#i had collections for wips too and those are just Gone. they said i can download things but why would i want to download my own photos.

[rebornrosess]

never forgiving we heart it for dropping off the face of the earth without warning

[eridanidreams]

WIP Whenever/Textual Thursday

This is a side jaunt in the universe of stars through my fingers like grains of sand. It takes place sometime in 2312.

"C-12 isn't a stable enough genome," the first voice insisted. "C-13 and C-7 were much more suitable candidates—"

"Yes," said the second voice. "And look how well they turned out."

C-13 and C-7 had both disappeared a few weeks ago; the girl eavesdropping knew that much. She also knew that when people disappeared, they didn't come back. They—the two men discussing her own fate—were responsible, had done something. Another experiment. In her experience, 'experiment' meant "Dr. Reg is going to do something to us and see what happens." Sometimes those experiments were as small as changing the way they ate; other times… other times they got sick. And then they went away.

The girl knew she'd probably be in trouble if Dr. Reg caught her eavesdropping on him, but she didn't like what she'd been sensing from him. Impatient. Speculative. Whatever he had planned for her, she needed to know—before she ended up like her clone-sibs: dead… or worse.

"That's the unfortunate nature of experiments," Dr. Reg retorted. "Even under the best conditions, one cannot fully predict the outcome." She heard him stomping back and forth; the cold of his anger seeped into her even through the door. "Given the conditions that actually apply—I warned you of the potential impact."

The second voice was even colder, if that was possible. "Whatever you may think of Neon, it's the best site we currently have for the program as the political situation currently stands."

"Neon," Dr. Reg sneered. "Freestar Collective. Their precious capital city still hasn't bothered to pave their own streets."

"Which," the second voice sounded bored, "is why you're not in Akila City. Neon's megacorps are technologically sophisticated enough that you should have no problem acquiring the hardware that you need, and morally bankrupt enough that they won't care where you come from so long as they can profit from it."

"Save for the fact that I'm spending two-thirds of the budget on security so those morally-bankrupt megacorps don't simply steal the work out from under us," Dr. Reg snapped.

"No," now the second voice sounded amused, "you're spending budget on security so the people from whom you stole your current line of research don't retrieve it with extreme prejudice. And while I admire your initiative, I simply can't allocate more funds to you right now. Nor, am I afraid, are we in a position to refresh the clone lines." The amusement disappeared, replaced by a bitter hate. "My enemies in the government were… proactive… in destroying the labs."

The sound of Dr. Reg's footsteps stopped; the girl shivered in time with his shock. "That's—you're telling me that C-12 is the last? The very last?"

"Indeed." The hate in the second voice was gone as if it had never existed. "Frankly, at this point, whether the program is a success or not is irrelevant. We certainly cannot use it to support the current administration."

"Then—what do we do?" Dr. Reg was close to panic; the girl was, too, but for different reasons. "We've invested too much in this project to simply quit!"

"Do not allow the fallacy of the sunken cost to blind you to the realities of the situation, Reginald." The girl wasn't fond of Dr. Reg sometimes, but she really hated the other man. "The program is ending, one way or another. The best way forward is to finalize the experiment on C-12. Whatever the outcome, the data will be useful when we are in a position to rebuild."

"C-12… the problem isn't just the stability of the genome. I have concerns about her psychological suitability, as well. She's… soft." Dr. Reg all but sneered the last word, and the girl had to fight down the desire to go in there and kick him in the goolies. Which would be temporarily satisfying, but would ruin all her careful preparations. Nor did she want to be actually noticed by the empty-voiced man. He scared her. "It would be better to simply adopt her out, monitor from a distance. We can easily pass her off as a war orphan."

"And, what, breed her?" the man sneered right back. "Even had we not engineered them to be sterile, the non-human genomic inclusions would ensure it. No. My daughter was also 'soft'," he added dismissively. "The war hardened her up sufficiently. Should C-12 survive the initial surgery, we have ways to insure that she will be as 'hard' as necessary." There was a pause. "And genomic stability aside, her empathic potential is the highest of the C-line."

"Well… that is true…" Whatever else the man's contempt had done, it had shaken Dr. Reg out of being angry and into a more thoughtful mood. And while the girl could appreciate the relief from his anger, Dr. Reg was most dangerous when he was contemplative. "Failures or not, we learned a great deal from the last two. C-7, in particular, gave us valuable feedback. The neural amplification in the last revision was too… robust. The new implant prototype should be available within the next 48 hours."

"Good." A note of avarice entered the other man's voice. "Have you had any success in identifying the source of the amplifier?"

"No." Dr. Reg sounded just as disappointed. "My source is dead—found floating near one of the piers, half-eaten by chasmbass. Undoubtedly an assassination, but she covered her tracks well enough that I wasn't able to find out where she'd stolen it from."

"A pity. Well, you have your orders."

The girl heard the faint click of the connection ending, followed by Dr. Reg's savage mutter, "One of these days, Admiral, you'll give an order to the wrong person, and you'll be a dead man in truth." The satisfaction that rolled off him at the thought made her want to scrub her skin raw. She'd heard enough—she fled back to the sleeping quarters. 48 hours wasn't a long time, and she had an escape to plan.

[shootingstarpilot]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Thanks for the tag, @merlyn-bane!

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

Eight!

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

217,911

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

*sobbing* Star Wars, my beloved. The brainrot is real; I am consumed. When I was still on FF.net, though, I had stuff up in Harry Potter and How to Train Your Dragon.

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

back then, i was dauntless

how to bring him home

if i don't make it back (from where i've gone)

though some would harm you

like lightning changing hands

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

I absolutely do! I feel bad because I know I've gotten some lovely comments on chapters that aren't the most recent one, and those tend to get lost in the inbox, but I promise I'm working on it- if you get a response from a comment you left a year and a half ago, don't hold it against me 😅

I do it because I want so badly to build community here! I love getting comments from people, responding to something with a wee hint of a tease because I'm AWFUL and then getting a keysmash of a response and then exchanging snippets in the comments, truly, it fills me with delight- and I've met some absolutely wonderful people who I got introduced to by responding to comments-

Anyway. Community. That.

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

Oh. Hm. Hm.

I... guess it would have to be though some would harm you? Although I'm not sure if I feel confident in that designation, because it's very much part of a multi-work series. And I'm too much of a sucker for happy endings to write a stand-alone fic that doesn't have one, I think.

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

Oh, neural plasticity, for sure! Short and sweet <3

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

A bit. I can brush off the "actually the Jedi were the real monsters" assholes easily enough, but honestly, the comments that hit the hardest are the ones that clearly come from people who think they're offering ✨constructive criticism.✨ Not only because I didn't ask for it, but also because saying my work is "fatiguing" or "I'm sure there's a decent story here, but it's being buried under what you're trying to do with it-" there's nothing constructive there.

Side note: the person who left that last comment deleted it about half an hour later, because when I went to reply, it had vanished from my inbox. I don't know if they did that because they didn't want me to be able to reply, or if they realized that what they said was unhelpful and mean, but if they ever happen to see this-

I still got the email, prick.

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

Write? No, I haven't quite worked up the panache to try. Reading, on the other hand...

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

I do have snippets of one crossover that I actually posted in an anonymous collection, ha- an old BBC Merlin/ Good Omens/ Supernatural fic that I dug out of my old documents. Other than that, no- unless you count the Prequels and the Clone Wars as different enough to qualify as a crossover.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also not that I know of- very much open to it, though!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Since I don't think taking drabbles in tumblr chats to ridiculous lengths counts, I'd have to say no- I'd like to, though!

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Codywan. Fiercely, unwaveringly Codywan.

Just to reinforce this- 292 of my bookmarks consist of Cody/Obi-Wan. The next most common romantic pairing (Aziraphale/Crowley) has less than half that, at 121.

I'm a goner, and I can't even bring myself to regret it.

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

OKAY SO I've written snippets of a modern AU focusing on Helix, Needle and Stitch, and I'm totally gonna take this opportunity to rage about it. I'm probably never gonna finish it, but it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling, so, hey- what else is fic for, really, if not for indulging yourself?

At first, it's just Needle and Stitch. It's just been the two of them, for as long as Stitch can remember. Needle's only a few years older than him, but he's raised him, kept him in school, kept a roof over their heads and food on the table-

Food on Stitch's plate, at least.

Then, one night, Needle does not come home.

A hit-and-run, the nurse tells him, although the words will not trickle through until much later. A coma.

He will not, they say patiently, come home for some time.

(There is so much that needs doing.)

Helix, meanwhile, is studying physical therapy at the local community college and working part-time at his brother Ace's bakery.

It's during one of these shifts that a skinny little twerp comes in and hands him a job application.

(Rent and bills and Needle Needle Needle-)

It doesn't take Helix long to realize something is... off.

Ace tells him not to push it, but-

The kid's a good worker. Great, as a matter of fact. He's never late. Stays past closing, too, if they've had a rush. He tells Helix about his brother and nothing else.

(His brother hasn't come to visit.)

Everything that's not sold at the end of the day gets packaged up and given out. They only toss in the dumpster what's really, truly inedible- stuff that got dropped in the kitchen, scraps left over from customers-

He thinks it's raccoons, at first, until he peers in and sees Stitch flatten himself against a heap of bags in the corner.

They package up leftovers for him, after that. A bit more than leftovers, maybe. Ace sets aside sandwiches. Helix buys him a thermos and tells him it's been in the lost and found for over a year. They make sure he eats.

(Needle's getting transferred out of the ICU.)

Stitch is trying. He's doing everything he can, and more besides. But Needle's life is too expensive and he's buckling under the weight.

(He hasn't even grieved. Not really. No room. No time.)

Eventually, something has to give.

He does.

(He hadn't expected someone to be there to catch him.)

Featuring:

Helix stumbling into adopting first one, then two idiot kids

Ace being a supportive brother

Needle finding his way home

Mace Windu as Needle's (unfairly attractive, Helix thinks) neurologist

Obi-Wan as a hospital social worker who gets assigned Needle's file

Cody as Obi-Wan's husband, Helix's cousin, and children's book author (Stitch's favorite)

(listen I am WEAK for author!Cody, truly)

(Helix was totally the one who got them together and he regrets it every day of his life.)

Sheev Palpatine as the epitome of the evil of the American healthcare system

The Melidaan crew running a long-term, non-profit care facility that offers both in-patient and out-patient rehab services

16.) What are your writing strengths?

(I'VE PUT TOO MUCH THOUGHT INTO THIS. SHIT.)

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I am, apparently, really good at writing breakdowns. >:3

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

Dialogue does not come easily to me. I have to work a bit to hit my stride. But I think it turns out well enough!

Hm. Coming from a purely technical perspective here, I think the reader should be able to understand everything that's spoken in a fic. If a character says something in another language, then I think the best way to convey that is, "X muttered something Y didn't catch," or, if the listener recognizes that it's at least in another language, "X muttered something in French."

If the reader should understand it, then something along the lines of: "'I knew we shouldn't have trusted him,' X muttered in French."

If the POV character doesn't understand the language, it doesn't make sense to provide the reader with a perfect transliteration of what the other character is saying. The character wouldn't have that knowledge. It can really take me out of the fic when two characters suddenly start conversing in written-out sentences in another language, and I have to scroll all the way down to the footnotes for translations.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

But then again, that's just my opinion- I'm sure others have their own thoughts on this!

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

Harry Potter.

Hell, I have to say like lightning changing hands, if only because whatever fic I'm writing at the moment is my favorite. It's the act of creation that does it for me!

(Also because it's such a good opportunity to explore so many relationship dynamics.)

No-pressure tags for @jedi-enthusiast, @themonopolyhat, @shadow-pixelle, and @foreverchangingfandomsao3!

[donteattheappleshook]

WIP Wednesday

Week 4 🕛 The WIP that has gone the longest without an update (have pity on us readers please)

Finally jumping on my own bandwagon lol - technically this is the WIP that's gone the second longest without an update, but still almost a year so I think that counts. I was hoping it would be ready to post today but then the smut fairy had other ideas....

Anyway here's a sneak peek at the next chapter of Not Broken at All

Chapter 16

“What happens to the bodies?” she asks, looking back at the dead, carefully wrapped in sheets on the deck.

“We bury the ones who made it here at sea. Neverland takes back the rest.” 

Emma frowns, eyes darting to the shore. “What do you mean it takes them back?” 

“They become the shadows that live in Dark Hollow, whispering to Pan, finding children, his way of keeping an eye on the outside world. He’ll come at sundown to collect them.” 

“They become the shadows?” she swallows, cold dread tasting bitter at the thought of all those kids having to become Pan’s creatures, forced to do his bidding forever. “The boys?”

Wendy nods and her stomach drops. 

“What about the ones who died here? Will they be shadows too?” 

She shakes his head. “Neverland magic can’t touch this ship. Whatever enchantment’s on it is powerful enough to keep even the darkness away.” Neverland can’t find you here. 

Emma hears her sigh when she looks back out at that beach. “Don’t even think about it.” She’s thinking about it. “He gets to keep his winnings. Those are the rules of the game. Those rules keep us alive.” 

She doesn’t answer, only gives the captain a small nod, thoughts still spinning with the cruelty of it all, that even in death these children can’t escape Pan. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder, the gesture surprisingly consoling, the mask slipping again. “You’re not the only one who wishes it could be different.” 

Emma nods, grim and defeated, and Wendy pats her shoulder with a tight-lipped smile before turning towards where some of the children have started to stir. 

She wishes she could say she thought about it longer, or at all, really. But all she can think of is every single kid she knew growing up, all the ones who fell through the cracks, the ones who were given up on or abandoned, all the adults who threw up their hands and said there was nothing they could do - that was just how the system worked, that rules had to be followed. Fuck that. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Wendy’s shout echoes above her, cut off by the water when she plunges into it.

*******

@captainswanwipwednesdays

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

hello sending this as an ask because its so so stupid but you are the Drifter expert so I must ask.

I was listening to 'This Too Shall Pass' by Danny Schmidt and I *think* it's pretty Drifter-coded. But unfortunately I'm still in the stage of new player where I have no idea if I'm reading canon right so I'm tossing it to you before I make another entry in the ever-growing pile of animatic wips.

I maintain I am not a Drifter expert, but I am most assuredly a Drifter enthusiast. I further maintain that any song can be Drifter-coded if you try hard enough.

But these points aside, I hunted down this song I didn't think I had ever heard before and listened... and then went… hold up…

And then I looked through all the other Drifteris playlists other people have shared with me.

Because one of the things I love about talking to other Drifteris enthusiasts or Drifter enthusiasts or Eris enthusiasts, especially writers, is they often, like me, also make playlists for one or both characters. And one of the delightful things we often do is share these playlists with each other.

So I am pleased to inform you that this is in fact a song I have heard before, despite not having remembered the artist or the title (I have an impressively bad memory). Not only do I agree it is quite Drifter-coded, you are not the first person to recommend it to me as such.

But even without this additional external validation, so much of this song and its lyrics have beautiful Drifter-esque qualities. It particularly reminds me of a ship I keep in my vault in-game, despite finding it quite ugly and one that I do not ever intend to use: https://www.ishtar-collective.net/items/drift-apart

Thank you for the delightful musical interlude. I am intrigued by the potential of your animatic WIPs and hope one day you will complete some and share them.

Song & Lyrics for anyone who is intrigued:

Things change fast But this too shall pass Better carve it on your forehead Or tattoo it on your ass 'Cause who can tell When the clock strikes twelve If today's become tomorrow Or if it's all just gone to hell My friend makes rings She swirls and sings She's a mystic in the sense That she's still mystified by things But scared to ask How can nothing seem to last 'Cause like a cancer in your body It all just goes too fast We think too big We think our self is one whole thing And we claim that this collection Has a name and is a being But deep inside When every cell divides Well, it sets upon the rule that states Self-interest is divine Cancer, too Lives by this golden rule That you must do unto the others As the others unto you All for the best 'Cause that's all the life accepts And so we kill it like a buffalo With awe and with respect Don't ask God Just holler at the sky 'Cause she'll tell it to you plainly In the clouds that whisper by And praise the shapes And then praise the way they change And they'll teach you not to pray to light Without you pray to rain So, I pray to hands And I pray to needs And I pray to blades of grass To find forgiveness in the weeds But as for health I just never did believe And so I never prayed myself Except to those that prayed for me The story goes Or the way that I was told There was a king that always felt too high And then he felt too low And so he called All the wise men to the hall And he begged them for a gift To end the rises and the falls And here's the thing They came back with a ring It was simple and was plainly Unbefitting of a king Engraved in black Well, it had no front or back But there were words around the band that said "Just know: this too shall pass"

[genshin-impact-trash]

Zhongli/Tartaglia Fic Rec List 1

All We Hold Within Our Hearts – series (teen, wip, 4k) A series of character studies featuring Zhongli and Childe and how they relate to each of the five love languages.

Begin Anew, O Lost Child (explicit, complete, 200k) You may find time is too relentless to control and you cannot change your role. Zhongli’s expression is painfully gentle. It sends a flutter through his chest that anyone would look at the bloodthirsty Harbinger like that. He is silhouetted beautifully by the golden light. A golden prince for a golden city. “They say that souls never truly die. One day we might be so lucky to meet old friends again. Perhaps those we cared for most will find us again and we might learn the foundations of our friendship once more. I always thought time a relentless enemy but maybe time gifts us these moments of joy as well.” The hero Ajax walked the lands of Teyvat and his legend shaped the future. Heroes die but legends live forever. Their names are passed on, one generation after another. Those who bear the names of heroes are forced to confront the legacy they inherit. Childe grows up in the shadow of his namesake and rises to meet the challenge of legend.

bottom of the bottle and at my wits' end (teen, complete, 7k) While he's hunting down Scaramouche to reclaim the Electro Archon's Gnosis, Childe spends a night alone with his thoughts and a bottle of Fire-Water. AKA Childe character study

hung up (explicit, 45k) Childe moonlights as a phone sex operator to pay for his bills. Zhongli is a grieving man looking for a stranger to listen to him, rather than help him get off. It breaks the growing monotony of his late night calls, but Childe eventually finds himself falling for the deep-voiced man he knows only as "Rex."

Hydro Resonance (explicit, complete, 6k, includes Tartaglia/Yelan) Childe is looking through his correspondence when Ekaterina arrives with a nondescript wooden box. "Sir, someone from the ministry of civil affairs left this for you." He opens the box without much thought. He gets a lot of letters, and a package or two isn't anything too unusual. He frowns at what, at first glance, looks like a very strange bead necklace and a bottle of oil. The beads are all different sizes, sphere after sphere of glimmering cor lapis connected by a stiff string. Why would anyone send him jewelry? His eyes widen as he notices the note lying innocently over the thing. For you to train with. -Y Childe almost drops the box. No way. The beads are supposed to go inside him. --- Yelan and Childe have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Mr. Zhongli is just a friend, or so Childe keeps insisting.

In a family way (explicit, complete, 12k) “You-“ Zhongli’s voice is hoarse, face contorted in utter bewilderment. Still, he does not move, keeping Childe’s legs straight in the air. “You asked to be my mate. You wanted me to breed you. Ajax, you said that to me.” Oh, Celestia, they’re still connected. It’s all going to his head. Childe thinks he’s delirious. This can’t be real. “That was-“ His voice breaks in an awful squeak. “-that was dirty talk!” He never thought- Oh, fuck. Zhongli moves inside of him, and he can feel the cum sloshing through his guts. All this time. He’s an idiot. The signs, in retrospect, were so obvious. Zhongli has been trying to impregnate him. … Or, Childe learns the hard way to be careful what he wishes of an (ex) god. It might just get taken literally.

Oceans Between Us – series (mature, wip, 200k) There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect. Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart. (The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with trauma, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

The Inaccuracy of Infinity (mature, complete, 250k) Zhongli finds himself in quite the conundrum when a simple day trip with Childe, gone wrong, ends with him turning Childe immortal instead... And how he fails to inform the harbinger about this new development. Though, Zhongli supposes there'll be time to fill him in on this small detail sometime during the journey around Teyvat Childe has managed to rope him into.

To the Rhythm of Your Racing Heart (teen, complete, 90k) A mysterious shopkeeper offers Childe a bottle of wine that will make him forget about the one he loves. Childe is more than willing to accept it.

Two Truths and a Lie (teen, complete, 13k) There is a popular game in Snezhnaya, one that originates as an activity to keep children occupied during the long winter days stuck indoors while arctic winds howl outside, knocking against doors and windows and carrying with it a violent storm of ice and frost. The game has since been adopted into a drinking game by bored young adults similarly trapped inside those cold, dark grueling months. The game’s rules go something like this. Each person takes a turn telling two truths and one lie about themselves while the rest of the participants have to pluck out the lie. If the guessers guessed wrong, the person telling the information gets the point. If the guesser guessed right, then the person gets no points. There is no real end to this game. Children play it until they become bored, adults play it until they become drunk. Childe plays it until… Come to think of it, Childe’s not entirely sure why he’s playing. -- A Childe introspection story where he tries to find his heart.

Weighing Contracts (teen, complete, 150k) The final contract of Liyue. That’s what Rex Lapis had called it. An agreement to test his people, to see how they would be able to stand on their own and to allow them to move on from the age of gods and monsters into the dawning age of man. Rex Lapis knew they would be challenged in ways they had never been before, but despite appearances, he would be there to catch them if they fell. However, there were things he hadn’t accounted for despite all his careful planning. He had known that the Tsaritsa’s Fatui were sent to cause chaos - that Childe was a Harbinger and therefore would be at the epicentre - but he hadn’t expected this. As his ancient foe rose from the depths of the Guyun Stone Forest, the Archon weighed the final contract of Liyue against the first and made his decision.

[kinomiakai]

I spent some time reflecting on this past year of writing, so here's the breakdown and a bunch of my thoughts, haha. It's been a really busy year!! You can tell where my life got a little more chaotic, in both good and bad ways - I had to skip some pieces of some months, but I did all I could to anticipate or make up for those pieces as they came. I did some more rambling about my thoughts on the things I wrote (and there's links to everything there, too) -I'll put that under a read more, because it got pretty long. Regardless, I just want to say that if you've read anything of mine this year, thank you. A big, big thank you.

The big WIPs:

The Forest (original) - 49,200 words - Okay I'm just linking to my big list of writing so you can read the summaries without patreon telling you to go away, but this is my original fic featuring Braith, Fern, Fae & Lola, a human, an elf, a fairy and another human. It's wlw & mlm and it's full of warm and colourful things and maybe some healing trauma because let's face it. What else do I write. Full word count is currently at 161,688 so far!

Two is a Crowd (sns fanfic) - 53,965 - my big canonverse introspective healing trauma fun times fiasco. Full word count is currently at 91,209 so far and yes. Yes it is slow burn.

The One-offs:

Winter (Fake)ation (original) - 9,635 words - I'm linking to the list of fics again but it's just under The Forest. This one is nsfw & fun & involves an exhausted & overworked Felix being taken on the closest thing to a vacation he can go by his very sweet best friend. She builds a beach in his room. It doesn't work. They go out. They meet Arlo. It's all mlm from there!

Irreversible (sns fanfic) - 2,136 words - I wrote this one for the my one, my only zine and it was really fun!! I haven't been in a lot of zines so it felt like a really big moment for me :)

SNS Month: 38,383 words - I'm linking to the collection here! It has all of them.

tied up and fallen loose - 2505 words - did you expect me to pick the bondage prompt? I didn't, but here it was! nsfw, obviously. the heat after battle - 2,177 words - who said all my fantasy writing has to have 10k words of worldbuilding backstory before we get to the good stuff. who said that. Nsfw!!

Fear. - 4,841 words - Sasuke always has to go through it, poor guy. like he hasn't been psychologically messed with enough. (I still think this was one of my favourites but I think it's because I like exploring and messing with conciousness vs. subconciousness) keeping busy - 4,483 words - Sasuke's gone & Naruto needs a million things to get his mind off of that.

Meet Your Match! - 7,010 words - a modern au, roommate au, collage au!!! It feels like it's been so long! with a fun little Valentines twist.

beds and lack thereof - 3,542 words - Naruto decides they're living together and Sasuke cannot figure out what the hell that means or if the idiot even knows what he's doing or why

how not to fix your sleep schedule - 3,739 words - a cute little imagining of the boys' life on a cabin by the ocean.

I’ve been gone a week. - 2,147 words - letters!! fun letters back & forth between the boys that ask you to picture what happened in between them :) this was a fun writing challenge. to possess; to have; as belonging to one - 2,514 words - this one was fun. Sasuke's back & he isn't going to let Naruto dodge questions anymore.

in nightmare and in health - 5,425 words - another soulmate AU, a bit more sad though! Cathartic, maybe?? It's a sort of reincarnation AU & does involve description of major character death in a past life.

Aaaand that brings our total word count to: 153,319! Which is a lot more than I expected, if I'm honest. It really felt like a scramble to find the time at a lot of points of this year. But I'm relieved to see I still managed to write quite a lot. A few years back I would never think about hitting these kinds of numbers, haha. I don't want to take that for granted, so I'll ride it out as long as it lasts.

If you've read this much, you are so sweet, thank you for indulging me :) I appreciate you. I hope the new year treats you well, and I'll keep writing to try to be part of that for as long as I can.

[360iris]

do you have any wips? sorry i’m just curious, i’m in love with your writing

Luv, Hold Me Down (Sirius Black x Reader, WIP)

Warning: Mature themes? I don’t know with this one.

Word count: 2,209

A/N: You’re gonna hate my ass because I have zero intention to finish the smut on this one shdhd. Maybe when I’m less busy I’ll come back and update it (although not atm). There are typos galore too so I’m sorry in advance!

—————————————-

The infamous Bubblegum Bomb Incident of 1972. Casualties: one.

During Year Two, Sirius had resolved to get revenge on Cissy’s insufferable boyfriend ever since he tripped him in the halls to get a laugh out of his Slytherin lackeys; and what better way to do that than ruining his precious platinum locks.

It was suppose to be a quick and untraceable procedure. He’d get to personally serve Lucius his own brand of justice and the job would be completed without having to suffer detention.

If only you hadn’t been rushing through the halls that day.

Lunch had just ended, and you were haphazardly ducking and dodging through the wave of students, on your way to visit Remus. He’d been sentenced to a strict, three day period of consistent bed-rest in the infirmary after a particularly bad transformation.

You’d just wanted to bring him a slice of his favorite Hogwarts style coconut cream pie, but one wrong turn and you were suddenly bombarded with three quick pelts of homemade exploding bubblegum bullets.

Sirius had designed them to be quick and lethal with their distribution of rubbery goo so that the target's hair was sure to be ruined.

The first shot sent the small plate in your hands completely airborne. The next two hit you square in the chest, knocking you fully onto your back.

The aftermath was so extreme that it took the combined effort of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and eventually, the guiding hand of Madam Pomfrey to free you from the sticky sludge and off of the stone pavement.

By the time they’d got to the infirmary, your entire head of hair had been deemed unsalvageable by sweet Poppy, and the only thing she could figure to do was shave it clean off by hand.

You’d spent the next two days unexpectedly alongside a tired Remus, confined in the sick bay, crying your eyes out hysterically. You’d had no idea who had done this to you or why.

That was until the third day, when Poppy finally allowed visitors in, in hopes of lifting your spirits.

Your guests included:

An empathetic Lily and Mary, both girls bringing you and Remus an abundance of flowers from the greenhouses, with explicit approval from Professor Sprout; alongside the homework you’d missed and plenty of junk foods.

An overzealous Marlene who’d spent the entirety of the three days drafting up and collecting signatures for a petition to permanently ban disruptive joke shop type inventions.

And lastly, an uncharacteristically stonefaced James and solemn Sirius who both quietly observed the crucially placed scarf on your head meant to distract from your current state of baldness.

“Go on then. Tell her, man. It’s only proper.” James said abruptly with folded arms, for the first time ever foregoing his usual impeccable home-taught manners and any form of courteous greetings altogether.

You watched confused as Sirius stood some several feet away, staring directly down at his shoes. After another coarse verbal prod from James, he stepped forward, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“I- You have to understand, I couldn’t have known, Y/N! It happened so suddenly and before I knew it, it was too late!” He pleaded desperately and you weren’t quite understanding what he meant.

“I don’t follow, Sirius. What are you on about?” You asked, watching as he began wringing his hands.

He looked over to James again, seemingly pleading for aid that wouldn’t come. James looked positively severe, intent on standing by his decision to have the boy do this by himself.

“I- I was the one who blew the gum bullets.” Sirius finally whispered, looking positively terrified of your reaction. “But I didn’t intend on hitting you, I promise! It was for that git Malfoy! Remember when he tripped me in front of all of those sixth years last month? I’d been working on a way to get him back ever since! You’ve got to believe me, Y/N!”

But you’d stopped listening after the initial reveal. Your blood ran cold and it was hard to focus on anything in particular before suddenly all of your senses came rushing back in, and you were furious.

And even though James and Remus had been gauging your response, neither could have been quick enough to match the speed at which you pulled off both of your slippers and hurled them at the older boy’s face.

Successfully managing to clock him so hard, he reflexively reached up to clutch his sore, but still intact nose.

After that day, you had deemed Sirius public enemy number one, he managed to outrank even the silver-spoon fed Slytherins and that antagonizing blight, Peeves.

While there were tonics for quickening hair growth, you cursed Sirius Orion Black, every time you had to awkwardly apply a plethora of random oils to your scalp and walk around campus bald for an entire semester.

When he looked your way, you glared back mercilessly. If he dared to even address you, your responses were far from being deemed PG-13.

He’d spent the first six months wearily but consistently trying to apologize, however the damage had already been done, and it’d destroyed any semblance of friendship he’d crafted with you beforehand.

So after a while, he gave up. If you were going to hate him regardless of his actions, he figured he might as well stand up for himself during the bickering matches that transpired whenever the two of you were less than six feet apart.

Over the years, you’d remained bestfriends with Remus and James, though they could never hang out with the both of you at the same time.

For example, if you were eating breakfast with the two boys in The Great Hall and Sirius arrived late after sleeping in, you’d promptly roll your eyes and slide away to talk with Lily.

——

“That most definitely is not healthy, James.” You grimaced, tilting your head back laughing. The book in your lap, long since abandoned from the moment your bestfriends entered the common room.

“Muggle five second rule, Y/N! You were the one who told me about it to begin with!” He grinned from his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you.

You couldn’t help bursting into a fit of giggles, desperately trying to respond. “Rem- Remus! Please! Inform him that it doesn't apply to dropping a sandwich down an entire flight of stairs!”

“Believe me I tried, but he seemed pretty determined to eat it, hair and all after catching up to it.” Remus replied softly, a fond smile playing on his lips as you began making gagging noises of disgust.

“No! James Fleamont Potter, tell me you didn’t actually eat hair!” You laughed, extending your socked foot to shove him.

“I will suffice by just saying that, there may or may not have been a stray hair or two on it when I picked it up- Oh! Sirius, how was detention?” James trailed off to greet a certain boy and your demeanor immediately soured.

Your textbook on alchemical runes suddenly seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

“It was worth it. Mcgonagall must be getting tired of me because she had me choose a book and read for three hours. Don’t let me interrupt the fun though. Looks like you’ve finally coaxed the Ice Queen to defrost for a bit. Shame I wasn’t here to see it.” He remarks, and you didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was wearing that infuriating smirk.

“Don’t worry, Black. I’ll never be able to truly relax knowing you’re still out running amuck. Next time you get written up, I’ll be sure to beg Mcgonagall to keep you chained outside with the rest of the wild animals.” An acute look of disgust etches across your face as you close your book, promptly shoving it into your bag.

“If you’re so desperate to see me in a collar, the person you need to be begging is right in front of you, doll.”

You could not have rolled your eyes harder at his remark. In a huff, you tug the strap of your bag around your frame and stand indignantly.

“You’re actually right for once. James? Keep your mutt on a tighter leash, before I’m forced to be the one that puts him down.” You sneer, flipping your hair over one shoulder and striding up to the girls dormitory before he can get in another word.

Remus sighed, unhappily leaning back against the couch he was currently sprawled across. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Sirius watched as your figure disappeared up the stairs before turning to the boy, a dumb smile playing on his lips.

“She doesn’t hate me nearly as much as she tries to make you believe.” Was all he offered giddily before skillfully changing the subject.

———

Much like the infamous playboy Sirius Black, you were known for how frequently you broke the hearts of anyone you hooked up with. They found that sex with you was a spiritual experience, but were usually crushed when you made it clear you weren’t interested in recurring partners.

When Gryffindor’s Quidditch team won a mid-season match against Ravenclaw, James was relentless in persuading you to come to the after party. And though you weren’t originally keen on the idea, you figured it’d be an ample opportunity to relieve some stress.

The night had gone well. You’d garnered a nice buzz from the punch James made in his dorm and had your eyes fixed on Theodore Nott who’d been snuck in by Marlene.

Sirius, who was working his way onto his third cup of punch, watched you make eyes with the Slytherin boy from across the room.

He sat silently seething as you adjusted in your spot on the couch, crossing your legs while holding that snake’s gaze. In the end, all it took was the simple curl of your index finger for Theodore to hand his drink to an unimpressed Marlene and approach you.

Sirius watched as the two of you exchanged a handful of words before you sultrily dragged the boy away by his collar.

It took a minute for him to register that the styrofoam cup in his grasp was crushed.

After grabbing a napkin, he irritatedly ran a hand through his hair and his breath was ragged.

Why did he care that you were probably seconds from fucking a random guy? He definitely wasn’t one to judge, he’d been with plenty of people over the years.

However, no matter how many times he rolled the idea around in his head, he was getting angrier by the minute.

Remus approached him to spark up a conversation, but he was already slipping past him, towards the direction he watched you disappear to earlier.

He found you in the hallway, lip-locked with Theodore who had a grip on one of your exposed thighs. Meanwhile your hands were tangled in his hair.

Sirius’ body switched into autopilot, moving at such a speed that his brain couldn’t even keep pace.

He had harshly pulled the boy off of you, slung you onto his shoulder and made his way to his dorm. Partygoers standing confused as you beat his back, yelling at him to let you go. Once he’s on the stairs away from prying eyes, he delivers a sharp slap to the exposed skin on your thigh.

“Stop screaming bloody murder, Y/L/N.” is all he says and you bite your lip at the sting.

By the time he locked his door and tossed you onto his bed you’re looking at him like he’s insane. Scurrying to get off the mattress but he quickly grabs you ankle, pulling you back to where he dropped you.

“What the fuck has gotten into you!?” You hiss, watching him run a hand through his locks.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to stop being a brat and realize you like me. Tired of watching you hop on random dicks that aren’t mine. You want to get laid tonight? Fine, fuck me then.” He growls and you’re instantly overwhelmed.

“Did a screw come loose in your head? I don’t know what the hell you’re on but I’m not fucking you all people!” You respond by grasping a pillow from his bed and chucking it at his head. He easily catches it with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve loved you since our first year, Y/N. And I’ve observed you long enough to know if you genuinely hated me or not.” He confesses and you freeze. His eyes were crystal clear and you’re at a loss of words so he continues.

He gently grasps one of your hands, bringing it up over his heart. You can very faintly feel his heart racing and your brows furrow. He was actually being genuine.

“You want fuck me so bad you’ve officially gone stupid?” You ask but he sees the tiniest smirk on your lips. And for whatever reason, you actually let him move in to kiss you.

He jumps a bit when you bite his bottom lip and you giggle before he’s pressing you back onto the bed.

It’s a fight for dominance, neither of you wanting to be the one that relents.

[forthelanterns]

TealDeer: I write short fiction for fun and profit! Here's a list of all the things that are out (or going to be out) in the world. Plus, at the bottom, I have a list of all the short pieces that are going to be on submission when I can, you know, finish them.

Okay, so here is an odd little list of things I've gotten published in some capacity since 2018. There will be links to all the ones you can read online for free, and if you wanna read the other ones, I'll happily link those too but for now, you'll just get titles.

Feel free to let me know if you read any of it, like stuff, or have any questions! I'm delighted to have people poke my brain in regard to this stuff. Plus, it's a way to remind me to work on all the itty bitty stories that live in my head.

Oh, btw, both the names do belong to me. I just switched over pen names in 2020 for extremely personal and complicated reasons.

Available for free:

Hear Our Call And Remember - He wasn’t supposed to remember who he was, how fragmented and tangled he had once been, and, more than anything, how he had obtained a mortal skin.

Seedling - There's a young god standing in my doorway.

This Is Not A Ghost Story - In the darkness of her bedroom, after her mother has gone to bed and she’s supposed to have done the same, she tells stories to the ghosts. 

What We Make Of The Dead - The dead girls sit in a row, each one with their blood still staining their hands.

Other things that are available, just not for free:

And The Water Said Kneel (forthcoming)

We Carry What's Ours (forthcoming)

This Isn't The Movie You Started

Hands, Heart Hunger

Show Your Neck, Bare Your Teeth.

Doctors, Mothers, Soldiers Ghosts

The Streets Whisper

For The Taking, For The Making

The Empty Night, The Hungry Sky

And I Never Woke

The Sky And The Sand, The Sea And The Stars

I Will Make You Holy

This Was Never A Vigilthe magpie

Your Heart In My Teeth

An incomplete list of short fiction WIPs:

In The End, We Will Prosper

Static and the Wide Open Dark

Let It Out, Bare Yoru Teeth

Blood and the Words On Your Skin

By The Grace of the Fire

The Gods In Wire And Rhythm

Grand Me Courage Or Send Me Home

Visions and Blackouts

With The Stars In Mind

Feather By Feather, Drop By Drop

We Love Without Mercy

The Last Words In the Speakeasy

Collection: Slight Stories for Small Spaces

Collection: Bleeding from the Sugar Glass

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 8-21 2021

You get two weeks worth of fics this time because I got too busy last weekend and didn't have time to do my weekly recap :)

Complete

Evanstan Week 2021 by luninosity/ @luninosity​ (Evanstan | 10K | Mature): All my Evanstan Week little fics!

1. dodger 2. kisses  3. on set  4. first times (a first kiss, at least)  5. in space (alternate universe)  6. fluff  7. holiday 

💙  Remote Access by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Modern AU, Roommates | 57K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes was in trouble. More trouble than he ever thought he could get into as a grown adult. And it was caused by two singular factors that should never have become entwined.One, his god-like housemate Steve Rogers, who was unfairly handsome and the perfect specimen of man in not only looks but personality - and completely out of Bucky’s league.Two, Bucky’s obsession with a new toy he’d purchased to fill his lonely nights (and other areas).But when Steve buys a new TV, suddenly these two seemingly separate parts of Bucky’s life crash together in a spectacular and obsessive way.Bucky soon finds himself not as in control as he thought - and that’s when things start to get interesting…

💙  Black and Blue by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​, the1918/ @the1918​ (Modern AU, Spies & Secret agents | 7K | Explicit): CIA Agent Bucky Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers, Army 207th, Military Intelligence, are two American spies working for two different intelligence agencies. They've developed somewhat of complicated relationship while chasing down the same leads.

Until One Day, We Won't Be by the1918/ @the1918​ (Evanstan RPF | 8K | Explicit): Six times Chris and Sebastian were alone. [+ one time they were not.]

💙  How to Bang Your Weapon (in This World and the Next) by Brokenwords, elkane/ @elkane​, Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas​, kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria​, Nospheratt/ @nospheratt​, profoundalpacakitten/ @profoundalpacakitten​, ScrambledScript, sublimepigeon/ @sublimepigeon, ursa (Canon Divergent, WS!Steve, WS\Bucky, Multiverse | 50K | Explicit): Hydra knows how to get the Asset to do their bidding. When they want a new Captain, a new Steven Grant Rogers from another universe to help grow Hydra’s collection of supersoldiers, of course they send the Asset. But little do they know that in any universe, a Bucky will always find a Steve, and a Steve will always protect a Bucky.

💙  What lies they told us by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Mobster AU | 42K | Explicit): Steve Rogers might still see his ma every Sunday, but he isn’t the dutiful son. He gave up that life a long time ago. Bucky Barnes may be following in his fathers footsteps, but he wants to set a path to something more than where they’ll take him. Steve and Bucky’s lives have always intersected. There is something between them that exists, real and palpable. But they are opposite sides of a coin. Opposing families in a war for money and power. Blood and pain. And fate may bring them together, again and again, pulling them closer. But it always finds a way to rip them apart. What they need is a way to fight fate. To fight their families. To reach each other. To keep each other. 

the prosecution rests by dirtybinary/ @dirtybinary (Post-WS | 3K | Teen): The Asset has to admit, ending a mission with Captain America crying into his lap is pretty unexpected. Even for him, and he is trained to anticipate all contingencies.

💙  The Seed and the Root by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 32K | Explicit): His hands and mouth are gentle on the outside, but on the inside, Steve is burning up. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted on the bed and land beneath him, and now it’s so much at once that he’s afraid he’ll combust into white, nuclear light. (Part 3 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

Burning For You by musette22/ @musette22​ (Evanstan RPF, Non-Famous Sebastian | 3K | Teen): Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

At The Bottom Of Everything by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 12K | Teen): Six years. That’s what they’re celebrating. Six years, of them. Of this. That's what Chris is happy about. Until the phone rings. Until he turns on the news.

💙  Slip Of The Tongue by this_wayward_life (Shrunkyslunks, Soulmate AU | 6K | Explicit): Mr Perfect Ass is even prettier from the front. His braid is loose enough that strands of hair have fallen to frame his face, and an oversized scarf is pulled up to just below his pouty, red mouth. He's big, with wide shoulders and thick arms and thighs that are straining at his jeans, and he's staring at Steve with a blush on his face and the prettiest eyes Steve has ever seen."Oh, god," Steve blurts out. "Please sit on my face."

(series) Kinktober 2020 by this_wayward_life (31 works | 80K | Explicit)

The Best Handjob Of Bucky Barnes's Damn Life (Handjob)

Soft (Eating Out)

The Benefits of A Sugar Baby  (Thigh Riding)

Black and Blue (Choking/Spanking)

Black Mesh, Red Leather (Daddy Kink)

Thank God For Company-Sanctioned Teambuilding Workshops (Blindfolded)

The Only Thing School Football Is Good For  (Blowjob)

Your Body, On Crumpled Sheets (Voyeurism)

Feeling Just Peachy (Accidental Stimulation)

Blood-slick (Knife Kink)

Bury Me (Restraints)

Summer Nights (Fingering)

Beautiful Shackles (Public Sex)

You Are My First, And You'll Be My Last (Sixty-Nine)

Cover My Body (Size Difference)

All Plugged Up (Toys)

the tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks (Begging)

Sugar Cookies (In the kitchen)

Seeing Double (Threesome)

I'll crawl home to him (Edging)

Your Voice In My Ear (Phone sex)

Hold Me Close, Keep the Monsters at Bay (In the shower/tub)

Keep Me Warm (First Time)

He never asked me once about the wrong I did (BDSM/rough sex)

Unexpected (Caught masturbating)

Overcome (Overstimulation)

In the Crowd (Orgy)

Praise Your Baby (Praise kink)

Grab on my waist and put that body on me  (Dirty talk)

Rediscovery (Mutual Masturbation)

Think I Found Myself a Cheerleader (Dressed up)

WIP

💙  Underneath the Shattered Sky by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Planet Hulk AU, Post-Endgame | 14/? | 55K | Mature): “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.” Steve sounded choked. “I’m sorry. It was out of line.” “It’s really okay.” “No, it’s not. You’re not him. You’re your own person, with your own history, your own thoughts and feelings. Your own life here. I can’t expect you to be him. It’s not fair. To either of you.” “Maybe not,” Bucky huffed back. “But in this universe, my Steve’s an asshole who left me. And in your universe, your Bucky was taken from you, so I don’t really know what’s fair anymore.”

💙  and the river flows beneath your skin by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Boarding School AU, Soulmates | 3/? | 20K | Mature): In which Steve and Bucky are forced to room together their senior year at boarding school, and accidentally soul bond to each other even though they kind of hate each other. All they have to do to get out of it is not kiss each other for a year so the accidental bond will fade. How hard could it be?

💙  The Root and the Stalk by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 3/6 | 18K | Explicit): “My mom, she’s not perfect, but she always had this one saying. You can’t look right into the sunset, because the light will burn your eyes. So you have to face east, right?” Bucky tucks his forehead against Steve’s chest, staring down the gap between them, eyes on their feet. “And when you do, you can look at the ground, and you can see your own shadow.” Bucky raises his head after a contemplative silence and gazes up at Steve. Those stormy gray eyes are filled with luminance, iridescence, splintered rays of shining light. “Or—Mom would say—you can look in front of you.” His lashes kiss his cheeks in butterfly pulses every time he blinks. “And ‘God’s light at your back will show you everything.’” (Part 4 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

💙  Revenance by by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue) (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 20/? | 62K | Mature | Warning: Violence, MCD): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙  my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid​ (Post-Endgame (non-compliant) | 1/2 | 7K | Explicit): He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast. “I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.” Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits. He swallows. Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s. “Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”

Re-read

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (Canon, magic curse | 1K | General): “Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her. “Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?” “The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

[maxbegone]

TK Strand, Grief, and its relatability

TW: grief, death of a parent, addiction.

Full disclosure – this essay stems from self-indulgence and personal experience as a way of processing my own grief on what is almost the one year anniversary of the death of my own father.

As it turns out, my way of looking at characters changes throughout major life events, this being one of them. For instance, I continuously say I owe Neil Druckmann some credit for the way in which I now interpret characters all because of the winter chapter in The Last of Us. It completely turned my viewpoints on their head and said, “Hey, this is how characters are supposed to be depicted.”

I could talk ad nauseam about TK and the way Ronen has portrayed this character’s grief, so in true fashion, I’ve decided to write an essay about it.

This is not the first character whose grief I’ve analyzed. Not to mention, grief is not equivalent to death – you can grieve the distancing of relationships, the choices you made, the things you had to let go. Percy de Rolo of Critical Role showed his grief in the last minutes of the first campaign (you can read the lynchpin post here), and just a few months ago I started working on a draft about his process of grieving. But that’s neither here nor there, and it’s currently collecting dust in my WIP folder until I have the time to really sit down and mull through it.

Not the point – the point is, TK lost his mother suddenly, unexpectedly, and way too soon. It was a shot to the chest that I understand all too well.

When 3.08 begins, there is this immediate numbness when we see in TK present-day and it just about jumps off the screen. As someone who has (very recently) been through this, I felt that deep, deep in my bones. And I say numb because that’s what it truly is. He’s disconnected from reality, it takes Owen several tries to actually get his attention, he can’t even sit up straight. It’s too heavy. If we were to read his mind, I can almost guarantee we’d see him replaying the call over and over again, asking the questions of how and why until the words bleed and sound foreign. There’s no true explanation, there just is.

Grief is severe. Grief holds an immediacy that knocks you over like a wave and holds you down beneath its force. Your entire body feels heavy, there’s a loss of sensation, your awareness is stilted…and sometimes your past coping mechanisms spring up again. We watch TK go to the firehouse, open the narcotics safe in the rig and come dangerously close to taking fentanyl. Grief makes you do things that you might later regret, but in the moment there is no “is this right or is this wrong,” only action.

It makes you snap and act out in ways you never expect, it tears the kindest, gentlest person in half and shows all the pain they’re harboring. So, as a note: be gentle with those who are grieving. It doesn’t last a few days, it doesn’t last a few months – it can go on for years. It is not linear. So if someone is grieving is unkind to you, be careful with how you respond. I’ve witnessed many people drop those who are grieving just because they got “nasty” or are “no longer the person they knew” so closely following the death of a loved one.

In my blunt opinion: un-fucking-fair. But I digress.

I know we’ve all said we cried over Dobby’s death, but for me it was Gwyn’s that resonated and hit home for the first time ever. I have never, not once, been so heavily affected by the death of a character. I loved Gwyn from the start, and I think most of us did. She’s this beautiful, smart, wonderful powerhouse of a woman who loves her sons so much. She’d do anything for them – and she did on multiple occasions, which we come to witness in 3.09.

Now bear with me for a moment, because this might be hard to explain. But hearing TK say, “She’s dead” repeated over and over in my head sent me through a shockwave. It made me (and still makes me) stop in my tracks and say, “Oh, she’s really gone. She’s not in this world anymore, he can never see her again or have another conversation with her. She no longer exists.” This right here is the same feeling I have about my dad daily; he’s not here, he no longer exists, and there are days I still cannot grapple with that fact. The only other way I can describe it are those surreal instances where you remember what your name is or that this right here is your life, and it’s like you’ve rebooted for a second.

And hey, maybe that doesn’t make a lot of sense. But this is the best way I can articulate it at the moment.

Watching 3.08 for the first time and then every rewatch that followed shows me the relatability of TK’s grief. Everything he feels, I feel. Everything he questions, I question. And yes, the two episodes that followed showed less and less of TK’s handling of his grief, but that does not by any means give way to the fact that we as the audience and TK as the character are moving on. I reiterate: grief is not linear. The order of the stages someone goes through does not matter, and that person might not hit every beat. This isn’t a race and there isn’t a prize. There are no winners here. We know this isn’t the last we’ll see of TK and his relationship with Gwyn because it was an important one and will remain as such. The fact that he is getting up every day, doing something, going to work and working through his grief is progress. Fictional or not, it’s important to remember this.

I already loved TK Strand as a character from the get-go (hell, it’s nearly impossible not to), but this…familiarity of a situation brought me to love him even more. Every single rewatch of 3.09 has me dissolving into tears (and I have done a lot of rewatches at this point), and I know I’m not the only one. The second Amen by Amber Run comes on during that landing sequence, I’m gasping for air and near-sobbing as I think about my dad. It’s cathartic to say the least, and maybe to some it might seem like I’m torturing myself, but I find comfort in stories like these.

He is this incredibly layered character who loves with his whole heart despite the fear that it might get crushed, panics when things seem too good, and experiences a loss so earth-shattering it nearly sends him spiraling down a path he hasn’t touched in over two years. It’s a real, raw, and brilliant portrayal of being human and trying to cope. Because Gwyn’s death wasn’t due to an illness or a some sort of mystery, but rather an accident involving something that might seem so mundane to people outside of metropolitan areas – especially those who live outside of New York. A man on a delivery bike going too fast, and not seeing her in time.

Like I said earlier, I can’t fully explain the feeling, but going back and watching episodes featuring Gwyn make me appreciate her so much more. She’s more than a character on a procedural drama that airs every Monday, but someone who I miss in such an intense way it shouldn’t make sense. And yet, given my own personal circumstances and this…crazy connection to the situation, it does.

TK isn’t the only one who’s grieving; Owen is, too. In 3.09 – through talking to a macaw of all things – he voices his own questions. Questions in which I have asked about my own father as well: did she have time to think, did she see it coming, was she scared or was it immediate? Did she blink and “there was heaven,” or just…nothing?

This topic of “what happens after” is one I can’t get too deeply into without falling into a genuine existential spiral, though it’s a question I can’t seem to shake. I have a lot of things to say about the matter of death, but in the end, the long and short of it is that it scares the hell out of me.

Watching Owen, watching TK, it’s like my own subconscious has been removed and put on the screen for me to witness. It’s interesting, to say the very least.

On the ride to the airport, TK says, “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to go [to Gwyn’s funeral].” And let’s be honest here – who does? It’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever do in your life, but it’s also part of (and terrifyingly) the inevitable. “It’s life, it’s what people do. They go to funerals,” Owen tells him.

Recently, I’ve written two fics involving a heavy introspection of TK’s grief; one having to do with sense memory and timeliness (on how long the physical remnants of Gwyn will last before they fade), and the other involving the prospect of death itself. But to spend a moment on the former, it’s an excruciating thing. Scents do fade and eventually the last physicalities you were able to cling to of a loved one are gone. Their cologne or perfume might help a little bit, but it’s nothing compared to them. Because despite sleeping with the last hoodie or sweater they wore, it’s not going to be the hug you need most. It’s supplemental, not a cure.

It helps, however. It always helps.

Throughout the rest of the season, whether or not the episode is TK heavy or not, we’re going to see him deal with his grief. There’s just no doubt about it. And I personally hope we continue to see it as the show continues, because nearly a year to the date after the start of my own, I’m still finding ways that grief surprises me every day, both good and bad.

You know how they say we all have our comfort characters? I have a few. TK is the newest member of my list for a very real, very raw reason. This depiction of grief isn’t one that will go away slowly, because like in reality it just doesn’t. There isn’t any drama surrounding it, no one is seeking revenge. It’s just monotony and mundane things because, whether we like it or not, life carries on and we have to make the decision to follow suit. The world is going to keep spinning even if we’re laying under three layers of blankets in a dark room or trying to vehemently ignore the inevitable.

Grief keeps you on your toes, but it also holds you down, giving you a kind of fatigue you never thought possible. It’s not as surprising as you might think. Finding the rungs of the ladder that will help you climb out of it are just as important as allowing yourself to mull in the feeling. It’s healthy. I don’t care what anyone says.

You cannot ignore your grief, no matter how hard you try or what you scrounge for to numb the pain. It’s there like a shadow, with the opportunity to make it your friend. You just have to figure out how.

TK’s grief is so utterly compelling, so raw, that his story is going to stick with me for a long, long time.

As I said, it hits home; the sudden loss of a parent far too soon, grappling with the reasoning for it all, and learning what it means to move on without them. Because at times it just doesn’t seem real. It just feels like you’ve somehow skipped over to a parallel universe and that this is all a joke or a dream that you can’t wait to get up from. That person you knew so well, loved so deeply isn’t around to answer the questions you have or give you the advice you need. You’re still waiting for them to come home or call and ask about your day, but it won’t happen. The truth of the matter is that you’ll always need them and they’ll always be there in ways other than physical.

This portion of this story has been a sincere comfort that I can only put into so many words. To lose a parent so suddenly is like having the ground crumble beneath you. To grieve is natural, normal. But it doesn’t always follow preparation.

I’m grateful for this transparency of a character, this relatability, because although I know I would have gone on just fine without it, it’s helping me during an anniversary. After three hundred and sixty-five days of newness, of uncertainty, I’m somehow still fucking standing. Character or not, if TK can do it, I can, too.

[filmflowersbangtan]

Dead of Night (preview)

pairing: gang member!jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff 

warnings: swearing | drug mention | gangs | in the full story, there will be violence, blood, fighting, threatening 

preview word count: 4k

you meet jungkook in a diner in the early morning where it’s just the two of you in the entire place. An interesting relationship ensues, and you find out he’s not who you thought he was. He’s a prominent member of the city’s most powerful gang, surrounded by danger and trouble. But you still want him.

--

author’s note: I sincerely apologize for being gone for so long and for not updating any of my fics. To everyone waiting on IMSWY pt. ii: I am so sorry for taking so long with it. It’s still in my WIPs, and I haven’t given up on it yet, but it is on the back burner right now since I have many other ideas bubbling up that I absolutely have to write or else they will probably internally set me aflame (lol). 

I will be deleting many of my fics soon. I will be keeping “Unbound,” “I Must Still Want You,” “Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold,” and “Lonely Planets.” Everything else I will be deleting because I have no desire to finish working on them or I simply do not like them anymore and can’t see them going anywhere.

I also will probably not be writing anymore series. Everything will most likely be one shot because every time I start a series, I get too overwhelmed with the idea of updating parts and finishing them that I just end up postponing them for too long and leaving too many people who have been looking forward to them disappointed. I do want to say that I have been going through So Much since I last posted Lonely Planets pt. ii and IMSWY, but I am in a so so so much better place now. That’s why I’m even writing this story now.

This will be a oneshot. It will not be a series. It will be very long. I am almost finished with it, but I am posting this preview just to see if you all would like to continue reading it.

Thank you all. I appreciate all the feedback and the follows and the reblogs so, so much. The feedback and the reblogs of Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold is what really motivated me to write this one. I hope you all enjoy it. 😊

--

Being alone was like an addiction. It was fulfilling and appealing and…well, lonely. 

Two in the morning diner stops during the weekdays had become routine. The place was completely empty save for a waitress and a cook and maybe a tired trucker. You tucked yourself in a booth in the back. The vinyl seats were cracked and uncomfortable, the lighting was stark and washed everything raw. But it was comforting. Sleep was evasive and your apartment was barely unpacked, boxes stacked haphazardly in the dining area and the mattress on the living room floor. It was your idea to move to this vast city far away from home. This city swallowed everything in its incessant noise. Nocturnal and teeming with cars and neon lights. It never rested and the two of you had that in common. You took solace in that. 

The air was thick with bacon grease and bitter black coffee. Every morning you had waffles and orange juice. The refills were free and the waffles were the exact same circumference as the plate underneath it. Time was stagnant here. The city pressed against the plate glass windows, but the reflections from inside barred its entry. If you looked out, you simply stared directly at yourself. Maybe there was some kind of metaphor in that. 

The night shift waitress, Bethany, set your plate of steaming waffles on the table as well as a glass syrup dispenser. She knew you by name and you thanked her for the food. She smiled sweetly and left you be. 

The door chimed, denoting the entry of another patron. You didn’t look up. Bethany greeted the person in her cheerful customer service voice. You knew she didn’t actually sound like that. Once, you glimpsed her smoking a cigarette by the dumpster at the back of the diner arguing with her boyfriend on her cell phone. She had a tired voice. You wondered if she was lonely, too.

As you ate, Bethany took the patron’s order. From where you sat, his voice was a mumble. “You got it!” Bethany said before breezing away.

You glanced up from your food at the patron. Hair dyed blond, dark brown at the roots. He had a gentle face and a mouth made for smiling or furtively suppressing them. Tattoos were stippled on his arm all the way down to his knuckles. He was staring down at his phone, his fingers were slender and embellished with many silver rings. He was impossibly handsome. A paragon of beauty. 

And he looked up. Right at you. Why was it at that moment you happened to notice him, he decided to notice you, too?

Your scalp prickled with hot embarrassment. You immediately averted your eyes back to your waffles. There was only a bite remaining. Good. You could finish, get your check, pay, and leave.

Boldly, you chanced another glimpse. He did, too. This time, a smile, broad and lovely, stretched across his face. It was endearing and intimate and you had never felt so seen. It was exhilarating. A small smile crept onto your mouth. You couldn’t help it. His smile was contagious. 

This was how the following hour went. Weighted glances and secret smiles from across the room. He received his food, and he picked up his plate and mug of coffee and…was he coming this way?

You watched him, eyes wide, as he sauntered over to your booth and set his items on your table. “May I sit?” he said. His voice was the perfect match to his face. Smooth, sonorous, soft. Crushed velvet. 

Jerkily, like you had never done it before, you nodded. He sat. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you replied. 

“I’m Jungkook.”

You told him your name. He repeated it once, twice, thrice. Like he enjoyed the feel of it in his mouth, rolling it around like a piece of hard candy he didn’t want to dissolve on his tongue just yet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached his hand over the table. You smiled and shook it. 

His plate was piled with pancakes and sausages and scrambled eggs. He dug in. In between bites, he asked, “So what brings you here at this time of night?” “I have trouble sleeping. And you?” Your chest was tight with the awkwardness of it all, but he appeared to be perfectly at ease. 

“I’m just a night owl. Or I’m a vampire.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued eating.

Surprisingly, laughter bubbled from you until you couldn’t help the giggles that shook you. How long had it been since you had a conversation with anyone? Your store had been a drought for the past month, only a couple of people coming in a day. You didn’t call home because your parents would ask how you’ve been, and that topic lit a fire in your skull. Bethany was just a waitress doing her job. And Nora was always busy. It was refreshing to have someone sit with you. Talk with you. Want to be near you. 

His eyes danced at the sound of your laughter. It was an innocuous expression, boyish in how pure it was. 

You covered your mouth with your hands to mask the laughter. And he gently grabbed your wrist and removed them. “I like your laugh.”

Butterflies unfurled their wings in your stomach and fluttered in a frantic cluster. He resumed his meal as if nothing happened. “So what do you do?”

You cleared your throat. “I own a used book and record store downtown. It’s small and kind of hidden from the street, but it’s there.” You chuckled nervously. You were proud of that store, but you might have to close it down soon and return to your hometown with your tail tucked in between your legs if the revenue continued as it did. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s super cool. I like records. Books, not so much. Where is it located?”

You told him the address. “By that bodega on the corner.”

“The one that sells the really good blue raspberry shaved ice?”

You snapped your fingers. “That’s the one.”

“I’ll definitely have to stop by.” 

This was how the next few hours went. Talking about everything and nothing. He had lived in the city his entire life, worked as a freelance artist, had an apartment not too far away. Plates had been swept away by Bethany long ago. Refills poured, drained, and poured again.

And then, “Do you maybe want to get out of here? Kick it at my place?” Jungkook asked. His expression was open and genuine. 

You didn’t know if that was a good idea. But talking to him was stimulating and you didn’t want it to end. 

He noticed your hesitation. “Turn you location on your phone, I’ll even give you my address so you can send it to your friends. Anything to make you feel comfortable.”

He was right. He didn’t live that far. It was barely past five o’ clock in the morning, the city was still awake, billboards alight. The buildings towered, dark against the predawn blue of the sky. The apartment building was modest and typical of the city. Clean and affordable but just expensive enough to be appealing to a specific demographic of college students and those with decent enough jobs. His apartment was on the third floor and was charming with brick walls and high ceilings. There was a bookshelf packed with vinyl records, even more in milk crates. A record player in pristine condition sat on an end table beside an armchair. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Jungkook said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the front door. 

“You said you liked records,” you replied, browsing his collection. 

“I did.”

“This isn’t liking records. This is a goddamn treasure trove.” You pushed your hair behind your ear, eager to move it from your face. “Bowie, Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan, Prince. You even have a rare version of Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland. With the naked women! This is incredible.” 

He laughed. “I see you are a woman of taste.” 

“If only my dad could see this. I’m afraid to touch anything.” 

“I’m sure you don’t have clumsy hands with records. Since you have a record store and all.”

You laughed. “I appreciate the trust.”

“So what would you like to listen to?”

You mulled it over, taking your time examining the sleeves of the records. Then you found one.

He smiled when you showed him the cover art. “Perfect.” 

Frank Ocean’s Blond. A modern classic. Perfect for the liminal hour of five AM. 

Jungkook slipped it from its sleeve, fingers on the slim rounded edges of the record. He carefully settled it on the turntable, placed the needle on the disc, and played the album. There was the classic crackle of vinyl, and then the first track emanated. It was a phantasm of sound, rich and ethereal. Light but weighted. The song was the deep blue of the sky before the sun decided to pull itself above the horizon and emblazon the sky with its myriad of colors. It was the perfect song for this liquid moment that felt like a dream. This beautiful stranger standing before you with his incredible collection. 

And then you were in Jungkook’s arms, slowly swaying to the music. You smiled up at him and him down at you. 

The album continued on in the living room, serenading to no one. You and Jungkook had moved to the bedroom, lounging on the bed. The horizon blushed peach, casting the room in half-light. You both lay on your backs, him with an arm slung casually behind his head, you with your hands folded delicately on your stomach. 

“Thank you for paying for my meal today,” you said to him meekly. 

He smiled. “Thank you for the great conversation. And having an amazing taste in music.” 

You laughed. “What made you come sit with me anyway?”

That was when he looked at you, his mouth still slung in a smile, but his eyes sincere. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks went hot and you giggled nervously, covering it with your hands. He rolled over and carefully removed them, his eyes on yours. For a brief moment, time was still. Your breath caught in your throat. He was so close. His lips were so close. Your noses were just barely brushing. His voice was husky when he said, “I like your laugh.”

And then he kissed you. 

In the living room, Frank Ocean sang about nights and new beginnings. 

In the bedroom, you and Jungkook were breathless. Hands on thighs. Hands in hair. Teeth on collarbones. It was a innocent hunger, one that never got too peckish. He was careful with you, didn’t dare to remove your clothes. “I like you,” he breathed into your neck. You gasped at the sensation. 

You kissed until you both eventually succumbed to sleep, the morning sun pouring drowsy golden light across the room.

It was well into the afternoon when you woke to the sound of a shower running. The room was unfamiliar. Definitely not your barren apartment with the boxes strewn about the place. And you definitely weren’t on your living room mattress tangled amongst its waves of sheets. The bed you were in was the most comfortable you’ve ever experienced. Brick walls, plants, beautiful abstract canvas paintings leaning against the wall. Then you remembered. 

The diner. The vinyl collection. The sunrise. The kiss. 

Jungkook. 

He was in the shower and you were fully dressed and the night had to have been a dream. But it wasn’t. Reality settled back onto your shoulders in agonizing waves. You were hours late opening the store. But oh, you wanted to burrow into these soft, sweet-smelling sheets and dissolve into nothing. Eventually you got up. 

The door to the bathroom was open. You thought about telling him you were leaving, but instead, you drew your name and number into the mirror steam and went home to shower and change yourself.

An entire week went by and he never called. He didn’t return to the diner, either. It hurt. Every time you lay on your side, willing yourself to sleep, the phantom feeling of his hands and lips barreled you at such an unwelcome rush you would gasp. None of it was real. You had to keep telling yourself that. None of it was real. 

Life went back to normal. Jungkook was a fleeting daydream that sifted in and out of your thoughts. The store still barely got any customers, except for the same two or three crate diggers who visited like ghosts. And then Nora, your best friend, breezed through the door. She was a city girl through and through. Large sunglasses, the omnipresent iced coffee, the expensive wardrobe curated specifically for being in front of a camera. She was partly why you moved here. The two of you were from the same hometown, and she had escaped first to chase the tail of a fashion designer career. 

“Move here!” she had said during a phone call. “You’ll love it. You’re super hipster and this city eats that shit up! And you can open up that record and book store you always dreamed of.” 

She wasn’t wrong. You loved this city but this city seemed to not love you back. Now, she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and set her iced coffee on the counter top before you. You were sitting behind the register, feet up and reading a book when she had come in. You looked up from the paperback in your hands. “And what have I done to deserve your presence, Your Highness?”

“Good morning, dork! We’re going to a party.”

You kicked your feet down. Slipped a bookmark in the book and closed it. And you simply said, “No.”

She blinked, her smile stiff. “Why not?” 

“You know I have to open this place every single morning. I can’t go to a party and get drunk and miss another opening.”

“Stop making this store your entire life.”

“It is my entire life.”

“Well, live another one. Just for one night.” She clasped her hands together and actually pouted. “Please.”

You sighed. “You don’t have anyone else to go with?”

She perked up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I do. I just want you to go with me. I want you to have fun for once. All you’ve done since you been here was work.”

Every single dollar and penny from your savings went to this store. It was your lifelong dream. And Nora—lovely, naïve Nora—had never needed to work for anything a day in her life. She meant well. She was never intentionally ignorant. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating. 

She also didn’t know of your time with Jungkook. It was embarrassing that he never called. It angered you that he called you beautiful and said he liked you only for it all to be false. Thank goodness you didn’t have sex with him. 

“I’ll have fun once I’m a millionaire or something,” you said to Nora.

She huffed. “I can find you someone to cover the shop for the night. You won’t even have to pay them. Please just come with me.”

“No. What if they steal something.”

She stared at you flatly. “Do you really think any of my friends—my friends—would steal? Let alone steal any of this stuff? No offense.” 

“Why do you want me to go so badly?”

“I already said. Fun. You know, music, drinks, guys.” She sang the last word and accompanied it with a little shimmy. 

“I have plenty of music and I can buy my own drinks.”

She slammed her hand against the counter top, startling you. “Stop being fucking difficult and come have some fun with me.”

So, grudgingly, you went. Albeit late because you didn’t trust anyone else to close the shop for you, but you went nonetheless. Nora did your makeup. Just glitter eyeshadow and a little eyeliner because you insisted you didn’t want much. And she picked out your outfit—a black lace bra, a crop top cardigan, and a pair of white shorts. 

“Because I can’t dress myself?” you grumbled, sliding on the clothes. 

“Exactly that. You dress too…hipster-y. You need to be hot for tonight.” 

You hadn’t worn that bra since you dated Namjoon. He was pretentious and arrogant and such a city boy it made you lightheaded. You met when he waltzed into the store shortly after you moved here. He smiled at you and you practically melted. The books were what he came for. He bought a Russian classic novel and at checkout, he discussed with you the allegory of sharing fruit in literature. He was eloquent and intelligent and so damn gorgeous you fell for him in that same moment. He scribbled his number on the receipt and told you to keep it. 

The relationship lasted for four months. He suggested you move into his high rise apartment downtown with him. It was a modern edifice, all glass and steel and money. He was the wealthiest person you had ever met in your life. And, stupidly, you were in love. 

And then you saw his text messages with some unfairly beautiful girl he followed on social media about how good she looked in his bed . He said he was lonely, that you worked too much, what else was he supposed to do? Needless to say, you left him. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

Now, Nora said to you, “And don’t think about wearing those fucking platform boots.”

“Why not?” you said, frowning. “They’re cute.”

“They look ridiculous. Like those boots that one goth girl from that cartoon you like wore.” 

You grinned, mischievous. “That’s exactly why I bought them.”

To Nora’s dismay, you wore the fucking platform boots. 

The party was in an underground venue. It wasn’t all red wine and an elaborate excuse to brag about money, like the gatherings Namjoon liked, it was edgy. A live band played pop punk on a stage, the lights in the place were dim save for the spotlights and the white Christmas lights behind the bar. Greasy pizza and liquor and neon lights. You brushed elbows with someone smoking a joint, and you were pretty sure someone was doing coke in the bathroom. 

Nora pulled you to the bar where she ordered herself a cocktail and you a craft beer. She knew you so well. 

There were so many people here. You mentally kicked yourself for not bringing flyers for your store. 

And then you saw him. Nora was talking your ear off about how hot the frontman for the band was and you almost choked on your beer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you spat.

Nora blinked rapidly. “What? What happened?”

“This is why you brought me here. You cunt.” You didn’t mean to call her that. It wasn’t a word worn with frequent use in your vocabulary. In fact, you hated the word. But it was deserved in this situation. 

Namjoon. He was standing near the stage with a craft beer of his own in his hand, bobbing his head to the music. He didn’t like places like this. They were tacky to him. He didn’t even listen to this genre of music. What the hell was he doing here? 

The girl standing next to him turned to him and smiled. She was wearing lipstick as red as murder and her bob was so black it reflected the lights with an envious luster. She had a septum piercing, the two silver balls glittering in the low light like two tiny stars. That’s when it clicked. He was here because of her. She was that unfairly beautiful girl in his text messages. Your skin felt incandescent. 

“He had to see how hot you are. I thought you would enjoy shoving that in his face.” Lovely, naïve Nora. You wanted to slap her. 

You stood from the bar stool and set your craft beer on the bar. “I’m leaving now.”

Her face was slack with regret. Before she could form an apology, you turned and walked away. 

You were a few moments from the door when you heard your name. It wasn’t Nora. You stopped and your breath hitched. Your turned slowly, preparing to see Namjoon with that girl by his side but instead—

“Jungkook?”

His hair was black now and almost as shiny as that girl’s bob. It hung past his ears in gentle waves. He stood there in a baggy black shirt and jeans, his thumbs tucked into the front pockets. Silver bracelets draped from both wrists. In this lighting, he looked ethereal. Infernal. This couldn’t be the same man you shared a chimerical morning with. He looked like he had been created by the darkness of the city’s nights. 

Maybe it was just the hair. 

“Hi,” he said in the same way he did when he sat your table at the diner. It could’ve been mistaken as sheepishness, but his eyes were not meek. Besides the hair, you couldn’t figure out what was so different about him. 

Breathlessly, you said, “Hi.”

“You look nice.” 

Over his shoulder, you noticed Namjoon go to the bar. Nora scowled at him. He smiled amicably at her and his mouth moved, saying something. She froze, and her eyes immediately darted to you. Namjoon turned and saw you. And he started your way. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.

You should’ve ran out of the venue. There were a million other things you should’ve done, but instead you grabbed Jungkook and kissed him. 

Initially, he went rigid with shock, but he melted into the kiss. You felt him smile against your mouth. “Miss me that much?”

You pulled away. “I did not.” A glance over his shoulder and Namjoon was gone. You audibly exhaled. 

“What happened?” 

You ran a hand over your face. “Ex.”

“Ah,” he said. “Is that why you were leaving?”

“Yes. And now I’m going. Goodbye.” You whirled around, shoulders tense with embarrassment and headed for the stairs. 

“Wait.” He caught up to you on the stairs. “Can I go with?” There were small white string lights strung in the stairwell and the glow reflected in his eyes. They were so brown. 

“Don’t you have friends to be with?” Your phone buzzed in your back pocket with an incoming text message. Most likely your own friend dying to know who the guy you just kissed was. You ignored it. 

“They’ll be fine.” He grinned. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling yourself smile as well.

There was no destination, but you ended up at a park, sitting beside each other on a swing set. Your feet dragged in the wood chips as you pushed yourself back and forth slowly. He looked up at the night sky and sighed. “Do you want to know why I hadn’t called?”

You just looked at him. 

“This may sound like a corny excuse, but… I was afraid of what you would think of me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated before saying, “If we continued seeing each other, you would eventually find out that I’m not a freelance artist. I do paint, but that’s not what I do.”

You could feel your heartbeat gradually speeding its pace. “What do you do?” His eyes fell down to his hands. He turned them over, studying the lines in his palms. His hair slipped over his eyes. He was a portrait of affliction. “I’m a Lost Boy.”

You didn’t understand. He noticed your silence and looked up at you. “The Lost Boys. This city is practically run by them.” He corrected himself, “Ran by us.” He stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I’m in a gang.”

Your voice was a whisper. “What?”  

He quickly added, “If you no longer want to associate with me, I understand. They’re—we’re—dangerous. I mean, even if you haven’t heard of us, you know us. The leather jackets, the vandalism, the fights. That venue is owned by us. The drugs at that event were supplied by us. That band playing is in our pockets. My apartment is paid by dirty money.” He laughed quietly to himself then, almost pityingly. 

The night air around you was thick with your own dread. “Is being around you dangerous?” You hadn’t meant for your voice to sound so small.

“I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could hear the unsaid “but” in his tone. 

“But what?” you prompted.

He chewed on his lip. A dimple in his left cheek appeared. “I won’t hurt you, but I can’t promise your safety. If you do decide to be around me.”

--

[captainsamwilsonbarnes]

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home

I’ve been sitting on this WIP for a while, so I finally decided to finish and post it! It’s just pure self-induglent Sambucky domestic fluff, but my heart really needed it after watching those scenes of them together in Louisiana. 😍😍😍

~*~

Sam x Bucky (4.8K of pure fluff, rated T.) No applicable warnings other than TFATWS spoilers for anyone who hasn’t watched the series yet.

"That," Bucky says as he pushes back from the table and pats his stomach, "was the best goddamn meal I've ever had. Seriously, like ever. You really outdid yourself," he tells Sarah, who gives him a shy smile in return.

"Thank you, Bucky," Sarah beams, her smile growing even wider as she reaches out to pat his shoulder. "I like this one," she tells Sam. "He's a keeper."

"Yeah, he sure is," Sam grins. "I thought about returning him a couple of times, but he kinda grew on me," he winks while slipping his hand under the table and squeezing Bucky's knee.

That causes a very attractive blush to spread across Bucky's face, and Sam can't help thinking about all of the ways he could make that happen again.

Bucky gives Sam a private smile and says, "I guess you're stuck with me."

"I can live with that," Sam happily agrees.

"Will you be staying long?" Sarah asks Bucky as she stands up and starts collecting their empty plates. "Not that I'm kicking you out, I promise. We have plenty of room, and you're more than welcome to stay as long as you like."

Or forever, Sam thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

This thing with Bucky, these fond looks and lingering touches, that's not exactly new territory for them.

It's just been a while, and Sam's a little unsure of the protocol here when they've only spent a handful of days together after nearly a month of radio silence.

That wasn't Sam's choice, but Bucky was furious when Sam mentioned that he was going to turn in the shield. Sam hadn't even done it yet, but it still led to an ugly argument which ended with Bucky refusing to answer Sam's texts or phone calls after that. Things only got worse from there when the government gave the shield to Walker, but Sam didn't feel like he had much of a choice in the matter.

Sam's no fool, he knew the government wouldn't allow him to become the next Captain America. It had been a sweet gesture on Steve's part, but it left Sam with more questions than he had answers for.

After they returned from the blip, Sam ended up living in Wakanda with Bucky for a while since his previous apartment in D.C. was long gone. It was a hard truth to accept, but a lot had changed in five years. Sam knew he could go back to Delacroix and live with Sarah and the boys, but he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Not that he didn't miss them dearly, but he wanted to take some time to adjust to this new normal before moving back home. It was a lot to process at the time, and Sam definitely didn't want to give Sarah any more reasons to worry about him.

Naturally, Shuri and T'Challa happily opened their hearts and home to him when Bucky explained Sam's situation. They were extremely gracious about it and assured Sam that he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.

That only ended up being a few months, but it allowed Sarah to prepare for Sam's return, and for Sam to be in a much better mental state.

Truth be told, Sam's not quite sure he could have recovered as quickly as he did if it weren't for Bucky.

Bucky, who hadn't even hesitated to ask Shuri and T'Challa if Sam could stay in Wakanda with them.

Bucky, who had been nothing but sweet and charming to him the entire time Sam was there.

Bucky, who always held and comforted Sam when he needed it.

Bucky, who never judged or pitied Sam when he cried.

Bucky, who always dried Sam's tears with a gentle touch.

Bucky, who understood that anger was a perfectly valid emotion, given everything they'd been through.

Bucky, who was typically a man of few words, but happily talked Sam's ear off whenever Sam needed a distraction from his thoughts.

Bucky, who has been through his own share of personal horrors, but always put Sam's comfort and well-being before his own.

Bucky, who quickly became one of Sam's very best friends and completely stole his heart.

Their nights together in Wakanda were Sam's favorite because they would often lie on a blanket under the stars, just the two of them. They told each other things they never shared with anyone else, not even Steve, and Sam really enjoyed getting to know the real Bucky.

Their interactions always remained platonic, but Sam would be lying if he said he didn't want more. He often wondered if Bucky did too, but Sam ended up leaving before he had a chance to find out.

Back in the present, Bucky shakes his head in response to Sarah's question as he gives Sam a wistful smile.

"Nah, I wish. I've got some things to take care of back in Brooklyn, so I'm leaving tomorrow, actually. But," he adds hopefully, "I would love to come back for another visit sometime. If that's okay."

"Absolutely," Sarah nods. "You're always welcome here anytime, so don't be a stranger," she says as she leans down and kisses Bucky's cheek.

"Watch yourself, baby sister," Sam glares as he swats at her with a dish towel.

"Do that again Samuel, and I'm throwing out the rest of the beignets," Sarah threatens.

"Okay, truce," Sam relents as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. Sarah's beignets are his favorite, and he doesn't doubt that she would throw them away just to spite him.

"I better have another one, just in case he decides to stick his foot in his mouth again," Bucky tells Sarah as he reaches for the plate of leftovers.

"Oh, you think you're cute, huh?" Sam smirks as he snaps the dish towel in Bucky's direction this time.

"Not as cute as you, Samuel," Bucky drawls just before taking a bite of the fluffy pastry.

Sam's entire face flushes hotly as he looks up and meets Bucky's eyes.

Is he…flirting?

It's been a while since anyone has flirted with him, so Sam is a bit out of practice. Still, there's a mischievous twinkle in Bucky's eyes that Sam hasn't seen in months. The warmth suddenly spreads from his cheeks straight down to places that he doesn't want to think about with his little sister in the room.

"Well, at least we agree on something," Sam jokes as he plucks the half-eaten beignet out of Bucky's hand and pops it into his mouth. It's a weak reply, but it's all his brain could come up with after being caught off guard like that.

Bucky isn't even fazed, he just reaches for another beignet and eats it in two bites. "God, these are amazing," he moans.

It's pure torture for Sam, watching helplessly as Bucky licks the powdered sugar from his lips.

"Thank you," Sarah says as she places a sealed paper bag in front of Bucky. "These are for you to take home with you. They won't be quite as good as they are when they're fresh, but just heat them up in the oven for about five minutes and they'll be pretty close."

"Marry me," Bucky says dramatically as he reaches for both of Sarah's hands. "Make an honest man out of me, Sarah Wilson."

"You're sweet," Sarah giggles as she pulls her hands back and dusts them off, "but I don't feel like being turned into fish food."

"Empty threats," Bucky waves dismissively in Sam's direction. "He'll eventually learn to accept our love."

Sam almost chokes on his beer at Bucky's words. He knows it's all a joke and he's pretty sure (okay, somewhat sure) that Bucky isn't actually interested in his sister, but it still leaves a very unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Especially because Bucky can really lay on the charm when he wants to.

"I'm going to miss you," Sarah tells Bucky as she holds out her arms and wraps him up in a hug.

No, Sam is absolutely not jealous about that. He's just going to drink the rest of his beer and pretend like he doesn't want to pry them apart. (He is secretly thrilled that they get along so well, but he can obviously never let them know that. It would give them too much power.)

"I'll miss you too, sweetheart," Bucky says as he lifts Sarah right off of her feet and swings her around. "I promise I'll be back, though."

"I'm holding you to that," Sarah tells him while poking Bucky's chest.

"Please do," Bucky laughs as he sets her back down.

"Okay gentlemen," Sarah says as she continues stacking plates next to the sink, "any chance you guys might take care of the dishes so I can pry the boys away from their video game and tuck them in?"

"Of course," Bucky nods while reaching out and offering Sam a hand. "You wash, I'll dry?"

"Deal," Sam grins as he lets Bucky help him to his feet. Not that Sam needs it, but he loves that Bucky is so delightfully chivalrous.

"Don't let him trick you into doing all the work," Sarah warns Bucky as she pulls him into another hug. "And you better come down and say goodbye before you leave tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am," Bucky says as he gives Sarah one last squeeze. "Thanks again for dinner, and just for everything, really."

"Thanks for always keeping my brother safe," Sarah smiles at them both as she exits the kitchen.

"Your family is amazing," Bucky tells Sam once they're alone. "Cass and AJ are the sweetest kids, and I'm really going to miss this place."

"Don't miss it for too long then," Sam says as he claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know you have stuff to sort out in Brooklyn, but you can always come back here afterward. Maybe stay a while and make a proper vacation of it," he suggests.

"I thought we were going to take separate vacations?" Bucky teases.

"I've got Carlos and his fillet knife on speed dial, just so you know," Sam jokes as he grabs two more beers from the fridge and hands one to Bucky.

"I'm kidding," Bucky says as he accepts the bottle. Their fingers connect briefly, and Sam wishes they could live in this moment forever. No threats on their lives, no drama, just each other.

"Well I'm serious about you coming back. You up for it?" Sam asks.

"Definitely," Bucky nods before taking a sip from his beer. "Just let me tie up some loose ends in Brooklyn, then I'm all yours," he winks.

It's a common phrase, Sam realizes, but it still causes a sudden warmth to bloom in his chest.

I'm all yours.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

"Works for me," Sam says as he sets his beer down and turns his attention to the sink.

Bucky's words keep replaying in his head like a broken record: I'm all yours…I'm all yours...I'm all yours… so Sam has to occupy his hands before he does something reckless.

"Here, let me help," Bucky offers as he grabs a clean dish towel and joins Sam by the sink.

Bucky's 'help' turns out to be nothing but a distraction since he's pressed up against Sam's side, warm and solid. Sam's not really sure when Bucky started wearing cologne, but the one he's got on right now smells familiar. It's probably one of his own, Sam distantly realizes, since they both showered just before dinner.

Bucky hadn't brought much with him besides a single change of clothing, so he likely hadn't packed many toiletries.

"Are you wearing my cologne?" Sam asks out of curiosity, not that he minds in the least. Bucky usually just smells like fabric softener, which always makes Sam want to hold him close and breathe him in.

"Yeah," Bucky admits, "I hope you don't mind. I didn't bring any, so I just wanted to smell nice."

"You do," Sam says as he nudges Bucky's shoulder. What he doesn't dare mention is the fact that Bucky smells exactly like he probably would if he woke up in Sam's arms, with their combined scents mingling together. "You look nice, too," he adds in what he hopes is an appreciative tone.

Since Bucky neglected to pack anything to sleep in, he's wearing one of Sam's favorite T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. The shirt is a bit snug, but it clings to him in all the right places.

"Thanks," Bucky blushes as Sam hands him some plates to dry.

"You're welcome," Sam says while trying his best not to think about how much better that shirt would look on his bedroom floor.

"Do you think Sarah would share her beignet recipe with me?" Bucky asks a moment later.

"Doubtful," Sam snickers. "She's definitely taking that one to the grave with her. Hell, I don't even know it," he confesses.

"Oh," Bucky frowns. "Well, maybe she can still teach me how to make 'em even if we use a different recipe," he muses. "They're so goddamn addictive."

Shaking his head, Sam says, "they'll never be the same. You need water from the bayou to make them just right."

"Bullshit," Bucky scoffs as he gives Sam a playful shove.

"Hey, don't mock the process," Sam laughs, "but I can teach you if you really want to learn."

"Cool," Bucky grins. "I did a lot of cooking when I was in the Army. I wasn't half bad at it, actually."

"I can see that about you," Sam nods. "Especially living in Brooklyn. I bet you'll turn into one of those foodie snobs in no time."

"Nah," Bucky shakes his head, "I've never been too picky when it comes to food. My ma always taught me to eat whatever was put in front of me, so I doubt I'll ever become a snob about it."

"Sounds like she raised you right, then," Sam smiles.

"Guess so," Bucky agrees as he ducks his head shyly.

They work in companionable silence for the next few minutes, with Sam washing the dishes and then handing them over for Bucky to dry. The kitchen has a nice, wide sink, but no luxuries such as a dishwasher. That's fine with Sam, though. He's glad Sarah chose to preserve the original architecture, rather than overload the house with too many modern fixtures.

"Are there any more dishes left?" Sam asks a little while later as he's rinsing off some forks.

"Nope," Bucky says as he reaches around Sam and shuts off the tap. "All done," he adds in a low voice as he anchors his hands on Sam's hips and presses himself close.

It's so unexpected that it shocks Sam into dropping the forks back into the sink.

"Shit," he curses as soapy water splashes the front of his T-shirt.

"Sorry," Bucky laughs, clearly aware of the effect he's having on Sam.

"No you're not," Sam fires back because Bucky knows exactly what he's doing.

"No, I'm really not," Bucky purrs as he tucks his face into the curve of Sam's neck.

Sam had forgotten how sexy the scrape of stubble could feel. Sweet Jesus.

"Are you nuzzling me?" Sam tries to play it cool, but his voice betrays him by cracking slightly.

"Mmmhmm," Bucky confirms as he rests his chin on Sam's shoulder. "Just let me know if this makes you uncomfortable, and I promise I'll stop."

"Okay," Sam says a bit shakily, "did you accidentally eat some catnip?" Friendly touches are pretty common between them now, but there's absolutely nothing platonic about the way Bucky's got him pressed up against the counter.

Bucky chuckles at that while slipping his hands under Sam's shirt and trailing them over the smooth skin just above Sam's waistband. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Well something's up," Sam insists, but he doesn't pull away.

"Not yet," Bucky leers as he gives Sam's hips a squeeze. "But maybe if you play your cards right."

"Buck," Sam freezes, because that is entirely possible to misinterpret, "are you flirting with me?"

"Well, if you have to ask, then I'm obviously doing it wrong," Bucky laughs again. "I was a lot smoother back in the forties, I swear."

"You're doing fine," Sam praises as he melts into Bucky's touch. "You just caught me off guard, that's all."

"I'm full of surprises, sweetheart," Bucky whispers as he grazes his lips against Sam's neck.

Sam can't help shivering at the touch, because Bucky's lips are a warm contrast to the crisp evening breeze filtering through the open windows. The sweet scent of gardenias fills the air as Sam tries to calm his racing heart.

It's just Bucky, he thinks, which would have completely unnerved him once upon a time. Now it's a familiar comfort, like his favorite sweater, or the melodic sound of his nephews' laughter. Still, he can't seem to contain the flutter in his chest because he knows they're crossing a line that they've been cautiously avoiding for years.

"I like surprises," Sam says as he turns around and grips Bucky by the front of the T-shirt. The fabric is soft, and he can feel the heat from Bucky's skin seeping through it.

"I like you," Bucky counters as he cradles Sam's jaw with one hand. With the other, he hooks his fingers into Sam's belt loops and hauls him closer.

"I like you too," Sam admits as he drops his hands down and settles them on Bucky's waist.

"Glad we're on the same page," Bucky grins as he sweeps his thumb over Sam's cheek. "Would it be terribly old-fashioned of me to ask for permission to kiss you?"

"Yes," Sam says, eyes sparkling with delight, "but I sure hope that's not gonna stop you."

"Consider this my formal request, then," Bucky winks as he tilts Sam's face up.

"Permission granted, Sergeant," Sam murmurs just before Bucky kisses him. It's a slow, sweet drag of their lips at first, then Bucky carefully changes the angle as he cups the back of Sam's neck and deepens the kiss.

Sam lets out a whimper as he reaches up to run his fingers through Bucky's hair. It's the shortest it's ever been since Sam has known him, but he loves it like this. Bucky barely looks older than he did in the forties, and he's still every bit as handsome.

"Finally," Bucky pants shakily against Sam's mouth. "God, I've been wanting to do that for so long."

"Me too, baby," Sam replies as he wraps his arms around Bucky's neck.

"Well then, I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time," Bucky suggests as he leans in for another kiss. It's every bit as sweet as the first one but slightly less gentle as he pins Sam to the counter and rocks their hips together.

"Fuck," Sam groans as he pulls back suddenly and rubs Bucky's cheek. He can hear the TV upstairs so he knows that someone is still awake. Probably Sarah, but it could easily be the boys since it's not even that late. "As much as I really want to take this further, we can't right now. Not until we're sure that everyone's asleep."

"Sweetheart," Bucky says as he slides forward and nudges their noses together. "You don't owe me any explanations. This is your house and I would never want to make anything weird for you and your family. Especially for you, Sam."

"I know," Sam nods, "and I really appreciate that. I just wish we had some privacy, that's all."

"We will," Bucky smiles while adding, "they've gotta fall asleep sometime, right?"

"Right," Sam laughs as he kisses Bucky softly. "You're amazing, you know that? Just in case I don't tell you enough."

"Wait, does that mean I'm not as annoying as you like to pretend I am?" Bucky teases.

"No," Sam grins brightly, "you're definitely still annoying."

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly as he reaches for Sam's hand and steers him into the living room. "Well you're no picnic either, baby doll," he says finally as he drops down onto the couch and pulls Sam into his arms.

"Must be why we're perfect for each other, huh?" Sam winks as he settles onto Bucky's lap and kisses him again.

"Must be," Bucky agrees as he wraps his arms around Sam's neck and kisses him back.

*

"So, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Bucky tells Sam a while later when they're curled up on the couch watching TV.

"What is it?" Sam asks as he sits up and turns to face Bucky. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Bucky replies. "But I kinda broke the lease on my apartment, so that's why I'm heading back to Brooklyn. There's not much left in it, honestly, but I have to pick up the rest of my stuff and then just turn in my keys. I could use some company though if you wanna come with me?"

"Of course, baby," Sam says as he reaches out and squeezes Bucky's knee. "Oh shit, I should probably check for a last-minute flight, though."

"No need," Bucky tells him. "I, uh, kinda hoped you'd say yes, so I already got you a ticket."

"And what if I said no?" Sam challenges.

"Oh," Bucky frowns, "then guess I'd just go alone and miss you the whole time."

"Who knew you were such a drama queen?" Sam smirks while leaning in to kiss Bucky's pout away. "I'm kidding, baby; I'd love to go with you. But wait, where are you moving to then?"

"Well," Bucky blushes, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I used to love living in New York, but it's changed a lot since I was a kid. It's too damn loud, for one," he laughs. "That, or maybe I'm just not cut out for big city life anymore."

"So, you're leaving the city," Sam says, but it's not a question. He tried to talk Bucky out of moving there in the first place, but he figured it must have been a comfort thing. It's the only place Bucky has ever lived, so it made sense that he'd end up there, at least for a little while.

"Yeah," Bucky nods. "It's just not home to me anymore. I mean, I guess it hasn't been for the last eighty years, so I think it's time to move on."

"So where did you have in mind?" Sam asks. He doesn't want to assume anything, but he suddenly feels pretty hopeful about what Bucky may be getting at.

"Here," Bucky says while brushing his lips against Sam's. "You're home to me, so I just wanna be wherever you are, baby. I already looked up some apartment listings earlier and I found a few that looked promising. I mean, if you're cool with all of this. I don't want to make you feel pressured, or make things weird, or - "

Sam cuts him off with a kiss so intense that it leaves them both completely breathless.

"Bucky," Sam pants a moment later. "Are you kidding me? You know I hated the idea of you living all alone in Brooklyn, and I hope you know that I always want you around me."

"Always?" Bucky blushes as he shifts closer and rubs his nose against Sam's.

"Always," Sam repeats as he tilts his head and kisses Bucky again. "You're not gonna need that apartment, though."

"I won't?" Bucky says while giving Sam a teasing grin. "How come?"

"Well," Sam explains as he hauls Bucky off of the couch and leads him over to the window. From there, they have a perfect view of the backyard which is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. "I was actually thinking about building a place for us. We own this land and there's plenty of extra room," he adds while gesturing out the window. "So I was thinking we could build an extension for ourselves, sort of like a guest house. That way, we'll have our privacy, but we can still be near Sarah and the boys. What do you think?"

"I think that sounds like a goddamn amazing plan to me," Bucky says as he turns to wrap his arms around Sam and pull him close. "I haven't known your family for even a whole day yet but I already love them almost as much as I love you," he smiles before leaning in for another kiss.

"Whoa," Sam gasps. "You love me?"

"So much," Bucky nods. "I know it's probably way too soon to say it, but - "

"No, it isn't," Sam disagrees as he gently trails his fingertips over the scruff on Bucky's jaw, "not if you really mean it."

"I've honestly never meant anything more," Bucky murmurs as he steals another kiss. This one is just a quick peck, but Sam still feels it all the way down to his toes.

"Bucky, I - "

"I don't expect you to say it back," Bucky quickly interjects before Sam can even get a word in. "I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me, sweetheart. I know I'm not good with words, and okay, most of the time I'm just not good at expressing myself in general, but - "

"Bucky," Sam tries a little more firmly this time as he rubs the back of Bucky's neck. "I love you too. I've known it since Wakanda for sure, but probably even before that, honestly. You may be a pain in my ass sometimes, but you're the only one I trust with my heart," he finishes as he tugs Bucky forward and kisses him deeply.

"Holy shit," Bucky says as he pulls back and gives Sam a hopeful look. "You love me? Like really?"

"Really," Sam nods as he reaches for Bucky's hand and drags him back over to the couch. "I know it's been a while since we've talked about it," he continues once they get settled, "but I honestly don't know where I'd even be right now if it weren't for you. I was really struggling to accept how much life had changed after the blip, but you," Sam pauses as he turns toward Bucky and scoots closer, "you were my knight in shining armor. Literally," he emphasizes as he reaches for Bucky's vibranium hand and squeezes it. "Thank you, baby. That really meant a lot to me, just in case I don't say it enough."

"Sweetheart, you of all people have nothing to thank me for," Bucky says. "You deserve the world, Sam Wilson, he whispers as he takes hold of Sam's jaw and kisses him again.

"Thank you," Sam pants between kisses. "It's not a competition, but you know you deserve nice things too, right?"

Bucky smiles softly as he leans back and grips Sam by the shoulders. "Baby, I've already got everything I could ever possibly need or want right here."

The with you part goes unspoken, but Sam hears it anyway.

"I love you," Bucky continues as he gives Sam's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "When I escaped from HYDRA, I never dreamed that I could be happy again, or that I'd fall in love and have a shot at a normal life. Not that anything about our lives is exactly normal," he laughs.

"No, definitely not," Sam agrees, "but we make it work."

"We sure do, sugar," Bucky says as he drops a kiss on Sam's shoulder.

"So how about it?" Sam asks as he reaches for Bucky's hand and laces their fingers together. "Do you think you could be happy here in Delacroix?"

"I don't care where we live," Bucky says as he slides onto Sam's lap. "Here, New York, Wakanda, fucking Mars, even. Delacroix is amazing, but honestly, I'll be happy wherever we are as long as you're there with me," he finishes as he tilts Sam's face up for a kiss.

"You know we don't have any of those fancy sushi joints here, right? Or those hipster coffee shops that you love so much," Sam teases.

"That's okay," Bucky grins as he presses a trail of kisses up Sam's neck. "I make damn good coffee actually, and I happen to know of a fantastic place to get seafood. The owners are a little grumpy, but you learn to love 'em."

"Is that so?" Sam pretends to glare as he pokes Bucky in the ribs.

"Yes it is," Bucky huffs while trying to squirm out of Sam's grasp. "And I think the one with the hot ass might have a crush on me."

"You better be talking about me," Sam smirks as he shoves Bucky backward and crawls on top of him.

"Only you, my love," Bucky says seriously as he wraps his arms around Sam's neck.

"Good answer," Sam winks as he bends down and kisses Bucky slowly. "I love you," he adds when he pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

Bucky smiles at that, sweet and soft and so ridiculously fond as he leans in and nuzzles Sam's cheek.

"I love you more."

~*~

[procrastinatorproject]

Fic writer review, thank you to @thelaithlyworm  for the tag <3

how many works do you have on AO3?

Ten? Oh no, it’s actualy 12 now!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

86,468

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Grand total of 1: Star Trek: Picard - although my latest offering might branch a bit into other Trek as well.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

“Passengers”

“And a Barrel of Gagh”

“CMO’s Log”

“Preparations”

“Game Night”

Which is actually kinda interesting. I wrote Passengers, Preparations, and Game Night while the fandom was still a lot more active (especially in the Aramis in Space corner), so that makes sense. The CMO’s log has had chapters added every few months, giving it probably the most exposure of any of my fics. Barrel of Gagh, though? I think I’m gonna attribute that to Thimblerig turning it into a truly, TRULY brilliant piece of podfic. Also the fact that it’s whump involving a character played by Santiago Cabrera. ‘tis A Thing..... :D

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love talking with people in the comments and just... thanking the people who found the time and energy to leave comments. But especially in the last few months I have gotten very bad at keeping up with the comments and now there’s about two dozen that I have neglected to reply to for a painfully long time 🙈

But I will get there! Because I love that kind of interaction!

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

So far, none of them have had angsty endings. Angsty middles, yes, but not endings. I’m just a sucker for everyone being happy in the end. Or at least on the way to being better, and supported and cared for on that way.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t yet, but I’m definitely not opposed. One of the threads of my 200k unpublishable whump scenes takes place in a continuity that has existed in my daydreams for... I wanna say six years at the very least, probably longer. It’s mostly straight-up Star Trek, but with the twist that it involves the Wraith, the telepathic, hive-minded alien race from Stargate: Atlantis that suck the life force out of you with their hands? Or, well, at least a variation thereof.

I once typed up the world building for that particular setting and it took me three hours to try and make it all make sense. So it’s... involved. But not necessarily “crazy”. And I’m not sure I’m ever actually going to publish any of the stories I have set in it (not least because that would envolve finishing any of them and bringing them into a form that is interesting to read for anyone but me...)

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Hm, not yet. I do enjoy reading smut, but only under very specific circumstances. I think I may eventually try my hand at smut, but the inner prude is still very strong. Writing about Rios and Xyr making out (which, honestly, was really tame, all things considered) made me melt in a puddle of blushing embarrassment, so full-on smut is probably beyond me at the moment. One day!

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Though litigating that in a fandom like ours would be... tricky. ST:Pic is way too small to steal stories outright. But similar or the same ideas pop up all the time. And it’s a complete coincidence. Reading the book that recently came out and that has a kinda similar setting to a lot of my stories (pre-season 1, early in Rios’s history as captain of Sirena, dealing with original characters, holo shenanigans, friendship with Raffi, etc.), I was struck by just how many elements, both scenes or story beats and little details, were similar to things that have cropped up in my writing. And it is entirely coincidental, because I am beyond certain that the author doesn’t read fanfic. Just... for legal reasons. Not to mention I wrote a bunch of the things I saw parallels to while the book was already in production, and some of them are only in my drafts.

So there is a ton of convergent evolution going on in this particular section of the fandom, and trying to litigate who came up with certain plot ideas or character beats when would be a sysiphean disaster. Some things are clear and whenever I use any of them I give credit where I can, but people will have very similar ideas. It just happens. So no, I haven’t had either a full-on story or “an idea” stolen, and I might change my tune if it ever does happen, but so far, I’m trying to practice equanimity, so I’ll be better at it should I ever need it.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Sadly no. My dad keeps complaining that all my fic is in English so he can’t read any of it, but honestly? I’m kinda glad for this very convenient excuse. Maybe if I ever feel like I want to practice my interpreting skills, I will give translating the stories into German a shot. We’ll see. Otherwise, if anyone feels inspired: Have at it! Just let me know, okay?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not quite. I have a draft of off-the-cuff worldbuilding that I wrote on Discord with @curator-on-ao3 and that I would love to turn into an actual short fic (letters from a conference on holo-ethics), but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t really do shipping.

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

I WILL NEVER ACCEPT DEFEAT!!!! One day, I will write the next installment of Star Trek: La Sirena! I have so many ideas for that continuity and those characters. I’m not going to abandon them!

what are your writing strengths?

Hmmmmm. Probably detailed worldbuilding? Ask me something about, say, a technological or cultural aspect of Star Trek and chances are, I have thought about it in the past or will come up with three different sets of intricate lore within half an hour. (Things like... the architecture of San Francisco, or Will there still be taxi drivers? or the treaty between IKEA Intergalactic and the Borg Collective, or the Universal Translator, or Emergency Services or Why There Are Very Few Ambulances On Earth Anymore etceterah etceterah...)

I’m also good at slapping together off-the-cuff plot ideas (if, say, you need an explanation for how Seven and Agnes ended up stranded on a desert island, I could probably give you three different scenarios pretty quickly. Just don’t ask me to make them poignant or actually write them.

I’m also very, very good at beginnings.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Everything that isn’t a beginning. Especially endings, or rather: finishing something, but also just... keeping momentum.

I think my dialogue is somewhat samey and not distinct enough between characters. (Also my witty banter is... let’s just say it doesn’t come to me naturally...)

And I also struggle with keeping things brief and to the point. I can write you 30k of whump covering a span of three hours, but fitting a whole story in the same space? Much more difficult!

I have also avoided writing full-on action so far, but where it has crept in it has always been a struggle and been workshopped a lot with the indefatigable beta.

Otherwise, I don’t know. My self-perception is always a little warped, so I’m not sure what other people would say my weaknesses are.

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

Oof. Well. I have used Spanish sentences in my fic and done the thing where they’re translated in the end note, but I’ve mostly done it sparingly. I’ve also done the ‘“What do you want?” he said in Spanish.’ It’s tricky. But I will likely keep doing it in some instances, even if it’s a bit annoying.

(It also really helps to have a native speaker of Spanish as a beta, even if it’s Spanish from a different region than you’re character.)

Speaking of regional: I’m also torn about the whole “phonetically writing out accents” issue. Some people love it, some people hate it, I’m really unsure because I’m not a native speaker of English, so I’m not even sure I’m consistent in my narrative voice’s regional quirks. So far, I’ve mostly gone with describing that an accent is happening, and only writing out when phrasing actually differs from standard English. Like Ian (Scottish) saying “dinnae” but not writing “I” as “ah” as you’d see on, say, Scottish twitter.

Though it can be a very useful tool if, for instance, you want to indicate a characters accent getting stronger as they get tired or upset. 🧐

Anyway, I don’t think there is one right or wrong answer here and everyones milage will vary.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Published? ST:PIC

Actually first? Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Pretty much simultaneously, though I did write more for LotR. On graph paper, mind, with my fountain pen turned upside down so I could write smaller. I still have folders worth of those stories that I urgently need to digitize before they fade and I lose them forever...

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m going to quote @thelaithlyworm here: I Love All My Children Equally! I honestly couldn’t say. They are different and I love them for different reasons but I love them all.

Thank you for the tag! ❤ I’ve kinda lost track of who all has done this already or has already been tagged, so feel free to ignore me! But I tink I’m tagging @curator-on-ao3, @aini-nufire, @29-pieces, @flowers-creativity, @highfunctioningflailgirl, @cristobalrios and @the-goofball. And anyone else whom I forgot or who feels inspired to do this!

[darkisrising]

Five Times, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Oh, yes, it is time for me to at last tackle this beloved fic convention! So excited, I’ve wanted to try one for years but it never worked out.  This WIP is a DinLuke, will eventually be Explicit, starts pre-Mandalorian S1 and will end post S2 Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted) 

1.

He’s drunk, and he isn’t quite sure how that happened.

That’s not true, Luke  does remember vaguely how it happened, more or less, and it all started with Han.

He’d been the one that had brought Luke here. He’d said there was a guy with information and the only place they could find him was this one bar on Flausy. Well, they happened to be on the Millennium Falcon, and Flausy was just around the star system from them, so, sure, it made sense that they ought to swing by and find the guy. Get the information.

“Han,” Luke had said when they’d walked in and looked around at the bright lights cutting through the dance floor, the tight press of bodies grinding to the music together, the flirtatious finger waves as they passed by the lower-lying tables. “Han, is this a gay bar?”

When it became evident that yes, this was in fact a gay bar, and Han had in fact brought him here, a few other pieces of this plot had begun to come together. “Was there ever even a guy with information?”

“Not really. Lando mentioned this place. Said it might be a good one to bring you to.” Luke’s legs stopped working and Han had been forced to throw an arm around his shoulder and frog march him the rest of the way to the bar. “Come on, kid, loosen up. You’re too young to be this serious, and I figure the best thing I can do for my dear, sweet, too-serious brother-in-law is get him out of his head for a bit. Get him drunk or laid. Or both, that would be ideal.”

“Does Leia know about this?”

“Whose credits do you think I’m using?” he replies with a lazy grin as he slaps a card on the bar. A droid comes whirring up, towel slung over it’s cybernetic shoulder, and bleats out a question. “Shots. Lots of them.”

Now here he is. Drunk. A tiny glass with a swirling purple drink in it and each one he throws back makes his mouth feel more and more like a spaceship entering hyperspace.

Han is taking his job as Luke’s wingman very seriously. He’s leaning against the bar like rough trade—blaster strapped to his thigh, leather vest gaping open, a knowing slant to his crooked mouth—and every guy that tries to pick him up is nimbly redirected toward Luke. Han talks him up in a voice that is loud enough to carry over the music, but not nearly persuasive enough to do much good.

It would hurt his pride more—that not even Han’s classic bait-and-switch can do much for his dismal love life—but he has purple shots to keep him warm and if Leia is buying, Luke figures it would be rude not to keep ordering them.

“That tin can is checking you out,” Han says, nodding to a dark corner, and Luke lifts his head from counting the drink rings on the bar to find a Mandalorian in full, if a little worn and poorly matching, regalia standing there.

He’s also wearing a silver helmet with the kind of blacked-out visor that’s impossible to see what he might be feeling or doing or checking out under there.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny,”

“He could be checking you out,” Han says with a shrug. “No way to know for sure.”

“Another round?” Luke calls to the server droid who scurries to obey. “You sure he’s not here for you? Maybe you’ve got another bounty on your head.”

“Ha. Ha.” Han repeats with an eye roll of his own. “Didn’t you hear? I’m respectable now. All bounties on me have been squared away, Leia’s orders. Now I’m just a faithful husband and a soon-to-be doting dad.”

Luke can’t help the hysterical laugh that takes him then, and for that he blames the liquor. He gets a punch to the shoulder for it that is harder than a friendly tap yet not quite hard enough to mean business.

“I do think Tin Can is checking you out,” Han says a few minutes later, thoughtfully, as he idly rolls an empty shot glass between his fingers.

“Maybe I have a bounty out on me,” Luke says, snorting down into his drink. *

As it turns out, Luke does, in fact, have a bounty out on him.

* “This is all a misunderstanding,” Luke says standing behind the Mandalorian in the cockpit of his ship as he prepares for take off.

His wrists are bound in front of him, something he could probably get out of with one well placed thought if he wanted to but, well, Han had been right. He has been too serious lately, too lonely, and there’s something about the tall, aloof type that gets to him. And he can’t get much more aloof than a Mandalorian whose face he has yet to see and who has only said a handful of words between capturing Luke and bringing him back here.

Also, Luke’s been drinking. That might also be part of it.

“So, is that bar like,” he tries to think of a tactful way of putting it, very aware that it’s been a long time since he’s tried this talking to (potentially) handsome men thing. “Do you go there a lot, or…?”

“No.”

Luke waits for him to elaborate but that seems to be all he’s going to get.

“Oh. Well, me neither. It was my first time at that place.” The ship tremors as it leaves the atmosphere and Luke lurches forward. He catches himself on the back of the Mandalorian’s chair with his shins since his hands aren’t good for much in these cuffs. “First time having those nurple shots. Have you ever had a nurple shot?”

No response.

“They’re purple,” Luke says helpfully. “Really, really purple. Strong, too.”

The ship makes a sharp turn and Luke staggers to the side along with it.

“I think I might be drunk,” Luke confesses and the Mandalorian snorts out a laugh, the first sign of an emotion he’s shown yet.

“You think?” And then because apparently Luke’s luck is holding he tilts his head and keeps talking. “How about you sit before you hurt yourself?”

“Wow,” Luke says as he falls into the copilot seat. “That was like a whole sentence. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”

Another snort, but that’s all the answer he’s apparently going to give Luke.

“That’s not a no,” Luke points out.

The silence continues on and the white out of hyperspace starts to lull Luke to sleep which is probably not great for his future escape plans, but he feels himself start to slump over nevertheless.

Kriffing Han, he thinks as he comes ever closer to passing out. Kriffing nurple shots.

Just as he’s drifting off he hears the Mandalorian say: “It’s not a no,” but he can’t for the life of him remember what they’d been talking about before darkness takes over. *

The thing is, if Luke were in his right mind he’d try making a pass at the Mandalorian.

Luke doesn’t have the most sexual experience, but for a farm boy from a nearly uninhabitable rock, he’s done pretty well for himself. He knows he’s got the blond thing going for him and that aw-shucks-I’d-be-delighted-to-go-down-on-you thing, and together that can be a pretty winning combo.

Or at least it is according to the holovids that he used to watch and then swear to Uncle Owen that he had no idea how those charges ended up on their plasticard account. Which is to say, he might not have experienced it all but he’s seen some things and if that one ‘vid ‘Mand-ooooooh!-lorian, vol.9’ had anything to say about it all it would take is the right smile, the right wink, and Luke would see himself bent over the cockpit’s console in no time.

Instead he wakes up from a dead sleep and manages to turn his head away from the man he’d really like to impress before vomiting nurple shots all over the floor.

“I'm sorry,” Luke moans. “I’m so, so sorry.”

If the Mandalorian is disgusted at Luke, it's hard to tell with that helmet on.

“I'll clean it up. Just tell me where you keep your supplies and I'll take care of it.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t so much as move from where he’s fiddling with the ship's controls, but still the cockpit door opens behind Luke with a whir.

“Right, yeah, okay.” Luke scrambles up from his seat to the door. A piercing pain is starting above his right eye that he tries to blink away. “I can figure it out.”

The ship’s compartments are narrow and the lights are flickering just enough to make his nausea even worse, but he’d said he would clean up and so he will. A storage door opens with a snick and Luke is staring at more weaponry than he’s seen in one place since the Rebellion ended.

For the first time since he’s been captured Luke wonders where his lightsaber has gotten to.

He remembers fumbling for it with fingers that had gone nerveless from the shots, but then the Mandalorian was hauling him away with some sort of cable line and Han was no help at all, laughing himself into a stupor as he leaned against the bar.

And that’s as far as he can remember.

Luke closes the weapons storage door, turning away a little too fast and the headache is worse now.

He’s wincing, reaching up with his bound hands to pinch at the space between his eyes when he realizes he isn’t alone any more.

“This’ll help with the hangover,” he hears over his shoulder before he’s swung into a carbonite chamber and unceremoniously blasted with freezing gas. *

By the time he’s rescued the Mandalorian is long gone, having collected on his bounty, and all Luke has to do is wait out the shivering aftereffects of the carbonite with a bemused Han shape that he can barely see through the hibernation blindness.

Squatting down to where Luke is sprawled across the floor, Han presses the hilt of Luke’s lightsaber into his hand and asks: “Did you at least get his comm code?”

“I didn’t. Even. Get his. Name,” Luke forces out through chattering teeth.

A warm hand claps him on the shoulder.

“Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

[staysaneathome]

That Day (Afternoon)

(I made another part of that Entity swap WIP, this time with 90% more Melanie King and 30% more Basira Hussain, enjoy) Jon initially had no inkling that this day was going to be substantially different from any other.

Admittedly, there were some differences from his usual day-to-day roamings, but none that hadn’t been true of other days. He was a whole year older, as the Watcher informed him three weeks after his twelfth birthday, but that was ages ago now and he really didn’t feel any different between twelve and eleven.

The Collection was back in town, but he’d managed to avoid them so far, sometimes by the skin of his teeth. Somehow he continued to escape The Man’s prying gaze and the searchers who roamed the streets, some cognizant, some…not. He wondered if the Watcher allowed him to roam free because his status as The Recorder meant it liked him more than the Man, somehow.

Martin hadn’t been at the park for the past fortnight or so, though he’s promised to visit again as soon as he could the last time he was there.  So he could be forgiven of thinking that this day would be no more significant than the last.

And then he spots an eight-year-old girl toddling after one of the searchers.

She’s tall in the way that suggests she’ll be small later in life, with sparkly hair bobbles and the kind of clothes that come from Marks & Spencer or John Lewis or the other too big, too clean stores where the shop people glare at Jon as he goes past.

She’s asking questions of the searcher (who used to be known as Diana, but has lost what made a lot of her her in the flux and flow of information that The Man commands her to find). Questions like, “what do you know about the ghosts I saw on my holiday” and “why is everything so annoying now” and “why are you holding my hand so tight, it hurts” and “are you sure my daddy won’t mind, because he said he was only going to be gone for five minutes” and “hey, are you even listeningto me, you said you’d listen to me?!”

She’s only little, and she hasn’t lived that long, hasn’t got as many stories in her yet. But she’s had an Encounter with one of the Fourteen, and that called the searcher to her like moths to a flame.  Now the searcher’s taking the little girl back to The Collection, where The Man will Ask her about it.  And that will be the End of her.

Jon should turn around and walk away.  It’s sad, but this has happened millions of times, to millions of other people other than this one girl Jon had the misfortune of seeing. He’s so very incredibly lucky he hasn’t been found and dragged back yet, it’d be stupid to give it all up now. He can’t compromise his own safety for someone he doesn’t even know. He needs to turn around and walk away, see if Martin’s waiting at the park for him.

He’s going to turn around. Right now. Right now. Right. Now. Now. Now.

Now!

Jon has never been the largest child. Even when living with his grandmother and getting three square meals a day plus snacks, he’s always remained small and birdlike and bony. He’s not like Martin, who looks like he’d be soft and huggable, or Tommy, who was solid and square when he pushed Jon and stole his books.

But somehow he manages to barrel into the searcher’s arm and rip the little girl up and away with all the strength in his small body.

Of course, that’s when the girl begins trying to claw his eyes out.

“LET ME GO!!” She screams, wriggling so hard Jon almost drops her as he’s trying to run back across the busy road, car horns blaring around them. “WHO ARE—WHAT ARE—PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I'LL BITE YOUR NOSE OFF, I SWEAR, I SWEAR I WILL!!”

”Stop MOVING!” He yells back at her once he’s safely hit pavement. “The searcher’s going to catch us both otherwise! I’m saving your life!!”

“I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO, YOU STUPID UGLY HEAD!!” The little girl shrieks back.

Jon considers dropping her and booking it himself for a single moment.

But the searcher’s coming for them, and now she’s seen him too, her pace quickening as the knowledge of how much the Man wants his prized Recorder back resonating in her skull until it overrides even basic instincts of pain and survival.

So Jon grits his teeth as the little girl in his arms tears into his shoulder with her sharp little nails and hauls her with him down the street as fast as he can go.

The Watcher tells him the bus pulling up to the station in front of them has a camera that’s faulty on the second level. There are two family groups that are going from sniping at each other to outright exchanging verbal blows over who deserves to get on first, the parents going red in the face with spittle flying from their mouths and the children pulling faces and calling names as the overworked and underpaid bus driver tries to keep order.

It’s easy for Jon to duck through them and drag the girl up the bus stairs with him, as the conflict below devolves into an outright brawl that masks the eight-year-old’s protests.  The bus doors slam shut, and the bus pulls away amidst the yelling and fighting outside.

Jon sags down in the seat on the relatively empty second level. The only other person seems to be a teenager slumped down across the very back seats far away from them, eyes shut and white headphone wires trailing out from under their hijab.

He stares out of the window at the searcher, whose figure is quickly vanishing as the bus picks up speed and merges into the London traffic.

”Okay.” He exhales, loosening his grip on the little girl’s collar. “I think we’re safe.”

The little girl whirls around.  Her teeth snap shut an inch away from his nose.

Jon presses himself against the window. “What is wrong wi—hey! Stop it!!”

“No!” The girl yells back. “That lady was gonna tell me why everything is being so annoying, all the time now and how to make it stop, so I can be happy again, and you, you went and ruined it!!” She’s still flailing, still trying furiously to claw him open, but there’s a frustrated edge to her voice and tears brimming in her eyes.

”I did not!” Jon protests vehemently, trying to keep a grip on her so she doesn’t give him anymore scratches like the one trickling blood down his arm. “She didn’t want to help you! She just wanted to take you back and make you tell your story so the Collection could eat up your life!”

”Liar! How would you know?!” The girl accuses, one of her sparkly hair-bobbles coming undone.

”Because that’s what they tried to do to me.” Jon hisses. “But they didn’t eat all of me, just…just made me into something like them. A monster that eats stories.”

The girl actually pauses for a moment to digest this.

“Are you going to try to eat me, then?” She asks, warily, arms tensing again. “If you’re a monster like that lady.”

”Of course not!” Jon scoffs, then adds, “Eating someone yucky like you would make me sick.”

The little girl goes bug-eyed and she tears her arms out of his grip to cross them over her chest ”I would not! You take that back!”

”No.” Jon says gleefully, then immediately regrets it when the little girl kicks him in the shin. “Ow! Stop that!”

”You started it.” The girl replies moodily, shifting to sit down in the seat properly and swing her legs.

Jon finally turns away to inspect the damage he’s sustained, pulling his shirt away from his arm and hissing as it makes his shoulder burn with pain. The Watcher tells him he needs to disinfect the cuts and maybe have a few stitches if he wants it to not get worse, but he can’t exactly get those easily where he is right now.

”If you’re a monster, why do you bleed like a normal person?” The girl pipes up behind him. Her eyebrows are furrowed.

”Why do you care?” He mutters, shooting her a dirty look.

The girl puffs out her chest, which looks a little odd, given that she’s now sitting on her hands. “I’m gonna be a ghost hunter when I’m grown up. Like in that one movie, but I’ll be even cooler and have a magic sword instead of a weird gun, and I’ll beat up all the ghosts and monsters on my own, except the nice ones, because they’ll be my friends. I’m Melanie, by the way. What’s your name? Do monsters have names?”

”Yes.” Jon replies. He enjoys the silence for a moment.

Melanie’s cheeks puff out like a pufferfish as she glares at him. “Okaay, so what’s your name?”

”Jon.” Jon says curtly.

”That’s not a very good name for a monster.” Melanie informs him.

”I wasn’t always a monster.” Jon tells her sourly. “Just like you.” The little girl doesn’t ask him many more questions for a long time after that.

”What are you looking at?” Melanie says suddenly as the bus is slowing to its fourth stop since they got on.

Jon twists away from the window. “I’m just trying to see if the searcher’s followed us—”

”Not you.” Melanie replies impatiently. “You. What are you looking at?”

The back of Jon’s neck goes cold. He twists around slowly.

The teenager in the hijab isn’t slumped across the seats. She’s half-way to standing, and staring right at them. Her eyes are cold and intent.

They stay like that, frozen for a moment.

”Melanie, run!!” He screams.

Melanie throws herself towards the stairs as the teenager explodes into motion behind them. Jon can feel her fingers try to snag on the back of his shirt as he thunders down the stairs, only narrowly missing him as he half-falls the rest of the way down and pelts out the bus doors to the sound of the driver yelling indignantly.

One of Melanie’s sparkly bobbles has fallen out and her hair is drooping down as she turns to grab onto Jon’s hand while they run.

”Stop!” The teenager yells. “Hey!” She’s gaining on them.

Jon tries to Know where they can go to lose her, how they can escape, but the Watcher just gives him useless tidbits instead; that man with the skateboard there has undiagnosed intermittent explosive disorder, this lady jogging over up ahead served two tours as a nurse in her youth to pay for her medical degree, that young person with the pins on their bag here is coordinating a flash mob on his phone to protest—

“Go away already!” Melanie complains on a furious exhale, and kicks a discarded can in her path hard.

It rockets away from her, bounces off a rubbish bin, and somehow jams in between the wheels of the man’s skateboard. He yelps as he falls, but roars when the teenager chasing them runs directly into him without slowing down, rising to block her path. The lady jogging furrows her brow with alarm, and races forwards to put herself between what she sees as a hostile and a young civilian in need of her protection, inadvertently preventing the teenager from advancing in her attempts to diffuse the situation and keep the man from lashing out at her physically. The person on their phone looks up and sets their jaw, switching it to video record the conflict and grabbing the teenager back even further, acting as a shield and spit inflammatory accusations that do more to raise tempers and attract attention than to resolve anything.

Jon watches all this with rapt eyes, drinking it in until his hand is jerked hard and he almost falls over.

”C’mon!” Melanie yells, irritated and scared and guilty and angry, the mark of the Slaughter almost an audible note to her voice, her footsteps. “We need to get away from those creepy ladies, find somewhere to hide, where do we go?!”

To hide.  Jon tightens his grip on Melanie’s hand and changes their course slightly, heading towards a place he frequents regularly.

”Follow me,” He gasps, trying to ignore the stitch in his side. “I have a friend.”