#and gradually started posting longer and longer pieces

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hello, so, idk if this is gonna be only seen by you. (i'm still trying to understand Tumblr)

But basically, I write, like a lot, i have so many different things that I come up with in my head, and one thing I hate is not having confidence to show my writing. How do i gain that confidence? I'm asking you because you seem very confident and brave to post. IM rellay really really sorry to be bothering you.

Also, Riot Kings is by far my favourite series :D

Hello and welcome aboard! (and thank you 🥰)

When it comes to building confidence to show others your writing, I think it's less jarring if you start small. If you have a certain idea, series, or character you've been writing for a while, it's probably very close to your heart, and it can be difficult (and feel very vulnerable) to show it to another person

So to get used to letting others see your work, I suggest starting with a small drabble or piece of flash fiction. While it's still daunting to share your work for the first time, you might feel more comfortable posting a piece you've spent less time with. You can also try sharing small snippets of existing work you'd be more comfortable with others seeing

Alternatively, you can start by showing a more beloved piece to a close friend or two, and building up from there

If you'd prefer to post something you've spent a lot of time on but are nervous, then just keep in mind that you love this thing, and that makes it good, regardless of what others think. Whether it winds up being read by one person or one hundred, you never know who it might impact, be that by making someone smile and brightening their day, or by speaking to them in a way they'll never forget.

At the end of the day, your writing is yours. Interaction from readers can go a long way to inspire and motivate, but it sounds like you're already doing the hardest (and most important) step: just writing

It's great that you're getting your words out :) I hope you're able to take the leap and share when you're ready to ❤️❤️

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[callsign-rogueone]

rest

Brennan Sorrengail x chronically ill reader words: 2.5k 🏷: gender neutral reader, use of nicknames sweetheart and honey, implied past FWB-type relationship between reader and Bren. descriptions of pain and sickness (congrats, u now have my symptoms), downward-spiral of self-deprecating thoughts, reader shaming themself for being weak / ill, one (1) suggestion that reader wants to die but they don’t mean it, confessions of love, cuddles.  this may be the most self-serving thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it to process my grief and anger about my current situation, but I figured I’d post it for the Brennan girlies and anyone who feels like I do right now and could use a handsome mender boyfriend to make it all better.

The gentle movement of the mattress and the smell of smoke and soap and leather wakes you from your nap — Brennan is back. You roll over to face him, every muscle in your body protesting the movement. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, brushing the hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Same old,” you murmur. 

He lays a hand on your forearm, and the pain dulls. You know better now than to let him block it off completely — he’d done that once before, but when he let go, it was unbearable. 

Better to sit with it, not get used to any relief — it’ll only hurt you further when it all comes back, knock the breath right from your lungs and leave you in a heap on the floor, a mess of knots for him to untangle.

He’s done enough for you already. He does enough for everyone. Never anything for himself. Or if he does, you never see it.

“Was worried about you,” he says softly, still stroking your hair.

The idea of him worrying about you makes you feel sicker than you already are, but a different kind of sick. Guilty, maybe. Disgusted — not with him, but with yourself, for being so fucking weak and needy and such a crybaby. You’re a dragon rider, for gods’ sakes. 

Or you used to be. You haven’t acted like one in months, and haven’t felt like one for longer than that. 

You’d accepted that you’d never fly again, or told yourself that you accepted it, three months ago.

“I can keep fixing the damage, but I don’t know if I can fix what’s causing it,” Brennan had told you in a whisper late one night in this same room, holding you as if he was afraid to let go, that you’d crack and splinter even further if he wasn’t pressing the pieces of you together. 

You used to be able to hold yourself together. You used to be able to do a lot of things. To spar with him, to run with your squad and mount a dragon, swim in the ice-cold streams of Tyrrendor with your friends on days off, to spend hours tangled up in bed with him after lights-out, exerting yourselves in other ways.

But then something came and ruined it all.  You still don’t know what it was — is. It didn’t come quickly — not one big wave that drowned you, not an assailant that shattered bone and sliced through tissue, but a gradual decline that you didn’t notice until it was too late. 

No, you definitely noticed. You just didn’t want to believe it. You made up excuses for everything— reassurances, placating remarks, designed to convince yourself and those around you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you.

You couldn’t sleep through the night, but that was because of the awful things you’d seen that day. But then they started happening even if you hadn’t left the barracks, even if you hadn’t witnessed any horrible sights in weeks.

You couldn’t hold on to your daggers tightly enough, struggled to grip a pen, but that was because you’d injured your hand — but that was only one hand, and months ago. Brennan had mended it for you within minutes of the injury.

Your entire body was aching, all the time, but that was normal with how much riders were required to exert themselves. You just can’t move like you did when you were younger. You aren’t a kid anymore.

But no amount of rest days, no ice or heat or elevation seemed to be enough to recover. That’s the worst of it, really. Being stuck in bed, not by doctor’s orders, not because you physically can’t get up, but because you can’t do anything outside of this room.

Not without pain, anyway, and not without pitying looks and whispered questions about what happened to you — the very same Captain that had rescued an entire squad from certain doom just last year, the most powerful air-wielder in two generations — and concerned words from your colleagues, who miss you, and tell them if you need anything, okay? They’re here for you.

But are they really your colleagues anymore? Is Deòir really your dragon anymore? He hardly speaks to you these days. He’s just too kind to admit that he’s just waiting for you to die, so he can move on, and find a new rider.

Maybe kind isn’t the right word, but you can’t think of a better one right now. It’s hard to think of anything other than how tired and uncomfortable you are.

You used to be top of the class, and now you’re struggling to form complete sentences.

“Talk to me,” Brennan coaxes, still gazing down at you, softness in his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you whisper. 

“What?”

“I know we were… involved for a while,” you say carefully, “but you don’t need to do this for me anymore. You can’t keep worrying about me. It takes up too much time that you just don’t have. You’re running a revolution; you have more important shit to do than to play nurse.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks softly. “What happened while I was away?”

“Nothing happened, Brennan. Nothing ever happens in my life anymore, because I spend my entire day, every day, laying here, wishing I was dead.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The words are out in the air, and he’s heard them. “I didn’t mean…” you whisper, “I don’t want to die, I just…”

Tears fill your already-blurred vision, but you can see him in front of you, the mass of his chest and shoulders, the slow movement of his arms reaching out to wrap around you and hold you close, to guide you up into his lap.

“I’m just so tired,” you sob, too-long fingernails digging into the black leather of his jacket, your hands too weak to hold on to him properly. “I’m so tired of being tired, and in pain, and feeling useless.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes. “I’ll keep looking. We can look together. We’ll figure out what this is, and how to fix it.”

“We’ve read every book in the library,” you sniff. “We’ve talked to every healer we know.”

“There are other libraries, and other healers,” he replies, as if it’s that simple, that easy. You suppose to him, it is that easy. To him, everything is easy. He’s not the one wasting away here, you are.

Wasting away. Crumbling. Deteriorating.  

Decaying.

“Why aren’t you giving up?” you ask quietly. “I’ve given up. Deò has, too. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

You know the answer, and it makes you feel sick, but you need to hear it.

Maybe that’s selfish of you, to make him declare it out loud to you, to your face, when you very well might not be alive this time next year to celebrate an anniversary — not that you’d be able to do much celebrating if you were. But that little part of you, the only part that’s left of the old you, from the reality where this could work, needs it — needs him. 

“Deò hasn’t given up on you. He went with us, as backup — that’s why he wasn’t responding. And I haven’t given up, either. I’ll never give up, because I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll keep loving you as long as I live, and well into whatever afterlife I earn, if such a thing exists.”

You loose another sob, your nails scraping the leather as you cling to him tighter, your anchor in this storm, your lifeline, hiding your face in his neck and letting three months worth of tears continue to fall. 

“I’m not going to let go,” he soothes, laying a hand over yours, that’s still feebly clutching at the sleeve of his jacket. “Not until you ask me to.”

You release your grip, the ache lessening as you do, but your knuckles still throb with every beat of your heart; another reminder that even just existing is painful, that your body can’t even move blood around without complaint.

“There you go. Just breathe with me, honey. Nice and slow.”

You don’t know how long you spend there, trying to steady your breathing. Time has seemed to run together lately, somehow both fast and slow — that happens when you lose your routine, and spend half of a normal person’s waking hours asleep, and normal sleeping hours lying awake, enveloped in pain. He continues to murmur praises to you all the while; sweet, reassuring words that you don’t really process. 

“Do you want to lay down?” he asks after a while, his voice soft and gentle. 

He’s always so gentle with you. Endlessly patient, and endlessly caring.

You nod, thoroughly exhausted— the crying had zapped any energy you’d had left. You feel like a little kid again, soft and confused and small. 

Fragile. 

You’re still in your pajamas, anyway, still in bed. You’d only gotten out of it once today, to use the bathroom, but you’d forced yourself to brush your teeth while you were in there, leaning on the counter for stability all the while. That’s your idea of success and productivity these days.

“Okay. Let me take my boots off, hm?” — You nod, pulling back to let him get up. — “Alright. Can I get you anything? Water?”

You shake your head. “Just you,” you whisper. 

“I can do that.” Jacket, boots, and pants off, he settles in with you, letting you cozy up to him in a position that feels the most comfortable— or the least uncomfortable, really. He starts stroking your hair again in soft, slow motions, the weight and warmth of his scarred palm soothing your headache.

It occurs to you that you’d never responded to his declaration — the one you’d needed so badly that you’d nearly asked for it outright — you’d just clung to him and cried, and he’d held you, even though you hadn’t said it back. He’d stroked your hair and calmed you down from your grief over the life you no longer have and can never return to.

He’s still holding you, still dulling the pain in your body and in your soul.

“I love you, Bren,” you murmur. “M’sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve known for a long time.”

“Really?”

He hums softly. “Oh, yeah. Years and years. Since you nearly broke my jaw in challenges and then insisted on personally escorting me to the infirmary.”

You laugh at the memory. “I felt so guilty about that. I didn’t want to hurt you at all. I was pulling my punches.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “It certainly didn’t feel like it.”

There’s a soft pause before he speaks again, hesitant, like he doesn’t want to bring it up again now that your tears have dried, but he knows you haven’t forgotten the pain. You’ll never forget this pain for the rest of your life, even if it goes away.

“When I was in Poromiel, I talked to a healer there who‘s seen something like this before. She wrote down as much as she could before I left, and she promised to ask around and send more information through the boys when they do their next drop-off.”

You cuddle into him closer, ignoring the ache in your back as you do. “Thank you, Bren. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I guess… I’m just still not used to being taken care of. I know it’s dumb, but it makes me feel worse sometimes, even though it’s helping.”

“That’s how I felt,” he says quietly. You both know what he’s talking about— his recovery from being shot in the battle of Aretia, from dying and being brought back to life. “It was always me taking care of the girls when we were young. I was never the one who needed taking care of. It felt wrong, and I felt guilty, and mad at myself for needing the help. But you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You made an excellent nurse, if a little scary.”

“I was scared myself. Seeing you like that…” You swallow. “That’s when I knew that I loved you — you don’t know what you have ‘til it’s gone, I guess.”

“I am very much not gone,” he scoffs, offended. 

“Fine. Slipping away from you,” you correct. 

“Not doing that either. I’m staying right here.” He lays a kiss on the top of your head. “And we are going to have a nice long nap, and then I’m going to draw you a warm bath and make us some dinner, because I like taking care of you, because I love you, and because you deserve it. Okay?”

“Okay.” Another pause while you work up the courage. “Bren?” you ask softly.

“Yes, my love?”

The sweet name is enough encouragement to say it. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He holds you in place with a gentle hand on your back, leaning his head down to meet you. You tilt your chin up, your noses brushing.

“This feels familiar,” he muses. “Very familiar.”

You roll your eyes lazily. “If you’re going to be all smug about it, then you don’t get a kiss.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

You rest a hand on his jaw, guiding him closer. Your fingers twitch and shake, but he holds them steady, his hand pressing yours against the stubbled skin gently — a silent statement that he’s not going anywhere, and he’s ready when you are.

Endlessly patient.

The kiss isn’t desperate and hungry like they had been before your affliction had started, when surges of need and emotion had led you into each other’s beds two nights a week — you aren’t taking from each other now, you’re giving. It’s gentle. Sweet, loving, reassuring.

Each soft movement is a promise, a whispered oath — he’s here, and he isn’t leaving. He’s determined to figure this out and fix it, with you.

You don’t need anything more than that.

He takes your hand, moving it from his jaw to his mouth — kissing your palm. “I love you,” he repeats, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “You’re important to me,” again, to the back of your hand, “and we will get you the help you need. But for now we both just need to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Always,” he responds, helping you tuck yourself back into his arms, and pulling the blanket up over you both. 

“Goodnight, child,” Deò says softly. “I love you. We will get through this together.”

You’re a little surprised by the declaration — he’s never told you anything like this before — but you return it nonetheless. “Love y’too,” you murmur.

Sleep comes to you easily, and this time, you have a good dream.

[foreverisntenough]

LOVED THE NEW CHAPTER ABOUT MR AND MRS. ALEXANDER-ARNOLD

after reading “ours” and “your mine” i always wondered what’s the timeline for trent’s hair. in the beginning did he have locs and if so when did he cut it (chapter wise)? what would y/n think of his hair and does she have any preference?

YAY I’m so glad you enjoyed the chapter!

Okayyyy this is interesting…. Regarding the hair, sometimes I go back and forth but I know in my like chapter announcement posts where I do little photos it can change but it’s more for relevancy of what he’s doing I think in those. IMO he has locs rn. I definitely don’t think he’s had the braids yet because I know Y/N would’ve made some noise about that.

More thoughts on the hair

--------- My tiny one shot below for you 🤍

'Surprise' 🧸 - 625 words | Trent Alexander-Arnold

↳ Trent decides he wants to change his hair.

Other ForeverIsntEnough One Shots

---------

“I’m going to the barber tomorrow after training so I’ll be a little late for dinner with Ty.” Trent cooed walking around the kitchen island with Teddy in his arms. You nodded thinking nothing of it other than just a confirmation of his plans you already knew.

“Yeah, course. No worries. Are you just like going to retwist?” You asked nonchalantly, scrolling on your phone. You didn’t even pick your head up. It was just another normal morning, him going to the barber wasn’t exactly ground breaking.

“Nah, baby. I think just fresh start ya know. All off.” He said incredibly calmly. Plopping Teddy to sit on the marble countertop.

“Sorry? Is that a joke?” Your eyes went wide and shot up to him immediately. To say you were shocked was an understatement. What did he mean fresh start? “Like you’re going to cut it all off? T… baby.” You stood up from your chair and came round towards him, rushing towards him hoping you could convince him otherwise. You loved his hair. This felt like a tragedy.

“Baby. Relax. It’s a hair cut. I just want a reset.” He cooed pulling you into him by your waist with his free hand. He kissed the bridge of your nose.

“Oh… that makes me kind of sad.” You pouted at him reaching up to play with the ends of a piece of his hair. “Isn’t daddy so handsome like this though, Ted. We like daddy’s hair long.” You kept your pout. Teddy didn’t really know why you were upset about his hair. She didn’t have much of an opinion but she mirrored your pout back to Trent. You hoped that the vicious game of guilt of his girls looking back at him might change his mind.

“Wow I had no idea this would be such a big deal to you.” Trent laughed kissing Teddy’s forehead. “You like dada’s hair like this or should I cut it?” Trent asked her taking a strand of her hair in his hand pulling the curl straight and making a silly snip noise using his fingers to act like they were scissors.

“Long dada!” Teddy giggled. You gave Trent a smug smirk and cocked your head to the side as if to say ‘see.’ The conversation fizzled out and you didn’t really care at the end of the day. He’d be handsome no matter what and it was his hair, he could do what he wants and you told him that. The following day he was gone for hours. Much longer than you’d thought. Truth be told Trent didn’t have to go in to AXA this day, so he moved things around, knowing his appointment for the new direction he had decided on for his hair was going to take a long time. He figured a little surprise might be fun.

“Are you good? Little worried.” You spoke to Trent over the phone with a bit of humor but also starting to gradually get a bit more anxious.

“Yeah, all good, baby. I’ll be home in like erm… maybe hour and a half. Got a surprise for you.” He cooed with a smugness in his voice that made you even more nervous.

“Oh my fucking god.” You gasped as your jaw slacked seeing Trent walk into the kitchen after his long day, hair cleanly braided into neat cornrows. You actually felt like your heart might’ve stopped beating. It definitely might have dropped to beat elsewhere. He looked so sexy.

“Surprised?” He asked with a devastatingly handsome smile. He looked perfect in a clean crisp white t-shirt standing across from you. Genuinely radiating a type of beauty that was just plain unfair.

“Oh my fucking god.” You echoed your initial reaction once more. Your mind had gone blank. You had to manually stop yourself from drooling.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Trent laughed. “I’m really hoping this reaction is because you like it. So good, yeah?” Trent came over to you and shut your mouth closed for you his hand cupping your jaw now.

“Forget good. So so sexy. Oh my fucking god, T. Come here now.” You reached up and ran your hands over the fresh braids and smiled into a kiss. “So sexy.” You whispered, ghosting your lips over his. You couldn’t wait to go to bed with him tonight.

⇨ Read other ForeverIsntEnough work here!

[megantheebaddest]

Nights Like This

a/n: I’ve seen a lot of posts of ppl wanting sweet rafe not dark!rafe smut ect. soooo i give you all this 😁 it’s storming bad here and i’m sitting on my porch swing so i wrote this.. enjoy my loves! Sorry it’s not longer :(

Warnings: pure fluff

You had just got out of the shower and put your matching silk shirt and shorts pajama set on that Rafe had bought you. You were sitting on the bed lathering yourself with your vanilla coconut lotion, it’s Rafe’s favorite scent on you. You made your way over to your body mirror to do your hair care routine. You heard the faint sound of a car door shut, letting you know Rafe was home now. You smiled to yourself, he has been gone all day and you feel like you haven’t seen him in ages. You were brushing your hair out when you saw the door to your bed room open slowly. Rafe walked in and had a tired smile on his face.

“hey baby” he quietly said grabbing you from behind.

You turned around and wrapped your arms around his neck, his face falling into your neck. “mmm i’ve missed you today Rafe”

“i’ve missed you honey, you smell so good” he groaned. You rubbed up and down his back.

“Come swing with me, a storm is rolling in” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and grabbing your face, kissing your lips slowly. You smiled into the kiss and shook your head yes. Rafe grabbed your hand and guided you to the balcony off your bedroom. He sat down on the porch swing as you followed and sat next to him curling up to his side. The sun had already set, the aurora of your bulb lights that hung above the balcony was so relaxing. He gently started swinging the both of you. You could see the rain coming beyond the ocean, the smell instantly relaxing the both of you. The sound of the waves gradually getting louder.

“How was your day baby?” You asked.

“Terrible. Long. Annoying.. But none of that matters now my love.” he hummed.

You kissed his neck softly. “I’m glad you’re home now”

He wrapped his arms around you and laid his head on yours, continuing to rock you both. You heard the faint sound of thunder as the storm rolled in, a light breeze picking up. Rafe might come off as a hard ass, but under your touch he is the complete opposite.

“I love my baby girl” he whispered into your ear. His hand crept up under the back of your shirt and began to give you gentle tickles. You switched positions so your head was laying on his lap and the rest of your body was curled up on the swing. He continued tickling while his other hand started to brush through your soft long hair, massaging your scalp just right.

“mmm” you moaned out. “I love this. I love you”

Rafe giggled and continued. The rain started, it was a steady down pour. You closed your eyes enjoying the relaxing vibe. Rafe was rubbing all over you not taking his eyes off you.

“I love you more Y/n.. You make everything worth it.” he quietly said. You snuggled up closer to him. Rafe felt you getting heavier and he knew you’d be sleeping soon. He continued swinging for about a half hour more, in complete silence taking in your beauty.

“Honey why don’t we go in to bed?” He said using both of his hands to pull your hair back as he placed a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t want to move though. You’re so comfy” you groaned.

“Baby i can be even more comfy in the bed.” He giggled.

“Ugh, okay” you sat up with your eyes still closed. He chuckled and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear once again and kissed your neck. “Come on my love, i need you in my arms” He said standing up and grabbing your hands to guide you up. You followed him into the room, you climbed in and watched him change to comfier clothes. He climbed right in and pulled you as close as humanly possible. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear and kissing you all over, until you fell asleep.

Some days may be harder than the other, but it’s nights like this that Rafe can’t get enough of.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

hello! can you please suggest any post-war everlark fics where their friendship is explored and is the core of the narrative? fics where their friendship gradually turn into something much deeper? sort of the same vibe of cf everlark when peeta was taking care of katniss and they were working on the plant book and katniss was inner-monologue-ing about peeta's lashes and they're friends but katniss was slowly falling deep in love and peeta was there at the bottom of the pit, ready to catch her. you know. something like that. multi-chaps are preferred, but i'll take any one-shots as well! tysm, your blog is a blessing!

Hello Anon!

I know I have a ton more than just these ones but I'll add this to future masterlist topics but for now I think these would be a good start! Happy Reading!

A Girl, A Boy, and Everything Else-CassandraO (ao3) Summary: It's been a year since the war ended. Peeta and Katniss are in the process of growing together. Peeta is learning about setting boundaries and taking better care of himself and Katniss is drowning in depression. How they grow together as friends and eventually, something else, all the while facing new challenges. A Painter, a Baker, and a Boy who Never Took Sugar in his Tea-katiac (ao3) Summary: Peeta’s months in the Capitol under Dr. Aurelius’ care as he struggles to sort real memories from false, come to terms with the horrors inflicted on him and those he loved during the war, and understand the true nature of his connection with Katniss Everdeen. Good Again-titania522 (ao3) Summary: "The sun was rising, fingers of glorious orange, red and yellow crawling across the sky. The window appeared as a frame around a picture, dawn’s ascent bursting from the folds of a delicate skirt the color of burnt copper. I sighed and turned back to Peeta, holding his hand against my cheek." After all they have experienced, Katniss and Peeta realize that things can be good again. The Missing Book - The Early Years-Hey_You (ao3) Summary: Katniss and Peeta grow back together after Peeta's return to District 12. After Katniss realizes her true feelings for Peeta, she is faced with the very real possibility that he no longer cares for her in the way she had hoped. Post "Mockingjay" but pre-Epilogue. Canon compliant. Us Among the Living-aspiringpandabear (ao3) Summary: When the air smells of spring and Peeta returns to District 12, Katniss finds a reason to live again. Classic Everlark growing together fic heavily focused on Peeta and Katniss' journeys processing their grief and trauma in the months following the rebellion. And, of course, the story of how they fall back in love while helping each other pick up the broken pieces of their lives.

I’ll be adding this to future masterlist topics! If anyone knows of any, please let me know!

As always, if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please feel free to shoot me an ask!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is four

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and then SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Four years ago, I started pluralistic.net, my post-Boing Boing, solo blog project: an ad-free, tracker-free site that anyone can republish, commercially or noncommercially. It's been a wild four years, featuring over 1,150 editions, many consisting of multiple articles:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/

As a project, Pluralistic has been a roaring success. I've published multiple, significant "breakout" articles that popularized obscure, important, highly technical ideas, most notably "adversarial interoperability":

http://pluralistic.net/tag/adversarial-interoperability

"End-to-end" as a remedy for multiple internet ripoffs, including as a superior alternative to link-taxes as a means of saving the news industry from Big Tech predation:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/e2e/

and, of course, "enshittification":

https://pluralistic.net/tag/enshittification/

These are emblematic of the sorts of ideas that I've spent the past 20+ years trying to popularize in tech-policy debates dominated by technologically illiterate policy ideas ("abolish Section 230!") and politically illiterate technical ideas (so many to choose from, but let's just say "cryptocurrency"). They require that the reader come along for a lot of cross-disciplinary analysis that often gets deep into the weeds. These are some of the hardest ideas to convey, but nuanced proposals and critiques that work on both political and technical axes are the best hope we have of successfully weathering the polycrisis.

Blogging has always been a part of this project. For nearly 20 years, I posted nearly every day on Boing Boing – 53,906 posts in all! – taking note of everything that seemed important. Keeping a "writer's notebook" in public imposes an unbeatable rigor, since you can't slack off and leave notes so brief and cryptic that they neither lodge in your subconscious nor form a record clear enough to refer to in future. By contrast, keeping public notes produces both a subconscious, supersaturated solution of fragmentary ideas that rattle around, periodically cohering into nucleii that crystallize into full-blown ideas for stories, novels, essays, speeches and nonfiction books. What's more, those ripened ideas are supported by a searchable database of everything I've thought about the subject, often annotated by readers and other writers who've commented on the posts. I call this "The Memex Method":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Pluralistic marks a new phase in my deployment of the Memex Method. With 50K+ notes in a database, I've gradually turned Pluralistic into a forum for far more synthetic, longer-form work that pulls on threads from decades of research into nothing in particular and everything that seemed important.

Pluralistic is also an experiment in retaining control over my destiny – but not my work. Rather than hitching my ability to reach an audience through a platform that can be enshittified at the whim of a mercurial, infantile billionaire or their venal, callous shareholders, Pluralistic is published web-first, on a site I control, and then syndicated to every platform that matters to me. It's a process called POSSE (Post Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

I want to spread the ideas I fight for, so I post them everywhere, and license them Creative Commons Attribution-Only, encouraging others to repost them. Lots of small sites do this, but so do large ones. Notably, Wired picked up my first breakout piece on enshittification and republished it under the CC terms:

https://www.wired.com/story/tiktok-platforms-cory-doctorow/

This was a really interesting process. On the one hand, I didn't get paid for this feature, which did really well for Wired. On the other hand, nearly 30 years of writing for Wired makes me doubtful that I could have gotten this piece out in the form it emerged, without substantially toning down (or, if you prefer, neutering) the rhetoric that made that piece more persuasive. A commissioning editor from one of the largest newspapers in the world got in touch with me after it came out and said they wished they'd published it – but also that they knew they couldn't possibly have done so. By publishing the story first on my blog, proving its audience, and establishing its canonical form, I was able to get it amplified by a service with a much bigger platform than me, without having to compromise on the form.

That republication gave me the much-maligned "exposure" – but it also carried the message to places it wouldn't have reached on its own. I don't write – have never written – solely as an income source. As both an artist and an activist, connecting with audiences has always been co-equal in my mind with earning my living. That's why I don't do a lot of film-writing: it pays well, but most of it never sees the light of day. It's also why I stopped writing for ad agencies: it paid well, but it didn't matter to me or my audience. To mangle Dr Johnson: "No man but a blockhead ever wrote solely for money."

The open nature of this blog, with its many open syndication channels, creates multidirectional pathways for evaluating and refining my attempts at making my ideas understood and my art land. My posts often circle back to points I made earlier, incorporating useful feedback from readers and colleagues, sure, but also anticipating and rebutting those areas where critics have convinced others in various forums. Vanity searching is unjustly maligned: I learn a ton about how to make by work better by lurking in Reddit comments, Hacker News, Twitter, Slashdot, Metafilter and other forums. I also take a sneaky pleasure in knowing that the persistent trolls who reliably pop up to grind their weird axes about me (sometimes referencing blog posts I made decades ago) have taught me how to neutralize them in advance, and it's delightful to see them try their same old lines, only to have other commentators point out that my latest piece makes it absolutely undeniable how wrong they are. Living well is the best revenge, indeed.

Four years. I've been writing Pluralistic for four years. During that time, I've published eight books – and beyond any doubt, Pluralistic helped me get those books into readers' hands. But far more importantly, during that time, I've written nine books – and contracted for a tenth – as the Memex Method paid off again and again.

I don't know how long I'll do Pluralistic for, but I don't foresee stopping any time soon. What's more, no matter what happens to Pluralistic, I can't ever see giving up on the Memex Method, keeping notes in public and making them work for me.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

[hismercytomyjustice]

I AM POSTING EARLY AGAIN BECAUSE I AM EVEN MORE SAD THAT THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER. ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

Happy Wednesday-eve-eve, my fellow Mind Flayers to-be!

Time for a sneak peek of the eighteenth and final chapter of my Bloodweave fic Ancient Books and Horror Stories!

Hope you enjoy!!! ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

—

He made another few of the pancakes before offering the pan and spatula to Astarion, who gingerly accepted them. This time Gale poured the batter in, forcing himself not to chuckle at Astarion’s rigid posture or how closely he watched it for any changes. He’d seen him more relaxed on a battlefield with impossible odds than he was right now.

“...is it ready to flip?” Astarion asked, holding the spatula defensively.

“Almost. Just wait until you see the bubbles.”

“How many bubbles? There’s one right now!”

“A little longer.”

Astarion worried his bottom lip. “...is it easy to flip? If it’s not cooked enough, won’t it just fall to pieces?”

“It’ll be fine,” Gale insisted, wrapping his arms around his middle from behind.

He absently rubbed soothing circles into the vampire’s side and some of the tension gradually eased from his lithe frame.

“Gale! There are more bubbles!”

“Almost there. You see how the sides are starting to firm up and the bubbles are popping? Now you can flip.”

Astarion took a steadying breath as he eased the spatula under the edge of the pancake with the same precision he dedicated to disarming a trap. He carefully turned it over, sighing in relief when it settled once more in the pan.

“Gale!”

“Hmm?” he prompted, resting his chin on Astarion’s shoulder.

“...how do we know when it’s done? There are no more bubbles.”

He hummed as he considered the question. He didn’t think Astarion would appreciate a ‘practice’ or ‘you’ll know’ answer. “A bit of trial and error? You can lift the edge of the pancake up to check underneath to see if it looks done. This side cooks much faster.”

Some of the tightness returned to Astarion’s shoulders.

“I won’t let you burn it. Or catch my mother’s house on fire,” he said, pressing a light kiss to the side of Astarion’s throat. “Why don’t you check it now?”

He slid the spatula under to study the opposite side. “What do you think?”

“I’d say it looks done! Now we just put it on the plate with the others.”

Astarion lifted the frying pan from the fire, lest he drop the pancake en route otherwise. He carefully extracted the pancake and set it down on top of the others.

“...gods that was stressful…”

Gale chuckled, stepping back. “Not many people can say they got it right the first time!”

Astarion shot him a sultry look. “Well I do have an excellent teacher.”

“And I, an excellent student! Thank goodness because I would hate to have to cull you!”

They met one another’s eyes, expressions growing serious, before simultaneously intoning, “What a perfect sacrifice you would make.” They barely made it through the words before they were both howling with laughter.

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Morena said with a shake of her head, shooing them away from the cooking fire so she could finish the last of the pancakes.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 1: UPGRADE

Quick disclaimer: Since I managed to injure my wrist/hand right before the event started, I won't be able to do quite as much as I had originally planned for, at least not for the first week or so. Mainly that means no art (although I do hope to revisit at least a few of these!), but it also means shorter bits of writing. Chances are each day will be a bit longer than the last until I get back into the swing of things. As a note, I am using the prompt list made by @regal-bones (go check out her stuff!!!). ----- Today's entry, UPGRADE, is inspired by an old tumblr post (if I can find it I'll add a link) that talked about item descriptions in a game getting longer/more detailed the more you upgrade the item, gradually revealing story in a fun subtle sort of way. Originally I was going to try to do a longer writing to go with this, but my wrist is already very tired and the full thing was starting to feel too long, so... maybe we'll see this little world revisited at some point (I know there are definitely elements that don't shine through in just the descriptions)

-----

ITEM NAME: Tomb Guardian’s Sword DESCRIPTION: A sword of carved stone, taken from a statue outside the deserted tomb from which you emerged. Weighs more than the guilt that should come alongside it. Worthless for cutting, but the shape is too familiar for you to let go just yet. Cracks begin to form across the blade the more you use it. You can only hope it will last long enough (for what, you don’t yet know).

ITEM NAME: Mechanical Guardian’s Sword DESCRIPTION: A real blade, forged in the same image as your last, plucked from the hands of a robotic amalgamation. Lighter, faster, with an edge perfect for slicing through the wires of your machine enemies. Added coils gather electricity from fallen foes, to be unleashed on your command, or absorbed to replenish your energy. Don’t think too hard on how that works.

ITEM NAME: The Guardian’s Sword DESCRIPTION: The blade that inspired all the others, a legendary artifact belonging to a hero of the last age, once locked away as a key piece of history. Guarded fiercely by haywire robots… until you retrieved it. No machine can replicate the ancient magic flowing through the blade. It answers your call, surging around you as you fight, calling forth to storm down upon the mechanical tide. Yet even with all this power, you know it holds back. There is more to this blade… but only for the one who first held it. They only need to ask to access that last expanse of energy.

ITEM NAME: Your Sword DESCRIPTION: Welcome back, Guardian. May the return of your memories mark the turning of the tide.

[agaypanic]

Benny saves reader from a zombie

When The Dead Rise (Benny Weir X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Ethan has to take his little sister trick or treating, so of course he invites all of his friends to keep him company. Splitting up from your friends to spend time with your boyfriend ends up giving you some scares.

A/N: SO MANY THINGS TO SAY!!! 1, sorry for not posting a story in over 2 weeks, i discovered character ai messaging and became addicted to talking to josh hutcherson’s (i love that man, im so glad hes been getting more attention again, im so sad that he has a gf and is like 10+ years older than me) mike schmidt from fnaf (lowkey wondering if i should try making character chats, i think itd be fun lol). 2, thank you for 1.1k followers!!! It truly means a lot to me! 3, I still have a good handful of requests and i don’t know when they’ll all be finished, so if you’ve sent in a request that i haven't gotten to yet, im so sorry lol. 4, this feels kinda half-assed but enjoy this halloween fic even tho its fuckin november lmao

***

“Ethan, hurry up!” Benny yelled up the stairs to his best friend, who was in his room getting ready. “If we wait any longer, all the good candy’s gonna be gone!”

“Calm down, Bens.” You laughed. “We’re big kids; we can buy our own candy.”

“It’s not the same.” He whined, letting you pull him towards you by the lapels of his suit jacket. You fixed his poorly tied tie and smoothed out the fabric of his outfit. Benny wanted to be a magician this year, saying it fit perfectly. He even somehow roped you into dressing up as a magician’s assistant.

Before you could reply, there was a knock at the door. Unsure of whether it was a trick-or-treater or one of your friends, you grabbed the bowl of candy near the front entrance and opened the door. But the sight before you made you jump, some pieces of candy flying out of the bowl.

“Trick or treat!” Rory snickered behind an ugly zombie mask. It looked like the mask had been melted and worn out. 

“Couldn’t you have just dressed up as a vampire?” You asked, letting Rory into the house and closing the door. “You know, with you being a vampire and all.”

“Too easy.” Rory shrugged, taking off the mask. “Besides, scaring the crap out of you is worth wearing the mask.” He grinned, and you smacked his shoulder with an eye roll.

Hearing footsteps come thundering down the stairs, you all turned around. Jane came down in a princess costume while Ethan was close behind in one of his regular outfits. You all booed him and his wardrobe.

“Boring!”

“Didn’t even try.”

“Where’s your Halloween spirit, man?”

“Guys, give me a break, okay?” Ethan sighed. It was clear he didn’t really want to go out tonight. Wanting him to at least try to get into the spirit of the holiday, you grabbed a pack of fake vampire fangs from the trick-or-treating bowl.

“Here, you can be the vampire. Now let’s go, or Jane won’t get any candy.” Hearing this, Jane raced out the door, the rest of you hot on her tail.

***

It was late at night when you all decided to stop trick or treating. Jane’s candy bag was practically bursting at the seams, and she was worn out to the point where Rory had to start carrying her. He only did it because, due to being a vampire, he was the only one strong enough to haul her around, and she promised to give him some of her candy.

“Wanna split?” Benny leaned down to whisper to you, the two of you slowing down and gradually being separated from your friends. Deciding that they probably wouldn’t mind your absence, you nodded. Benny grinned and squeezed your hand that he had been holding the entire evening before pulling you in the direction of his house.

As the two of you walked down the street, a chill ran up your spine. An October night in Canada probably wasn’t the best time to wear a costume that had a good amount of skin, but when you put the costume on, you had decided that it would be a problem for future you.

Future you was less than pleased.

Luckily, being the amazing and thoughtful boyfriend he was, Benny took off his magician’s cape and tied it around you. He must’ve enchanted it, because you were immediately warmed by the fabric. You clung onto his arm, not missing the proud smile he had when he looked down at you wearing something of his.

“Oh, gosh.” You murmured, slowing to a stop. Benny stumbled, looking around in confusion. Before he could ask what was wrong, you pointed to what awaited you just a few yards ahead.

If you knew that the Whitechapel cemetery would be on your route to Benny’s house, you would’ve gone another way. But here you were, looking at the fog-covered, fenced-up plot of land in front of you, the path that went through it looking less than inviting. Given you and your friends’ track records with supernatural and dead things, you were weary of spooky things, such as a cemetery at night. Tonight being Halloween didn’t help much.

“Come on, N/n, it’s okay.” Benny cooed, pulling you along. “Nothing’s gonna happen, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” You asked, squeezing his arm.

“I’ll protect you, babe.”

“Oh, great, so we’re both dead.” You half-joked, and Benny gave you a fake offended look.

“Rude.” You got to the fence, and you paused again. Benny looked back and sighed; it was as if he could read your mind before you protested. “Going through the cemetery instead of around is the quickest way home, Y/n. We’ll speedwalk.”

After a deep breath, you nodded, and you both ventured through the graveyard. You clung to Benny as if your life depended on it. For all you knew, it did. The aura surrounding you as you walked spooked Benny a bit, but he did his best to put on a brave face for you.

Before you knew it, you were almost at the other side of the cemetery. Relief filled you as the fog faded just enough to show you the exit.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” You say, a pep in your step now. But for some reason, Benny pulled on his cape that was around your shoulders. You looked back in confusion.

It wasn’t Benny, you realized. Because he was standing next to you, not behind you.

Behind you was a hideous, groaning creature that looked like it had been decaying for years. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it had crawled out of one of the graves you and Benny walked by.

“Zombie!” You shouted, making Benny jump. You tried to run, but the creature’s decaying hand had a death grip on the cape you were wearing, the opposing forces almost choking you.

Benny grabbed the string that tied the cape around you and somehow ripped it apart. It was probably the sudden adrenaline that gave him the strength to do that and then pick you up when you were finally free. Tossing you over his shoulder, Benny ran out of the graveyard while you both freaked out about what you saw.

Over your squeals and shouts, you didn’t hear the laughing that came from the place you were fleeing from. The zombie dropped the cape and ripped off its face, revealing a cackling Rory. But his laughs were suddenly cut short when he heard a rustle in a nearby bush. Realizing that being alone in the cemetery was becoming too creepy for him, Rory sped away.

When you reached Benny’s house and called your friends, you told them all about the terrifying encounter you and Benny had with the dead. During your storytelling, you didn’t notice Rory having a slight grin on his face the entire time.

[desceros]

Hello! Hope you're having a good day. Is it OK if I ask you a question?

How is it you manage to maintain really great flow with your readers POV in your long fic? For example, you maintain really good consistency with their thoughts and how the story is meant to be perceived so nothing seems sudden or out of the blue.

Do you reread your previous chapters a lot before posting the next or is it your beta reader who tracks this for you? Thank you for your time!

hello hello!! yes of course; i love getting questions like this. as for beta readers, i’ve never been one to use them. i support the practice fully. i just don’t have the patience to wait for feedback, hahaha!

mostly, this effect is because of my writing style, mechanically speaking. my writing is like knitting. as opposed to quilt-style writers, who can take little pieces of a story and sew them together at the end, i am a knitting-style writer, and i like to start at the bottom and gradually climb to the top. i write from beginning to end, and i like things to flow from a to b to c to d with as few gaps as i can get away with while still keeping things interesting.

i used to have an internal rule that i didnt like time skips because that’s time in the character’s life that could be used to develop them. while i’ve matured out of that, i still prefer to keep skips short, and i refer back to things that happened during those skips to keep that development. (an example in symphony is how i say that leo sends you funny memes all the time. i don’t show it, i tell it; but sometimes, telling is an economical alternative and the showing isn’t necessary for Every Little Detail.)

i can count on one hand the number of times i’ve written a scene out of order. writing out of order is a really good recommendation if you’re feeling stuck on a scene (just skip it and go to the next one you don’t feel stuck on) but i’ve… never been one to take that advice, haha. my writing builds and builds on itself over the course of the story, so if i miss a step, it’s more annoying later to sew it in. i just plow through the current scene like a stubborn mule cutting through clay.

a side effect of this is that my writing has very good flow, as you say. it takes a lot longer to write this way, and i have to trudge through less interesting scenes before i get to what i Really wanna write, which can be demotivating if im not excited enough for the project as a whole, buuuut… for a reader, i personally think it’s a superior experience. and there are times when i Never get stuck on a scene, and things just flow out of my hands like water. what a magical feeling that is when it happens! that’s how you can get absurd feats like me writing euclidean line in three days.

for my longer works, eg symphony, when i sit down to write, i skim the previous chapter to recall events. then i deep-read the last scene of that chapter (eg talking with leo at the end of chap. 22) and then i’ll start writing the next chapter. this makes sure that there’s continuity from the end of the previous chapter to the beginning of the next; and then because of the aforementioned way i write knitting-style, the new chapter is cohesive internally with itself. as a result, there is one long, continuous stream of flow that could be read from beginning to end without being jarring to do so.

besides all this, it really helps to have a strong mental picture of everything. what i mean is… i know who viola-chan is. how she talks. how she thinks. how she reacts to things. i can keep her very consistent from one scene to the next because i understand her. i know the plot of the fic very well. i know where i am and where i’m going in the story. i know the world i’ve built. i can weave all of these things together organically (almost like yarn, one could say, hoho…). a lot of power the author has comes from the establishment of strong characters living in a strong world and interacting with it via a strong plot. when those three things harmonize consistently over time, it creates a solid experience for the reader that Oh. This Is A Real Person In A Real Place Doing Real Things. Yeah. and that right there is the thing i think that all authors strive to improve every day.

anyway! wow! long answer. but thank you for such a thoughtful question!!

[astralis-is-typing]

We lost the Summer

⚝fic type: Y/A (coming-of-age)

⚝genre/contains: huening kai x reader, fluff, angst, gn!reader, non-idol!au, friends2lovers if you wish on your lucky stars haha

⚝warnings: quite a few mentions of food (mostly ice-cream), one mention of alcohol (beer), brief mention of bullying (unspecified)

⚝word count: 2.5k, pt 1/2 (part 2)

⚝A/N: To help combat the lack of stand-alone hyuka fics on here ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ As the title suggests, this is inspired by the song of the same name by txt! Hope that helps explain why I'm posting a winter-themed fic on the onset of summer lol.

You always seemed to be missing a piece of stationery in 5th grade. Every time a lost pencil was replaced by your exasperated mother, there went your ruler the following week. It wasn’t until halfway into the term that you realized it was your plushie-loving deskmate, Kai. His speciality was pickpocketing your array of coloured glitter pens. Those were his favourite. It boiled your blood immensely but your teacher refused to change the seating plan, no matter how much you pleaded.

Between this and his penchant for tearing up pieces of paper to bits, you don’t even know how you and Huening Kai became friends.

It perhaps started as a result of one of his hushed comments about another classmate. He reminded you a lot of one of your aunts who loved to gossip. He even eagerly leaned in just like she did whenever you quickly whispered the latest playground drama into his awaiting ear. Kai would be stifling snorts as you exchanged notes under your shared table while your unsuspecting teacher jotted endless notes onto the whiteboard.

Sometimes, you thought he did this to make you feel better about the bullying you went through. If Kai ever found you sitting alone in class, sad after someone taunted you, he’d immediately crack a joke to make you feel better. All the kids were a little mean to each other, you’d try reason to yourself that way in a bid to keep what you thought was self-pity at bay. You just never really learned the art of sticking up for yourself. Kai took your mind off it. It was the best he could do as he hated confrontations of any kind.

Eventually, your friendship grew firm enough to bloom outside the confines of your school’s walls. It was a surprise to find out you lived on the same street. You’d never seen him while playing outside, but he explained his family would go visit his grandparents in another part of town on most weekends.

To add to that, Kai was quite the homebody and preferred to hole up in his room playing video games (while being surrounded by a hoard of stuffed animals) during his down time. This gradually changed the longer you two were friends. You lured him out of his den to be your dance buddy with promises of mint-chocolate ice cream and skittles as a reward.

You’d spend your weekends in each other’s company, bouncing between each other’s houses. You had been formally introduced to all his plushies, and your mom always served Kai extra helpings of whatever she was cooking when he came over.

The memory makes you sigh as you stand outside an ice-cream shop deciding what to order. The cool November breeze feels delicious as you stretch your legs after a long morning of studying in your university’s stuffy library. Your habit of eating ice-cream no matter the season had extended to your adult life. Other customers– bundled in their winter coats– eye you weirdly as you determinedly go over the shop’s ice-cream menu. Exam season was around the corner and the hours you had been putting in were starting to catch up with you. It showed through the eye bags sagging underneath your tired eyes and the yawns you barely manage to stifle under a gloved palm.

You’d moved to a different city after high school following your acceptance into a university there. The institution had been your second option– you’d narrowly missed your first and that fact had left you sour for months. Nevertheless, the classes were going good and the people you had met so far were nice enough… but when it came to finding a place that suited your niche for some much needed ‘me time’, you weren’t in luck. You missed your happy place, the record shop back home. No place in the city had offered you that comforting familiarity so far. It was quite a daunting experience to have to find new spots outside of your dorm to unwind.

You’d sometimes pop into that corner store even when you didn’t have the money to buy new music– just to look at what albums were up. The owner who’d come to know you well had gifted you an album when you graduated. You’d been saving up for the vinyl version so you could listen to it on the record player Kai got you for your thirteenth birthday.

He bought it for himself, really– because within a few months your shelves were filled with more of his albums than your own. He claimed he was tired of using the old gramophone his grandmother had given them, and would stumble into your room on a Saturday afternoon with his arms stacked with albums.

Sometimes, they were so many he’d have to cage the top of the hoard in with his chin. He’d be leaning back from the weight, his long black bangs obscuring his eyesight, and by the time he got to your doorstep the stack was teetering so precariously your mother had to relieve him of nearly half the collection as the two of them lugged the heap into the house.

Almost all your childhood memories contained Kai.

It made you dimly think that it wasn’t the places back home you missed. Rather, the memories they held. And if so many of these memories were about Kai then you should probably stop beating around the bush, and admit that you indeed missed him. You'd catch yourself checking your calendar more often than you cared to admit, having randomly remembered a date that was important to the two of you.

Every lunar eclipse, the Wednesday specials at your favourite restaurant, all his plushies’ birthdays, rock collectors’ day… all these silly little events that brought you two joy in between your harrowing school life. At the end of a long week- no matter what any of your classmates had said or the tests Kai had flunked– the two of you would still be able to scramble to his or your dining table with smiles, eagerly waiting for dinner.

You and Kai had unfortunately drifted apart towards the end of high school and over the course of the months spent in a new city you’d been convincing yourself that it didn’t bother you as much as you knew it did– deep down. You reckoned that even when you went back home at the end of the semester, the two of you wouldn’t have much in common. You had matured over time and you were sure Kai had too.

A big part of your moving away was about becoming a better version of yourself– away from the influences you grew up with. Initially, it had been a real struggle to find your footing; you subconsciously felt that you had something to prove to the kids you went to school with. They were always putting you down and you had ended up changing so many aspects of yourself at the time and sucking up to them to be more likeable.

You’d started hanging out with a different crowd around your senior year, ironically containing some of the people who would bully you. It was easier to ignore that fact than the spurts of serotonin you got every time you said something witty enough to make them laugh. Your school didn’t have much of a social hierarchy, so you wouldn’t necessarily call them the ‘cool kids’. That was far too cliché. They were just… different. Wholly unlike your small group of friends that you’d had previously.

It irked Kai, seeing you put up some type of façade. Granted, he had begun to change too, becoming more temperamental in his late teenage years. To you, he was far too moody and snapped too often. So many of your little arguments turned into big fights and eventually there was an ice wall between the two of you.

The tension had really stressed you out at first, but your mother had told you to give things time to cool down. Your family was still wholesomely pleasant to Kai, even though his visits became few and far in between. She’d said that the two of you would still be friends in the end, that if it was ‘meant to be’ it would work itself out. You had been sceptical about that take, and even more so when her advice didn’t work.

He stopped coming over, the few albums he’d left on your shelf abandoned and gradually gathering dust as you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to them without him. The two of you were exchanging nothing more than rushed pleasantries in the hallways by that point.

Wandering through the city alone reminded you strongly of those lonely lunch time hours following your fallout with Kai. You would usually run all your plans through him and the two of you would figure out what to do together. Nevertheless, the loneliness taught you to have some individuality, and there were no ‘if’s or ‘but’s about that. It was the trait you admired most in Kai. His ability to block out all the noise and do whatever the heck he wanted.

Kai never succumbed to peer pressure, even at a young age. More so during the onslaught of crush culture, when he simply laughed (unnecessarily loud) at the antics your classmates pulled to impress their desired guy or girl. Huening Kai would be caught dead sacrificing his lunch money to woo someone with a gift he bought instead. When he was on the receiving end of such bestowals, however, his boisterous laughter would be replaced with a bashful giggle as he amicably thanked whoever gifted him.

You’d caught yourself gazing at him rather too fondly yourself… noticing little attributes that endeared him to you in a way that sparked a foreign sensation in your gut. The way his lips puckered when he had his cheeks stuffed with a cupcake, the faint smell of his mother’s favourite detergent that lingered on your pillow long after a sleepover had ended… the teasing lilt his voice would adopt as he called out your name while messily tying his soccer cleats’ laces...

Some days you would run ahead of him just to hear it, leaving him to struggle as he hunkered down in a corner of the grassy soccer pitch. However, your older sister had advised you against making any kind of move. Having been the victim of unsuccessful confessions herself, she’d warned that you would be ruining a good friendship. And so your budding infatuation simmered to an eventual halt.

—

Walking the familiar path back to the university, you were drawn out of your reverie by a dog running up to you and wagging its tail at your feet. The poor thing barely reached your shin and your heart swelled at the sight of its tiny brown frame. Its owner smiled at you cordially as you reached down to pat it, its fluffy fur comforting you even through your gloves as you hold your ice-cream at arm’s length with your other hand. The best part about winter-time ice-cream sprees was that you didn’t need to worry much about it melting and dripping onto the pup.

As it merrily trotted back to its owner you took a short lick of your treat with a smile on your face, marvelling at how such a small encounter could change the course of your day for the better. It was these little excitements that reminded you of why you’d taken the chance and moved.

The city isn't all bad, you muse, looking into the buildings you pass that are buzzing with activity as the day wears on. As you’d previously established, the people around here were nice. You’d made at least one good friend this semester. A lanky, fluffy haired boy named Soobin. Oh, how you wish you could stuff him in your pocket! Sure, you had to crane your neck up to look him in the eye and his hands were so big that your face could fit in one alone, but his soft disposition absolved your initial intimidation.

Soobin was in your economics class and had approached you in the cafeteria two weeks into the term, offering you a seat at his lunch table with a few of his friends. The space was so huge and it was jarring trying to find a place to sit. You remember shyly agreeing; silently kicking yourself for managing to give off a ‘lost puppy’ kind of vibe when you were supposed to be making a shot at being independent. By now, however, you had gotten sufficient time to practice– there were so many decisions you had to make for yourself now... socially, mentally and especially financially.

Hacking this new chapter of your life solo had been a tempting plan, but Soobin was fun to be around. Between your shared love for gaming and his seemingly aloof personality that complemented your over-analysing one, the two of you made quite the pair. On top of that he was a great wingman on the rare occasion you met someone you found cute at a fair or convention.

You hadn’t yet been swept up by the notorious college night life (not with the workload your major came with), but Soobin was still with you the few times you’d actually attend a party. He’s the one who would get you invited anyway; you didn’t know how he did it since he was such a homebody. Him sticking with you had more to do with keeping you from escaping than anything else, though.

“You really need to enjoy this time while you’re at it,” he had tried persuading you on one such occasion, switching your mocktail for a beer. You’d been quick to shove it back in his retreating hand, spilling a little of your drink on your shorts in the process. He’d laughed at you rumbustiously for what felt like forever until you nagged him, calling him by his full name and ordering him to go get you a napkin.

“You’ll miss these opportunities sorely when you’re like, forty and have kids to feed.” He’d called back ominously as he disappeared into the crowd. He was still rambling on about how these were the ‘prime years’ of your life while being swept up into the sea of swaying bodies and you struggled to hear him over the bass of the pop song blaring through the speakers. You vaguely recalled that it was your sister’s favourite and raised a glass in her honour. Somehow, you managed to spill even more of your drink in the process. Soobin just happened to return at that moment, and your dimpled friend could barely contain his amusement even when shot with the deadliest glare you could muster.

The pleasure Soobin derived from your misfortunes strongly reminded you of Kai, who’s favourite misgiving of yours was your clumsiness. You vividly remember a day when you were rushing from math to P.E., attempting to tie your shoelaces while standing. As you tumbled to the ground in a hazardous heap, his laugh echoed down the hallways, causing teachers in the nearby classrooms to peep through their respective doors and glare at you two disapprovingly.

⚝A/N: I've been working on this story for quite a while and I'm happy with the way it's turning out :) I'd love to hear your thoughts xx

[steviebbboi]

Red [chapter 3]

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Original Female Character (OFC)

Summary:

Eleana Harlow (Ellie) is an Enhanced Individual turned Avenger. She's also Steve's everything. She just doesn't really know it yet.

Warnings: non-canon, slight canon divergence, sorta established relationship, OFC has powers and is POWERful, enhanced!reader, protectiveSteve!, softDom!Steve, steve and OFC are intimate, angst, eventual smut, friend(ish) to lovers, mentions of mental health issues and PTSD, mentions of dissociative episodes, mentions of violence/death but its not too explicit. (* indicates chapters containing smut)

Would love some feedback, and any reblogs and comments are appreciated! MINORS DNI - DO NOT read unless you're 18+ thank you!

DISCLAIMER NOTE:

I don't give permission for anyone to post this work on any other platform. This only exists on Ao3 AND now Tumblr (5/29/24), so pls don't copy/paste. Also, I don't own any of the Marvel universe (I wish). All of my works are also unbeta'd so please be kind, and apologies for any edit mishaps.

Chapter 03. She Needed Him

Six months ago…

“Phoenix, we need you over here!” Natasha rasped into her ear piece. There was a fire in one of the office buildings due to a bomb explosion. Tasked with evacuating any survivors, Ellie dove straight to the scene. 

“On my way, Romanoff.” Ellie affirmed. A suicide bomber that was hired by Hydra decided to interfere with their mission by literally setting off a bomb in an area further away from where the real action was. Where Steve was fighting Brock Rumlow, Sam and Wanda dealing with his bandits were going after biochemical warfare. Tony flying towards what seemed to be Hydra’s new base location. The team being split into three completely different sections, Ellie and Natasha had to do what they could on this side. 

Finally reaching the outskirts of the burning building, Ellie was breathing heavily while she saw Natasha coughing and looking rough for wear – but was still holding up a severely injured civilian. “Nat, stay back. I got this.” 

Natasha let out a muffled ‘copy’ while Ellie held out her hands with every intention of putting out these fires. She focused all of her energy on absorbing the fire’s vitality and the raging flames started slowly dissipating into steam, gradually evaporating in the air. Smoke still could be smelt heavily although the fires were no longer a pressing issue. 

The hardest part of Ellie’s powers were that as she took away the fire externally, she was also inviting it in internally. She brought it back into herself. Her forearms shined a bright blazing orange all the way up to her shoulders, as she breathed slowly through the heat. Her veins glowing something bright. Concentrating on enmeshing the fire back into her always required more effort when she took it away. The fire had to go somewhere and she could take it. That’s what her powers were meant to do. 

Shuddering at the pressure and weight of the flames, she felt the familiar sensation of an intense heat sinking into her skin. Ellie couldn’t help but let out a pained grunt. Feeling her body envelop fire was always the most painful part. But she was well-versed at handling it. 

Still processing and embracing the current heat flowing in her body, she faintly heard Steve’s aggressive questioning, “What did you just say?!” She frowned and looked towards his direction where she could faintly see his outline and his grip on Rumlow tight, pulling him close. 

“Your precious Bucky asked for you. Before they put his head back in the blender.” Rumlow revealed with a distorted grin on his face. 

Ellie was just coming back into herself when she felt her heart drop. She quickly gave a glance to Natasha who glanced back. She was still directing civilians to a safer area across the way but even the Russian spy was pausing slightly and moving slower at hearing the revelation. 

“Where is he?” Steve demanded threateningly. Rumlow merely let out a gruffled laugh and tore open his vest to further reveal grenades strapped to his chest. “Well, I guess you’ll never find out.” He pulled a pin. 

“STEVE!” Ellie bellowed. Horror filled her entire being. It was like time just slowed down, and suddenly she found herself running. Not away from the explosion. But towards it…towards Steve. 

A distance away, Steve reacted too late and was about to suffer the consequences until Rumlow was enveloped with a red glow. Steve sharply glanced over at Wanda to see her attempting to control the explosion with a grimace on her face.

“Wanda, push him up and away from us!” Ellie suddenly shouted into the ear piece and was halfway to reaching them. Wanda listened to her command and tried to wait for her to reach them but she couldn’t hold onto the power of the Rumlow’s explosion any longer. Wanda struggled and suddenly thrusted her hands upwards with a shout, catapulting Rumlow 50 feet into the air. 

Ellie’s eyes widened in panic as she knew that she wouldn’t make it in time. Stopping in place, she thrust out her own hands in Rumlow’s direction to consume the flames. Absorbing fire into her body was a practiced skill, but that still didn’t make it easy. Ellie acted on pure instinct in trying to call back the flames that were aggressively waiting to be released from Rumlow’s burned body. However, trying to absorb instantaneous flames that were in the air that came from this far of a distance was not something that she has ever done before. Ellie had also never attempted to enmesh flames for a long amount of time. Any attempt in the past has landed her either in a severe, dissociative state, or had caused her to pass out. 

At that moment though, Ellie didn’t think about what would happen to her. Loud grunts were all she could let out as she grit her teeth against the massive pressure overriding her body. Ellie’s arms were straining as she invited the flames inside. The explosive fire caught down to her shoulders and chest. She could feel her yearning for the fire to flow through her. Desperate to move the element away from Steve. Almost like trying to seduce it into a new container. 

Her eyes widened as the fire looked never-ending. The flames were complying but not fast enough. Ellie’s aptitude suddenly shifted in her pain, her eyes squinting determinedly. “Whatever it takes.” she thought. A transformative force swept through her entire body and suddenly, something else was driving her call now. It was evident that it didn't care for Ellie’s life. It was unafraid, callous, fierce, and alive.

Steve’s eyes widened in fear as he saw Ellie fall hard onto her knees, half of her body was now on fire. 

“RED, LET IT GO!” Steve shouted into his com-piece. Ellie either didn’t listen to or hear the Captain’s command as her arms shook violently. Her once hazel eyes now glowed a wild and rageful orange. Red flames were erupting all over her body. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and let out a blood curling, pained scream. Her back bowed, her arms now outstretched away from her body, the rush of the explosion now completely enveloping her body. Flames poured out of her body simultaneously, almost flaying like wings. Her stature resembled her namesake, the Phoenix.

“Move your ass, Cap! She’s going to go into a hyper-pressurized supernova if she doesn’t let it go!” Tony warned. During Ellie’s power testing, they found that her powers allowed her to withstand intense heat. As hot as the power of the Sun…but while she can manipulate the fire, holding onto it and retaining it was something that could still kill others around her, and even herself in the process. Especially if she took on too much at one time. 

Steve’s feet moved before Tony could even finish his urgent warning. Speeding towards Ellie, still begging her to let it go in their comms, Steve also shouted at Wanda to contain her. “Wanda, can you stop her?” 

Wanda’s bright glow can be seen wrapping around Ellie’s “body.” At this point, her entire body was just a harsh emblem of fire. Her face was barely palpable. 

Struggling to contain her teammate’s power, Wanda responded through gritted teeth, “She’s starting to absorb flames from other parts of the city. I don’t think she even realizes that she’s doing it! I’m trying to reach her - she’s too strong!” Ellie was hard to see amidst the blaze, but they could all see that her body was still working on embracing the inferno of flames. Her “face” turned towards the sky and her back arched with flames entering her body without permission. 

Steve felt the ache in his legs as he pushed harder. “Cap! You need to frost her. NOW!” Tony yelled through the coms. Steve panted and slowed down his pace. He realized that even if he could reach her in time, he would be useless in stopping her. Her powers were now in control, the flames now glowing into something ethereal. The fire emoted passion and seemed threateningly lively.

His eyes sunk and filled with despair as he placed one hand to his ear and lowly said, “Wanda, slow down the fire intake as best as you can.” The StarkWatch’s interface on his cuff now glowing blue, Steve made a motion to extend the watch over his own hand. The device now resembled Iron Man’s notorious repulsor gauntlet.

Wanda’s eyes cut to him in a panic as she desperately pulled at Ellie’s prone body, doing her best to either slow down or extract the flames. “It’s no use…her powers are killing her.” she thought. Wanda knew that this was inevitable. Ellie was dying, and they had to try to save her.

An emergency‘frost’ was a last minute resort should Ellie ever be found in a compromising position where her powers were uncontrollable. The repulsors would emit nano-tech driven particles that attached to her biometric signature to shut down Ellie’s entire body, even ‘pausing’ her life functions for a period of time. 

When they all heard about the device for the first time, Steve was the first to react. “What do you mean, ‘pause’?” Steve interrupted Tony’s nonchalant explanation. Silence grew as Tony glanced at Steve with reluctance in his eyes. Steve slowly glowered in fury, no longer needing the explanation. He knew what it meant and he wanted to destroy the device at that very moment. Usually Tony was able to respond with a humored quip, or tailspin it to be not such a big deal. 

But even he couldn’t mask the fact that ‘pause’ really meant ‘to end’. 

With her body shut down, her powers would therefore become inactive. But that also translated into her being lifeless and at that moment, dead . Being vehemently met with angry protests, Tony quickly explained that the very device that could end her life also had the potential to bring her back. The nanobots would still be active in her system from the repulsor charge and would give enough time for them to activate her life functions once more and bring her back. Even after the team found out about the power of this device, they were revolted by the real, dreadful possibility of being the person to end their friend’s life. To also be the one responsible to try to bring her back.

While her friends agreed to only use it in true emergencies only, Ellie emphatically encouraged her team to use the contraption should the Phoenix ever take control. Steve stared darkly and intensely at Ellie. A wild look in his eyes ignited further once he heard her encouraging words. 

She understood that she may lose her life, but to her that didn’t matter as much, because she knew that using it would also save theirs. Steve stormed out of the room at that point. It took a while for him to even acknowledge, much more agree, to use the device in the field. Because even though Ellie felt differently about her life, Steve knew what it was like to have the power of sacrifice. He knew the regret that was left behind once a decision was made. 

To Steve, he didn’t care if the world burned. Her life was, and is, always the priority. 

But now as he outstretched his trembling arm, Steve unsteadily felt the gravity of this decision once more as he turned the repulsor in Ellie’s direction. His world slowed down and he tuned out everything else. He could barely hear Wanda and Sam’s panic, Tony shouting to activate the gauntlet, nor could he hear Nat’s calm voice reassuring him of his choice. 

All he could think of at that moment was Ellie’s smiling face, her laugh. Her stubbornness. Her endearing warmth and compassionate nature. Her soft skin grazing the back of his hand, the flushed red in her cheeks. Secret and unspoken gazes that they would share in moments where they were able to be authentic and together. Their bond. 

Steve’s eyes suddenly squinted in determination. She wasn’t going to die. He won’t let her. She’s always the priority. His arm steadied, and he fired.

“Guys, I already told you that I’m fine. You can stop hovering.” Ellie suppressed a shudder that ran through her body. She glanced up and gave her team a reassuring smile as if her body wasn’t completely on fire. Minus the pun. 

It’s been about 24 hours since they had to bring Ellie back from the brink of death. Dr. Cho and her team were at the ready and had her placed into the healing cradle straight from the quinjet. She woke up with a sharp gasp only 7 hours ago. Hearing only quiet exclamations from Wanda that she was alright and that they were now back on base. 

The cradle was able to repair any injuries that she sustained from the fight, and from the use of her powers. For the first time since she had discovered her powers, Ellie had a burn sustained on both of her shoulder blades. Dr. Cho was in noticeable disbelief when she told her that the cradle did what it could to help the burns- but what it left behind is something that the cradle couldn’t fix. 

Looking at the bathroom mirror, Ellie turned around and saw two outlines of wings on the back of her shoulders and going along the length of her spine. The marks weren’t very noticeable, but the faint lines of the wings did glisten with a red-rainbow aurora every time and again. When the subtle shine lifted around the edges of her right wing, she gasped. 

“They’re beautiful…” she wondered out loud as she lightly traced the outlines of the markings. Ellie couldn’t really comprehend nor could she wrap her mind around the fact that she had quite literally died in the past 24 hours, came back to life, found literal glowing tattoos branded onto her body, and most importantly… that Steve hadn’t once come by to check on her since they put her into the cradle. 

When she woke up from her “slumber of death” (Tony was already cracking jokes that the rest of the team were not laughing at, but she knew it was his way of caring and coping), Wanda was already sitting next to her, reassuring her, and letting her know that she and everyone else is safe. When she left to go get the others, it was Tony, Bruce and Natasha coming by to check in. Bruce naturally went into doctor mode to check on her stabilizing vitals and asked her how she was feeling. Meanwhile, Tony clapped her on the shoulder awkwardly while giving a short smile. Natasha welcomed her back and gave her forearm an affectionate squeeze with her signature smirk on her face. 

But no Steve. 

When Ellie muttered his name quietly, the team went eerily silent. A glance between Nat and Tony, and a wavering, guilty sigh from Wanda, Nat took the lead. With her classic nonchalant tone, she replied, “He’s debriefing with Sam to Fury and the council. Some things happened while you were out that have to be parsed through.” 

Now back in bed, Ellie blinked sleepily. Her eyes felt so tired. “What things?” 

The rest of the room’s occupants were still quiet. Ellie felt awake once more at the team’s silence. Her brain was slower than usual, but it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what must have happened. 

“...I died, didn’t I?” Ellie warily asked. 

Wanda and Tony were quiet but fidgety, looking down at the floor with angst. Bruce was pretending to look at her chart but his eyes perked up every now and then. Natasha’s expression was unwavering and she moved to squeeze her shoulder. “You were gone for longer than we would have appreciated. But, we brought you back with Stark’s nanotech.”

Ellie merely blinked once, “How long?” 

Natasha’s expression did change this time, only slightly, coming from her place of nonchalance to forming a mild frown. “You were clinically considered dead for 7 minutes. By the time that we got back to base, you were down for another 5 until we got you into the cradle. Once you were in, you were already starting to stabilize.” 

Ellie couldn’t hold back her panic. “11 minutes?!” her thoughts went wild. It wasn’t even completely because of the fact that she had died and needed to be resuscitated. Her thoughts went wild because she knew that during those 11 minutes, Steve thought that she was dead. 

Steve, strong, charismatic, and powerful Steve, had thought that he had lost her forever for those 11 minutes. For 11 minutes, she didn’t have the opportunity to tell him that she was going to be okay. Or tell him that even if she did die, he would be okay. She cared about him…she loved him. Faintly, she could hear an increased ‘beeping’ noise but thought nothing of it. She could only think about seeing Steve. And yet, she came back, and he wasn’t there. 

Ellie felt another hand on her shoulder, “Sestra, you need to calm down. Relax.” Wanda gave her an affectionate rub while pouring calm into her thoughts. At Wanda’s words, she took a deep breath and exhaled. The beeping that she heard was slowing steadily. She couldn’t see it but Bruce was on standby with a sedative just in case. If her heart rate increased, her core temperature would heighten and they couldn’t risk her body being placed into that position again so soon. 

Ellie took another breath and on her exhale said, “Does he know that I’m back?” 

It was Tony who responded this time, “FRIDAY just let him know two minutes ago, Dante.” 

Before she could ask another question, Natasha interrupted her, “We’ll let you know when he gets here, okay? Until then, you need to rest, ptichka.” She gestured to Bruce and all of a sudden, Ellie felt a small prick on her arm. She frowned and let out an exhausted sigh. Everything floated back to black.

With Ellie now out for the count, Wanda looked back at her two mentors with a contemplative look. “Should we have told her that it was him that activated the repulsor?” 

“No,” Natasha said resolutely. Her voice carried into a soft whisper, “We all saw him on the jet. Let them talk it through when he gets here.” 

“I’ll have FRIDAY redirect Cap to the lab. I’m sure they’ll need all the space that they can get.” Tony mentioned out loud. “Us too, when you think about it.” Tony’s quip had the two women direct annoyed glances over his way. 

“I think what you meant to say, Stark, was that you’ll need space away from Rogers.” Natasha repurposed with a smirk on her face. Bruce, who was still looking at Ellie’s charts, let out a small chuckle, “It was that bad, huh?”

Tony rolled his eyes at that, “Yeah, well, I can’t fault him too much for it, can I? I, technically, was the one who told him to use it on his dear little ‘Red.’ But look at her now, all spry, a little pale, but alive!” He sprung out his arms in accomplishment. 

Natasha ignored his comments and replied to Bruce, “Let’s just say that Stark was lucky that he was in the suit.” One last glance over at Ellie’s resting form, she turned to walk back to the conference room that she was in with Steve and Sam. Hearing from afar, Tony was still ranting about how he saved Ellie’s life, and Wanda’s admonishment for the creation of the device – Natasha went onto the elevator. When the doors closed, she allowed her mask to fall and her eyes to close in her own exhaustion. 

They also didn’t manage to tell Ellie that Steve already knew that she was awake by the time that they got to the lab. They didn’t tell her that Steve merely glanced down with his jaw clenched. A dreaded look in his eyes. Recognizing the look of inner turmoil when she saw it, Nat offered to go check in on her in place of him. 

Exiting the elevator, she could see that their debrief was wrapping up. She entered the glass room and sneaked a glance at Steve. Sam looked at her curiously as she entered while Steve visibly froze and slowly turned his head to acknowledge her presence. One look into his eyes confirmed a sense of worry and desperation. Although his stiff body looked ready to run out of the room, Natasha knew that his brooding moment was over since she had left. If he had to run, he would run to her.

Fury’s holographic figure was seen in front of them, the world security council directly behind him. Their expressions tense, Fury directed his question at Natasha, “Status report on Harlow?” 

Natasha’s face didn’t expose any vulnerabilities. “Agent Harlow is now stable but sedated. She was notified of the mission debrief during her moment of consciousness, and had expressed that she would report in to debrief personally as soon as she was able.”

Fury knew that more had happened than she was letting on. Of course he does, he’s Fury. But everyone in that room understood that the World Security Council didn’t need to know anything other than the fact that she’s alive. Last thing that they need is to send Ellie to the Raft and claim her to be government property. For them to use as they please.

Steve wasn’t quelled by her response. He initially chose to debrief for the team because he just couldn’t see Ellie, look at her still and quiet body any longer. His eyes briefly closed as he reflected on what he witnessed in the jet. Ellie was just lying there. Her face devoid of any emotion, any expressiveness of her being alive. No pain, nothing. The nanotech was meant to instantly revive her once they called back the ‘frost’ command, but after what felt like hours (which was more like a long two minutes), she still wouldn’t wake up.

On his knees, all he could do was stare at her limp hand that dangled across the table while the others frantically started to do what they could to revive her. He briefly recalled Stark talking to FRIDAY about the repulsors’ status of the nanotech now existing in her lifeless body, and could see Sam hurriedly administering CPR. Wanda silently cried and held her other hand with a red glow, trying to reach into some level of her consciousness. Natasha had one hand on his shoulder that he could barely feel, asking him if he was okay. 

Steve was silent, growing more and more despondent. All he thought was, “Was he okay? He just killed Ellie, his Red. His best friend. The person that he swore to protect. A person that he loved and didn’t get the chance to tell her before she died. She wasn’t waking up. No. he was not okay.”

At that point, he did remember something feral overcoming his shock as he noticed Tony struggling with his holographic interface. All he could think of was that Stark and his stupid gadgets had just jeopardized everything that he held dear to him. He wasn't able to stop himself from throwing Tony to the side of the quinjet. He could still barely feel Natasha's and Wanda's hands trying to get him off of Stark's metal frame.

“The Phoenix was a trial period for the Avengers Initiative. Our concern still stands. What if another incident like this happens again?” A voice filled with suspicion and fear filled the space, suddenly snapping Steve out of his disturbing reverie. 

“Agent Harlow is an experienced, classified SHIELD agent and has demonstrated her place with the Avengers. She has helped save the world and the seats that you are currently sitting on. Are you going to keep insisting that she is still apart of a “trial period”, Councilwoman?” Fury directed back to the council member. 

“Her efforts in preserving the world are not going unnoticed, Director. Nor is it under-appreciated. It doesn’t change the fact that The Phoenix is an enhanced individual that is still progressing in power as we know it. As we have evidently seen today, she is dangerous. Her powers grow, and your team has yet to uncover the maximum potential that she holds. Much more, a level of containment. How can we have faith in your capabilities to determine the world’s safety upon a high-risked enhanced?” Another councilman shot back.

From behind Fury, a scoff can be heard by Sam. “This is ridiculous. That ‘enhanced’ had saved our lives. Without her, we would all be fried meat by now with a lot more casualties reported in Lagos.” Sam expressed his anger unashamedly.

The same councilman huffed in response, “That may be so, Mr. Wilson. It again doesn’t change the fact that she may better serve the people under more… structured systems. Systems in place that will enable a safer environment for the AI team to move freely. Without hazardous material on board.”

Steve could feel his ire raging hearing the council member’s words. How dehumanizing they are in treating Ellie’s life as dispensable.

“Perhaps we need to re-evaluate the AI team in accordance with the Accords once more. If the UN finds that the Phoenix was non compliant with the agreements, we will need to revisit this conversation.” Underneath these thin words was the threat of dividing the team. Laced with the exposure of the Phoenix being arrested and determined government property in a floating base in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The image of Ellie disposed away, away from the team, and from him broke him.

“That’s enough.” The room went quiet under the command from the otherwise silent Captain America. 

Steve glared at the holographic forms with a rage that even the council members could palpably see. “The Avengers Initiative is still upholding the agreements with the Accords. Under any investigation, you would be violating the safeguards set in place to protect our team. As you know, we are still free agents and are in our rights to protect the wellbeing of any and all members of the initiative. If there were any suspicions of our effectiveness, you can bring them to Director Fury or to me with the appropriate ethical standings within your limitations. Not during a debriefing meeting in which we recap how a member of our team has saved a significant amount of lives. We don’t trade lives, Councilman. You’ll do well to remember your own place in your own sector.” 

“Is that a threat, Captain?” A council member prompted. 

“Yes, it is.” Steve immediately answered with an unapologetic tilt to his head. Nothing more could be spoken after the captain’s blunt honesty. The council members shifted angrily, the other Avengers in the room failed to hide their growing smirks. Even Fury couldn’t hold his slight smile.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Council. At this time, we will proceed with all debriefing processes and have them evaluated through AI.” With a wave, Fury dismissed the council members and the holograms disappeared.

Fury turned towards the three Avengers silently. Steve still held his belt resolutely, holding absolutely no regrets. The power in his stance was unwavering. Fury merely smirked, “Well said, Captain.”

Steve allowed a small smirk to form on his face and gave a dismissive nod, “Director.”

Fury nodded back and glanced at them. “Romanoff, I expect a full internal report.” Natasha echoed Steve’s sentiment, and the man’s image disappeared. 

Sam turned to Steve with a full grin, “Captain America saves the girl. Saves the day.” Steve allowed a full grin too at that, and Sam clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the room. He knew that this didn’t change the fact that the said ‘saved girl’ was downstairs recovering from a harrowing day. He understood that Steve still needed time to prepare himself for that visit. 

At Sam’s departure, Steve’s face fell into a grim expression once more. “How is she, really, Nat?”

Natasha sighed and granted a small smile, “She’s okay. She was tired. Confused. But she understood what had happened during the mission.”

Steve let out a small sigh, “What else does she remember?”

Natasha crossed her arms and ducked down to capture his conflicted gaze. “She doesn’t seem to recall specifics about the mission, as far as we know. She doesn’t know that it was you.”

At his exhale, Natasha knew that this was the answer that Steve needed to hear. Ellie didn’t know that it was Steve who pulled out the device. That it was him who ended her life. 

“Are you going to tell her?” she asked. Steve looked to the floor, “I don’t know. I’m not sure if it's best that she does know.”

Natasha let out a disbelieving scoff, “Steve, El asked for you when she woke up.” Steve looked up quickly with a yearning glance. His eyes softened at the image of Ellie asking for him, and the confusion of why he wasn’t there. 

“You underestimate her too often. Harlow knows the risks. We all do. I think it's about time that you respect her enough to do the same.” Natasha laid out. Steve looked to the side at that. He would never be comfortable with this option, ever. 

She continued, “The Council wasn’t wrong about her powers growing. The Phoenix is expanding in strength, and it isn’t going unnoticed by the team.” 

Steve interrupted, “So you think that she deserves to be pathologized? Clinically exposed to scientists drunk on power and greed of taking away her will to choose? To exist in the Raft?” His eyes now hardened, expecting to hear an affirmative response.

“What? No– ” Natasha visibly frowned and shook her head. She felt offended by the accusation. “Steve, I’m just…reading the terrain. We know how much you care about Ellie. We care about Ellie. That’s why we keep one hand on the steering wheel, and the other working to earn their trust back. You’re not the only one who wants to protect her. Each other.”

Steve heard her but still shook his head. “What I do know is that I’m not going to let anything else happen to her. We keep her close. While Stark and Banner reconfigure another way to help Red manage her powers, we do whatever it takes to protect her. Their eyes were always on her, and you know that. Now, agendas are shifting.” 

Natasha could only nod in agreement, “We’ll protect her, Steve. You’re not alone.” She did her best to convey the sincerity behind her words, and Steve heard it. An exhausted sigh was released as Natasha squeezed his arm affectionately.

Steve turned to leave, determined now to see Ellie. Before he could go, Natasha called out to him once more. “What about Barnes, Steve?” 

He stiffened at the door and stopped in place. After some silence, he turned to her and replied, “I don’t know. Rumlow could have been lying. Last time that I saw Bucky, he was pulling me out of the river. Sam’s leads are all cold.”

Natasha looked down and suggested, “At this point, we can assume to not know anything, that’s for sure. I can look into Sam’s leads again and see if there are any merits worth pursuing.”

Steve frowned, “I thought you didn’t want to pull on that thread.”

She smirked back at him and said, “You focus on our ptichka. She needs you right now more than us.” 

Steve smirked in response too and nodded a quiet thanks. Exiting the room, Steve put all thoughts of Bucky, the panic of hearing his name in that moment, and his own morbid feelings about the repulsors to the side. 

Red needed him.

Next Part [coming soon]

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[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: stalwart sun, wily moon

Anthony J. Crowley is a world-class art thief with a complicated past who, until now, had been pretty content with going through life as part of a prolific black market art trafficking ring. He enjoyed the thrill and danger of the hunt, especially if it meant he got to travel the world, play with state-of-the-art technology, and make enough money to afford anything he could ever want. That is, until a simple logistical hiccup leads him straight into the path of one Aziraphale Fell, former Head Conservator of the British Museum turned antique repair shop owner. Suddenly, there's a space in Crowley's life that only Aziraphale seems to fill, but his clandestine life of crime paired with Aziraphale's industry connections and indomitable penchant for good seems like a relationship doomed to fail. Little do they both know, the strands of friendship, morality, and deception in their shared circles of the London art world are interwoven in even more complex ways than either of them could have expected...

Length: 369,866 words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: Safe in Public, Slow Burn, Human AU

Triggers: Past Abuse, Violence

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

Note: this is a locked work you must be logged into AO3 to view

*Minor Spoilers* This one was recommended to me by @aq-uatic! I had just posted about Fakes and Forgeries, which is another art thief AU, so they sent this one over for me to read! This story is a powerhouse! Not only does it boast a very engaging plot, but it is also well-researched and well-planned! A true epic.

The length of this story is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I loved the rich details and care put into the descriptions of artworks and settings, making it very easy to immerse myself in the world. I was also grateful that the climax of the story unfolded slowly, without rushing through towards the end. Having details gradually presented made the payoffs even greater. On the other hand, sometimes it became a little too wordy for its own good, crossing a line where it started to feel like a Wikipedia page. Additionally, it wasn't the right time and place for me when I tried reading it in shorter increments during breaks between working and cleaning. I was getting frustrated by the slow plot progression in those 20-30 minute spans. Once I committed to only reading this in larger blocks of time, I had a lot more fun with it! (ironic note to make on an extremely wordy rec post eh?)

I particularly loved the characterizations in this one. I found all of the side characters to be excellently written and, more importantly, welcome. There was never a moment when I felt annoyed by the appearance of a side character. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is integral, but their plot line isn't the only one worth reading. Canon characters are conveniently rewritten into their new places, but don't just feel like names attached to OCs. Deep down, they remain the characters we know, just with new backstories. Warlock was a particular favorite of mine. Speaking of OCs, they're great here! I was very intrigued by the new characters, and their histories to our characters. Crowley's backstory was heartbreaking, and I loved the mystery of putting all the pieces together.

One small note I'll make about Aziraphale and Crowley: my favorite detail of their relationship in this story was their passion for fashion. It's refreshing to see Aziraphale described as fashionable rather than merely 'old-fashioned'. He possesses his own sense of style and takes great pride in it, which was very much appreciated. The fact that they can keep up with each other in style, knowledge, and culture, was so enjoyable.

Safe in public, but keep in mind what I said about pacing. Maybe shorter blocks work for you, but for me I really needed those longer sessions with this. It's also written as ace friendly! The mature tag is for violence/themes there is no sexual content here. Oh and this features amazing artwork as well!! I actually recognized many of the pieces included and had no idea they were tied to this story! I really enjoyed this story, and I'm constantly impressed with the stories you guys come up with.

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

[rottenpumpkin13]

Out of curiosity, since you get an insane amount of asks to answer daily. Do you go through them one by one in order or are there certain prompts that might catch your eye that you prioritize before answering other asks?

Personally, I’ve gotten asks that tend to veer off to the weird side or broach into ships or content I don’t specifically cater to and they just sit there unanswered lmaoooo 😭

I'm so grateful for the stuff people send me, and I'm eternally guilty I can't answer everything at once. I opened up the ask box to take questions for the vlog series (which I need to return to), but then people started sending me other things and it gradually became something else.

I used to try to answer them chronologically, but I have this thing where I'll only answer the ask if I have an elaborate answer or something entertaining to show for it, so the ask will sit there until I have an idea for it, meaning I scroll through the inbox every day and when something sparks my creativity, I'll answer it.

Some asks get answered faster than others, for example I'm better and quicker at making "fun" scenarios out of something. If someone sends me something that has to do with lore or an opinion about the plot, then I have to do my research first so I don't give anyone misinfo (like the apple juice ask, I spent an afternoon one day just researching about apple juice and the process of how it's made asdfghjk).

Or if it's about a piece of media I know nothing about, I'll ask friends who understand it, and they'll help me answer or give context. And then there's angsty asks that I like to answer with actual writing, so I sometimes either wait for inspiration to hit so I answer it with my best writing, or I wait for them to accumulate a bit and then answer them all on one day (I got quite a few right now that I need to sit down and write, hopefully I'll get those out by this weekend)—same process goes for the portion of nsfw asks I have to answer, romantic or s/o headcanons, etc. Sometimes if it's a headcanon-type post, it'll sit in my drafts and I'll work on it throughout the week adding more to it.

Sometimes I'll get asks where someone needs cheering up because it's their birthday, they're sick or having a hard time, so those are always priority. But all in all, the way I use this blog is as a distraction from my real life, or a way to make myself laugh, which is why my headcanons are oftentimes ridiculous.

I don't know how pathetic or self deprecating this will sound, but sometimes I find myself wondering why people even send me anything at all, especially when it's a more serious ask and not pure clownery. I typically stare at the question going "uhhh are you sure you meant to send this to ME? You trust ME to answer this?" 😂 and those fill me with anxiety because I fear sounding stupid.

But I try to answer everything. Some asks take longer than others because I try to give thorough answers, so that's that.

SORRY for the ramble 💚

[altschmerzes]

🌹🌹🌹

The first chapter of 'New York Minute' was great! Anything from future chapters you'd be happy sharing?

absolutely!!! i have. so much of this fic written that i can't post yet and i'm dying to share it, i would Love to give you some new york minute clips (my fic for the bear in cousin michelle's pov, set during the time carmy spent in new york)

--

“Hey, uh, hey, Carm…” Stevie’s voice is soft and gentle and for some reason the sound of it nearly makes Michelle burst into tears. He’s looking solely at Carmy now — or at the back of his head, at least, and his eyes are just as warm as his voice had been. “Hey, it’s me, um, Stevie. I’m just gonna… Okay.”

Shifting closer to them, Stevie moves slow and careful and does exactly what Michelle was hoping that he would do. He wraps himself around Carmy from the other side, growing more confident when it doesn’t provoke some kind of bad reaction. It makes something come ever so slightly loose in Michelle’s tight, panicked chest. She feels just a little, partial bit less like she’s trying to manage a forest fire with nothing but her own bare hands.

Together they hold Carmy between them and maybe, Michelle thinks with a bit of a hysterical edge, that will be enough to keep him in one piece. She closes her eyes and concentrates on Stevie’s jaw bumping her temple and the gradual but noticeable slowing of Carmy’s breath. Her own breathing feels easier too, like this. With the two of them pressed in on either side of him, it’s the first time in longer than she wants to admit that Michelle knows, actually knows that Carmy is safe.

Safe from what? The question comes from the same little voice that’s been nagging her since— since he started throwing up, probably. She still doesn’t have an answer, but at least he’s safe at all. That’s more than Michelle can say most days.