#i mean... self blame is pretty angsty

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”  

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn’t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

[aragaki]

Zelda & Hylia, Praying Was Never the Answer

This is probably incoherent but I'm having thoughts on Zelda and Hylia's relationship and how I don't feel that Zelda's frustrations with the goddess are completely warrented.

I don't think Hylia is the detached, cold figure that a lot of BotW fan content presents her as. The goddesses in the Zelda universe exist, they're not just theoretical or mythological and they do intervene when they have to and no goddess is as present and active in protecting mortals as Hylia.

People point out that Link is able to communicate with Hylia whenever he wants at the goddess statues and that means she must like him more than Zelda. I don't feel that's exactly the case. I doubt Link was able to hear the goddess before he pulled out the Master Sword, and wielding it to protect Hyrule is his sacred duty. Thus, his connection to the goddess is established.

Zelda ends up able to hear Fi's voice from the Master Sword when she unlocks her sacred power so it's reasonable to assume that she would be able to hear the voice of the goddess now. And I know that's fairly obvious but what I'm trying to get at is without the sacred connections, either through divine power or being the wielder of the Master Sword, you can't hear the goddess. Zelda was never going to be able to hear Hylia until her powers manifested and I don't think prayer was ever going to be how she got them.

Even if Zelda has complicated feelings about Hylia because she couldn't communicate to the goddess through prayers, Hylia was desperately trying to speak to her. One of her diary entries pretty much confirms this:

"I had a dream last night... In a place consumed by darkness, a lone woman gazed at me, haloed by binding light. I sensed she was...not of this world. I don't know if she was a fairy or a goddess, but she was beautiful. Her lips spoke urgently, but her voice did not reach me. Would I have heard her if my power was awoken?"

So it feels like the idea that Hylia is ambivalent or choosing to ignore Zelda when she prays at the springs to unlock her powers is wrong. I honestly don't think Zelda was ever going to unlock her sacred powers that way because introspective prayer is almost the antithesis of Zelda's nature, and that's true for almost all of the past Zeldas.

Zelda was a pirate, Zelda was a Sheikah warrior, Zelda was a monarch trying to lead during the darkest hour of twilight. The only reason Hylia's mortal reincarnation went to those sacred springs was to purify her body and regain her memories of her life as a warrior goddess and protector of the Triforce.

Zelda doesn't sit and pray for power when Demise's curse revives evil into the world. BotW Zelda was on the right track when she was trying to figure out the Sheikah technology, because that was the drive and the weapons she chose. Sitting and praying didn't do anything. She only gained the sealing power when she chose to protect Link, when she stepped into the role of a protector.

King Rhoam was a bad father and it's obvious and easy to blame everything on him but I really feel like it was his fundamental misunderstanding of how the goddess' sacred power worked that caused Zelda to have have such a hard time unlocking it. She was never going to awaken anything through prayer because neither Zelda nor Hylia sit on the sidelines during a crisis.

Zelda blaming Hylia for being "deaf to her devotion" when Hylia is meeting her in dreams, urgently trying to speak to her is misplaced anger. Hylia isn't ignoring her, she isn't the statues with their placid smiles, she's near screaming for her mortal self to hear her.

I'm not saying that Zelda doesn't have the right to feel like she does or people's angsty interpretations aren't good but for me? I like this idea a lot. Zelda feeling like the goddess isn't listening while Hylia feels the same way about her.

[ao3wasntenough]

Okey this is scenario what if. What if Allspark decide to give Megatron 'mercy' but at same time give him lesson after all he originally not evil, unfortunately he became tyranny self. Also while Megatron considered as evil but he not the worst, in a few media showing while he have agenda but sometimes he have honor and pride self, so if he is gone decepticon that replace him will be the more worst than him like Starscream. Also weirdly he have more Royal soldiers to him than Starscream, so yeah in that scenario they need Megatron life to reach peace.

So what if when sam shoving Allspark in Megatron spark, Allspark decide to put Megatron spark into sam body?

Allspark reason pretty simple it's to make Megatron feel powerless and remaining him his past why he start war, Allspark hoping that Megatron can change because of that. Well sam definitely not agree with Allspark doing even for good reason and Megatron will feel very annoyed because he must stuck in sam body that weak, young and clumsy.

But the main problem is that Autobots, they confuse what should they do about the even in one side that want Megatron dead they probably planning to kill sam to kill Megatron but they no want kill sam too because he innocent and he help them, optimus see this as sort of opportunity to make Megatron change. They definitely hide this from government and trying find away separate Megatron spark from sam body.

So what do you think what will happen / doing to sam and Autobots when Megatron sharing body with sam?

I’ve read a fic or too like this!

One was extremely angsty where Sam would transform into Megatron come day or night and they’d have to freeze him like Megatron was in the first movie. Keeping them both under cold harsh lock and key only themselves for company

Not the fic but

I think Sam himself could probably take having Megatron in his head rather well compared to others, if not for the encumbrances to his “normal life”

Like give him a mundane office job that’s highly regulated by the government and autobots, and just let him fail at dating in general. At least having Megatron in his head is a good thing to blame when he can’t keep relationships or jobs.

Both would fling curses and jabs at offing themselves to easily for any autobots comfort. I feel like when your face to face with someone watching the beg and cry and mourn their existence and beg for one of you to just do it! JUST DO IT! PULL THE TRIGGER YOU WANT HIM DEAD TO RIGHT!? WHATS ONE HUMAN!?

It would be very confronting to an Autobot, especially with the weight of Optimus Prime looming like he’s very willing to bring the wrath of primus down on the whole base. Cause not only does he not want Megatron to die (wether deep down he still cares for Meg or it’s almost a punishment to himself that his greatest enemy to die in a flesh body at the cannon of one of his own men at his weakest) but Sam’s endurance and perseverance is simply to important to Optimus to loose.

And in some ways I think it would be a good thing for some bots, that even the weakest species in this war, can do something so incredibly vile and dangerous and keep going and keep wishing to do something good for once, means they can and should too

[onion-culture]

Onion culture is rant posting about an au nobody even knows about (yet) for a fandom you've never even interacted with (but study extensively, at least the online part of it.) Hello, internet! I like to have fun, well-dressed fun. As of recent that faux-fur coat draped fun was lined with self-insertship. I call it PB&J, short for Petebilly & Jetliner (jetliner refers to the jetliner position, or more commonly known as a wall-sit / squat. The usage of this word will make more sense in due time) and the jist of it is that me and my brother's self inserts (the mutant orphaned Candastrino bros.) have a raging grudge against Pete White for being the cause of the cancellation of their favorite show, and thus go on a revenge-trip to finish him off for good- but accidentally end up getting adopted. Love born from hate, as never pictured in the paper. Anyway, it's real fun, and I'll post more about it when I find the want to so this will make a bit more sense later, but as of now the following rant about fandom culture is laid out for my enjoyment, and if you want, you can have a piece too.

So. This au really is- aside from the riffs on fandom somehow infantilizing and villainizing Pete all at once- really a way for me to answer the question they stick on you that is, after Billy remembers, what happens now? How do they handle it in such a way that means for the next four seasons they continue to live with and love each other? And I think having them just throw it into a bickering session as,

PETE: "what, so you think I'm evil too, hah? I thought we was 'sposed ta be PATNERS, Billy!"

BILLY: "NO! I'm telling you AND THEM [emphasis on that line so that white knows he's not being targeted] that it'sch idiotic to believe any of that schtill carriesch enough weight to drag anybody down! white, that wasch in the eightiesch! I don't CARE, we are partnersch and nothing I've done dischprovesch that!"

PETE: "OH, WOW! SO YOU'RE STILL JUST THROWING ALL THA BLAME BACK TA ME-"

-And so on, and so on. I'm cutting it off there or they could go on until white starts crying and makes a daring escape. They'll resolve it in their own heads in a jiff. And so the answer to that question pretty much is they move on. Fandom are all sticklers for clinging to things they find invokes certain angsty scenes, which okay that's whatever, the heart wants what it wants especially in spaces like these where it can always just have it by the power of folly-filled friendship, but it doesn't work with VBros and that's why it's* (the way they handle the characters*) been so confusing to me. Because they handle them like they're characters instead of the people that Doc and Jackson write them as. They write about life and fans see it as unmoving failure after failure, but that's just one part of life. Failure is just one interconnected piece of the huge net that becomes how someone lives. Billy and White's 80's escapades are just one part of their lives. It's just one aspect of the adventure! Adventure, by the by, is continuing to do something even when it gets obscenely stupid. So, basically, life is an adventure and venture Brothers is an action show (kind of), if you catch my obvious drift wafted by a fan directly in front of your face.

It's also a good way to see Conjectech finally portrayed healthily. Another thing Fandom(TM) would stick to because of how they prey on the weak points of characters is Petebilly being oh-so toxic, which just isn't the case. They pick out the parts of the VBros bible they want to see instead of the stories it's actually telling. And like most Christians, they make casual soulmates out to be evil gay people that hate everyone including each other. White & Billy, very simply put, aren't like that. Contrary to popular belief they aren't a toxic partnership. Media literacy is a bit dead now, which may contribute, but I digress. Most of when we see them fight on screen isn't genuinely rage filled. It's husband-wife little squabbles, or it's friendly fire similar to how you'll dish on a pal just for breathing wrong. when you know someone for such a long time, that becomes pretty natural. People that aren't you and your boyfriend won't realize you're kidding and that at the end of the day you'll be cuddling no matter what. In the morning, you'll share cereal, and insult how he holds his spoon. Familiarity breeds hilarious discontent in anyone that's ever been familiar with anyone, and it is a phenomena that I certainly believe should be studied. They're healthy and functional, but they function in a way that some people who rely on tropes and ideas they learned over time don't understand isn't those tropes. Platonics are not for the faint of heart! And fandom, my dear sweet fandom, are all like cats getting scared at a zucchini by misbelieving it's an odd phallus. That goes for most Fandom everywhere, it is an objective statement. At a point you realize of course people can't read, by golly they can't even see the whole picture. comme ci, comme ça. Anyway, Pete and Billy's on screen interactions are otherwise incredibly sweet. One scene I'd like to point out that, even though it was before their move to NYC and arc to accepting their roles as each other's best friend (which is something I would love to touch on later (ehe, that's what she said)), is a scene from the first episode their company was officially introduced. "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean"'s formal introduction to everyone's favorite pair of sometimes-scientists all-time-geeks is a perfect capture of the characters. They start with Billy in a little floral apron, and he's telling off white, who's currently playing GTA, for not flushing the toilet. Ever. They get a call, White is, naturally, busy so Billy answers it. He opens the call with a slogan White promotes heavily, though it hasn't grown too well on Billy (yet. In "Handsome Ransom," he uses it cheerfully.) Then he ends the call with a chipper "bai-bal!" and is, naturally, riffed on for saying that. The game is paused now and White is being let in on the juicy deets of their new job. They have a bit of a back and forth, and at the end a high-five is brought up, naturally, but denied. Naturally. High fives come later when White finally gives in to them as he will with most anything his business partner puts forward. In any case, they've got a good thing going on, and basically this AU is a great way for me to show that they do because half the time people don't believe it.

That was all copy and pasted from a txt document. Onion Culture is loving text documents. Another point I could make is how nobody really gets how Billy works, but that's another rant for another day. My father, when I sent him this rant, said that "people will hate it, but what don't they?"

[cakeiscoolsblogthing]

In The Book of Bill, Dipper has his nightmare about his parents having... Maritial issues? Do you think Dipper tell Pacifica about the possibility of his parents spitting up? I know Pacifica tells her problem with her parents with Dipper.

On another note, angst dipcifica ideas?

Loooong post ahead. I think I got a little carried away.

I like the idea that Dipper and Pacifica, as they become better friends and stuff, both confide in each other - we only really see Pacifica confiding in Dipper in the show and books, which makes sense because she has one episode and one story focused on her (The Golf War was more about Mabel than her, though it was definitely important for character development) but just her telling him about her own problems probably wouldn't be sustainable for a long term relationship (whether romantic or platonic) (he's not her therapist lol)

I realize that's not really answering the question, that was just my tangent about what I headcanon (fun fact about me: I don't have very many headcanons because I like to keep my options open for what I write/draw about - I know headcanoning something doesn't automatically mean you can't ever go against that headcanon, it's just a random thought in my second tangent in this answer) so for if he tells her about his parents possibly splitting up: Maybe. I'd say it depends on how much their relationship (again, this could be platonic or romantic, even if I know we both ship them lol) has developed since the events of Northwest Mansion Mystery and Face It. It also could depend on how long it's been since they met her; she was still a bully to Mabel (and mean to everyone, but Dipper mostly cares about Mabel) and even if both the twins forgave her he might not be willing to open up very quickly to her. On the opposite side, she's already been vulnerable with him twice, which could make him more willing to open up in response to her, especially since it's (if we take his search history in BoB as canon and not something Bill made up, which I am generally inclined to do for when he was talking about anyone other than himself, but there's still the possibility that he was just Making Stuff Up) pretty much canon that he doesn't have friends outside of Gravity Falls and Mabel.

Tl;dr it depends on how you interpret them and their relationship post-canon. I would say that he'd probably tell her. Not right away or anything, but if they keep in communication with each other, eventually.

That was a lot of words, but I guess I have a lot of thoughts about these guys?

As for angsty Dipcifica ideas . . . this one's a little harder for me, since . . . well, I'd say I'm not a super angsty writer, though I've definitely done some. But I've come up with a couple!

The two of them go on some sort of adventure/monster hunt, get into a fight, and maybe they're distracted from something attacking them or one of them pushes the other and they fall in a hole. They get injured and the other one blames themselves for extra angst points! Could probably work with either in either role, though if Pacifica is the one who does NOT get injured there could be angst about her mean girl era, and if Dipper's the one who didn't get injured he could have angst because of his lower self esteem.

Other characters disapproving of their relationship. Not just Preston and Priscilla, who can definitely put a lot of angst (mostly on Pacifica) and you can definitely do a lot of different things with that relationship, but also some of the Pines's friends and family, like Stan, Ford, and Wendy, who can disapprove because she was a bully. Or even the Pines parents if they're a little older and Dipper takes Pacifica to meet them! Why the parents would disapprove, I have no idea. Well, I have some ideas, buuut I digress. This could put pressure on both of them and maybe they consider ending their relationship but ultimately decide that they're happier with each other (and they'll always have Mabel's support. She's the #1 Dipcifica shipper.) Unless you want to take it a really angsty route and they do break up. Maybe they get back together, maybe they don't.

They're dating but they're both super insecure about themselves and this culminates in . . . idk, maybe they hide their insecurities which leads to trouble, or maybe they sense the other's insecurities and try to help them, but it ends up backfiring and hurting them instead. Then they have guilt and even more insecurity!

I think that's all I got for now, though I'll probably be thinking about more Dipcifica angst stuff for a few weeks, but this was fun! I hope the wall of text wasn't too hard to get through and that it wasn't too confusing!

[mondstadtlover6000]

breakdown of clovis's pjosceu fic

okay i'm back for another post in this little series! today we're going over clovis's pjosceu fic and its themes and meaning. check out the previous one on connor's fic if you haven't already.

this is what i had set up for clovis's fic:

trauma response: self-neglect premise: "being willing to sacrifice all of yourself to find yourself and your supposed purpose." themes: abandonment, unimportance, tiredness, purpose, responsibility

clovis's fic mainly revolves around one main thing: him wanting to be someone of purpose. this is expressed through him trying to find his parentage and through his powers. he tries very hard to find out who his father is and to understand what the "point" of him being a demigod is. later in the fic, clovis yearns to be seen and accepted as someone of repute, and therefore sacrifices a lot of his own health in order to do this for people, following this mindset of "i need to do something/provide something for others in order to be of use". he has a very... capitalistic (for lack of better word) viewpoint on life, i guess. this is also kind of a reflexive response towards the neglect minor gods receive in camp half-blood; clovis attempts to "prove himself" because he doesn't want to be "useless".

i took a somewhat (i think?) unique perspective on clovis's constant sleeping for this fic. i portray it as a symptom of deprivation due to him not being able to control his powers, and later, not controlling them properly. his constant dozing, in the context of my fic, is because he is genuinely not asleep when he's "asleep": he's awake in the dream world. this is a pretty obvious metaphor of his self-neglect: the more he stays awake (as he does it to help people), the more tired he gets—the more he tries to prove himself, the more he hurts himself. this is supposed to show that... you're not supposed to be killing yourself over achieving goals or helping others, which clovis does understand eventually get over by starting to fix his sleep schedule!!

there's also a point in the story where hypnos points out that all of clovis's lack of sleep is due to his own hand. clovis initially tries to blame it on his powers, but really it's the misuse of powers that causes his pain: he doesn't take responsibility for the negatives that affect him and he is only able to get better when he does.

detracting from clovis's personal character arc, we also have a little side story with ethan nakamura and, as my sister calls it, "the angsty gay situationship they have going on". ethan is introduced as kind of a foil to clovis: they both sacrifice a lot of themselves in order to support a "bigger cause". but while clovis reels this in before having a doomed fate, ethan doesn't (like in canon).

i think i mainly put this in to show that, despite being a reflex or response of trauma and their environment, a lot of what occurs to campers is of their own choice. a lot of the pjosceu is about free will: just like connor has no control over other people leaving him in his fic, clovis has entire control over the pains that befall him (at least the ones i serve in the story).

anyway there's my incoherent ramble of the day, i hope it provided some insight to readers. if you haven't read my pjosceu series on ao3, be sure to, because i give all the love (and angst) to everyone's favorite side characters.

[bubbleteasing]

I don't *think* anyone has asked this yet (i skimmed through your answered asks): what would have happened if sans did not ask frisk to reset in acaat?

You're right, I don't think anyone's asked that before, nor have I really stopped to think about it...

Oof. Ok, answer under the cut!

Well, starting where we left off, they have that unexpected encounter when Sans and gets attacked by her (rightfully so), then later on he visits again and tells her about him being able to turn time. She pretends to believe him and tells him to go ahead, only for him to discover that he can't go back with a reset (likely because Frisk just saved or something like that).

So what then?

Reader just keeps living her life. She keeps donating baby stuff, keeps going to work, visits the cemetery... and of course, indulges into those newly discovered self destructive habits, such as having sex with strangers, drinking, and smoking cigarettes.

No one sees anything coming, since she keeps her facade pretty well; she's a good boss, a great friend, she's always smiling and being 'herself', but once she gets home it's a different story.

Sans knows this. He watches her from afar, noticing all the little details the rest of the people don't.

She's hoping something bad will happen. That maybe smoking will worsen her health to the point of dying. That maybe one day one of her hook-ups will be a serial killer.

One day, Sans tries to reason with her. She laughs, reminding him about going back in time to fix it, but she already knew he couldn't do it.

He's always been full of shit.

Sans steps back and convinces Papyrus to try to talk her into an intervention, but she quickly shuts it down. It pains her to block Papyrus out of her life once again after him visiting her at the hospital, but if that means keeping Sans away, she'll break his heart. She might even enjoy that punishing Papyrus hurts Sans too.

And eventually, what actually ends up killing her, is falling asleep in her bed while smoking.

Sans wasn't there, so no one saves her. She's the only victim. No one learns that she was actively looking for a way to die. Everyone just thinks she died by accident, and they mourn her as such.

Sans blames himself for it. This might've made her happy.

A pretty underwhelming ending if you ask me. Angsty? Yes, but I like my angst with a bit of substance.

[yersina]

From 'that which you must become (remember your true self)' specifically the first and last paragraph -

It feels disgusting, the weight of expectation and leadership that’s placed on him. He grew up protected by the broad expanse of someone else’s shoulders, despite being stronger in every other way. He was nurtured carefully under a warm wing, spent his early life following like a duckling. He should be repaying the favor, not cultivating a herd of sycophants and devotees.

He agrees to be guild leader anyway. The words feel like ash on his tongue and his signature on the contract reads like gibberish.

The position comes with a multitude of responsibilities, most of which he delegates to others. If he must make an appearance, he does. If he has to say a few carefully scripted words, wear the clothing that his manager tells him to, create an image that Haeyeon can rally behind—fine. He pretends (he pretends, he pretends, he pretends) that it’s another monster he has to slay, that this whole world is just another dungeon with a very specific set of clearing conditions.

He moves through the world not quite believing that it’s real, but there’s no one to blame for that but himself. He was the one who severed the connection tying him to reality

this whole fic was a self indulgent angsty character study, and i am delighted to talk about this passage.

It feels disgusting, the weight of expectation and leadership that’s placed on him. He grew up protected by the broad expanse of someone else’s shoulders, despite being stronger in every other way. He was nurtured carefully under a warm wing, spent his early life following like a duckling. He should be repaying the favor, not cultivating a herd of sycophants and devotees.

in particular, the element that i really wanted to capture in this fic was the dichotomy between growing up half of a pair and becoming a single, solitary leader out of necessity. yoohyun does not want to do what he’s doing. he hates it. his relationship with yoojin is so so important to him, and he knows that walking away from that is basically spitting in the face of everything that yoojin ever did for him growing up. and yet, when you’re a teenager stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the only person you trust isn’t someone you can confide in, you make some pretty shitty decisions!

i also think that there’s something here to be said about an interpretation of love as safety and obligation, and the contrast between love without protection and protection without love. idk. i don’t think that i was thinking abt it this deeply when i was writing this, at least not explicitly, but i’ve got some Thoughts about relationship roles and what love means within a family haha

He agrees to be guild leader anyway. The words feel like ash on his tongue and his signature on the contract reads like gibberish.

The position comes with a multitude of responsibilities, most of which he delegates to others. If he must make an appearance, he does. If he has to say a few carefully scripted words, wear the clothing that his manager tells him to, create an image that Haeyeon can rally behind—fine. He pretends (he pretends, he pretends, he pretends) that it’s another monster he has to slay, that this whole world is just another dungeon with a very specific set of clearing conditions.

read: yoohyun hates his life lmao

i think? it’s canon that yoohyun doesn’t actually mind being guild leader, or that he likes it or is good at it or something?? i’ve forgotten the specifics. but i dunno, yoohyun strikes me as a very straightforward, no nonsense kind of guy and i can’t imagine him really appreciating or following guild politics or understanding the need for good publicity lol. maybe he picks it up more as he goes, but at the beginning? nah.

another thing that i really wanted to capture here, and also just with this fic in general, is just how young yoohyun is? like he’s a teenager, he knows fuckall abt what he’s doing, and he’s probably got a bunch of adults around him telling him what he needs to do in order to succeed. and like, he’s an s rank, but being an s rank doesn’t inherently give you the knowledge for how to navigate the sociopolitical space of being a publicly scrutinized leader, nor the more insidious manipulation that happens because of that. i don’t think yoohyun, as i’m writing him here, would get that, so i was trying to be rather subtle abt it!

He moves through the world not quite believing that it’s real, but there’s no one to blame for that but himself. He was the one who severed the connection tying him to reality.

YEAHHHH. i mean, when you’ve purposefully left behind the only support that you’ve ever had, what other feeling for that is there other than adrift? when your self identity is entwined with someone else and then you sever that tie, who do you become? yoohyun sure as fuck doesn’t know :>

[send me a passage from one of my fics and i’ll commentate on it!]

[misery-has-no-company-now]

Hello :3

May I ask thee for angsty Loui hc's? :3

*not forcing ofc!!*

Mhmm Loui angst hmmmm

*tackles him with the angst magic*

Loui can see spirits, and knows a good amount of witchcraft, so he quite often sees the spirits of all the people he has witnessed die. Some of them tell him it wasn't his fault and give him solace in their company, the others haunt him with blaming him for whatever happened; even if it usually didn't. And eventually, he too began to start believing their deaths were his fault ):

Sometimes, when he gets sick - like, really really sick [such as on the rare occasions that HE has gotten hungover] - he often starts to hallucinate the presence of the spirits; which we only know he does because I headcannon that all three of the Witchcraft Brothers (as I think I called them earlier, idk - I probably need to make a new name I suppose) can see spirits so imagine how Maine and Mass felt when a delirious Loui started sobbing and saying that he was sorry for causing someone's death to what was actually the wall but he thought was a spirit ):

For around a month or so after such incidents, Loui is terrified whenever he sees a spirit - no matter whether it's one that likes him or hates him - because he doesn't know if it is real or not and is scared that he is once again hallucinating.

Cajun/Creole French is a dialect of the French language; but many seem to believe that it isn't - which sometimes hurts Loui because he feels that it is one of the last attachments he has to France; since no matter how much he despises the country, Loui still wants his love.

All that moving of Louisiana's territory between France and Spain as well as the large number of protests that took place during the Louisiana Purchase means that he now has self-esteem issues and feels like no one will want him. Every time Maine and Mass show him even the slightest bit of affection [given the NE bastards that they are /lh], he cries a bit because he's so surprised that they still love him and want him around despite him not being able to give them anything of what he considers of "actual value" - never mind the fact that he's pretty much the only reason Mass has lowered his caffeine consumption to a less deadly level and that Maine actually gets fed on the days he forgets to eat [he silly boy like Alaska].

Anyway, that's all I'll give for now - can't be spoiling you too much (:

If you want more, say the word. I hope these were fine for now!

[fluxweeed]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i've had so much fun reading other answers to these questions over the last few weeks!! thank you @nv-md and @sweet-s0rr0w for mentioning me in your posts!! i fear my answers drifted much too far into self-indulgence, but what's new for this blog eh??

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22, but one of them is 11 separate drabbles/microfics in a 2k-word jacket

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

293,865

3. What fandoms do you write for?

i'll only ever write hp on this username!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all drarry:

the four doors (legilimency healer draco + memory loss)

adventures in truth and texting (advent texting fic)

all i have to do (draco thinks harry is a magical fantasy but whoops he's real)

eight o'clock, tomorrow evening (four doors sequel)

two to lie and one to listen (8th year fake dating, sort of)

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

i respond to everything on the final chapter of a fic! sometimes very kind commenters will say something at the end of every single chapter, which is SUCH a joy to receive, but i haven't yet figured out a way of saying "thank you!" 26 times over without sounding insincere

(i also don't usually respond to comments on fics i've co-written bc i don't feel like i have? the right? feels like i'm taking credit for something i did not really do!)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

also drarry: for lack of wanting, wherein harry thinks it's sexy when draco acts like an evil dick again, and draco is too in love with harry to tell him that makes him feel weird

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

man i think all the rest are pretty happy, all things considered? tho i guess two to lie and wrapped are the only ones that end with explicit i-love-yous?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've been quite lucky, actually! i've had the occasional demand to change an angsty ending, or comments that have been quite mean about a character who isn't supportive of drarry. oh and i've had a couple of people get suuuper mad when draco malfoy, death eater and snotty spoilt brat, makes mildly immoral decisions. i've found all of those quite funny tho, which i'm sure i wouldn't if they were legitimate hate, so i don't think they count!

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

yep! the vibe of two characters wanting to fuck but knowing they shouldn't for some reason (uneven dynamic, magic stuff, they simply haven't had a fucking conversation about it) is my absolute favourite. will read it every time, will write it pretty much every time too 😅

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

the closest i've come to writing a crossover is say no to this, a fic vaguely based off the storyline of the song from hamilton. it was the first drarry fic i'd written in about 10 years!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yep! not any under this username (that i know of), but someone re-uploaded an old drarry fic of mine to wattpad – and honestly, i don't mind at all. i don't think the fic is very good lmao, if someone else wants to take the blame for it, that's totally fine by me

(the wildest thing about it is the combined ff.net + wattpad views of that fic now top 2 million i think?! but despite that u have almost definitely not heard of it!! i've only seen it mentioned, like, maybe 3 times since i properly re-joined fandom spaces in 2020)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!!! it's SUCH an honour!!! the four doors is in german, chinese, russian and spanish; thirst (drarry vampire fic) is in chinese; and all i have to do (the not-fantasy-harry fic) is in russian 🥰

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

yes!!! well, sort of – officially, i co-wrote per my last letter (i hope you choke on it) with @lastontheboat, but i really do think i was more like an alpha reader with knobs on. the workload split was at least 25/75, with j shouldering a great deal of the burden (and all of the brilliance)!

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

this is going to sound silly given that i'm definitely a drarry writer and only really hang out in the drarry sphere – but i don't have one! for hp, i gravitate towards ships with harry in them, but even that isn't a hard and fast rule for me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

nothing that i've posted! but i have tons that are never going to see the light of day. three recent-ish hp ones i've written the most for:

a fic i call The Opus, which is a drarry auror partners fic – i have 16k words written; it was going to end up a solid 100k. i love the concept i have for this fic so, so dearly, but a 100k casefic is not happening.

a harry/ginny established relationship smutty oneshot that is really nothing more than ginny being fun and sexy and harry being horny but, like, self-deprecating about it.

a drarry little mermaid au that i wrote for nanowrimo in 2019. like i MIGHT come back to this one day? but it's unlikely. pros: i do have 50k of it written already and the first draft isn't too far off being complete. cons: i have almost exactly 50k words of it written bc i hit the nano goal and stopped in the middle of a sentence bc writing it was SO stressful (that november i had two jobs + one volunteering role, and also i was moving house, so. a lot going on.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

god knows. dialogue and characters come easiest to me, ig? and i tend to cut a lot in editing, so i don't think my stuff is? overly wordy? so it doesn't require much brainpower to read? that could be a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i suck at caring about anything other than character dynamics, so my fics never have plot outside of something vague to put the main pairing in the same room

similarly, i'm not very good at describing locations – describing anything, really

bc i tend to focus on the "oh we want to but we shouldn't!" moment, i'm pretty bad at actually developing feelings in longer fics – that part always feels too rushed to me, but fuck if i know a way of fixing it that isn't just, like, write another 20k

i think my endings usually feel like a bit of an afterthought and often quite forced

the more i write, the more i realise i know, like, 5 ways of phrasing anything, and i just repeat the same things over and over

i'm trying to fix my lack of skills with plotting + pacing by planning extensively before i start drafting, but i think that takes a bit of the spark out of the final version? it becomes a bit predictable and samey?

em dashes every tenth word

i'm convinced ppl i respect are in group chats talking abt how annoying and bad at writing i am, and also lowkey (…highkey) i agree with them – so actually getting myself to write anything is super hard!!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

yeah man! i mean, i personally am not sufficiently confident in my skills in any other language to do it without help (and i'm not sufficiently confident in my skills in asking for help to do that), but it's fun to read imo

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i've dabbled in a few over the years, but the first was hp – it was a marauders era snape/lily/james love triangle fic that i posted on a forum on a hp roleplaying site – this was before deathly hallows came out, so i was very smug when my pairing theory (that i undoubtedly stole from someone cleverer than me, because i was 13 years old) turned out to be true

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

god. @decaflondonfog recently told me that drabbles don't really count, so i? don't know? perhaps still the pine-woods scent the moon (guilty remus/harry) or taste of țuică (established drarry bringing ron in as a third) are the ones i like best, but i don't love either of them enough to be able to confidently declare them my favourite!

u know the drill: i got too sad and anxious and unfollowed everyone so i have no idea who to tag. if u made it this far please know i do love you very much, i want to kiss u on the cheek at LEAST, and would love to know any thoughts u have about the things u make ❤️

[loz-chainsofcorruption]

For the playlist, what about…

The Code by Nemo for Wild—same vibe, man

Problems by Mother Mother could work for Legend

Pompeii by Bastilie for Wild (The Calamity and the destruction it brought)

Can’t Hold Us by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis for the Chain as a whole

Pretender by AJR for… really, whoever you want to angstify (there’s this really good fic with an autistic Legend that I love, called something along the lines of “Your heart is confusing”)

Trees by Twenty One Pilots for Twilight (dusk)

Lost Boy by Ruth B. for Hyrule (if it hasn’t already been suggested that is)—works for Wild as well

Mouth of the River by Imagine Dragons kinda reminds me of Wars

Bullet by Saint Motel for Wild (I have a lot of Wild ones apparently)

Amnesia Was Her Name by Lemon Demon for, you guessed it, Wild

It Comes Back to You by Imagine Dragons for Wild during his adventure (why do I have so many Wild ones)

Life in Color by OneRepublic for Wind, Wild, and Hyrule

I Lived by OneRepublic for Legend talking about Hyrule, or maybe Time to Twi?

I am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds for Legend

Shut Eye by Stealing Sheep for Four (like the only song I could find that fits him)

Rise by Katy Parry for Hyrule, Legend, Sky, and just the hero’s spirit, really

I’m Gonna Win by Rob Cantor for Wars

How Far We’ve Come by Matchbox Twenty as a nod to all those doomed Hyrules (The Calamity, the one that was flooded, the Downfall… maybe even Hyrule’s if you want a truly angsty fic prompt); also the whole chain in a bittersweet fic where they have to leave each other at the end

Curses by The Crane Wives for… well, the first bit could be for Sky, but really this song fits the Zeldas throughout the games (Canary in a Coal Mine by the same band is great for BotW/TotK Zelda to)

Harness Your Hopes by Pavement for… honestly I don’t know; this song is an enigma, but somehow feels very Link without objectively being like Hero or something???

Ok, the last few aren’t really for the chain specifically, but still. Sorry if this is a lot, I basically just scrolled through my music library and picked out all the ones that remained me of the chain. Hope you like these! :)

To help with length, my response is under the cut!

Oh The Code is super catchy >:o OH THIS IS FUN! OPERA AND RAP?? There's so much happening in this song? It's fantastic?? Added to the Chain's playlist actually bcuz I just , , I feel like it suits so many of them honestly...

Oh Mother Mother has some good stuff. And I see the vision in this one. Added to Legend's!

Pompeii is already in Wild's!

Anon you got good taste all of these have been such good tunes so far. Not only is Can't Hold Us going into the Chain's but it's going into Song's playlist (aka my Tri Force Heroes / Cadence of Hyrule Link LOL) so bonus points HAHA

OH THIS ONE I've got Pretender in Warriors' playlist already actually hehe secret self confidence issues hehe. But I think on second listen I can add it to Legend's (puts on a meaner vibe sometimes then I bet he really means) and Ravio's because. Well. I mean. That's probably pretty obvious HAHA

Trees - hmmm,, good song but.. I'm not quite sure it fits well enough?? I was actually considering Warriors because he let Proxi speak for him in game and almost died in that battle against the Dark Links but like... I don't think it's quite right. But ty!

Holy smokes omw I love this song I love it so much LOST BOY MENTION LETS GOOOO absolutely, yes, yes. Hyrule yes. Also suits Mask so well but not Time so much, so I'll hand it to my sister for her Mask playlist LOL

The second I hit "I'm overboard, I'm self-destructive, and self-important and anxious" I chucked Mouth of the River into Wars' playlist so fast.

I feel like Bullet could go in the Chain's playlist overall 🤔 so I'll do that

Omw these lyrics.. yeah they track for a Lemon Demon song. Added.

Look, look, Wild and Legend are so easy to find songs for so I don't blame you at all. They are leagues ahead of other in the number of songs they've got (though Wars isn't terribly far behind). Anyway I wasn't sure about It Comes Back to You but the more I listened and considered... Yeah. Wild.

I will put Life in Color in Wind's but I'm actually gonna put it in Four's too!

Guhhhhhh good song, man, you have such good taste!! I think... the Chain's. Like. Too each other in general.

GRAHHHHH ANOTHER BANGER!!! Yes for Legend, but also for Wars 💪

Shut Eye - my sister is listening to these with me and she just joked "I wish I had a playlist for Echo's Zelda LOLLLL" ANYWAY. I think I'm actually gonna put this in Hyrule's.

Rise - Okay the way I know this is just the Hero's Spirit in general is the way I'm putting it in my two OC Link's playlists LOL. Into the Chain it goes!

Always with the bangers, anon. We've got similar taste fr. Hyrule, Wars, and Legend for I'm Gonna Win.

Ok as much as I adore Let's See How Far We've Come, it's like .. just ever so slightly too,,, nihilistic isn't quite the right word but whatever that is for them. Like. Accepting that it's over?? If I had a Failed Timeline playlist things would be different LOL

Ohh I love the Crane Wives... I think I'll add this one to Wild's. Echoing where all my ghosts used to be... When this house don't feel like home... Yeah.

The very first line of Harness Your Hopes is immediately so @ Link. I... Will..... Put it in the Chain's.

TYVM FOR THE FANTASTIC SUGGESTIONS!!! I've said it several times but you've got GREAT taste.

[sushisocks]

HAPPIEST SEAN HEADCANON AND SADDEST SEAN HEADCANON???

OOOHHHHH ANON, WE ARE IN IT NOW!!!! Good question, good question indeed!! I shall answer to the best of my ability!!!!!

I'll be frank, I had a harder time thinking of my happiest HC than my saddest one, and IDK what that says about me lmaoo but here we are!!

I have a lot of happy HCs for Sean!! The trouble was picking out my happiest among them, bcz some are more silly/funny - like a happy memory or experience I think he would have! - while others are more like. this is something about him which I think is a good/happy thing and that makes me happy. So I'm gonna go with the latter one here, just bcz the red thread of this post will be more cohesive that way njhbjnnbh

So, the HC which makes me the happiest, is supported by a lot of canon, and an aspect of Sean which initially drew me towards him. And it's his genuine interest in people, and his appreciation of them!! I think, despite absolutely having been somewhat disillusioned by the world at large and the oppressive systemic powers which rule it, Sean meets the individual human with incredible good faith!! By that I mean, I think he does believe he has common ground with most people, just by virtue of being alive and surviving in the world, and that is just his approach to everyone he meets in life. There is a sincere sense of empathy and good will in him, and he's not above being proven wrong or staying stuck in a bad opinion of someone. Not that he's above disliking people (we see this clearly with Micah lol), it's just that he's the type to be willing to sit down and have a drink and conversation with almost everyone and anyone.

THAT, to me, says an incredible amount about what Sean thinks of humanity at large, and is why I have this HC of him. And I, personally, as someone who also likes to believe in the good in people and meet them with good faith, have always found this quality of Sean's very appealing!! So it makes me happy to think about, that his exuberance around others actually runs that deep!!!

My SADDEST HC is pretty easy to pick out, as the core of a lot of my sad Sean HC's & thoughts come from the idea that he has self-esteem through the damn floor, similar to Arthur, which he deals with differently - desperately seeking to disprove those thoughts and ideas in what ways he can. It's about him putting out so much affection into the world in the hopes of receiving just a little bit back (and still never expecting it; accepting rejections and unkind comments easily and with a smile because that is what he expects), it's about his need to be friendly & on speaking terms with everyone in camp (save those whose regard he deems unneeded; Micah, and Kieran before realizing he's a victim to circumstance, remedying his approach to him accordingly) and how QUICK he is to step back and try to fix the situation when he realizes he's offended someone in camp.

I think Sean has always read to me as someone who struggles to not only sit still, but to sit with himself, with his own thoughts. Because, how long do you think it takes for him to start spiraling? How long does it take before he starts wondering if there's something he could've done to save his father - starts blaming himself for Darragh's death? How long before the things he was told in reform school - about his intelligence, his worth, starts rearing its head again? It all comes down to a low sense of self esteem, I think, which he seeks to not let himself get stuck on. And that drives a lot of my other sad/angsty Sean HCs, lol!

Thank you for this ask, anon!! It was a lot of fun to think about, though it def took me a lil while to settle on either!! I hope you enjoy my answers ;;w;;

[dichromaticdyke]

🗣 - Do you have angst opinions or HCs for any of your Skwistok universes? I'm a big fan of religious truama Toki and self-esteem problems Skwisgaar. I also really like the dynamic of envy/jealousy and admirer/admired that intertwines with their relationship.

breaks fingers.

religious trauma, yes, 1000%. my biggest headcanon for pretty much any skwistok dynamic is that, toki fell absolutely in love with skwisgaar at first sight. enamored with the man he sees as an angel who saved him from the streets. but skwisgaar doesn't return that love, not in the way toki wants or expects anyway. skwisgaar is blunt and sarcastic and way too mean about his playing. so their rivalry goes on, toki's feelings fade and turn to hate. this works not just with his religious trauma, but slowly getting over it too. he sees skwisgaar as an angel, but the angels all forsook him and left him to rot in his punishment hole and die on the streets of america. skwisgaar might have been his angel to save him, but how does he know this angel won't forsake him again?

or, something he thinks is hate, anyway. we saw this in the s1 finale when he told skwisgaar he always hated him. and skwisgaar said he knows.

but here's the thing—skwisgaar is perceptive. he didn't just know that toki had grown to hate him, he'd known that toki loved him before too. but he missed his chance.

because i think skwisgaar started to have feelings for toki pre-s1, right when toki's feelings started to fade. and he knows this, he knows he probably missed his chance with toki. he tries so hard to get over his feelings through the rivalry, but all it does is make him obsess over toki more than he already did.

most of the series i see as their feelings being unrequited from skwisgaar's pov specifically. most of the series, toki is a bitter hater who only cares about getting his solo and annoying skwisgaar because it's funny. they're still close friends of course, we see them palling around together all the time, but neither of them want it to go further for different reasons. but in DSR, we see that skwisgaar is at the core of his happy place. so DSR kind of reminds toki that he doesn't truly hate skwisgaar. how could he?

DSR and then AOTD is of course what finally makes those two idiots realize how much they care for each other.

fuck idk how angsty this is. lmfao. big angst fodder for me is also just the idea that toki could fucking destroy skwisgaar's career whenever he wanted. not just in bookklok. but he's strong, he's violent, he has anger issues. he could do irreparable damage to skwisgaar's body if he wanted to. COUGH COUGH.

there’s that tension between them. the like between love and hate. love wins out, i believe, but fuck they have so much DRAMA.

OH OH OH OH.

i’m also cooking with an AU where they were too late to save toki in DSR…and i’ll leave it at that. but just know that how could skwisgaar NOT blame himself when he’s the one who invited toki into the band

[puppypeter]

(Omega!Roy / Alpha!Jamie)

Aww, I'm sorry to hear about your shitty day :(( but I'm so glad my ask was a little bright spot for you!! Your responses absolutely improve my day sm too!! ✨💖💖✨

And once again, your Grandad takes are PURE PERFECTION!!! My thought for why Roy's grandad would go along with his parents plan to send him to Sunderland was a) Roy DOES love football and he IS a prodigy, and on paper it is a remarkable opportunity, and b) because of how soon grandad died after Roy left for Sunderland, I think he knew his time was almoat up. While he might not have been 'sick', he was certainly getting too old to offer the care and attention Roy needed, at least in Roy's grandad's mind. Which is why Roy initially billeting with a friend of his grandad is a stroke of genius!!! And makes the angst SOOOO much worse when Roy loses his granddad's last attempt to shelter him.

Perhaps the woman Roy was staying with was also old like Roy's grandad and had been fostering/billeting academy kids for YEARS, and since she was also pretty advanced in age, maybe her kids convince her to spend the few years she has left with her family/kids/grandkids. Maybe this decision happens after Roy's caregiver has a stroke or something and she's deemed unfit to host a child. Add to that Roy's disciplinary issues and you have a perfect storm that leads to Roy been sent to a much stricter billet.

And OH MY GOSH I didn't even properly CONSIDER the embarrassment and panic and shame Roy's presentation would bring him sexually: he has to hide his presentation anyway, but even if he COULD talk about it, who could he confide in about these strange, overwhelming new feelings/body changes?? That's a hard topic to approach even with your actual PARENTS, let alone near total strangers who only really care about how well you can play footie. (On a happier, smuttier note, this opens the door for 'Virgin'!Roy and veeeeryyyy experienced!Jamie who plans on absolutely rocking Roy's world.)

And omg YESSSSS!!!! ABO BEAUTY STANDARDS!!!!! (Maybe there's a future fic where Roy dresses up for Jamie!! While waiting to suprise him once he gets home, Roy starts feeling silly and insecure, only to have Jamie arrive and instantly flood the house so full of his aroused alpha pheromones that they quickly overpower the smell of Omega distress - and dissuade all of Roys nerves).

And YES to the grandpa diaries!!!!! I totally agree that it would be a full-circle moment for Roy. It would be SO reaffirming for Roy - who at this point is becoming more secure within his omega status, but is still plagued by self-doubt/feelings of inadequacy - to KNOW that his grandad always knew exactly who he was, and saw this core strength and goodness in him, and it was all these good things that made him suspect that Roy was an omega, when everyone else saw him as someone else,,, I'm emotional just thinking about it!!

And I agree, I ADORE the gorgeous angsty potential of trying to help someone through pain that you essentially can't do much to stop. Which is why I think Roy's heat post-locker room fight should be a shock heat brought on by an influx of pheromones/hormones. (This also gives the added angst potential of Jamie blaming himself for his Alpha posturing being the reason Roy's in pain, which is why he was so eager to help, despite their current tense relationship).

And after Jamie helps Roy ride out the pain of his first heat (cuddles/scenting/nesting/comfort only), he'd accompany Roy to a doctor because he KNOWS pain like that isn't normal, which leads to Roy being instructed to wean off his suppressants IMMEDIATELY because they're reacting badly with his new knee medication. This means Roy will be going into sporadic heats as the suppressants flush out his system, varying in intensity. The doctor HIGHLY recommends a heat partner to help him through it, and since him and Roy are already semi-bonded from Roy's shock heat, Jamie volunteers. And since Roy wants as few other people knowing about his situation as possible (meaning a heat partner service from a third party isn't an option), he reluctantly accepts. And, well, the story really writes itself from there, huh? The sexual tension between these two living under the same roof would be INSANEEEEE!!!

And omg I haven't even considered Jamie's ruts!!! I totally picture Jamie going into rut later on in his and Roys 'agreement', at a point where they're definitely VERY physically involved, but still have that little bit of emotional distance between them. Roy helping Jamie through his ruts, returning all the attentiveness that Jamie has shown him, letting Jamie 'use' his body (something Roy of the past would have seen as utterly degrading), would be a HUGE show of trust on Roy's part, and would probably be their first big step in terms of establishing their relationship not as something done for pure convenience, but as something MORE,,,

(other yet to be explored kinky shenanigans: breeding kink. If that's not your cup of tea, no worries! But I KNOW that Roy, older omega who abused suppressants literally since his presentation and whose 'biological clock' is technically past his prime anyway, would be absolutely DUMBFOUNDED by the dirty talk this young, virile alpha subjects him to, who seems FIXATED on 'pupping Roy up', 'breeding him RIGHT'. I imagine Roy would be both mortified and incredibly turned on by his partner's very serious attempts at defying biology lmao).

Thanks again for your wonderfully creative and thoughtful responses, they really mean so much to me and I'm so touched by all the effort you put into your replies!! 💖💖💖✨✨✨

Finally I am free (for the weekend lol)!! Been thinking of this ask and these two the whole day ✨✨✨

I love your take on grandad, he knew that while it would hurt both of them to be away it would hurt more for roy to be there witnessing him passing away. He probably also thought maybe he had changed things a tiny bit and he expected roy (that he was pretty sure to be an omega) and his amazing talent to help push forward for omegas being on football teams. Like he knew roy would face some adversity but hoped him being so good would allow him a place.

I think roy being unable to be well behaved at the omega woman host might perhaps play in his brain awhile after he presents, making him think he was already such a bad omega for not being able to always be well behaved and polite to someone that was opening up their home to him.

He would indeed be very closed off emotionally and not really talking about stuff with anyone, including the "embarrassing" things. And hey, I don't mind virgin roy!! Idk whether I can see Jamie being that experienced tbh, maybe his puppiness made him popular with non-traditional omega ladies who enjoy a well behaved/considerate alpha (pretty much s. 1 jamiekeeley with keeley putting him on his knees lol he is very devoted to his partners' pleasure too)

I adore (and ache) for the idea of roy dressing up and then feeling insecure about it. Jamie would like stop and stare unable to speak which makes roy even more distressed, and then suddenly jamie starts whining in almost a painful way and is completely unable to form a sentence that makes sense cause all the blood went to his dick, so it's just his aroused smell and his begging of please let me have you that convey the message.

(won't go into the diaries much but honestly that would be such a nice thing with normal roy too, to just find something of his grandpa knowing he loved him >> maybe he only washes blankie with the same lavender soap his grandad used so it smells the same!! 🥺🥺🥺)

I love the idea of Jamie feeling bad and trying to help with cuddles and scenting (god i love scenting!!) and nesting!! Ugh an alpha that knows how to nest is perfection, he 100% learned that from Simon. And roy keeps saying that pain is normal and he's used to it and jamie dragging him to the doc who assumes jamie is his partner and talks a lot about what they should do while they're both dying of embarrassment. And they go back to the car and it's all awkward, and roy of course thinks jamie would never want him like that and only cuddled him out of pity. But jamie is all like happy to help if you'd like me to? (something something fanboy jamie heart eyes roy is so special to him etc)

Would love to see them staying over at roy's but also showing up to work together and leaving together and what the team thinks of that.

(Also we've done all this with s.1 rj and i haven't fully thought trough the option of what if it were jamie joining richmond when roy is already a coach...)

(nothing to worry about re that breeding kink 😌😌😌 but somehow i pictured that as jamie trying to dirty talk that way and them ending up just lovingly bickering in bed because "what the fuck are you trying to do? you're the fucking puppy in this relationship jamie" and jamie'd be like "how do you think a dog makes more puppies mate? it don't stop me being a pup if i wanna fill you up with my own" > roy reminding him he can't get pregnant (whether bc it's not a thing in this universe for male omegas or he's past the age of or the suppressant took his ability to) > jamie insisting it's the thought that counts lmao

Something else to explore would probably also be jamie letting roy be in charge, cause at the end of the day it's about devoting himself to his omega so it's all about roy's wants/needs/desires

[alexandersimpleton]

25: what's your opinion on Frederick and/or Blaine in fanfics and fandom? I feel kinda conflicted/isolated since I'm pretty anti-Blaine but I love CPCblr. Just asking what your opinion on the characters portrayed in fandom is!

(sorry if that's worded strangely!)

I don't actually read fanfics about Blaine or Frederick that much lol. I mostly just vomit my ideas onto the page and send em' out, I don't read much. I do like the general interpretation of his character as an angsty wet cat who refuses affection and gets it anyways tho.

As for fandom, I can talk about fandom. I don't really like the general interpretation of Blaine in the fandom. I feel like we're kind of just.. ignoring Blaine's faults, I guess? I mean, we all know he's not the best person, don't get me wrong, but it feels like we're just shoving all the blame on Leland and his expectations when Blaine still has some pretty glaring character flaws. He's self-centered, and he abused Frederick really badly even when his father couldn't possibly have been watching. I agree that a pretty big part of that was Leland's abuse, but Blaine should still have to apologize for a LOT more that that one insult.

And as for Frederick... The Webtoon comment section man. I feel like the sentiment isn't shared on CPCblr, but it kinda seems like Frederick's getting ignored by the fandom and I don't like it because he's my favorite. (Also his insecurities being right : ( )

[rayadraws]

Tagged by @unfortunatelycake ! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

46

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

474,023

3. What fandoms do you write for?

One Punch Man

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

- Metallic Koala, 724 kudos

- We're just helping them, 766 kudos

- Egg x Toaster oneshots, 962 kudos

- Who Is She?, 1813 kudos

- Demon Cyborg's livestream, 2545 kudos

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

I'm really bad at doing it, but I love every single one I've received! I guess I don't reply much because it'd mostly be me yelling 'thank you!!' over and over (I do mean it though!)

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't do true angst, but overall I guess it might be The Danger of Trust, in which Kuseno dies. I wouldn't call the ending angsty though.

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

I think practically all my fics have happy endings, most happy, hm... I think I will say the Old Boys series because it implies a long happy life together to get to the point of when the stories take place.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't -think- so, not on my fics specifically that I can remember anyway.

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

It happens. Pretty standard stuff lol.

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

I don't think I've written any yet...

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've granted permission when asked, but I don't know if the translations were carried out.

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

Not exactly, but many of my fics come out of discussing an idea or concept with friends, using our shared ideas etc. When this is the case it'll say in the fic notes.

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

Saitama/Genos!

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Years ago I drew a vague monk/fire demon AU thing, which got a fair few likes. I wrote a chapter one for a story about but never could continue it - I don't -have- a rest of the story and it was so long ago that I wouldn't know where to start. I should probably post what I do have to the oneshot collection.

16. What are your writing strengths?

This is really hard for me to answer. I enjoy writing dialogue a lot and I think I'm decent at writing it in a way people actually speak, you know?

I also try very, very hard to finish what I've started. My unfinished WIPs are all things I've never posted, everything I've posted I've finished (or they are series without defined endings that can stand alone).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Rushing. This shows as poor grammar, typos, rushing through the story in general. I think "filler" content is tough. For the grammar, to some extent I'll also put the blame on english not being my first language.

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

Not something I typically do. It was a plot point in one oneshot that Saitama learned an english phrase to tell Genos, I think that's the only time I've done it. Although on that subject, it could be funny to write Kuseno and Genos talking in english over Saitama's head lol.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

OPM is my first and so far only.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh, that's tough, I'm very self-critical. I like some of my oneshots a lot, it can be fun to build a small story around a particular scene. Three Princesses or Drunken Friends for instance.

For separate works, I enjoy writing Old Boys a lot (and that one started in the Oneshot collection too, ha).

Tagging @guardiandae @reptile-ruler and @blairtrabbit