#co-written with char

[alocon]

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be [6] - Max Verstappen

written by alocon

Note: Name and Part One based on the song A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be by Jess Benko

Summary: After a lot of rumours on twitter, all is revealed in an episode of your podcast

Before you read: Use of Y/N (sorry!!), angst (kind of), THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT. LIST BELOW, PLEASE BE WARNED THAT IT WILL CONTAIN CHAPTER SPOILERS. Look after yourself

WARNINGS: Discussion of pregnancy, loss of a child, and other difficult subjects such as mental health and cheating

NOTE: There is social media at the end which is important to the story but I can summarise at the start of the next chapter so don't worry if you can't read this, you will get a summary next chapter x

fc: Blanca Soler

[Previous Part Here][The Masterlist]

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be [Part Six] - MV¹

youruser

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

youruser: Hi all! I know that recently there have been a lot of rumours about the end of the 2018 season and my break up with Max, as well as allegations of me cheating on him. I have already discussed these rumours and clearly stated that it is not true, as has Max. However, I feel that you still haven't been given enough of an explanation on the situation as a whole and I am finally in a situation where I am able to talk about it. I am making this post for a fair warning that this episode of my podcast will contain themes which may be sensitive to some individuals. The warning list is written below...see more

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maxverstappen1: Proud of you for being able to discuss that

youruser: Thank you Max

user1: Any guests or just you?

youruser: Me, Max, Charles, Seb and Kimi

user2: Not her trying to make money out of this situation

youruser: As has been stated since I started my podcast in 2018, all money goes straight to charity. Earnings from this week's episode goes to The Pregnancy Association of Europe, a charity that looks into why pregnancy goes wrong, if there is a way to prevent it and gets help for those who suffer loss during pregnancy. (A/N: MADE UP CHARITY FOR THE STORY X)

charles_leclerc: Might've cried a little bit whilst filming this, but I think we all did.

maxverstappen1: I did

----

Pole Position Podcast - Episode 75: Let’s Talk Babies w. KR7, SV5, CL16 and MV33

Y: YOU, M: MAX, C: CHARLES, S: SEB, K: KIMI

The podcast started off with Seb sitting in the middle of the sofa. There were two people sitting beside him: Charles and Max. Then, on one of the mini seats to one side of the sofa was Kimi and to the other was an empty seat for you, you were behind the camera. 

Y: This is a very different episode of the podcast. Right, can we check our audio syncs up before we start? 

You placed your headphones on, counting down for everyone to clap. They did and the audio synced up perfectly from each mic. You returned to your seat. The table, which was usually bare apart from the notes from the episode, including questions and other things, had no paper, instead having a variety of foods. You looked at the camera. 

Y: Alright, hello everyone. Welcome to the Pole Position podcast. Hope you’re all doing well. This is episode 75 and I am here with four lovely people, rather than one or two like I usually do. So, one by one would you guys like to introduce yourselves? Char maybe it’s best if you start because you’ve done this many times before?

C: *he nodded* Hello everyone, I’m Charles Leclerc. I am a Formula One driver who drives for Scuderia Ferrari. I’ve been on this podcast a lot. I’m basically the co-host at this point.

You chuckled

M: Hi, I’m Max Verstappen, I am a Formula One driver who drives for Red Bull, and a 3 time world champion.

S: I’m Sebastian Vettel, a retired Formula One driver who has driven for BMW Sauber, Toro Rosso, Red Bull, Ferrari and Aston Martin. I am a 4 time world champion.

K: And I’m Kimi Raikkonen, also a retired Formula One driver who has driven for McLaren, Ferrari (twice), Lotus and Alfa Romeo… Did I miss one?

Y: Sauber, right? When they were sponsored by Red Bull and Petronas?

K: How did you remember that and I didn’t? You’re basically a child.

Y: How am I the child here, both of those two are younger than me.

C: Wait, we are?

M: Yes??? She’s August 23rd, I’m September 30th, you’re October 16th.

C: 1997? *He looked at you, still confused*

Y: Yes, how did you not know that? We’ve known each other since we were 3, Charles.

C: I thought you were ‘98 for some reason.

K: Come on, even I knew that.

You clapped your hands, getting everyone’s attention.

Y: Right, back on track. Today’s episode is a more emotional one. As you know, when I started my podcast, I didn't really properly explain why I started it. I kind of summarised it, I think I said that it was something recommended by my therapist to talk about life. But I’ve never really used it to talk about the deep stuff. So today we’re going to talk about why I actually started this podcast and what happened in late 2018.

Y: I know people will be wondering why I need 4 other people to explain this with me. After the end of 2018, my brain kind of suppressed most of the more minor details and stuff so some of it I don’t remember much of, which is why these 4 are here, to kind of put all of the pieces together. So… Where do we start? With the breakup or the tests?

C: What one happened first?

M: You told me that the tests happened on Thursday evening so maybe the breakup.

Y: Alright. Max, do you want to take the lead on this one?

He nodded.

M: Alright so I broke up with Y/N on the Thursday morning before the Brazilian Grand Prix in 2018, aka Media Day. In hindsight, that was a really shitty thing to do. Everyone was really surprised by it because I absolutely was a dickhead when we split up. However, what I should’ve done is been completely honest and discussed my reasoning. I broke up with Y/N because my dad threatened me with an inappropriate sexual photo of her which he had somehow got his hands on. Likely egged on by Christian. I didn’t know how he got his hands on it, I don’t know what happened, but he had threatened to have it leaked if I didn’t break up with her, so I deemed it for the best and I did it. But the real issue was that I didn’t tell her why. I didn’t keep her in my life, I completely pushed her away. Again, a beyond stupid mistake, possibly the worst of my life. 

Y: Yeah, so that happened, it impacted me pretty badly. 

S: I think that’s an understatement there, no?

K: Just a bit. I remember her completely breaking down to me over it straight after it happened because she didn’t want to worry you two and she didn’t want to ruin Max’s friendship with Charles.

Seb, Charles and Max all looked at you. This was new information for the three of them. 

M: I’m still, genuinely really sorry about that. I feel so bad about the way I did it. 

Y: Max I’ve already forgiven you for it.

M: And yet I will apologise until the day we die if you let me.

C: ANYWAYS, so then in the evening I get a text from her basically saying “Hey, can you come over, it’s kind of important.” And I know this woman’s tendency to underreact in situations so when she said kind of, I took it as “likely very important” and headed straight there.

Y: Do I underreact or do you overreact?

M: Both

K: Both

S: Both

Y: Great.

You reached for a tortilla chip that was in a bowl on the table and took a bite after dipping it in salsa.

Y: So Charles comes over, asks what's wrong without hesitating. I didn’t even get a hi out, just opened the door and boom. Question. So I explained to him how I had been feeling kind of weird and I’d been feeling sick and tired all the time but it had been happening for a couple weeks and I knew it wasn’t sickness. That’s as far as I remember before the tests.

C: So I was like “oh, that’s weird. Have you had your period recently?” You said no but it didn’t usually anyway, I don’t know how it works.

Y: Basically, a side effect of the contraceptive pill that I take is that it stops my period. So either way I wouldn’t know just from that sign.

M: You still take it?

Y: Yeah, I do.

M: Are you actually getting laid?

Y:... Anyways, moving on.

Max laughed at that as Charles continued talking.

C: So, because it would probably cause some media attention if she went to buy tests or I went, we asked Hanna to and she was more than happy to. So she and Seb came over with pregnancy tests and dinner and like a LOT of ice cream just in case because we decided that we can risk our trainers yelling at us to cheer her up. I was not aware that her and Max had broken up by this point. I don’t think any of us except those two were.

K: And me.

C: And Kimi. 

S: So anyways, me and Hanna come over and we sit on the bed and talk whilst Y/N is downing water like there is no tomorrow, you know, so she could take the tests. And then she did the tests and we spent the next 5 minutes talking whilst we ate some of our food and then she checked the test and she was pregnant. We were all happy for her because, and correct me if I’m wrong here, guys, weren’t you two like kind of casually trying at this point?

Max looked at you and you smiled, indicating that he could answer.

M: Kind of. We were to the point where we wouldn’t complain about being parents so it was a kind of situation of “if it happens, it happens but if not, so what”.

C: So then she got a little upset and we were like “why are you sad, weren’t you guys okay if this happened?” and that’s when she told us that they had split up earlier that day. So, really, like god awful timing. 

Y: The rest of that evening was just kind of like them cheering me up. I tried to contact Max but he had blocked me, which I didn’t really understand at that point.

M: It was so I could not call or text because I didn’t want the photo to be leaked.

You nodded.

Y: So I think it was me, Charles, Seb, Hanna, Kimi, Minttu, Lew, and Val, except Lewis and Valtteri didn’t actually know. The others did though. I think, before this podcast gets released, the only people who know are the people here, Christian Horner, Fred Vasseur, Hanna, Minttu, my mother…

M: Christian knew?

Y: Yeah, we’ll get into that later, though. And Fred knew because I had to call him to be like “I have to go to the hospital about this tomorrow, I can’t race this weekend. And he’s family to me. So rather than racing, I went to the hospital. Hanna and Minttu came with me. Turns out I was 8 weeks along. I was like “shit, if I have this baby I’m going to miss so much racing” but apparently I was safe to drive after the 20 week mark until like the start of the 8th month as long as I was more careful than usual and got check ups after every race. SO overall I would’ve missed maybe like 6 races, so I was like, right. I should tell Christian, you know? Warn him. So I told Christian and he instantly started complaining, being like “What if this what if that? This is why we should’ve hired a man to drive”, that kind of stuff. But I think that was the heat of the moment. But then he doesn’t change and he tells my mother for some reason because he knows her and she kicks off and basically disowns me and tells me that I am not making a good choice and that I’m crazy and stuff. Fun. Anyways, going into December, I was really really overwhelmed. I don’t know what it was like from an outside perspective but it was shit from mine. 

K: Terrifying.

You all turned to look at Kimi. The entire 20 minutes of the podcast so far, he hadn’t had much to say, which you got because he’s Kimi Raikkonen.

K: From an outsider perspective it was terrifying. From my perspective, at least. Seeing the way you were so stressed and you wouldn’t eat as much. You were no longer happy, you were constantly anxious, even about how you looked, if people could tell, if you weren’t looking as nice even though you looked fine. It was really scary seeing you go down such a path, especially after everything your mother said to you. 

You sniffled slightly, getting emotional as you never really publicly opened up about this stuff. Charles and Seb agreed at this point.

Y: So then, a couple weeks into December, I can’t remember the exact date.

C: December 11th.

Y: December 11th, I was feeling strange. I had really bad stomach pain. Like awful. I just figured, for some reason, that it was because of the fact I hadn’t eaten much yet that day so I decided to sleep it off, see if I felt better in the morning. And, before we get into this, this may be slightly graphic and it’s a lot more graphic than I described to Max and Seb and Kimi so please be warned. I wake up in the morning, about 3am. And I sat up in my bed and I felt something wet on my lower body. So I was like “What the fuck” and I turn on the light and, uhm.

You paused, taking a deep breath in an attempt not to cry. You felt a hand slip into yours and squeeze. You looked to see Max looking at you with those soft, beautiful eyes. He was looking at you in the most gentle of ways. You felt yourself tipping over the edge slightly, voice cracking as you began to speak again.

Y: I turned on my light and I just saw red. Like, my bedsheets, which were usually white, were just red. Everything was red. I don’t remember too much after that, other than just feeling numb. Charles had been staying with me at that point. Max had just moved out and Charles’ apartment had flooded so I invited him to stay in my house until the apartment was sorted. I don’t really remember much, I don’t know if you do, Char.

C: I do. May I?

You nodded.

C: So I wake up because I hear a scream. Like not a happy one. Just a shocked sounding scream. So of course I went straight into her room to see if she was okay and the lower half of her bed was covered in blood, her shorts, her legs were all just covered in blood. It was, excuse the explanation, like something out of a horror movie. And she just… kind of sat there. Frozen. It was like she couldn’t move or speak, she just sat there. Kind of void of all emotion on her face other than her crying. I remember taking her phone and calling her baby doctor person, because she gave her phone for emergencies. And she answered and I apologised for calling so late and explained the situation because of the amount of blood just… Didn’t look normal. And she said to take her to the hospital if I was concerned. So I did and we went to the hospital and they sorted everything out. I don’t remember exactly what it was but either way we went home and we spent the next week or so just camping in, eating junk food, trying to relax and at least attempting to be calmer. I think it wasn’t until the new year that you told Christian. 

Y: Yeah, I started therapy like a week after the miscarriage. And then, on the 29th of December was when you two, Han and Mina found out, I think?

S: Yeah, I remember Hanna sitting down when we got there.

K: You being late, as usual

S: Yeah, yeah. So Hanna asked how you and nugget were, which is what we had nicknamed the baby and you just kind of cracked. You started crying and they asked what was wrong and that’s when you told us that you had miscarried. So we went out and tried to make sure you had the best day of your life. 

Y: That’s where the photo came from as well. The photo of me and the “mystery guy” whose face was blanked out was just a photo of me and Charles hugging because I got a little upset. I will post the photo here and if you’re listening on Spotify or Apple music, the screenshot of the story with the date attached is on my Instagram story highlights.

Y: So then I told Christian and he told my mother once again and also then proceeded to use it against me. BUT that’s all we have time for today. If anyone wants, we can do an episode purely based on my RBR treatment. Just let us know. Have a lovely day, I’ve been your host Y/N and we will see you next time.

Max, Kimi, Seb and Charles all said goodbye before the episode ended.

-Word Count: 2.6k-

Hi all!! Here's part 6, more drama unfolding. This story will continue to slander Christian Horner btw. In this story he is an awful person because it made the plot better x Anyways hope you enjoyed Max going on a podcast (well, two) because she asked him to so it was worth going on. Have a good day x Alocon

Taglist: @c-losur3 @itsjustkhaos @reidsworld @d3kstar

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl. 

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go. 

Doing the same thing over and over again. 

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box. 

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it. 

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast. 

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is." 

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out." 

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace. 

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight." 

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you. 

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift. 

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories. 

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’ 

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop. 

‘I'm in love with you– ’ 

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself. 

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.  

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple. 

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him. 

You sigh. 

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner. 

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone. 

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new. 

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before. 

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from. 

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him. 

Marc. 

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once. 

Marc is in there. 

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down. 

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life. 

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him. 

But you can’t. 

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.  

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in. 

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.” 

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration. 

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble. 

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you. 

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up.  Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile.  And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to. 

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening. 

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.” 

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you. 

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore. 

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?” 

That’s not Marc at all. 

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!” 

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man. 

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together? 

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe. 

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.  

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you. 

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.” 

Again with the sass about your coffee! 

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow? 

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?” 

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower." 

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the– 

Oh. 

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go. 

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure. 

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face. 

“She wants you too, you know.”  It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows. 

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario? 

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out. 

How long can the three of you keep doing this for? 

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says. 

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head. 

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose." 

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that! 

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door. 

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume. 

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!” 

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open. 

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend. 

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him. 

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?” 

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?" 

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?" 

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly. 

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time." 

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife. 

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end. 

But it’s more than that. 

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger. 

You’re furious at the whole situation. 

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity. 

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable. 

It needs to stop. 

You need to stop. 

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa. 

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?” 

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing. 

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.  

It’s all he needs to start moving,  Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet. 

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.” 

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.” 

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features. 

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back. 

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.” 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again. 

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.  

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is." 

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in. 

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. 

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.” 

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues. 

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.” 

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you. 

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process. 

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind. 

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?” 

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return. 

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing. 

“So why is he still hiding, then?” 

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room. 

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you. 

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!” 

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again. 

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark. 

Quiet. 

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep. 

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars. 

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them. 

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin. 

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor. 

It’s all so familiar somehow. 

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake? 

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared. 

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea? 

The noises stop. 

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave. 

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream. 

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed. 

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts. 

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek. 

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole. 

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets. 

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door. 

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold? 

No, it’s the  lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again. 

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials. 

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately. 

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed. 

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis. 

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore. 

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying. 

Still warm and toasty. 

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Marc was really here. 

He really– 

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[tumblingxelian]

Honest question, what do you think a well-written "Jason lives" story would look like?

Like, if Death in the Family still happened, but Bruce saved Jason before it was too late, then odds are there would still be consequences resulting from how BADLY the Joker brutalized him.

Hmm, OK so with your starting premise and utilizing my knowledge of comics to come but also the fact that if Jason lived then certain ideas and plots would be nixed... While all still colored from my perspective, here is my general take:

So, first, rather than Bruce saving Jason I'd say Jason actually manages to save himself, either because he released his mother or managed to half talk her through disarming the bomb.

I know the original splash page has Bruce pulling him from the rubble but that makes zero sense even by comics standards, he and Sheila should be charred corpses.

So, the bomb is disarmed or they managed to get out cos he released Sheila and Bruce arrives to whisk Jason away to medical treatment with Sheila keeping his head above water.

The exact next sequence is harder to make sense of at first, but here's the thing. The original comic could let Joker get away with learning who Jason was behind the mask because he 'died' soon after and then 'came back'. He also initially mistook Tim for Jason. So, given his state of mind it can be... Tacitly tolerated that he never deduced or used Bruce's identity.

Here, that's a bigger issue and so I will say that to keep the tracks covered as much as they can...

Sheila is kept in custody because while Bruce is furious with her, she did keep Jason alive & separating them seems like a bad idea, though she is to be closely watched by Leslie & Alfred.

Unfortunately, the intel she gave him on Joker's plan was slightly false and she used her time to slip away to go after the clown herself, intent on a redemption arc.

There's messages, misunderstandings, truths revealed and another arrest that doesn't last, before Joker is once again in a helicopter trying to escape but this time with Sheila who shoots him, but he shoots her back as he lays dying and the helicopter crashes.

They cannot find Joker's body but Sheila stayed above long enough to die later, musing on where her life led her, the importance of getting a chance to do something, and that Jason is a real good kid, better than she or Bruce deserve.

This is deeply tragic, mostly conceptually and philosophically, but still.

This is enough to make Bruce sort of ease up on Jason, but at the expense of becoming more overprotective in general. Which is hard to argue with as Jason is doing physical therapy and Dick has a broken leg.

So the drama for the ensuing period is Bruce trying to bench key allies and family ETC, so he can keep them safe while still running himself more ragged, but not quite as terribly as his suicidal spiral in canon.

He also has ideas on sending Jason to a semi boarding school to try and keep him out of super heroics. If he succeeds, this plan will still fail and likely ends up forming the nexus of Jason's own mini team with Eddie and Rose. But also would fail to keep him out of Gotham sufficiently. Still he may be at Brentwood some of the time so one can justify solo Batman stories & some more school time adventures for Jason.

But before all that happens, we have a new player in the field.

The Spoiler!!!

That's right, into the arena is the one, the only Stephanie Brown. She's here to spill the tea and kill her dad, and maybe protect her community on the side.

Best part?

Bruce either does not know who she is at first, or has zero jurisdiction over her and can't gain any without revealing his identity or attacking a teenager for trying to help and she is slippery regardless.

Basically, one of the people who helps crowbar Bruce back into tolerating help is Stephanie basically keeping her original give no fucks about Batman attitude and doing her own thing.

Their relationship is likely a bit contentious and back and forth, far more hands off, not quite mentoring, but also less outright toxic than canon.

She & Jason probably have a thing and bond over some shared and different history stuff, but I don't see it being the mainstay relationship.

Young Justice is likely found eventually under similar circumstances, though Stephanie likely gets to be a member this time, as do Eddie & Rose.

I think the team would be less, Kon, Kid Flash & Robin and more like a cycling mass of active or present members, dealing with an overseer.

Basically a comic series to throw lots of different personalities power sets and problems together and see what dynamics emerge as popular.

After that, less sure.

My ideal is Jason goes to university or maybe has to stay with Young Justice or some other area full time and adopts his own hero persona while Steph gets a run as Robin alongside Cassandra as Batgirl.

Otherwise most major storylines, save one's reliant on Jason being dead, still happen. Steph likely has a less horrible time as Spoiler, but is also maybe always and forever more overtly on the outs so she might not get Robin as she might not want it. (Though maybe during No Man's Land...)

See what I mean about the plot drift?

War Games may still happen but probably with a very different, though not inherently better cos Bruce's plan was dumb, resolution.

Also Joker does return, sadly, and there's always likely a hovering question as to whether he knows the truth of their identities but its never confirmed, or isn't until he dies again.

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

"thank you for being born" the dads to Bex!!!!

Sending gifts if one is long distance- Rayvrose

From totally not Moon River again😉

okay, so the first prompt will be posted separately later. we get rayvorose now! Thank you :D

“Okay, so she’ll be in Boston on the 24th, New York the 27th and then Charlotte on the 1st.”

“Right. And I’d rather the gift get to her before her birthday than after.”

“Are they spending the extra night in Boston or New York?”

Ray shuffles through their pile of papers. They have a handful of state maps, a wall calendar, a daily planner, and a notebook covering their table trying to sort out what Rose’s tour actually looks like. You’d think that between the two of them, they’d be better at this by now. Especially Ray, considering he regularly needs to keep track of both Trevor and Rose’s tour dates. Unfortunately, it’s a mess every single time. 

He flips through the notebook to find the Petal Pushers’ itinerary. “Boston for the 24th through 26th. Then New York for her birthday and the show.”

“Okay, I think we should send it to Boston then. We should have enough time for it to get there if we hit the post office tomorrow.”

Ray agrees as he tries to fold up one of the maps that they’d dug out. Trevor grins as he takes it from Ray and easily folds it up properly.

“Magic, I swear,” Ray murmurs under his breath. 

Trevor laughs. “It’s a special skill.” He makes a show of wiggling his fingers, “Many talents in these hands.”

Ray’s face turns pink. “Not gonna disagree,” he says before promptly returning to the issue at hand, “Okay, what are we sending?”

Trevor digs under the table for the handful of boxes they’d found around the apartment complex after coming up with this gift plan. “Her favourite chocolate, of course.”

“Think you could bake something tonight that we could add?”

Trevor hums thoughtfully before answering with a teasing lilt to his voice, “With a sous chef, probably.”

Ray coughs out a dry laugh, “Yeah, only if you want to send charred… whatever you make.”

“We’ll find a simple job for you,” Trevor counters with a smirk.

“How about I just do the clean up?”

“But you look so cute covered in flour.” Trevor grins at Ray’s reddening face before pressing a soft kiss to Ray’s mouth. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you mess anything up.”

“Okay, okay, fine. What else?”

Trevor waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “We could take some pictures.”

Ray makes a strained choking sound. “I can’t get film developed that quickly.”

“We can use the Polaroid. There’s got to be a few film sheets left for that.”

“Okay,” Ray quietly agrees. He knows that he won’t be able to resist Trevor’s arguments once they start so he doesn’t bother trying. And if he had to admit it, he knows that he and Trevor will have fun taking them. And that Rose will absolutely love receiving them. “How do we make sure nobody else sees them?”

“An envelope! Easy.”

Ray narrows his eyes suspiciously but doesn’t argue. “Is a stuffed animal too corny?” he asks, quickly moving on. 

“Nah, she’d love that. We’ll pick one up tomorrow. Something really soft.”

“Think we could afford a Gund?”

“I guess we’ll find out. Maybe you can scour for change while I bake?”

Ray readily agrees, grateful to get out of kitchen duty. He loves watching Trevor bake and Rose cook but he alway feels in the way and like a distraction. Hell, he regularly is a distraction and while it’s often worth the loss of tasty treats, that’s not what he wants to send to Rose. 

“I wish we could just be there,” Ray says sadly. 

Trevor wraps an arm around Ray’s waist. “Me too, love. Me too.” 

Ray leans into him and Trevor presses a light kiss to Ray’s temple. Ray turns to Trevor and brings a hand up to his hair as he kisses him on the mouth. They get lost in each other for a moment until Trevor pulls away. “Let’s pause this until we’ve got everything else sorted.”

Ray nods his agreement and they run through their list again, adding a co-written letter and a (worn) t-shirt from each of them. 

Trevor gets himself set up in the kitchen, sorting through their ingredients to see which of her most loved treats he can make with what they have on hand. There isn’t enough butter for properly frosted cupcakes but he can probably make cookies work. And the banana collection in the freezer is starting to take over, much to Ray’s chagrin, so he decides to whip up some banana bread too. 

Ray succeeds in finding a handful of change. Not enough to pay for anything in its entirety, but enough to make a solid dent in their planned costs (Trevor finds an emergency $10 bill hiding in the glove compartment when they go out the next day to top everything up).

While the baked goods cool, they make good on their rainchecked makeout session which manages to naturally evolve into the photoshoot Trevor had in mind. Ray was absolutely correct in his previous assumption that they would have fun taking the shots for Rose. 

“More gifts should come with these kinds of costs,” Ray murmurs when they’re done. 

“Very much agree,” Trevor says as he reaches over Ray for the camera. He checks that there’s at least one last film sheet left in it before clambering up beside Ray. He presses their sweaty faces together and turns the camera so it’s facing them, making sure to angle it down just far enough to show Rose what they’d been up to but not enough to expose themselves entirely. They wait patiently for it to print and Trevor kisses Ray as he shakes the photo. Ray reaches out for it and Trevor holds it just out of reach. 

“Nuh uh, you don’t get to see this one.”

Ray gapes at him. “How is that fair?”

Trevor sneaks a peek at it and looks back at Ray. “Maybe I’ll keep this one for myself,” he teases. 

Ray smacks him on the chest and grabs the photo out of Trevor’s hand. 

“Oh,” he says once he sees it.

“Sexy right?”

Ray firmly nods once, “Yep. Very hot. Rose will be pleased.”

Trevor pouts, “I can’t keep it?”

“No, you can’t keep it! You have my actual physical presence. Rose gets this.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“But she needs to bring it back home with her.”

“She damn well better.”

In the end, she does bring it home. A bit battered and worse for wear, considering it had been her favourite too and she’d carried it around with her, but home nonetheless. Where it was tucked into their headboard and lived for the remainder of their time together.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

So many things have been written already, but since I can't stop thinking about it, I need to write some stuff down. Or as @twig-tea would say #typed so that I can stop thinking it.

We could talk all day long about what the show intended to say or not, what the show intended to portray and what message was actually all of it about.

But, as with most things, we will never know for sure. And you know what? It doesn't matter.

Because when you make anything for others to watch, as soon as the product leaves your hands, you give up any control you have over how it is perceived. That's, more often than not, the hardest part in creating anything. You lose all control over the thing, and all you can do is hope that what you wanted to do, was what people wanted to see, and what you wanted to say, was what people heard.

Sometimes these two things don't match up.

So, I won't speculate any more about what Jojo and co. wanted to say with this, or what they wanted the take away to be.

I'm fan of Jojo. Not in the way of, everything he's done was perfect, but I adore Gay Ok, I completely enjoyed 3wbf and warp effect surprised me weekly in a good way. I was happy. I was content. And maybe that set my expectations too high, because my biggest feeling about ofts finale is disappointment.

Before anything else, I fully admit by biases influenced my viewing of some things, but that is unavoidable.

I started this show relating a bit too much to some of the characters and that made it hard for me in the beginning. Specially when you have people talk about this characters in such a way that, at times, legitimately made me feel bad about myself. So basically I had to create a barrier. And look at this show in a more critical way. I still felt emotionally connected to the chars, but in a different way. And with that critical view came a whole set of new problems.

Whatever the direction the show was heading in the beginning, got completely lost somewhere in the middle. And I'm strictly talking about the writing now. The show lost all coherence in character development and any type of episodic theme went out the window.

I’ll start just referencing the frame works. (very well documented by @slayerkitty) They started as some sort of commentary that we could point to and say, that’s what they’re trying to say about this, that's the lesson this week. That got abandoned.

As I’ve written before, when the show started and we were introduced to the characters, we were led to believe that Boston, Ray, Mew and Cheum were the mains and where going to have equal weight throughout the show. That disappeared when Cheum did. It turns out it wasn’t that way after all. And as we started to see couples forming, or at least coupling happening, we knew who the mains were again. Because we got some (Top not included) of their backstories and povs.

The fear crept in here, that, because it’s gmmtv, we were heading to shipper land and all was but an illusion. But still the in p’jojo we trust was strong so we collectively, said to ourselves – It can’t be that. This is the messy show, with the messy gays, this is Jojo! And at least for me, that’s where it all began to fall apart. Genuine character growth got substituted for easy conflict, depth of character got substituted by fluffy couple moments that seemed out of place. [That is also why the beginning of Top/Mew was so divisive for so many people. Because, it could be cute in any other show, but it couldn’t be here. Because once again - This is the messy show, with the messy gays, this is Jojo! ] We got no accountability for most actions, no genuine character growth for most characters and in the end, nothing feels earned. And personally, it pisses me of when chars don’t get what they deserve, and worst, somehow end up on top, or thinking they are on top, or are morally superior.

But, even if that didn’t make me angry, it’s lazy writing. It’s conflict for conflict sake, it’s new storylines/characters that bring excitement but no follow through. it’s trauma as the easiest way to give a character depth (which I hate with a passion), it’s moral lessons that have absolutely no place here (This is the messy show, with the messy gays, this is Jojo! ) and worst of all it’s wasted potential. I might write more about this later, or on rewatch, but for today this is what I needed to type.

[pentacass]

Can you tell us more about Chukaem and Ves? How they worked together on Makeb? How long does Chukaem hunt Ves and Lana? Does she ever get close to them? And any other tidbits you want to share, you have free rein to let your brain go BRRRRRR if you want lol

ohhhboy here we go!!! thenk for ask :D

How they worked together on Makeb - It was professional, but incredibly tense. Chukaem is your typical Sith, trampling on everyone else to reach her goal, arrogance made all the worse by her status as Wrath. By then, Ves had been tempered by her crew and Marr, and viewed Chukaem's outbursts and aggression towards their own allies as unnecessary and detrimental to their mission. They clashed, but never came to blows. (Ashara and DS!Jaesa did though. Ash won :3)

Though the mission was successful, they came away hating each other. Ves hated the Wrath for her callousness, blind reverence of the Emperor, and putting her lust for power above the stability of the Empire. Chukaem hated Avriss right back - for her lack of respect for the Emperor and his Wrath, her ostentatious vanity, her softer hand on their Imperial subjects that would 'breed weakness' in their ranks.

Funny story (to be included in fic): because of how badly Chukaem treats her crew, Ves managed to win over Vette by simply feeding her cake. Not that Chukaem knows about it. All she saw was Vette drifting over to Avriss' crew, willing to spend more time with them, and identified Avriss as a threat to her authority.

Why were they both assigned to Makeb - Ves could've handled it on her own, but Darth Marr wanted her to take the chance to assess the Wrath - would Chukaem be willing to work with Marr and Avriss to secure the Empire's future, out of the Emperor's long shadow?

Ves' answer is no, viewing the Wrath as nothing more than an attack dog with no guiding hand on her leash, and she's right. The Wrath is near fanatical in her loyalty to the Emperor - the one who granted her power above all. She did not support the Empire when it moved on from Vitiate, and went rogue when Acina took the throne, choosing to strike at the Empire's enemies from the shadows, on her own authority bestowed by an Emperor long gone.

After Tenebrae is slain in EoO, Chukaem goes off the deep end, unable to feel her Emperor's weight in the Force anymore. She turns into a killing machine, hunting down those she deems a threat to the Empire, and those who'd turned traitor. Aelirra, Vestra, and Lana are at the top of her list, but Ves gets the top 'Fuck You' spot thanks to their funtimes on Makeb.

How long does Chukaem hunt Ves and Lana - I'm not too sure! I have some lines for a showdown that references Ves and Lana's kids, but I feel like Chukaem wouldn't leave them alone for that long. To be decided later.

Does she ever get close to them - On a few occasions, which is what tips them off to the former Wrath hunting them. Haven't worked out the final showdown's specifics yet, but Ves will lure Chukaem to a remote location by herself (perhaps forced by circumstance), fire off a distress signal to Lana and the Alliance, and fight off the Wrath in the meantime.

I'm both looking forward to and dreading writing Ves and Chukaem's battle, cos it is very Epic in my brain and will probably end up as a stickman equivalent written down lmaoo. But Ves will feel a very primal fear for the first time in ages, and has to dig into the deepest, darkest depths of her power to face down a Sith who has immersed herself in the Dark Side for decades, turning into a nigh-eldritch being that makes the Force itself wither in her presence.

Here have a bite from the notes I've jotted down:

"A traitor for a wife, a failure for a daughter, a Jedi for a son." The tip of a lightsaber, charred orange and black, boils the air beneath Vestra's chin. "A family that befits you - a disgrace to the Sith." Ves subtly pushes herself away from the blade, elbows digging against soil, maimed leg dragged over dirt. Despite her pain, she gathers the blood in her mouth and spits it at Chukaem's feet. "Better a disgrace than a hideous little bitch like you." A sneer parts Chukaem's lips, peeking from beneath her cracked rebreather. "Pathetic." Lightsaber rises for the killing blow. Ves unleashes a storm of lightning right into her gut, blowing her back.

[autumnslance]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by @sheepwithspecs technically on my main but this is where fanfic goes. Do this if you wanna!

How many works do you have on AO3?

47 as of 2/6/24. There's a few things I need to get around to adding there though.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

411,290 as of 2/6/24

What are your top 5 fics by kudos

Downtime (compilation of younger Scions & other teen chars being pals in Norvrandt) Unexpected (compilation of shippy nonsense) A Constant Distant Thunder (Thancred in ARR patches post-Lahabrea) Ruminations (General Warrior of Light introspections & adventures) Rogue's Prelude (My headcanons on Thancred meeting Louisoix, Papalymo, and Yda)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually do! I often try to. So my comment count is almost, not quite though, doubled.

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

Hrm; I tend to do a lot of bittersweet endings. We'll keep it simple and say "Never Gets Easier", a fic where Edmont and Charlemend talk about their lost sons. There's no sweetness there, just men haunted by mistakes and losses.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Maybe "When Everything Changes" which is kid fic from the POV of my WoL's older brother when she's born and his ambivalence turns to big brother joy and love.

Do you write crossovers?

Haven't yet.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not that I recall.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Occasionally. Usually pretty vanilla. It's all right, I guess.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Had an OC's backstory on our WoW RP server's fic blogging site lifted wholesale; they changed the names and class, and then…walked into our weekly guild meeting that I was leading and tried to join our guild. When confronted, the person claimed their partner had leveled the character for them and based the backstory on Skyrim (my OC's story is very specific to WoW). They tried to message me later as if we were pals who would laugh this off someday. I informed them that was not a thing and btw the site mods knew they were a plagiarist now. Also everyone knew who their alts were and a bunch of other trouble they'd caused. So far as I know, they bailed from our server after that.

I hoped they learned better and grew up quite a bit; this was well over a decade ago.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Once or twice now; so long as folks credit and link back to my originals, and share the translated link with me, it's all good!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Roleplay and actual story collaboration both. It's a lot of fun.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

How dare you.

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

*stares at WIP folder*

Come back with a warrant.

(I won't say never, but there's a lot that probably are just noodling and scraps to feed something else later)

What are your writing strengths?

Folks seem to like my dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Impatience, and certain grammatical abuses that do nothing for length nor clarity.

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

Depends on the fic. Depends on the intended audience.

For dialects, mostly the concern is "don't overdo it" as it can slow things down, be really jarring at best and offensive at worst, and difficult to understand if laying it on too thick.

Other languages entirely have different guidelines though, from sprinkling in single words or short phrases, to entire passages, and whether or not you translate or leave it up to the reader. Depends on fandom, on the characters, on the story, author intentions.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Narnia, in a my little girl diary as a pre-teen. I wanted to pick up Susan's story as a grown up and bring her and family back to a magical land. Cuz I knew it could, would happen someday, even if Lewis never got to write it himself.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Final Fantasy XVI. Midst. The latter is tricky as I really don't have ideas at the moment, but really want to dig into that vibe. My writing needs to be more weird in general, really.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you, come back with a warrant!

[roalinda]

Tagged by @gracelesslady23 @groundzero-v and @jmagnabo92 ❤ thank you darlings ♡

How many works do you have on Ao3? 

59 works, mostly one-shots because I a lazy writer and have loads of long fics wips on my laptop, writing in a verrry slow pace

2.What's your total AO3 word count? 

108,043

3.What fandoms do you write for? 

            I used to write for: 

      Magi, the labyrinth of magic 

      Vampire knight 

      Bleach

      Rebon

      Kuroshitsuji 

      Karneval

      Gintama

      Osomatsu-san 

      But right now I only write for Harry Potter 

Top 5 fics by kudos?

Lovesick VK fandom

intones of red bleach fandom

dreamcatcher HP fandom

playhouse magi fandom

love me cancerously (your body is my coffin) HP fandom

Do you respond to comments? 

      100% . It makes me so happy to receive them.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Envy . It's a one-shot from a series which each chapter is a standalone.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Up in the air prongsfoot work

Do you get hate on fics? 

     I have a one-shot in another fandom which contains  age-gap between a 18 year old and a man above 30 and I have been called a pedophile apologist for it. It was a mess and half of the reason I left that fandom. 

Do you write smut?

      Yep. 

Do you write crossovers? 

Not usually but I have written one for kuroshitsuji and karneval for a friend. 

Have you ever had your fic stolen? 

      Thankfully not.

 Have you ever had a fic translated?

       Yes, not in HP fandom though. In Gintama fandom.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

      No, but I really like to try.

 What's your all time favourite ship?

      Prongsfoot. Been shipping them for nearly 20 years.

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

White lies and charred ties. It's a AU with Mafia boss Sirius and drag queen James. I have already written like ¾ of it but suddenly I'm stuck for some unknown reason. 😭

What are your writing strengths? 

       Description in a poetic sense and angst 

What are your writing weaknesses? 

     Opening lines, my bane of my existence 

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? 

Does it mean inserting a foreign language when the characters are not English and are talking between themselves? I prefer not to do it. It looks alien to me, unless it is one or two words. 

First fandom you wrote for? 

YGO at 16 xD 

 Favourite fic you have ever written? 

Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani? Magi fandom. It's not something phenomenal but I love it myself ♡

open tag ♡

[sothischickshe]

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

Ahhhhh, with a lot of complaints & whining?? 🤪

No but to be more srs (and also hi! And ty! ❤️❤️❤️), i'm not sure i can say a huge amount on complex narratives (my preferences tend to run shorter and less plotty, even if ive somehow ended up with a 140k draft bleugh) but here's some stuff ive gleaned, maybe some of this is more aspirational tho lol

so for outlines, i think the key point is to sUmMaRiSe -- and i don't think it really matters HOW you do it, there's lots of different methods, whatever works for you. i think the first summary i did for Shattering mightve been entirely in emojis for a tumblr ask game? which was fun and sparked pretty much everything when i came back to it, ymmv tho lol. i tend to be a list of scenes on paper guy, with a summary of what's happening in each. i'd now say, instead of half spacing that, maybe leave some gaps so you can easily insert scenes if you want, ha. depending on the story, ive also more ~mindmapped the progress instead of scene listing, so for example if it relies a lot on contrasting parallels, a bunch of arrows covering progress or whatever iconography works might be helpful. i'd also now say, figure out your shorthand early ha: ive dutifully written out notes, then looked over them and been like uh youve used 'R' here to refer to rio rhea AND ruby you realise.... or 'park scene' to refer to 3 different scenes...whoops! i personally tend to write and plot and whatnot in chronological order, so keeping track of outlines isn't nec too difficult (unless you decide to go adding a bunch of stuff in bleugh) for characters, well you tend to get those for free in fanfiction woop. at least for the major characters, you then probs don't need to keep too much track of them/create character sheets or whatever? for more minor canon characters, if they're a pov or just majorish character in my fic, ive tended to rewatch and make notes, to try and figure out how to tie their disparate bits of (often pragmatic-to-the-plot) characterisation together, and make them feel realistic. with original characters in fic, i think it depends how big a part they play. i think in a first draft more is more if you want -- get a load of details down abt these randos if you want, and you can always scrape it off the page later if it doesn't fit, if that's your way of figuring them out. or you can do it more intentionally as a separate exercise e.g., write your original character a monologue where they explain themself. but i think the most important thing re any characters is to Make Decisions abt them, even if that stuff is never directly on the page, it will make them feel consistent (espec if they're not a/the pov char) -- WHY are they doing whatever they're doing, WHAT are they like, DO they know xyz or not (or when do they find out) etc etc etc, otherwise characters can just feel like they're wandering in and out as if in a dream to do random shit, and thus like props.

Development... well i guess this is taking the summarised outline(s) and untangling them into real story? idk how to describe a lot of this process tbh cos so much of this is mental, but scribbling on a few pages with lots of arrows is likely to help i feel! and a lot of scribblings in the margins for ever and ever! then maybe some [bracketed commands] in an eventual typed draft, and some paper notes to take back to it.

re timelines, again if you write/plan in chronological order, this might be easier. and i think it's very contextual, if you're writing something with a v tight timeline of say a couple of days, it might be very important to make sure everything fits and it's clear when stuff is happening, whereas with something longer maybe you can be loser. this isn't something i'd nec make a huge amount of notes abt otherwise, but i do think it's important to consider -- it's probs something i'd find more in the first draft and expand in the edits. for example, Shattering starts in summer so there's a lot abt it being warm and sunny, and eventually the weather gets colder/trees get starker blah blah blah. i def think this is a good thing to pay attention to in the edit, is it clear that things are happening on different days, or are days seeming to go on for a billion hours etc. it's funny when you go back and watch tv shows or films sometimes and that stuff doesn't quite seem to make sense! of course this can be done well, to imply something off with the pov character/their sense of time disintegrating but i think it has to be done with intent.

all of that said, i don't think there's a 'right' or 'best' way to keep track of such stuff, whatever works! and that all sounds rather plan-y, which i tend to prefer espec for longer/complexer stuff, but that doesn't mean p(l)antsing approaches won't work, if you're willing stuff can alllllways be sorted in the edit.

Ficus pun!

[catchyhuh]

how i think lupin chars would react to being asked their pronouns

DISCLAIMER SO I DONT LOOK LIKE A BORING LOSER: this isnt indicative of my Gender Studies on them (that's a whole other beast baby i could write pages) this is just honest to god how i imagine it would be if you asked them like. youre at an event checking boxes for demographic records or something. you approach. you ready your pencil. this is the response

lupin: what (you clarify) oh those yeah! right. yeah. the guy ones? (theres a pause here where you two stare at each other. he looks like he might say more but then just mentally backspaces) no yeah the guy ones. he.

jigen: what (you clarify) what (you clarify again explaining its polite to ask) ok, i guess the guy. man. ones. (he just kind of shrugs but does sort of look over the sheet you have with moderate intrigue. he does not say anything else though)

fujiko: oh she/her :) (this is not allyship [i mean it is partially, i dont think she'd care too much about anyone's gender business one way or the other #passiveinclusivitywin] but rather the fact that fujiko is prepared for damn near any question and after the second time she was asked she prepped that gunshot speed response)

goemon: what (you clarify) Hm... (provides no answer and he just kind of stares out at the sky for like twenty minutes. he’s Thinking. doesn’t really get back to you on this.)

zenigata: what. sorry. what? (you must clarify once more) oh yeah the. uh the guy ones. right? (and he kind of winces because he knows that sounds wrong but cant explain why and apologizing without knowing WHY you're apologizing just makes you look like more of a tool) right.

(they really don't keep up with the times too well)

BONUS YATA!!!!!!: he/him please (this is just because he's really only marginally younger than lupin and co. but is written like he's multiple decades under them, so he would somehow be aware of this. still he's very stiff and doesn't have a lot of fun with the convo you have to earn that from him)

[tumbleweedtech]

twenty questions for fic writers

Thanks @losersimonriley <3

how many works do you have on ao3? 69 (heh)

what's your total ao3 word count? 397,040

what fandoms do you write for? Right now? CoD. Previously? Critical Role and the Witcher (mostly Games)

top five fics by kudos Standing on the Precipice - Lambert/Jaskier, unfinished. (Sorry. I'll get back to it sometime.) The Viscount - Lambert/Jaskier (my first published fanfic omg be nice to it) Treasure - Jaskier, hints of Lambert/Jaskier. Lettenhove - Eskel/Jaskier and Lambert/Aiden Epilogue fic Bones - Ugh, Eskel/Jaskier ish, I don't even really like this one.

do you respond to comments? I... try to? I do respond to many of them. My inbox is very, very full because the nicest comments I leave in there to cheer me up on bad days. I appreciate all of them.

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? You were Spring , probably. I'm not sure. I do tend to love a good deep ache. The pain makes the softness feel deserved.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? The Viscount , probably. Happy ending, everybody lives.

do you get hate on fics? Nah. Every now and then there's someone who borders on rude on my witcher fics, but I just delete them. So far I've been lucky and my CoD and CR fics have met with kindness.

do you write smut? Sometimes, largely when goaded or doing so to harass a friend.

craziest crossover: I don't know if it counts as a crossover, but I did There Will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury from the point of view of Kaer Morhen.

have you ever had a fic stolen? No?

have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, Three.

have you ever co-written a fic before? Yep. And while they aren't usually listed as authors, largely because they argued with me about it, @hungarianbee and @piranhaincaps are often major, massive, absolutely essential to some of the fics I've written because they somehow manage to poke the braincells into trundling along in the correct direction. There's a few lovelies in my discord server who are excellent at coaxing my ridiculously skittish muse back to the page.

all time favorite ship? Truly, no idea. There's so many ships (romantic and platonic) that just fill me with joy. I love, love stories and I love to break apart a character and see how they'd react under different circumstances, with different motivations. It's fun. I will say the only ship art I have on my walls (so far) is pacrimau!ghoap, and johnlock.

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? There was a Scheherazade fic I had wanted to write but it ... well. Sometimes when you spin stories with other people, the story ends up reminding you too much of that person and you don't wanna write it anymore.

what are your writing strengths? I have no idea. I think I'm most pleased with when I succeed in showing you the emotion in a moment without saying "He was sad." Oh! I am also quite proud of how practiced I have become in writing characters without using any pronouns (or epithets, thank you) for them. I have two characters (one OC, one ... rare char that's basically an OC) that prefer their name, and it's given me a lot of practice. It makes me happy. I prefer my name, too.

what are your writing weaknesses? Tenses.

thoughts on dialogue in another language? Get over it, nearly every browser has translate abilities, no matter how remedial they may be. If it makes sense, if the character does and would switch, do it. Especially if that language is important to the story or the character itself. However - uerhg. Sometimes it's really, really jarring when people use the language in ways that bilingual people just don't.

first fandom you wrote in? Witcher. My first fic was this one: The Viscount . I've considered going back to fix it up but.... tbh? Nah. Let it live as it was birthed. I wrote that 70k monster in ... 12? days. There's bound to be errors.

favorite fic you've written? Essea Eate, probably.

Now for tagging... @jayofolympus-writes, @major-trouble, @frenchkey, @on-a-lucky-tide, and my beloved @hungarianbee. (Only tagging 5 to give the rest of you people to tag lololol

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Hi! 3 and 7 for the ask, please :)

Sorry it took me a few days to get to this, these are great questions! 3. Which of your fics is most different from what you usually write? This was a hard one for me to answer! I suppose Our Fathers Clad in Red is the first fic I have ever co-written, so even though I do not think it is all that different stylistically or thematically from what I usually write, the process of writing it has been very different, but in a good way. I've learned a lot too-- not to hate outlining for one, and I've learned how having two writers with different but complementary styles can really enhance a piece. @aifsaath is a very talented writer and collaborating on it is so much fun that I would gladly do it again, when a year ago I never would have imagined collaborating on a project in the first place!

7. What's your favorite piece of description or narration? It's probably the second to last scene in Chapter 5 of Our Fathers Clad in Red. The entire scene consists of Aegon alone in bed having a particularly bad morning, and I'm fond of the whole scene, but I'll post the two parts like the best below the cut:

Tears pricked his eyes. Just a nightmare, but for a moment he’d felt as if he were there all over again, on that burning battlefield, the smell of roasting bodies— their own men dying along with Rhaenyra’s loyalists, by which dragon's fire no one could say. Criston Cole had pulled him from the saddle, and this Aegon recalled clearly, for there’d been no poppy milk yet to dull his mind, he’d cursed and had called out, his voice booming across the battlefield, “Your king lives! Protect the king!”

Then there had been pain and choking smoke and a voice murmuring the Mother’s prayer and more voices screaming please oh gods please and get it off him, get it off . There had been a brother’s hand latched to his unburnt hand. “Stay with me,” Aemond had said. Aegon had thought he was dying. He remembered having the wild thought that these were his last moments, and they’d be filled with nothing meaningful, only chaos and burning. There would be no final words, no heartfelt goodbyes, just pain and noise and charred flesh. 

It had taken months for the pain to subside enough for him to manage more than a few moments awake at a time. When he started to be allowed longer periods of awareness, he’d found himself an unrecognizable mass of misshapen flesh, and his skin felt like nothing more than his own funeral shroud. He hadn’t yet then found the will to live. That had come later.

The first few months after that, he’d still wanted to die. He’d stopped begging for it at some point, but every time he’d been woken from the poppy-sleep, he’d prayed that he might not wake again. There had been fevers that would come and go, mild infections. Poppy milk had brought sleep and took away the pain, but it left him groggy and nauseous when it wore off. Food never tasted good, and he wasn’t allowed wine. When he wasn’t sleeping, the pain was constant.

He’d cycled from one misery to the next.  Would that he could say he’d been determined from the start to fight for his children, that he’d thought only of his family, but that would be a lie. At first, there had seemed little reason to live if his life was to be nothing but dream-filled sleep punctuated by hours of agonized awareness.

He clutched the blanket, trying to curl himself into a tighter ball, but his legs would not cooperate. Even the more well healed right leg was stiff from the past week of exertion. He was beyond ashamed to admit that occasionally there were moments when he wondered if it had been worth it, if it was still worth it. He was so tired of it, so sick and tired of living like this. There was not a day when some part of him didn’t hurt. 

Now that he was in the capital once again, holding court, there was the fresh indignity of judgment. Bad enough that his healthy young body was no more, he’d lost his looks too, and his dignity as a man. It was almost too much to bear, the lords asking openly if he could still sire children, the women staring at his scarred face and tittering behind their hands. 

______________________________________________________________

In Aegon’s youth, he’d experienced bouts of melancholy, as his mother had called them. Usually, they happened after a visit with his father, and most often they involved copious amounts of wine. Once he had confined himself to his quarters for nearly a fortnight, sleeping the days away only to wake at night and drink until nearly dawn while scrawling maudlin poetry and composing funerary dirges on his lute. Sing this when I die, he’d write in the margins. Sing this one for father. 

Always, it had been his mother who would eventually force her way in, usually once she realized how long it had been since she��d seen her eldest son. Once, a minor marcher lord had come to court with a trio of beautiful daughters and one equally lovely son. When his mother realized she had not seen him flirting with any of the lord’s children even once, she’d immediately become suspicious and had barged into his room with a troop of maids, directing them to tidy up, and then she’d pulled him from bed, bathed him, clothed him, and fed him as if he were six and not sixteen.

He did not write poetry any longer, or songs. His old lute was in the school room, passed down to the children– Jae hated seeing anyone play it but him, but since Rook’s Rest, he’d not even wanted to try. The last poem he’d written had been an apology to his children and Helaena, for all his failures. He’d left it beside her bed, before he’d flown off to battle. The thought of it made his breath hitch and he pressed his face into his quilts, trying uselessly to staunch the flow of his tears. 

[kishigunpla]

Let's Read: A Requiem for Char: The Red Comet of My Youth - Chapter 4

by Shūichi Ikeda

This post will be an overview of the third chapter, Friends Connected by Gundam. Below are links to the previous chapters.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

In this chapter, Ikeda discusses his relationships with some of his fellow voice actors while recording Mobile Suit Gundam. This includes Tōru Furuya (Amuro), Fuyumi Shiraishi (Mirai), Hirotaka Suzuoki (Bright), Katsuji Mori (Garma), and Keiko Han (Lalah)

He begins with Tōru Furuya, the voice of Char’s eternal rival, Amuro Ray. Ikeda recalls how they didn’t talk much at first outside of the studio, one of the main reasons being that Furuya didn’t drink at the time.

Interestingly, he comments how that early distance between them actually was a benefit to the work.

Ikeda: In the scene where Char and Amuro meet for the first time, there is a contrast between the tense Amuro and Char's relaxed attitude, and I think this scene also utilized the tension of the time in a positive way. Toru-chan and I's actual relationship certainly resembled the relationship between Amuro and Char.

He continues by discussing the recording of Zeta: A New Translation.

Ikeda: It has been 20 years since I first performed in the Mobile Suit Z Gundam series, but when I stand in front of the microphone with Toru-chan, the atmosphere of those days mysteriously comes back to me. Without any discussion, the relationship between Amuro and Char immediately returns. I am happy to see that Toru-chan is still in good health, and that he has not changed at all.

Finally, a bit of a humorous note at the end - while Furuya didn’t drink during the time he was recording Gundam, he began doing so within the past ten years (as of this book's writing in 2007), to the point where he even surpassed Ikeda in alcohol tolerance.

In Ikeda’s words, “I never thought I would lose to Amuro-kun in such a way.”

Next, Fuyumi Shiraishi, the voice of Mirai Yashima. Ikeda had acted alongside her in Invincible Steel Man Daitarn 3 and was honored to have the opportunity to do so again for Gundam.

He mentions how, despite how often Director Tomino would come in with specific requests on how to perform a scene, the two never clashed, and Shiraishi would just respond with a cute “oka~y!”. However, Ikeda believes she gave priority to her own inspiration for the role.

Ikeda describes Shiraishi as a “cute younger sister-like older sister”, despite being one of the senior members of the cast at the time. He fondly remembers her as a great senior who was bright and playful and always kept the studio in a good mood.

Now Hirotaka Suzuoki, voice of Bright Noa, and also the voice of the main character (Banjou Haran) from Invincible Steel Man Daitarn 3, which is where he and Ikeda became friends.

Ikeda explains that while he didn’t often like drinking with people his own age, Suzuoki was different. While it's easy to complain, whine, and lick each other's wounds at drinking parties with people of the same generation, Suzuoki never did so. In his words, "He drinks with I, a man of the Zeon army while serving in the Federation. For the two of us, it didn’t matter whether it was Zeon or the Federation."

On a night drinking after the recording of Zeta: A New Translation, Ikeda remembers saying to him,

"You (Suzuoki) can't go first. I (Ikeda) am two months older than you, so keep your turn."

In reference to the fact both had grieved together for the passing of Yō Inoue (voice of Sayla Mass), a few years earlier. Tragically Suzuoki passed away in 2006, a year before this book’s publication.

Next, Katsuji Mori, the voice of Garma Zabi. He and Ikeda actually met many years before the recording for Gundam while both were still in junior high school and co-stars on a TV drama written by Genzō Murakami. Mori was already a star in the anime world thanks to his roles as Gou Mifune in Speed Racer and Ken Washio in Science Ninja Team Gatchaman.

"Why is Shu-chan Char? (Laughs)" "Why is Mori-san Garma? (Laughs)"

He remembers they had such an interaction upon seeing each other again.

Ikeda: I am sure Mori-san did not expect to be told by me, a younger man whom he has known since he was a child actor, that "he was a spoiled kid". He is a reliable "kid" who took care of me, who was unfamiliar with anime.

Finally, Keiko Han, the voice of Lalah Sune. Ikeda had worked with her in dubbing the overseas drama series Man from Atlantis and was excited to meet her again on the set of Gundam.

Ikeda: Han-san is a very unusual voice actor, and her tempo is slightly different from my performance. This created a mysterious atmosphere that flowed between Char and Lalah, and it made for an indescribably soft performance. We did not plan this beforehand, so the way they deviate from each other differs from time to time, but it gives the work a good flavor.

Outside of voice acting, Han is also an astrologer and authored many books on the subject. Among the voice actors, it is famous that her fortune telling is often correct.

“Ikeda-san, next year will be a good year for you.”

Ikeda: Han-san says this every time she sees me. I don't know if it is lip service or if she only tells me when my luck is good, but at any rate, my pragmatism and Han-san's ability to see beyond the mystical may be a surprisingly good match. At least when Han-san was asked to play the role of the lover, she seemed to be very compatible with my performance.

~

That's all for my summary of chapter 4. Thank you for reading!

[killedfifth]

private cassidy from fnaf. all headcanoned. icon art by infiglo on twt.

psd from here | rules | char about below the readmore.

written by natalia. op of @sisterfound & @melachronics

cassidy [redacted lastname] - a young girl at the age of 11, killed by William Afton. She was on a week break from school, she was visiting family who introduced her to the Fredbear’s Family Diner. She was always pretty mouthy for her age and her father had told her it’d get her into trouble someday. That someday came quicker than anyone could have expected.

In her death, she befriended the spirit of The Crying Child (C.C / Evan / Chris / Garrett ). They co-pilot the ‘Golden Freddy’ suit together. She’s a vengeful spirit, who hates his father openly, he doesn’t seem to argue about it.

She has no hatred for the Afton family, only William. But given that Elizabeth Afton favors and speaks lovingly of him she may not get along with her.

[danielle-dna]

Slippery When Wet - 5

Sex is different in the movies. It is always perfect, aesthetic and somehow no ones mascara gets smudged. Sex in real life is messy. Sounds, positions and bodily fluids are everywhere. Even more so in the back of a black BMW, while you are doing it with someone you barely know.

I found myself in a few awkward positions. Top, bottom, sideways, on the drivers side, on the backseat... No matter the position he put me in, I always came. Oddly enough, we did it in under forty minutes. Yes, kids, sex is longer in real life too.

He was oddly tender with me afterwards. Even held me after our final time when I was bend over the backseat. Simon wore a black t-shirt under his hoodie. His arms were well built and he had a black and grey tattoo sleeve that depicted skulls and military symbols. That's as much as I saw of him. Well, besides his....

Speaking of his dick, it was something you normally only see in porn movies. Perfect, clean, with some nice veins...you know the works. But that wasn't the main reason why I liked it. I liked it because he took care of my needs too. I liked the way his hands gripped my thighs and the way he caressed my back. Despite the situation I didn't feel cheap or used like some men want you to believe. I felt empowered.

I fucked a handsome stranger in a car and I loved it.

"Thanks for the shag, Simon, but I really need to go back to work." I began to straightening my uniform, when he gently grabbed my chin and gave me a light kiss. "Welcome, love. I'm sure it was better than the applause from the people." Now that made me smirk. "That is true. Hope you enjoyed it too." He fixed up his pants and gave my bottom a light squeeze. "Get in the front, I'll give you a ride, yeah?"

Going back to work felt great, yet I felt angry at the same time. I just had mind blowing sex in the back of the car and I probably won't ever see this man ever again.

I placed my ID and phone on a desk in the break room and started to devour a sandwich. I had spent most of my break fucking, so I needed to make sure I at least consume some food. Collapsing on the shift was not an option. My landlords pocket ain't gonna fill itself.

"Who's Simon?" Char, one of my co workers, an actual nurse asked. My mind started to panic. Has she seen us doing it? He did park on the side of the common, where nobody ever went. Did she hear me shout his name a few times? Has she seen me screwing a guy in my work uniform?

I decided to play stupid. "Who?" I answered with a full mouth. She pointed to my ID, which had a piece of paper stuck on it.

There was a phone number written with black ink and a small signature. - Simon

[ablatheringblatherskite]

My Fanfics Lists, part 3: Wednesday!

Linking this to my pinned post, for easy sortings!

(Once again noting: I don't think any of my fics will ever reach rated E, so!! If they ever did, it'd probably be for violence).

OTHER FANDOMS I WROTE FOR: Hamilton, Star Wars, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Daredevil

...

stupid, stupid cartoon

Summary:

Donovan Galpin was never one to watch cartoons. But here he was, his ass on the couch, watching a cartoon about magic element benders.

"send your cutest delivery boy" (special instructions, Tyler's POV)

Summary:

What I think happened in Tyler's POV in "secret instructions" by @cosmiclullaby! “Coming back from a delivery, Tyler should have known to be suspicious when he walked into his co-workers debating loudly behind the counter.” Summary of original fic: “What did she write?” she asked, already dreading the answer. Enid was grinning, a devilish smile that Wednesday both admired and feared, and turned [the] phone screen to Wednesday, letting her read the text. Under the ‘special instructions’ portion of the order, Enid had written ‘send your cutest delivery boy’.

The Valentine's Day Curse

Summary:

When Valentine's Day comes around, Wednesday is determined not to participate in it—but a certain curse has other ideas. “She hadn't told anyone who she'd gotten—not even Enid. She didn't need anyone knowing she had gotten Tyler Galpin.”

can I have this dance?

Summary:

When Wednesday finds herself being roped into Enid and Ajax's nighttime kitchen date, she wasn't expecting Ajax's roommate, Tyler Galpin, to join them.

wet face towels

Summary:

After a too intense movie, Tyler has a nightmare. (Aka, Tyler gets sick, and Wednesday takes care of him)

he's a little monster (underneath)

Summary:

Wednesday embarrasses Tyler after a trip to the grocery store.

Woe Is We

Summary:

Panting, body dripping with blood, someone else's blood. Wednesday's blood. Tyler came slowly to Nevermore. All that remained was the charred remains of the once renowned school, blackened and smelling of ash and blood. Crackstone had succeeded. Laurel had won.

My Halloween Angel

Summary:

After a difficult first year at Nevermore, Wednesday agrees to attend the Halloween Ball with Tyler.

'Til Death Do Us Part - 5+1

Summary:

Aka, Five times Wednesday and Tyler tried to kill each other, and the one time death succeeded.