍 That being said, thank you for being so patient with me while I try and pluck up my courage and get over writer's block to post this.

My story takes place in between seasons 5 and 6, with a few changes here and there because yes.

Story summary: Jessie Bennet lives in the English countryside with her uncle, her aunt and her five cousins. But one day in May, an unexpected visitor shows up on her doorstep, one who's about to change the course of her life forever.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 4551

Chapter One

I first met Thomas Shelby a year ago. It was a supposedly ordinary day in early May, the time of year when spring made its debut in the form of warm, flowery breezes, budding leaves on the treetops and scattered rain showers throughout. The days were getting longer, the nights were slowly shrinking back away, and the sun was starting to make more of an appearance, a rare sight in England, considering it was under a seemingly near constant cover of clouds. Even in the winter, it always seemed to be cloudy. Cold enough to snow, but I hadn’t seen snow on the ground since I was small. 

Because of the sunshine streaming into our bedrooms, me and the rest of my family had risen earlier than usual to get a head start on the daily chores. 

Everyone had a job to do and we ran on a tight schedule, like a crew on the Navy ships, especially on the Holy days, when the main goal was to get everyone ready and out the door in time for Sunday Service. Today was Saturday, and while I would have been more than happy to spend a few more hours in bed, there was plenty of work to be done around the cottage. 

I had spent the better part of my life here. Just before my parents died, my mother took my hands in her cold, clammy ones, I looked into her greying eyes as the hazy film began to cloud over them, and she told me I was going to live with my Uncle Albert, my Aunt Elizabeth, whom everyone else called her ‘Eliza,’ and my two older cousins, Sarah and David, in Warwickshire, the heart of the English countryside. 

She said the cottage was surrounded by miles and miles of tall fruit trees, rolling hills and lush green fields and a lake nearby. She promised that it would be my sanctuary, my own paradise, somewhere I can let all of my troubles go. 

Of course when I got there that cool, autumn morning, I was intrigued by the beauty of it all. The main road ran through orchards, past rivers and lakes, and continued onto the next town. Now and then, there were the occasional settlements where our neighbours lived and I could see the fires at night or could hear the lively music. I automatically sensed that this was where people came to get away from the stress of city life. 

Aunt Eliza, that’s what I called her, had already had her fair share of stress, her first husband died from something called consumption, leaving her with my older cousins to raise by herself on a maid’s salary. She was a pretty and sensitive woman, but though I wouldn’t call her a fighter, she was strong in her own way. 

She had this natural-born ability to put anyone at ease just by being in the same room as they were. That first night at the new place, when my homesickness was at its absolute worst, she let me sleep in the big bed with her so I would feel safe, saying. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” 

Eliza came from a big family and had been raised Protestant by her parents in Glasgow, but after she met Uncle Theo, her first husband, she had sacrificed everything they knew and loved, to give their six kids, including my mother, a better life. My best memories of them were when my mother and I drove all the way across the Highlands to visit them during summer holidays and at Christmastime. 

Uncle Albert came into the picture shortly after Sarah got married and set off on her own path. The only trouble was, he was Catholic. The battle between Catholics and Protestants was rooted in history, and I wasn’t sure the reason, but it didn’t stop Eliza from falling in love with him. Like Romeo and Juliet, they went against their parent’s wishes and married in secret in a beautiful chapel. After which she eventually converted to catholicism. 

Tension was high in the family once my grandparents found out about the marriage, it was common for disputes to start, sometimes from the smallest thing, and during those arguments, which seem so petty now, I would be sent to my room to play and asked that I play as loud as I could so I wouldn’t hear the fighting. 

Eventually, I had enough and actually ran away from home. It was stupid, really, I shouldn’t have done it, but I just couldn’t stand it. It was Uncle Albert who found me, soaked to the skin and sick as a dog from being out in the rain for so long. 

The only good thing about it, was that for once, they weren’t shouting at each other, they were all hovering over me and my grandfather was calling for a doctor. Me running away seemed to snap them out of it, if only for just a few minutes, I still remember opening my teary eyes and saying, “Why doesn’t anyone love each other anymore?” 

That was when it hit them, just how much this was impacting me, a small child of ten years old, who was somehow trapped in the middle of this feud that had nothing whatsoever to do with me, and doing whatever it took in an attempt to stop it. 

Tears were shed and everyone embraced each other. A truce was formed that day. No more yelling, no more shouting. And to this day, we still see each other around the holidays. 

It was nearly six o’clock when I rolled over in bed, roused by the sunlight streaming in through the thin veil of curtains covering my bedroom window. The sky had taken on glorious shades of pink, orange and violet, casting shadows on the canopy and on the striped walls. I didn’t want to move from that spot, I wanted to stay in bed where it was nice and comfortable, but the second I heard three-month-old Violet, the baby of the family, babbling in her crib, I lifted the sheets back and rolled out, making sure the sheets were tucked in and there weren’t any wrinkles as I tucked the corners of them into the mattress. 

Making my way out of my room, shutting the door tightly behind me, her little voice carried through the hallway. She wasn’t in distress or anything, she was only talking to herself. When I stepped into her room and peeked into her crib, she was laying flat on her back, eyes wide open and a bright smile on her face. 

“Someone's wide awake, eh?” I said and her smile brightened. 

Look, I know I wasn’t supposed to have a favourite cousin, but from the moment I had watched her enter the world -- it was the first time I’d seen a baby be born, ever, so it was all brand new to me, I felt this strong connection to her, and this overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect her from any sort of harm that might come to her. 

Reaching down into the crib, I picked her up with both hands and held her against my chest, ensuring her head and neck were supported, seeing as how she wasn’t quite strong enough to hold her head up on her own just yet. 

“Mama says we need to find your pink cardigan to wear. I believe I put it in the closet after bringing it inside, but I’m not sure.” I added in a calm, soothing voice as she yawned and nuzzled her head against my chest. I bounced her lightly on my hip and went over to the dresser, opening the middle drawer and pulling out her fuzzy pink cardigan as well as a new nappy. 

“Jessie!” I turned to the doorway and saw Alice standing there with her hands on her hips. She looked so much like my aunt when she did that it wasn't funny. “Marie stole my hair ribbon again!” 

“Did not!” Marie yelled, stomping her foot. 

“Did, too!” Her sister yelled back. “You take them all the time!” 

“Not this time!” Marie shook her head. She was on the verge of tears. 

“Surrender now or suffer the consequences!!” Suddenly, the door burst open and Henry, who'd just turned six, started running around the room, followed by his twin brother, William. Both of them were still wearing their nightshirts, their hair was still spiky and stuck up in odd places, and as they chased one another around the room, they brandished wooden swords. 

Like most boys their age, they were always running around the house with their toy cars, trucks and planes, or roughhousing with each other. Roughhousing wasn’t allowed indoors and there were strict rules, set by my uncle, as to how far they could go before they would be told to end the game to prevent anyone from getting hurt. Their sisters were always welcome to join in the fun, and sometimes they did if the game they were playing was interesting enough for them, but most of the time it was just the two of them, conjuring mischief. 

“No! I won fair and square,” William argued, folding his arms across his chest, his voice raising in volume. He had a loud voice for a six-year-old and he knew exactly how to use it when he thought it was necessary. 

“No! I won!” Henry insisted.  “Admit it, you cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat, you did, you mongrel!” 

“I’m not a mongrel, you are!” 

“Mongel!” Marie repeated, pointing to Henry, then to William, then to Alice. 

“Stop saying bad words!” Alice gasped. “I’ll tell Mama!” 

“Oi! What did I say about calling your brother names?” I said. 

“He started it!” said Henry, pointing a finger at William. 

“And where did you hear such foul language?” 

“Timmy Munson,” he replied, twirling the wooden sword in his other hand. 

“Yeah,” said William. “He called his brother, Davy, that word last Sunday on the way back from Church. Then he wrestled him to the ground and got all muddy and dirty. His parents didn’t even bat an eye. They were too busy ” 

That explains it. 

Timmy Munson was nearly sixteen and was referred to as the ‘leader of the pack.’ or the town’s trouble maker by the adults around him. He swore, he smoked, he stole his father’s liquor and teased the girls at church something terrible, with the parents seemingly oblivious to what was going on, or decidedly ignoring his rebellious behaviour, hence why neither Henry, nor William were allowed to play with Timmy, and the girls weren’t allowed to speak to him. 

My aunt and uncle thought he was a bad influence and they were right. There were rumours that he was dating Misty Bradford, Father Bradford’s daughter. At Church, we called all the leaders ‘Father.’ His daughter, Misty, was fifteen, not quite old enough to start dating yet, but Alice once told me that she heard her say that he was handsome, but also, that he was the sort of boy that would date you for five minutes and then as soon as a prettier girl would come along, he would leave you without a second thought. 

On the other hand, I was glad that Misty was a sensible girl who wouldn’t fall to the temptations of the neighbourhood scoundrel, but on the other hand, I wondered if the reason why Timmy acted out was because it was the only way he got his parents’ attention. Maybe that was just my instincts kicking in, but if that was the case, I would certainly feel terrible for the poor lad. Even still, I wanted to discourage the boys from picking up such nasty habits and words. 

“Right, well, just because Timmy Munson says something or does something, doesn’t mean you should, eh?” I said, gently placing my hands on William’s shoulders and looking him square in the eyes. He met my gaze unflinchingly, which told me he was really listening to what I was saying to him. “Don’t try to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You are a sweet and caring young man, and we need more caring men in this world nowadays.” 

“Really?” he asked. 

“Really.” I nodded my head in confirmation. “Besides, girls love boys who are sweet, kind and caring and who get along with their brothers and sisters. At least that’s what I’ve heard.” 

He nodded and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I say, let’s call it a tie, then.” 

William shrugged his shoulders microscopically. “Sounds fair,” 

“Now shake hands. Like the good sports you are.” 

They shook hands, laughing to themselves, signalling a truce. 

“GAAAAAAH!” Violet shrieked near my ear, kicking her feet and looking at her brothers as I delicately pulled her arms through the sleeves of her nightgown, putting it in a basket so I could take it to the laundry tub and wash it later on. 

I wasn’t sure if she was telling them to stop, or if she was taking a side in the disagreement. I placed her down on the bed along with her new clothes. Hearing her little shriek, both of the boys climbed up on the bed next to her. Henry nuzzled her tummy with his nose and William tickled her with his finger, making silly faces and noises. Her eyes crinkled and I could see the giggles bubbling up inside her, like the lava bubbling up inside a volcano and after a few seconds, she exploded into shrieks of laughter. 

“Anyone puts a tear in your eye,” Henry vowed, “will live to regret it.” 

“Yeah,” William agreed. “We’ll protect you. Like good big brothers.” 

Good, I thought, That’s one problem solved. 

Small disagreements were common among the four of them, and it was nothing I couldn’t handle, but it was too early for them to start bickering, and for some reason, I could feel this tension in the house, like something was about to happen, and they must have felt it, too, because normally, they were all well-behaved. 

“Right, Marie, I’m going to ask you once. Did you take Alice’s hair ribbon?” 

“No,” she answered, looking me straight in the eyes, which told me she was telling me the truth and that this time she was innocent. She had a habit of taking her sister’s hair ribbons when hers got lost, it was something that started a little 

“Are you sure?” She nodded affirmatively and I addressed Alice. “Alice, Marie says she didn’t take the ribbon, are you sure it’s not in your room? Perhaps it fell out while you were sleeping. See if it’s in your bed.” 

“Okay,” Alice said slowly and then quickly ran back to her room with Marie running after her. Soon, both of the girls returned, both wearing relieved expressions on their faces, though Alice appeared to be a tad more embarrassed than her sister. She glanced down at the ground, a tad embarrassed and then she met Marie’s eyes. “I’m sorry I accused you. I just thought that maybe since you steal my ribbons all the time that you stole this one.” 

“It’s okay,” the younger one replied, accepting her sister’s apology and embracing her. Internally, I sighed in relief. Like I said, small disagreements were common, but nonetheless, I was glad that it was over and we could all continue on with our day as if nothing had happened. 

“Alright, all of you go into your rooms while I finish getting the baby ready and then I will be in shortly,” I declared and the boys slid off the bed, bringing their toy swords with them. The girls followed suit, going into their own room. I turned to Violet, who was recovering from giggling so much. “Never a dull moment, eh, sweetheart?” 

Trust me, making sure all of my younger cousins were dressed in clean clothes and had their hair combed before breakfast, was a lot easier said than done. 

She babbled on while I dressed her and I sang an upbeat song. It didn’t take much to keep her entertained and knowing how to keep her engaged made it easier for me to wash and dress her. After a moment, I managed to slip the cardigan on, then taking her in my arms again, I brought her down to the dining-room where Albert was reading the paper. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that, Uncle?” I asked. 

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, love,” he replied, setting his gin down and then taking the baby in his arms, lifting her into the air and bringing her down again, kissing her cheeks. “There’s my little princess.” 

“You are not to drink that around the baby,” my aunt said, coming into the room and taking away the glass before turning to me. “Glad to see you’re wide awake, darling. How’re the children, they’re not giving you a hard time, are they?” 

“Nah. We had a tiny dispute with a ribbon and swords, but it’s all sorted.” 

“Jessie, what would we do without you?” she patted my cheek and then stepped back into the kitchen. 

Smiling and with one child ready, I went to check on Alice and Marie. Alice was the oldest at seven years old and fancied herself to be quite grown up in comparison to her siblings. She was an exact replica of her mother -- curly red hair, green eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks and loved helping me with the chores like laundry, making the beds, and occasionally cooking. 

She sat patiently on the chair in front of the mirror and her eyes met mine in the glass as the soft bristles of the brush swept across her hair. Adding a little bit of water to the brush helped to smooth out any tangles and maintain her pretty locks. 

Marie handed me the red ribbons while I braided Alice's hair in two even plaits down her back. However, when it was her turn, she wasn't as eager to be in the same room as me. In seconds, she'd already darted down the hall. 

 “Come along, Marie.”

“No! I don’t want to!” She shouted in protest and sat down in the middle of the floor, kicking her legs as I approached her. This was typical three-year-old behaviour, according to my friends who were already married and mother's, and these days, Marie had resorted to these sorts of tactics whenever things weren't going her way.  

Discipline wasn't exactly my forte. I tended to prefer negotiating or compromising rather than escalating the conflicts further by scolding. More often than not, it worked, but perhaps today the odds weren't in my favour.  

Without saying a word, I sat down on the ground, not engaging in conversation or looking at her until she stopped kicking. She laid on her stomach, her whole body now limp on the hardwood floor. 

“Now, Marie, is this the way young ladies behave?” I asked her, keeping my tone firm yet gentle. I was compelled to rub her back and soothe her, but coddling her and talking to her as if she were a baby would only encourage the tantrums or make them worse. “You don’t see your sister acting like that, do you?” 

She didn't answer me, but not because she was ignoring my question, but because she was considering the way she'd handled the issue. A few moments later, I tried again, hoping to get to the bottom of this. 

“Do you want to tell me why you don't want your hair brushed?”

“It will hurt.” I heard her sad, muffled voice reply. 

“Not if I use the soft brush,” I promised, then added, “what if I let you do it yourself like a big girl?”

 That seemed to draw her attention and she sat up and nodded. 

“You can wear red ribbons, too!” Alice added, doing her best to be helpful. 

“Yay!” She stood, taking my hand and soon enough, we were back in the girls' room, showing Marie how to brush her own hair. Then I braided it for her and put the ribbons in. At the same time, the boys came in, dressed and with their hair combed. 

“Well then, now that we're all dressed, shall we go down to breakfast?” 

“Yes,” they all answered unanimously and I led the procession downstairs. 

This time, it was the boys' turn to go to the henhouse to collect the eggs. 

They stepped into the hallway, slipping on their jackets and boots and followed Albert out the back door. The hens could sometimes be unpredictable and that would frighten the boys so he would always supervise. 

In the meantime, I would go to help my aunt prepare the biscuits and wash the strawberries and the girls would be in charge of setting the table. Alice carried in the forks and knives, while Marie was entrusted to carry in the napkins. 

“Well done!” I said once I stepped in to check the progress. Both girls smiled proudly at their accomplishment and they grinned at the praise. When we all worked together as a unit, things ran smoothly. 

Moments later, we all sat down at the table and held hands, bowing our heads low and closing our eyes as Albert led us in prayer, as was the tradition at family mealtimes. “Bless us, Lord of all Creation, and be with us as we share this meal. We thank you for our food and ask your blessing on those who prepared it. We thank you for the gift of our family. Amen.” 

Even little Violet knew what to do, well, in her own little way, of course. She sat in her chair and raised her hands up high, clapping them and uttering an exclamation of joy. For what was supposed to be a serious moment, she sure knew how to lighten things up. 

Topics of conversation usually involved upcoming and current events, anything Albert could gather from the paper, and plans for the day. I knew that I needed to do a bit more washing today and we needed to check on the chickens. 

“Due to a close call with a fox last night, we need to go out in the backyard to check on the coop. I suspect some of the wiring has been messed with and so we might need to replace it. That will be our task today, boys,” he said, and then glanced at William and Henry, who nodded. 

“Is the fox okay?” asked Marie, whose main concern didn’t necessarily match all the others’ who were more relieved that the fox hadn’t managed to carry off one of our hens. She was a very sensitive child and loved all animals, including those that some might consider pests. 

Foxes were among the ones she cared about the most. 

A few months ago, she heard one crying not far from the house and found that it was caught in a trap. She was distressed, tears streaming down her cheeks and breathing so fast, I thought she might faint. 

“Please,” she said, hands folded together, begging. “We have to save it!” 

“It would make a lovely coat,” William joked, but Marie didn’t find his attempt to lighten the mood the least bit funny. In fact, she was this close to smacking him across the face, and the Good Lord knows that she probably would have had my aunt not been present.  

“They’re God’s creatures, too,” she said passionately, appalled by the injustice she was seeing before her and by the fact that her older brother, although he meant no harm by the statement, was mocking the poor thing. “Daddy, please, we have to save it before it’s too late.” 

Fortunately, using a few tools from the garden shed, Albert managed to free the fox, but its leg was badly wounded. That is where my aunt came in. 

She knew exactly what to do when it came to nursing wounded and baby animals back to health. She grabbed some gauze from the First Aid kit, placed it over the wound, and wrapped a bandage around the leg. 

Of course it would be too dangerous to release it until it was all better, so it was agreed that the critter would stay for a couple of weeks. It was nice having her around. We called her Pumpkin, because of the orange colour of her fur and because we’d found her in the autumn, so it made sense her namesake would match the season. 

Let’s just say it was hard for us to let her go, especially for Marie. 

Now we sat at the table and part of me suspected that Marie hoped we would get another chance to look after a fox. Albert set down his knife and fork and nodded. “It looked as though he’d managed to free himself just in the nick of time, so yes, I would say he is perfectly fine.” 

“And he will continue to be fine. As long as the little rascal doesn’t get into the coop again,” my aunt added with a light-hearted smile. “Right then…” 

Just then, the telephone in the living room rang. 

“Alice, could you go get that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama,” she got out of her chair, walking past Violet, who had now amused herself by looking down at her toes, and picked it up on the second ring, a second later, she called out, “It’s for you, Papa!” 

“Who on Earth could be calling at this hour?” she asked, confused as he cleared his throat, setting down his napkin and then taking the phone from Alice. 

He spoke in a low voice, so it was impossible for any of us to hear anything, but we all remained silent and still, that is until he came back into the dining-room, looked at my aunt and then nodded, as though conveying some sort of secret message. 

“Help me clear the table, children,” was all she said and the younger ones did as they were told. There was that tension in the air again. It was even more palpable this time as she hurriedly turned on the tap and added soap to the mix. I immediately stood from the table and helped her scrub the plates and utensils clean. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Behind me, the children continued to bring the glasses over. The only one who seemed oblivious to what was going on, was Violet, who was smashing her fists quite aggressively against the tray of her chair and shrieking loudly, in an attempt to get someone’s attention. 

“I am expecting someone important,” Albert said, while my aunt immediately opened the cabinet for a bottle of gin. Before I could utter another word, he waved a hand towards the staircase in a dismissive and almost urgent sort of way. “Go upstairs and play in the Nursery. Neither of you are allowed to come downstairs until your mama and I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, Papa,” the children said softly. 

“Who is coming over?” Henry inquired. 

“Is it someone from work?” added Marie. 

“Maybe it’s Grandpa and Granny,” said Alice excitedly. 

“Off you go,” he said. 

Without questioning him, I nodded and took the kids upstairs to the nursery, shutting the door tightly behind me.

~ To Be Continued ~

[perplexedflower]

Love On The Rocks - Chapter 1: Margarita

Fandom: Supernatural.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Crowley x Female Reader.

Type: 5-chapter fanfiction.

Summary: Being the King of Hell has its ups, but it also has its downs. And these downs lead Crowley straight into a bar, where he finds something far greater than just a glass of whisky: the love of its bartender, a young woman who is oblivious to the demon's nature. But one evening, he does not show up at the bar at his usual time, and his newfound love finds herself exposed unwillingly to everything that has been hiding under her nose this whole time…

Chronology: Season 10.

~~~~~~~~~~

That Sunday evening was quiet. But then again, so were most Sunday evenings. It was hard to do business when the dreaded Monday was right around the corner. Yet, it was paradoxically enough the very reason behind the few customers' presence. For the people who did show up at the bar those evenings, it was precisely because Monday was patiently waiting to drag them back into their weekly routines, whether they spent them sitting behind a desk in a boring cubicle or working their asses off under the sun or the cold. For these people, Sunday evenings down at the Golden Cross were their salvation; and I was happy to provide it to them.

I had been lucky enough to have effortlessly found a job I enjoyed when I had come to settle in town, a few years prior; although I was attached to the state capital of Kansas, in which I had been born and raised all my life, I had decided to leave it behind after certain unfortunate changes in my life and had headed South, for the county of Wichita. There, I had found a post as a bartender in a bar called the Golden Cross, which specialized in all things Scottish, from the drinks, the aesthetic, and the tunes on the jukebox. Now, I did not have the slightest experience of working as a bartender, but my motivation and interest in the job were enough to help me get it without too much difficulty: and, since Ed, the owner, had been kind enough to give me on-the-job training, I quickly came to enjoy it.

One other thing I also enjoyed was one of the perks that came out of it: a studio apartment. The bar occupied the first floor of a building that also included apartment rooms on the upper floors, and which were specifically rented by all the workers of the bar. The studio was not the most spacious, but given I lived alone, I did not mind much: there was enough room for one person, and that was just fine by me. And one of the reasons I liked it was because of how convenient it was for me: my workplace was only one floor below my bed, and though a setup such as this may have been seen as harrowing to some, it was highly practical for me and my work hours. I worked every evening, from 9 PM to 3 AM. And yes, that included Sundays.

That Sunday evening was quiet. So much so that when the front door was pushed open around 10:30, it caught my attention right away; but not as much as the gentle sound of short heels walking the ground that followed. I looked up from what I was doing to see a middle-aged man step into the bar and walk in my direction, the direction of the counter, behind which he sat in silence. Armed with my warmest smile, I walked up to him.

"Good evening, sir." I welcomed him while cleaning an empty glass I was holding. "What can I serve you on this lonely night?"

"Lonely indeed." He answered in a neutral tone, seemingly unfazed.

I smiled further upon hearing his accent.

"Oh, British." I said with slight enthusiasm.

Upon hearing my comment, the man smiled lightly and scoffed as he lowered his gaze for just a few seconds, before he looked back up at me.

"Do you serve Craig here?"

I tilted my head a little and stopped cleaning the glass in my hands.

"Glencraig whisky?" I asked with a chuckle. "Of course, we are a Scottish bar after all."

A faint smile appeared on his face as he slightly raised his eyebrows, after which he nodded and looked back down at his hands.

"Then I'll have one, thank you."

I was still smiling warmly at him when I gently tapped on the counter with the palm of my hand.

"Coming right up."

I walked a few steps away to go grab the bottle of whisky then came back in front of him, and I poured him a glass while we exchanged smiles. After having served him, I left him to himself and went back to my shift: although the bar was on a slow day, a few customers still showed up here and there, and so the man with the Craig was left to silently drink on his own as I kept on serving customers. However, at one point, not long after I had filled his glass, I could not help but notice him pull out his phone, which he set in front of him on the counter, and spend quite some time intensely staring at something on its screen. I did not dare approach him to ask him what he was doing precisely, so I did not move from where I was standing; the one rule I always tried my best not to break when working at the bar was to not come off as intrusive or rude to the customers. Besides, as its bartender, I knew better than anyone that many of them came to have a drink with the sole intent of drowning in their sorrow and forgetting about their problems.

He's just a drifter... One of many that wash up on the shore of our bar, I thought to myself. And whatever he's looking at on his phone must be linked to the reason why he decided to have a drink to begin with.

I stared at him for a minute longer, still lost in my thoughts.

Though, I do have to admit... For a drifter, he comes off as a very classy man.

Just as this remark crossed my mind, I saw him put his phone away and back in his coat pocket, which prompted me to initiate a conversation with him while I kept making drinks for other customers; I stood next to him as I grabbed various bottles, glasses, and shakers.

"Pardon me for asking, but what are you doing here?" I asked with a chuckle but genuine curiosity.

Up until I talked, he had been looking to the side, but the very second the first words I spoke came out of my mouth, he turned to look at me.

"I mean— I don't mean to be rude, but a business-looking fella like yourself doesn't really seem in his environment in a place like this."

He scoffed at my comment and closed his eyes for a brief second.

"It's true I'm not usually fond of bars." He said as he looked around him at the bar and its decorations. "But I've been hearing about this establishment of yours from..."

He marked a pause mid-sentence to exhale heavily through his nose, then pouted in an upset manner.

"... Business partners." He finally finished his sentence in a somewhat bitter tone. "So I'd been meaning to give it a try for some time now, and it just so happened I needed a drink tonight."

"Ah, I get the feeling." I told him with a smile. "And, soooo... How are you liking it here so far? Have the expectations you had of the bar been met? If you had any to begin with, that is."

The man looked around him once more, as if to fully analyze his environment, after which he brought his glass of whisky up to his lips.

"It's quite a decent pub you're running here, I think."

"Oh, I don't own the place." I awkwardly chuckled as I gestured my hands around. "But, thank you. It always makes me happy to know our customers are happy customers."

The smile I wore lifted upward on one corner of my mouth as I shrugged lightly with my eyebrows slightly raised.

"And, who knows... If you really do like it here, maybe you'll even see yourself becoming a regular." I joked. "Lord knows that'd be a blessing for business."

And to that, he scoffed and shook his head, then he swallowed the last drops of liquor that had been resting at the bottom of his glass.

"Yeah, who knows." He whispered almost inaudibly.

Now that his glass was empty, that his sorrow had been washed away, he got up from his stool and was ready to go back outside, out into the cold night that was surely waiting for his return; but before he did, he dived his hand into one of his coat pockets, and as he turned to me, he set on the counter a moderately generous tip.

"Good night." He told me in his low, deep voice.

"Thank you." I said, smiling brightly at him while my hand collected the money before me. "You have a good night as well."

And with that, the man in the suit headed for the front door, followed once more by the sound of his short heels walking the white and blue floor tiles; and he left the bar, which was still as quiet as when he had first stepped foot inside it.

[soot-and-salt]

I would like to ask about 4. and 17., please! 🤗

Aw hell yeah, let's go

4. a story idea you haven't written yet

Where Hazbin is concerned, hoo boy, have I got some things percolating, my friend. I'm definitely going to do SOMETHING for kink week in June, probably a grab bag of prompts (praise kink for sure), and I'm definitely thinking it'll be radiostatic. I also have a few ideas for the gothic radioapple series (one fic with a drunken confession Lucifer doesn't remember and another that I'm rotating again in my head about Lucifer's depression and how that affects his relationship with Alastor).

I want to return back to humor too, there's been too much maudlin stuff lately, so a VERY funny fic featuring Alastor and Valentino forced to work together is on the horizon. I'm 1k words into it. It's gonna happen, I swear. They're idiots, your honor. I don't know why I love writing Val, he's terrible, but his voice is so much fun.

It's funny, I used to write almost exclusively AUs in another fandom, and I loved doing it, but I can't think of a single one for Hazbin. Being in Hell, being demons and having that background is so essential to the characters. I'm in awe of the authors who can write human Alastor AUs. Wish that were me. Skill issue on my part.

17. talk about your writing and editing process

Okay, so, here's the thing. Are you ready for my shameful secret?

I write directly into the AO3 text box. I leave WIPs as drafts.

Yes, it is the most INSANE WAY POSSIBLE to write. I am incredibly sorry about it.

Listen. I've written professionally before, for actual human currency, both fiction and nonfiction. Writing in Google docs gives me so much anxiety now because of it. It's such a dumb problem to have and I want to try to get over it and write in Google docs like a normal person again. But writing IN AO3 is weirdly more freeing? I sort of stop myself from some of my old perfectionist habits and I can be more loose with what I'm doing. Seeing that site is like a signal to my brain that it's just for fun and I can do whatever the hell I want. I don't know how to explain it.

My day job is a stressful mess so I usually only get to write on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and weekends. I don't like to listen to music as I write, or at least not music with lyrics. Lyrics are important to me though, my very long work commute (over an hour each way) provides me with ample time to daydream to music and sometimes I'll hear a lyric and boom an entire fic is suddenly in my head.

Editing is something I currently actually do for human currency as a side hustle so when I edit my own work I'm just trying to focus on spelling/grammar and flow. I'll read out loud what I wrote at least once so I can make sure it has a proper cadence, especially dialogue. If they're characters with accents or a certain way of speaking I'll try to verbally mirror that to make sure they sound in character. So please, by all means, imagine me at like 10pm putting on my very best trans-Atlantic to make sure my Alastor sounds okay.

My main writing issue is I have both crippling anxiety and un-medicated ADHD so any words I get down are often a struggle and some writing nights are spent staring at a wall while I fall apart inside. My best writing nights are ones where I've spent the entire day drinking caffeine (like eight or nine cups of black tea so strong you could stand a spoon up in it) and my brain achieves like 45% of what a normal brain can do. So, you know, things are really going well for me. This is a very normal way to live.

So, uh, yeah, in conclusion, please read my fanfiction, I swear to god I'm pretty good at it. And ask me more questions so I can give you more horrifying answers.

[vulturereyy]

5, 6, 30 and 44 for Chivalry verse Hegemol? For the character asks

Thank you for the ask !!!!!

5. Best personality trait

Hegemol's best personality trait... Is probably his patience and willingness to listen. Old knight has lived five lifetimes over at this point, and he's seen and been through a lot, but that doesn't mean that others have not. With his extended lifespan has come a far more relaxed sense of time, where he knows it's alright to sit and hear someone out. And with his age, he's learned that many times, the best option is simply to let someone actually experience their emotions than try and fix them instantly. He lets people be ugly, and gross sob on him, and throw things, and break things, and be angry with him if they need to be. He has all the time in the world to help fix the problem. Best to let the catharsis through first.

6. Worst personality trait

Hand in hand with above, Hegemol's extreme sense of protectiveness can get in the way of things. Especially when it comes to his squires. He can occasionally get so overprotective that he will pre-emptively try to protect them and do what he fully believes would be in their best interest. But sometimes, that turns out to be wrong. I guess to add on to above, he is also very, very genuine about admitting when he is wrong, and working with the person that he's wronged on their terms.

30. Sleeping habits

Lol. Lmao. What sleep? In all seriousness, poor Hegemol is never well rested, especially not while he served as a knight. He's late to bed in order to spend a precious few hours with his nocturnal husband, and very early to rise for his duties. Hegemol lives off of midday naps at any moment he can take them, partially because he seeks them, and partially because if he doesn't take them he will keel over. He has absolutely passed out on more than one occasion in the war room or otherwise. Hegemol overloads and overcommits himself on his duties, especially near the fall of Hallownest, as everyone else is also already doing so much. He would much prefer to make himself the sacrificial lamb than see his other knights weary with fatigue as he is on the inside. I actually answered an ask a while ago that details Lurien and Hegemol's schedules, if you're interested :> In current time of the fanfiction though, while he's in Mato's care? He loves to sleep. He doesn't quite have as much choice given how much he has to recover, but as long as he isn't plagued by nightmares (which is often)... He is so cozy in the nest Mato has made him, and he never wants to leave it.

44. Their happiest memory

This one is HARD! Chivalry Hegemol is an EXTREMELY sentimental sap of a man, it's very, very hard for him to choose just one. The first one to come to mind, however, would have been him and Lurien's 'wedding.' They had no ceremony of course, given the secretive nature of their relationship- but Hegemol spent months learning the Damselfly courtship dances and rituals in a way that he, a beetle, could perform them. He did this mostly alone, but with the occasional assistance of Aedmond, my Lurien's butler. On a night where the Pale King had left the palace on a diplomatic excursion, the two of them snuck into the emptied royal ballroom, and danced. This was their wedding. They could have no rings, or trinkets of each other, or audience - but this was their night, with Aedmond providing music through the stage piano as quietly as he possibly could. Hegemol definitely didn't tear up through most of it. The second memory that comes to mind would have been the knighting of his first squire, Sir Gytha. Gytha was a very troubled young beetle, and her journey to knighthood took almost twice as long as any other squire he's taken since. But she is where much of his patience and willingness to let others actually feel out their emotions comes from; she is the foundation. Hegemol himself didn't have that great of a time with his time as squire. In fact, his knight, Dame Ludovic, actually messed him up immensely in terms of self worth, self esteem, and sense of purpose. To Hegemol, Gytha's training was certainly his messiest -- but it also served to put his foot down and stamp it in Ludovic's face, that her legacy died with him. He refused to continue her cycle, and he and Gytha both are far better off for it. And yes, he also bawled under his mask at Gytha's knighting ceremony. He could barely deliver her oaths to her because he was trying not to be choked up.

[multifandom-worlds]

Reincarnated Love: Chapter 1 - Love in the 40's

Genre: Angst and Fluff all mixed together

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: death, illness, angst, hits ya right in the feels

Author's Note: This idea came to me from this song so I figured I would write it! As it stands, this will be a 4 chapter story! Enjoy 💕

Chapter 2

Tagging: @hannahshattuck @otome-and-fanfiction @simplyholl @buckyalpine

September 1943

"Curse this bullshit war!" Viviana cursed as she helped her husband ready himself for Howard Stark's exhibition that he and Steve would attend. "Why must they take you away from me, Bucky? You're being taken from me not even three years after we married." 

Bucky wraps his arms around his wife, noting how much weight she's lost since they wed. Would there be anything left of her when he returned? He rests his forehead against hers, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "I know, Doll. I'll come back to you, I promise. I've only just gotten you; I’m not ready to return to a life where you’re not in it. Not now, not ever.” 

A soft, salty tear rolls down Viviana’s cheek, which she wipes away before Bucky notices. Now was not time for tears, not while he was still in front of her, even if he would be leaving for the evening. He steps back, breaking his grip, before taking one last look at him. She smiles with a subtle nod in approval at his appearance as Bucky’s best friend, Steve, walks into the house. Bucky pulls his wife in for a kiss. “I’ll be home before bed, doll. Don’t worry; I won’t be away all night, not when this is my last night with you for some time.” 

Viviana holds back tears as she listens to Bucky speak. She knows he’s drafted and leaves tomorrow, but does he have to keep bringing it up? She nods with a soft, sad smile before Bucky approaches the door to go with Steve when they hear a deep chesty cough from behind them. Bucky immediately turns back to his wife to see her doubled over, trying to catch her breath. She groans before standing up, coming eye to eye with her very concerned husband.

“You’ve been coughing like this for weeks, my love; perhaps I should take you to the doctor. You aren’t looking so good.” Bucky spoke, brushing his wife's hair away from her face. Viviana quickly shakes her head. 

“Absolutely not. This is the last night you can spend with Steve; you two go! I’ll be alright. One of my patients at work is ill, that’s all. I likely just caught her cough. Now go; you’re going to be late!” Viviana places her hands on her husband’s shoulders before spinning him around to face the door again before addressing Steve, “You make sure he doesn’t return home until the exhibition is over, you understand me, Stevie?”

Steve nods, “Yes, ma’am,” he laughs before continuing. “I’ll make sure he stays for a few hours. You get some rest, Viv; being a nurse is difficult.” Steve places his hand on his friend’s shoulder before they exit the house and walk to the exhibition.

Viviana neglected to tell her husband that the doctor had already seen her, and he suspects she contracted tuberculosis from her patients at the hospital. It was only a matter of time until she succumbed, just like all her patients had in the weeks prior. She didn’t want Bucky to know and risk him deserting; it was just easier this way; Steve didn’t even know she was actively dying, and that was how she wanted it to be. She didn’t want their last night together for who knows how to be spent worrying about her. 

The two walk down the street; Steve takes note of Bucky’s sour mood and sighs before placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She likely caught something from her patients. I’ll take her to the doctor after you leave tomorrow, and I’ll write to you about her condition as soon as I know.” That only proves to make Bucky worry. “Steve, she works with tuberculosis patients. I hope she didn’t catch anything from them; she won’t survive tuberculosis. Please take her to the doctor,”

Steve agrees as they get to enter the exhibition hall. Bucky’s mood improves as the evening progresses. The pair walked through all the inventions, particularly interested in the flying car made by Stark Industries. Though the prototype itself failed, the audience was fascinated by the concept. What could the future hold? Would flying cars ever be a thing? 

Hours passed, and the expo was over before either of them noticed. As they left, the streets hummed with expo attendees talking about what they saw; Steve and Bucky were no different. For a time, it felt like they were young boys again coming home from a movie, but the reality of this being the last evening together slowly dawned on Steve. He wanted to enlist, but he wasn’t allowed. He failed to see the fairness in that - why should other men his age go and risk their lives when he wasn’t allowed? Why should Bucky have to leave him alone? He wanted to fight alongside his best friend, although he chose not to make his feelings known for the remainder of their time together. 

The pair arrive at Steve’s house, stopping at the front door. Steve starts an emotional goodbye to his best friend, but Bucky speaks first. “You better be there to see me off tomorrow. I know Viv will need you, Steve, and I know you will need her, and I want you two to lean on each other in my absence. Don’t isolate yourself, and don’t do anything stupid until I get back, okay?” 

“I’ll take care of her; you take care of yourself and return to us,” Steve ordered. Bucky chuckles at Steve’s attempt and embraces his best friend. They say their goodbye’s before Bucky makes his way down the street to his place, silently hoping his wife is still awake. Opening the door, he sees his wife, bathed in soft lamplight with a book on her lap. She had fallen asleep waiting for him.

Guilt ate him inside - he planned to be home hours before this to spend as much time as he could with her, but he was engrossed in the expo, and now she was asleep. Despite the guilt, Bucky smiles. He was so fortunate to have this woman as his wife. 

Walking in, Bucky gently takes the book from her lap before noting the page and replacing it on the bookshelf. He returns to her, slipping his hands beneath her knees and underneath her back. He picked her up much quicker than planned, jolting her awake. She was so much lighter than he remembered her being. He frowned before her eyes met his.

“You’re home.” She smiled, her voice still saturated with sleep. Bucky smiles, kissing her forehead as he extinguishes the lamp. “I’m home, Doll. I’m sorry I was so late. I think you’d like that expo; you and Rebecca should go next year.” Bucky says, carefully carrying his wife up the stairs. Viviana chuckles sleepily. “I’m not thinking about next year; I’m thinking about right now, with you.” 

Bucky smile widens slightly as he enters their room, placing her down gently onto the bed before he strips himself of his clothes, leaving only his undergarments on. Viviana waits patiently for her husband as he slips into bed. Once he was comfortable, she fitted herself between his torso and arm, resting her head on his chest and listening to his heart's soft, rhythmic beat. 

“When you return, we should start a family,” Viviana said in almost a whisper. Bucky was not entirely sure he heard what he thought he heard.

“You… Viv, you want to start a family?”

She nods, burying her face in his chest. “We are at a good place in our marriage; I think the next logical step would be to try for a baby.” Bucky carefully lifts her chin to him, tucking a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. “We could always try for a baby now?” Bucky teases, running his hand down his wife’s body, but Viviana swats him away with a giggle. 

“Not now, you dummy. I’m not about to grow and birth a baby alone.” she laughs before her tone becomes more serious again. “What do you think we should name our child?”

Bucky chuckles, moving his hand back up to her waist, pulling her closer before pressing his lips to her forehead. “I think for a boy, we should call him Steven. Steven James, after his daddy and his daddy’s best friend.” 

Viviana rolls her eyes before smiling softly. She loved the thought of Steven James. “For a daughter, I was thinking maybe Sarah Rebecca. I know both are important women to you; this way, we can honour Sarah, and Stevie can still have his mother, in a way.” 

Bucky’s eyes water, thinking about it. His wife, who has her own family and people she could honour with their child’s name, decided to honour his sister and best friend’s mom. He will never be able to love anyone more than he loves his wife. “Doll, are you sure? I know you loved your grandmother and would have loved to name a child after her. Are you sure you want to name our daughter Sarah Rebecca?”

Viviana nods, wiping at her husband’s eyes. “Yes, but we can talk more about that when you return to me after this cursed war. I just want to fall asleep in your arms one last time.” She said, curling up into him, closing her eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. Bucky knew that sound all too well; she was trying not to cry. He tightened his arms around her frail frame.

“I’m not leaving you, doll. Go to sleep; I’ll be here when you wake up.” He whispers before pulling a blanket over their bodies. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep together for the last time.

Steve and Viv stand on the dock, saying their goodbyes to Bucky. “Remember what I told you yesterday, Punk. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” 

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve retorts, making Bucky chuckle before pulling him in for a hug, ruffling his hair and moving onto his wife standing beside Steve. 

He cups her cheeks, resting his forehead against hers. “You keep taking care of your patients, Doll. I’ll be home to take care of you before you know it. Until then, I want you to lean on Steve if needed. He loves you too, Viv, and you know he’ll do what he can to help you.” Viv nods before kissing her husband. 

“I’ll find you in every life, my darling James. Of that, I can promise.” 

[cocrante]

I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

nda. I remember when this chapter was published, years ago, the opening lines sparked a lot of discussion. I studied piano for five years, but it's been a long time since I played. I can only read music now. The opening lines were particularly debated because, in string instruments, B-flat and G-sharp are, in fact, the same note. However, in singing, for example, there are different variations of notes, and not all are perceptible (in this case, we are talking about a 1/9 variation), and only an absolute ear can recognize the difference. I liked the idea of Will being able to grasp the different nuances of pitch in notes, especially because this character tends to underestimate his abilities.

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 5]

THE LAST THING WILL EXPECTED, WAS TO HEAR NICO SING. He never thought he would accept his challenge and start singing, and he wasn't even off-key. Of course, there were always those little imperfections like hitting a B-flat instead of a G-sharp, but they were nuances that only someone with perfect pitch would be able to catch. Will was enchanted.

After the song, which Nico deemed embarrassing, the boys in the circle were dismissed to return to their respective cabins. Finally, the son of Hades was free to rest and mentally prepare for the next day. It would be his first ro wing lesson at camp, and he wasn't exactly sure what he would have to do. He would rely entirely on Will's teachings, hoping he could explain how to row as well as he could heal. "See you tomorrow" Nico said, ready to head toward his cabin. "See you tomorrow!" Will replied enthusiastically. "Sweet dreams" he added, unable to contain his radiant smile. "Yes. You too" he replied, leaving behind the now extinguished campfire and with Will watching him disappear into the darkness.

He made his way up the camp in silence, heading straight to cabin number 13, where a warm and soft bed awaited him. Opening the door, he immediately made his way to the mattress and collapsed soothed by the sweet sounds of the night, he fell asleep. It was a dreamless sleep, which was a rare occurrence for a demigod. He woke up a few hours after the first light of dawn, disturbed by a pesky sunbeam kissing his face. The boy grumbled in his sleep a couple of times, muttering for someone to draw the curtains and let him sleep for five more minutes, but since his request went unanswered and the one sunbeam became two, Nico decided it was time to get up. He stretched and yawned a couple of times, first rubbing his face to wipe off the last traces of sleep and then running his hand through his hair to tidy it up a bit. He spent about twenty minutes in the bathroom, mostly trying to fix himself up and get rid of that undead look— unfortunately it seemed to be hereditary to always look like a zombie. He sighed, changed his clothes, and slipped on his shoes before heading out to have a substantial breakfast, convinced that Will would tire him out.

At the dining hall, there were still a few demigods, some had finished their meal while others were still waking up. Nico grabbed something to eat and went to sit at his usual table, intending to take his time to fully wake up. Occasionally, he glanced over at the table occupied by the children of Apollo, but Will wasn't there. He thought that Will must have already gone down to the lake and was waiting for him, as he thought it impossible that he was still sleeping in bed. Slowly, more and more people began to fill up the dining hall, taking seats at their own tables or joining others, and just as more people started to arrive, Nico finished his food. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and headed down to the lake where an impatient Will was waiting for him. "Good morning sunshine!" Will exclaimed as he saw a gloomy-looking Nico approaching. "Good morning, Solace" Nico replied simply, noticing that Will had already pushed a two-person boat into the water. "I thought someone else was coming" he confessed, knowing that usually a substantial group was needed for rowing. "Ah, no" said Will, running a hand through his hair. "I thought it would be more productive with just the two of us" he explained. "Okay" sighed Nico, feeling nervous enough being on a boat in the middle of the water. Will quickly explained the procedure for rowing, which involved leveraging certain parts of the body in a harmonized way with each other. Will was confident they wouldn't capsize. "All clear?" he asked, sure that he had explained everything. "Yes" confirmed Nico, already impatient to get back on solid ground. "Great! Let's go" exclaimed Will, walking down the wooden pier with Nico following him at a slow pace, thinking back to years ago when after the war against the Titans, the campers, caught up in a burst of euphoria, pushed Percy and Annabeth into the lake. He shook his head, dispelling the unpleasant memory. Nico took a couple of deep breaths, thinking to himself "what was I thinking?" then climbed down the ladder and got into the boat, taking the second seat so that he could follow Will's arm movements. "Ready?" the enthusiastic boy asked, already untying the knot that held the boat to the dock. "Ready" Nico tried to sound enthusiastic, but his voice betrayed him.

Will did most of the work, and Nico tried to keep up, pushing the oar with all the strength he had in his body. "Use your legs" Will repeated from the front, occasionally suppressing a laugh. As they reached the center of the lake, Nico slowly became more familiar with rowing. Will was right in saying that it was all about synchronization. "You know, I didn't expect this" Will suddenly said, catching Nico's attention, who was already focused on not tipping over. "What?" he asked with a scoff. "That you can sing" Will smiled. "Really, you have a nice voice" he concluded, turning halfway to look at him. "Ah—" Nico simply said, not expecting such a statement. "You sing well too" he tried to compliment him in return, feeling his cheeks flush. He wasn't used to giving compliments, he was a disaster with words and he didn't even know if that could define him as such since it was a fact that Will could sing. "Yeah, I can handle singing" he replied with feigned modesty. "But there are better ones" he lowered his shoulders with a sigh, thinking of his other siblings who were much better at hitting the highs and lows of a song. Nico pursed his lips, he hated when Will downplayed himself. He had many other abilities and was as good as the other members of his house, he just convinced himself otherwise. "Maybe" Nico muttered. "But I didn't mind hearing you sing" he said, not finding anything else to say to make him understand that he really liked the way he sang. "Was that a compliment, di Angelo?" Will asked ironically, truly surprised by what he had just heard. "No" Nico's ears turned red. "To me it sounds like it was" Will teased. "Think what you want" he huffed, and in the next second, he pulled his lips into a gentle smile. Will couldn't help but laugh at that answer, he appreciated Nico's effort, aware that it wasn't easy for him to open up to people and he found it difficult to express in words what was on his mind. "Thanks" he said after finishing laughing, turning his face to look at him, and Nico simply nodded. "Would you like to come to the infirmary later?" Will asked him after a few minutes of silence. "I'm meeting Jason after this" he told him. "Ah, okay" he tried not to show any disappointment in his voice, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Nico, although he would have enjoyed spending a whole day with him, knew well that he couldn't stand up Jason again, but he still hoped to finish the training at the arena soon. "But I could still come after training" suggested the son of Hades, who wanted to spend some more time with Will.

The boy in front of the canoe nodded, thrilled that he would be joining him later in the afternoon.

[CONTENTS]

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20

[jaimelwuizard]

I invited my Godbrother (best friend) over to pend some time. I also gave him a late Christmas present being a beerus figure. When he got here, he gave me a brown bag after he left. I saw what was inside. There was a Bluetooth speaker, some jollyranches, and a Lego set. Guess what I opened first.

[kakumeii]

digital disappearance

while i was taking a bath, i thought about disappearing. what would happen if i just erased my entire digital footprint, receive limited interaction through imessage and email, and just… not make my presence known through a screen? i wondered if anyone would notice it right away.

ever since i was in junior high school (so that was 7th grade to 10th grade in my country), i’ve always had quiet summer breaks. my classmates were busy with their own lives, making the most of their free time before school starts again and all their freedom will be limited to weekend shenanigans. since i wasn’t necessarily talking to anyone throughout that period, i created ways for me to not get bored and waste my time. since my memory is frequently failing me, i can’t tell you much about the experiences i had when i began to make my own ways of entertainment and interaction. at that time, i was very into social media. i would spend hours scrolling and typing away on my phone, sitting in the same position on the same seat — the varnished wooden long chair we had in the living room. mom would always scold me for that habit, but to be honest, it was my only way to entertain myself.

when i hadn’t told her yet of the mental condition that i have (will not add more context to lessen the heaviness of the story), i pretty much poured it all into the fanfiction i wrote back then. yes, i have been writing fanfiction since i was twelve. until now, at eighteen (nineteen in a few months), i still do. of course grammar is a recurring issue because english isn’t my native language, but through years of practice, i was able to keep lifting myself to levels until i’d say would be fluency. but anyway, that’s not the whole point of this. to sum it up, i was just on my phone all the time. it was only when i was in senior high school (11th to 12th grade) that i finally got off my phone and did something productive. looking back, it was obviously because my school was really … demanding of time … i spent days doing school work, attending classes, and talking to different people due to academics and org work. there were lots of things going on, and i’m pretty sure that really fucked me up somehow.

it’s why thought about disappearing digitally. of course i can’t disappear all of a sudden, because i have responsibilities that i am committed to. but for the time being, while it’s still summer break and i literally have nothing else to do, i thought about disappearing for a bit. frankly, i am aware that introverts do this on the regular, but now i see the appeal of just being in your own bubble, even just for a while, because it helps you wind down and relax. i was unhealthily diligent during the school year, so i guess you could say that i was not used to doing nothing. although now that i am slowly trying to gain my peace by hiding in my cave again, it felt really nice and i somewhat wished that it could be like this forever.

i wanted to stop spending too much time on social media. albeit still using my gadgets, i only want to use it limitedly, just like what i am doing right now. what i’m doing right now still sets my digital presence, but it doesn’t fully unravel it the same way social media does. i’ll hop into apps every now and then, but not all the time. it also helps me develop skills and hobbies outside of the need to broadcast myself and whatever is happening in my life. i’m already content with having the circle i have now and the audience i’m interacting with. of course i don’t mind the people subscribing to me. kudos to you guys for reading the dumb rambles of an asian kid who’s still figuring out life but with more stress, considering that successful opportunities in my country are scarce and exclusive.

as i type down my thoughts right now, the rain is pouring really hard. the wind is like a monster revealing its power, swaying the pellet-like drops of rain. i can hear it clearly, almost deafeningly. the walls of my tiny home are thin, at least if you compare it to the tall-ceiling, well-constructed houses of my peers. the lightning looks like zeus is having a field day, or perhaps he’s pissed off. the thunder accompanying is like heaven crashing against the holograms of the sky. it’s kind of scary, you know? but i don’t find the need to flaunt it multiple times across different social media platforms and accounts, unless, well, we need to evacuate from this catastrophic experience.

my low self esteem always make me think that it won’t make a difference if i disappear at all. more likely that it is caused by the lack of consideration i had from former friends. they truly enjoyed days without me, and really showed that, well, i was just a nuisance. i accepted that. rather than fighting them and all, i decided to just move away. i’m sure there were reasons why they kind of didn’t want me around anymore, and maybe my mind was just trying to victimize myself. who even knows, right? i could have received it wrongly, or maybe that really was their intention. even then, the ship was sinking already, so i had no reason to sink with it. as they already hopped onto a different boat, so should i. this taught me that i am not entitled to be the priority of the lives of my friends, but i should also know which friend is good, and which is not. one of them was, you know, your typical high school gossipmonger who stirs up drama by exposing the secrets of people who confided in her to others. my mom never liked her from the beginning. she was the type of person who would never care if i disappeared, because if i weren’t useful to her, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at me. she boasted the “regina george bad bitch” energy, but she really was just a bad person.

(i rambled and went off tangent, i’m sorry about that lol.)

okay so to end this, i’m just really glad that i have the confidence to lay off social media and still be entertained. my younger self will never believe me, though i’m just happy to realize that there really is life outside the internet. that place forces us to perform, and when we do, we get tired. some of us just aren’t built for continuous interaction, and maybe even my former friends had that mindset, too (although yes, watered down regina george has always been mean, and they still hang out with her because they benefit from the gossip she tells). i’ve recently downloaded threads since i have to for my art account, but even if it is necessary for me, i don’t force myself to learn the app and keep using it. most of the time, i don’t really mind how big the traction i’m receiving. i’m just happy doing what i like outside of the performative shell of social media.

you can ask yourself, “what would i do if i disappeared digitally?” then come back to me and tell me what you have reflected! thank you for your time!

[blorbologist]

3, 7, & 19 for the weird questions for writers ask game :) <3

Answered 3 here!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

I really get a huge kick from things coming together! Be it a scene just unfurling from my fingers with great emotion, or tweaking one sentence and finally it all works, or sorting out a plot snarl. There's a satisfaction to getting it right, and then getting to share that and see that emotion echoed in others!

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

Well, I was a weird kid ijnkntrkn, my brother and I lived a ways away from most of our friends, the one computer in the house was for Dad's work bar an hour or two, and the TV was usually occupied by our mother. So we spent our days running around and making shit up in the woods (namely fake dinosaur documentaries), telling dramatic stories with our toys and, once we got into school, reading books.

Once we had more access to the computer, I got into RPing Warrior cats and built up my first skills there with those friends, and of course making up fanclans. Had a whole thing where my friend, brother, pet cat and I became Warriors for my main fanclan of the day KNTHKNRTN I think all kids have stories inside them, and want to share them. I think my first real piece of fanfiction was a little post-ending but pre-epilogue Hunger Games thing of Peeta having a panic attack? Or that's what I consider my first fic. It's probably buried in my old laptop somewhere deep.

Over the years I've written here and there. A Fullmetal Alchemist 'where are they now' HC splurge fic. Some Fairy Tail stuff, including a huge angsty Fallout AU I had. My first AO3 fic was for the She-Ra reboot when the ending made me sob in relief and joy, 10k words in ~24 hours in the start of the pandemic. A few CR fics here and there, but nothing substantial. Writing for fun was hard. Really hard.

I think the biggest bump along the way was a slow crawl into a gambling addiction. Fun lil game got its claws into me and sucked my entire soul dry - why bother writing or drawing when the rush of RNG gave me what my brain wanted far more easily? It sucked, it really fucking sucked, and I'm still working off the credit card debt slowly but surely. (It's hard to bring up, but I figured it might do someone good to hear it).

After I quit, it's like I had found the energy and muse I had as a kid, writing thousand-word replies to my friends' RP posts, or huge lore docs about a Pokemon story idea I had with my brother. It was incredible - I'd started writing Courage is a vintage not long before (I think I might have posted it a month prior?) and got involved with the community on here. The amount of joy I got, from exchanging headcanons, from seeing people enjoy what I produced, getting to poke at these characters and see them unfurl, it got something going. And then I started working on One for sorrow, and doing prompt games, and... here I am!

As for where I'm going? Two for joy is on track to finish in the next few months and have its last chapter + epilogue posted within a week-ish of One for sorrow's first chapter. I've written 350k+ words of content since last June, and I'm happier than I've ever been. Maybe part of it is due to where I am in life - doing research, honest to god research, with a cool lab and taking walks daily and getting harassed by my kittens - but I firmly believe part of it is due to this community.

Where I'm going next... well, you know. Can't wait to share it with everyone else ;3

Weird questions for writers ask game!

(I'm answering between bouts of preparing a presentation, so sorry if these take a while to get to!)

[mysticalrambling]

Hey there😄😄I hope you're doing fine....I love your fanfictionss just too much and *adorable addition* is just my top favorite atory of yours😍😍😍. Yesterday you said i could make a request too so i was wondering if you can take in a request??😅😅 which is a Steve Rogers x reader request, which I had in mind for a long long time...I have made this request to some authors before but some of them never responded or just weren't interested in writing it so you can too decline but hear me out please😅😅... Ok so here goes nothing....

**Steve and reader being in an arranged marriage and steve is very rude towards the reader and would blame her, that due to their marriage he is not with peggy and how she irritates him, but still the reader did sweet things for him, made him food, tried to make him happy and tried to make their marriage work...but one day when she has enough of all the hurt, she stop doing stuff for steve and starts ignoring him..and also steve sees that peggy didn't love him but only his status as Captain America and was happy with someone else..then he realises his mistake and felt bad for treating his wife poorly...he tries to make up things with her but she now ignores him...His team members berate him for ignoring his wife and he gets jealous seeing someone else making a move on her.....and now he has to work his ass off to win back his wife...And can you end it with a happy ending and can it be long also? please🥺🥺

Arrange Marriage (S.R)

A/N: Thank you so much lovely and I loved the plot line. I loved writing about it and I made a few additions to the story. Hope you like it and I am open to more requests.

Steve Rogers Fanfiction (Fanfiction Master List)

Summary: Steve and you are married because the government wants Captain America to be a family ma. Steve is not happy with the arrangement and thinks he is in love with Peggy. You try to make your marriage work but he insults you every chance he gets. However, everything works out eventually.

Warnings: Angst but eventual fluff.

._._._._.

"I prepared some dinner for you," You spoke out when you saw your husband rushing towards his room. That's right, his room. Even though you were married for about a month now, you have never been in the same room for more than ten minutes.

"I am not hungry." He was quick to dismiss you and went straight to his room. You just looked at the muddy footsteps that were the only evidence that Steve was here. He was on one of his missions with your dad, Nick Fury. Your step dad, actually, because he rescued you from one of hydra base camps when you were eight years old. Those times were something that you have repressed in your mind and you would never think about them.

A few tears escaped your eyes when you kept all of the untouched food in the fridge which you spent hours preparing. You understood that you were not your husband's first choice but you both had an obligation to try to make it work. But lately, it was like you were all alone in this relationship and you felt so worthless.

Wiping the tears away, you made your way to the master bedroom because you had enough. If years of therapy have taught you anything, it is that no one had the right to make you feel that way. "Come in!" His pissed off voice filtered through the door and you took a shaky breath before entering.

"Hi. I just wanted to say that I prepared all of your favorite food and you didn't even look at it." You spoke timidly.

"I told you I was not hungry." He said from the changing closet and came out in his sweats. Looking tired was something not new for Captain America now a days and everyone at work was also starting to notice the change. "Why are we pretending to be like a normal, married couple?"

"Why can't we be one? I am trying here." He looked anywhere but at you because he knew that he would see those damp eyes. That was enough to make him feel guilty and he wanted to prevent that.

"You know why. I am in love with Peggy." The most hurtful thing that your life partner can say to you and Steve just did without taking your feelings into account.

"Then you could have said something before we got married." Panic was slowly setting in because you realised that you were stuck in a marriage that is never going to work out.

"The whole government was pushing me towards this marriage and Peggy was still not ready for that kind of commitment. I was stuck with you." Steve knew that the statement hurt you the moment the words escaped his lips. This was a revelation that rocked your world. And not in a great way, might you add. "You could have rejected the proposal."

"Do you think it was that simple for me? Dad has done so much for me and this was the one thing that he asked off me so I did not refuse. I thought that you agreed to this marriage and we could work it out in the future." Those dreams were being crushed right now and you knew that this marriage was doomed. It was like a hit to your gut and you felt caged in this room with your husband.

"Well, we can not." Leaving the room, you went straight to bed and cried yourself to sleep because there was nothing else you could add to that conversation.

After sometime, Steve came out of his room and made his way towards the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he took out the food to heat it up and realised that you made all of his favorite food. He was never going to admit it but he loved your cooking. Every night he comes in to the kitchen to eat all the food that you prepared for him. However, he realised that you didn't eat any of the food so you probably went to bed hungry. The guilt was eating him up and he felt helpless because he wanted to think that he didn't care about you. But sometimes, you don't even realise when a person is warming their way into your heart.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Steve was home today and you were going out of your mind with boredom so you thought of asking him for some company.

"I am not in the mood." He was quick to dismiss the idea and turned around in the hallway while still scrolling through his phone.

"I just thought-"

"You thought nothing. Why are you so clingy? I told you I do not want to work on this relationship. You are the reason that I can not be with the love of my life. Please just leave me alone.” He rudely interrupted you because he was not in the mood to interact with anyone. Seeing a picture of Peggy on instagram, he became aware of the fact that he could not be with her because he is a married man now.

Peggy Carter had been the first person that he saw when he woke up from the ice after 40 years. She helped him to become Captain America and she was the most important person in his eyes. Those few months were really difficult for Steve but she helped him get through them. Peggy quickly became his girlfriend and when the councilmen wanted him to get married, he was quick to propose. But she told him that she was not ready to take that step and she backed off. He was still pining over her and it was not fair to blame you for everything but he needed to do that to make himself feel better.

“I am sorry.”

“(Y/N)-” You left before he could say anything else. There is only so much a person can tolerate.

Over the course of a few days, Steve noticed that you were indeed leaving him alone. You were not there to welcome him home when he got back from his missions and give him a massage even after he told you not to. You did not cook from him anymore and he really missed it. He loved the fact that you always made his favorites and you never even had to ask him. You haven’t talked to him since the night he yelled at you. Guilt was an emotion that he often felt whenever he saw you.

“So there is a charity event that we both are invited too. It’s black tie optional.” He leaned against the door as he watched you doing laundry.

“Okay, I will be ready.” These were the only five words that you have said to him in the past two weeks and they were not enough. He has missed you and your conversations. The house was too quiet now a days and he didn’t like it one bit. But he was too stubborn to be the one to break the wall.

“You have to wear a dress. Many people will be watching you because you are Captain America’s wife so please do not go with your sense of style.” He wanted to slap himself in the face when he saw you freeze. Why couldn’t he just have said something nice to her? Steve didn’t know how to talk to you without messing it up.

“Okay.” Sighing, he left the room and sulked in his bedroom for the remaining day.

You were never going to say it out loud, but you were really hurt by what he said today and that day. None of it was your fault and you have been thinking about ending this marriage. However, the thing was that you made a commitment and you were never the one to back out from things. You quickly finished doing the laundry and went to take a shower.

“Are you ready?” Steve fixed his bow tie before you opened the room and he was left speechless. You in a red dress with a slit running through the side was a side of you that he had never seen. So bold and outgoing.

“Yes. Just let me quickly apply my lipstick.” Watching you apply a red lipstick left him in a trance. His wife was truly something unique but he just ignored it. Shaking himself out of it, he thought about Peggy and how he loves her. You both left afterwards and the car ride was quiet with the exception of a few stolen glances.

‘We have to go hand in hand and smile for the red carpet.”

“Okay.”

You were always a little scared to walk in to these kinds of events and so you tightly clutched on to your husband’s arm. Steve knew that you were a little bit of an introvert so he squeezed your hand in response.

“I am going to go meet some councilmen.”

“I’ll be by the bar.” Making your way towards the makeshift bar, you ordered a martini and just sat there mixing your drink. On the other hand, Steve made polite talk with the councilmen and then excused himself to the washroom. He heard someone mention his name on his way to the washroom and that piqued his interest.

“Come on, I was never in love with Steve. He was my assignment from the S.H.I.E.L.D and that was it. I had to help Captain America adjust to this life.  I love you, Oliver and that is a fact.” Steve quickly left before he could hear anything else.

Honestly, he couldn’t believe that all those months spent with Peggy were just a lie and he was ruining his marriage because of her. He thought that it would hurt a lot but it was kind of a relief. He was now realising that he was never in love with her. It was kind of an obligation for him because he thought that he somehow owed it to Penny. But he didn’t and now he can finally give his marriage a fair try and not feel guilty about it.

“So what is a beautiful girl like you doing at a bar all alone?” Turning around, you saw Bucky with a smile adorning his face.

“Hi. It’s been such a long time since I last saw you.” You hugged your friend because he was one of the people that you were close to. You actually missed him in these past few months and were glad to see him right now. Getting in to a conversation was way easier than you thought.

“Hey Buck. What are you doing?” Your husband was quick to place his hands on the small of your back and you silently choked on his intimate gesture.

“I am fine, Stevie. Just catching up with (Y/N).”

“Oh okay. Would you mind if I take my wife to the dance floor?”

“No worries.” Silently taking you to the middle of the room, you both got to dancing and your breath hitched when he was so close to you right now. His cologne had taken over all your senses and you were drunk on him. God, it was pathetic but you could not help yourself.

“I want to try to work on our marriage.” You didn’t know if you were hearing things right now so you muttered a silent, “Come again.” He silently chuckled and repeated the sentence again. Looking at him, you stopped dancing and left the room.

“Why did you leave?” He found you at the balcony just staring at the stars with your hands wrapped around yourself. “It’s freezing.”

“Why? Why would you say something like that?” You whispered silently.

“I mean it. I want to try.”

“Don’t you love Peggy?”

“I have realised that I didn’t love her. It was like an obligation to me and I like you.”

“I can’t do this. You insulted me every chance you got and you made me think so low of myself.”

“I know and I am so sorry for that. I will spend my life apologising to you for it. Please, give me a chance.” There were some tears in your eyes and everything was becoming blurry.

“I can’t do that. I will always be your second choice.”

“No, you are not. Trust me, I have had feelings for you but I have been trying to repress them from the very start.” He tried to touch you but you took a step back.

“If we try this relationship thing out, will you promise me that you will tell me when you want to get out. We can get divorced right then and there.”

“I don’t want to be divorced and I will spend my life making it up to you.” He was quick to kiss you and it was way better than your wedding ceremony kiss. “I like you, (Y/N).”

“I like you too, Steve.” You went in to kiss him again and were glad that this marriage was going to work.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._.

A/N: I love Captain America and I was happy to write a fanfiction about him. If you guys have any more request, I will be happy to write about them and message me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tag list: @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile 

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._.

[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.