#i think. i may have burnt myself out real good trying to get everything done for salvador's release + zola anni

[miodiodavinci]

suddenly hit me today that outside of one small doodle project i did in march, i haven't properly drawn since october of last year whoops

[hauntingthechateau]

Sunday November 5th

High of 11 low of 8. Rainy morning but patches of sun in the afternoon. Clear evening (could finally see the stars walking home).

Yep, that breakfast at 9 again. Got up and got my start with a shower and chai tea at home and dragged my feet for a while before heading to the studios to kill a little time before breakfast. Breakfast is wonderful as always and its just great having all these wonderful new souls to meet and chat with about things big and small, heavy and light; I really feel some friendships coming on 🥲. I ate an excellent pastry breakfast which helped my poor upset stomach, and then took a second helping down to the stables as lunch so I wouldn’t have to walk back up in the hill in the rain mid day and interrupt my work flow.

Then I got to work.

I organized my space enough to get to work, finished hanging the rest of my panels, and then I grabbed a small one and got to work on it. All in all I got the first pass done on five paintings, and also blocked the dark darks and shadows into another seven. I was either stingy or forgetful when packing my fluid paints because I didn’t bring a yellow ochre or a burnt umber and I’m missing them both dearly, so I went down to the supply closet in the Chateau when I had a lull in my productivity to see if I could find myself some. Yellow ochre was no problem, I even found a large bottle of artists’ quality fluid yellow ochre which has been treating me very nicely. Burnt umber for some reason was more illusive! I found a very crusty, little old tube of Windsor and Newton and after searching all the bins, finally found a larger tube of Amsterdam. Gave myself quite a fright when I found that I had what appears to be either oil or slow drying acrylic on my hands while I was wearing my victorian tweed which in regular life I try not to even bring near the studio with me, but here I was wearing it absentmindedly while going through old bins of paint 😬. I whiped most of it off on my apron and it doesn’t appear that I got any on my jacket… Phew. Back at the studio, I found without real effort I couldn’t get the cap off the Windsor and Newton so I gave myself a glob of the Amsterdam and went back to painting… man what crap! The Amsterdam is hardly pigmented, its so translucent. I sometimes forget what a treat these Tri-Art fluid paints are, I’ve come a long way from when I was okay with using Amerstam paints and I had no idea, in my memory they weren't this bad! 

Anyway, I did all that painting and felt pretty satisfied by the end of then day. Headed up to the Chateau around 6:30 to chat with people until our 7pm meal time. Dinner tonight was a pork soup (that had some special French name that I admittedly didn’t catch), along with a greek salad, a carrot slaw, buttery rice and thyme roasted potatoes (and baguette with EVERY meal, obviously). The meat in the stew was in BIG chunks but shredded apart with a spoon. It was luscious and fatty and I think cooked with a healthy amount of white wine. The carrot slaw was also a pleasant surprise, I think I ought to start making that at home! For dessert was a big ole birthday cake for Claudio’s birthday! We sang and had candles and everything, it was great! The cake itself was a white coconut cake with white chocolate icings and a message written in chocolate chips, it was delicious! 

After dinner we stayed and chatted a while longer over wine, I got a nice cotes du rhone out of the wine cave that may be my favourite yet! It’s got a lute on the label and gold foil, so it feels fitting that this would be my wine. I excused myself around 9 so that Craig and I could watch taskmaster together. The walk home was clear and the sky felt HUGE with all the stars, so many stars. Got ready for bed and then we watched the show together over discord and that was really nice (good episode too). Good to see his face, I know he’s stressing about getting things done for their cabin weekend coming up this Friday. So long as its not cancelled, I know he’ll have a great time. I’m glad he gets to do some more camping and I can’t wait to see the pictures! I got to say hello to Shrew who apparently has been depressed since I left which just hurts my heart! I’m glad I at least have a cat to pet while I’m here.

Went to bed at a good time and could barely keep my eyes open while I was reading my book. I’ve decided to switch my journaling to first thing in the morning in my studio while waiting for breakfast and this tactic seems to be timing out perfectly. Back to a normal sleep schedule and a good routine! 

Xo

[erodasfishtacos]

could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on. 

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon. 

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!” 

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

**

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

**

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

**

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

**

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.  

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous. 

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

**

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub! 

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

**

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself. 

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him. 

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

**

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed. 

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen. 

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N. 

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny. 

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl. 

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

**

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body. 

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

                                  -- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her. 

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips. 

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

[ghoste-catte]

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

[shinsorokiri]

S/o Loses Memory and Quirk

Kaminari Denki HCs

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions broken bones, a panic attack, panic attack symptoms, sad Denki

A/N: Ngl writing angst for Denki did something to my little heart. He only deserves happiness and I’m mad at myself for giving him sadness lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! I’ll be writing one like this for All Might next so keep your eyes peeled for that one!

Shinsou, Aizawa, Hawks, and Dabi

Todoroki, Bakugou, and Kirishima

Kaminari Denki | Chargebolt

You are his partner in crime

You’re the one who is always there to take care of him when he goes dumb

You’re the one who is always there to comfort him when he feels like an idiot

You’re always the one who is there for him

And he’s always the one who is there for you

It’s been that way for years

Ever since you transferred to UA your second year of high school

The two of you became fast friends

Best friends even

And his flirty nature made it so it wasn’t too long before the two of you entered a real relationship

The two of you EXUDE the most chaotic good energy that even Bakugou finds it kind of endearing

But unbeknownst to his friends

Denki can get really fucking serious when it comes to you

It lowkey shocked you the first time you saw him act like that

And it was all because you were sparring with him and you tripped over your own damn foot and face planted 

You figured he’d just point and laugh at you but he ran over and checked you EVERYWHERE to make sure you weren’t hurt

mans even SCOLDED you

YOU WERE SCOLDED BY DENKI KAMINARI

But you lowkey LOVED it because like

Wow

He does like me !!!

Of course that was in your final year at UA

The two of you are now pro-heroes at separate agencies

And boy oh boy does Denki worry about you

He can’t help it

He has seen you run into a wall because you were trying to rely on scent instead of sight “in case you get stuck in a dark room with a villain”

He worries

But he also knows you are strong

And also a hot badass who can take on anyone

Well

Almost anyone

Midoriya could probably kick your ass but that’s just because it’s Midoriya

But in all seriousness

He isn’t even patrolling today

He has the day off actually

And Denki has never baked anything before in his life

But

He knows that there’s been this mysterious villain giving your agency some trouble recently

So he wants to make you some of your favorite cookies

Or at least try to

And then have a lil movie night

He’s a clingy little shit

And he wants to destress you so

He will refuse to let go of you for the rest of the night goddamnit!

So there he is

Taking the semi-burnt but still edible cookies out of the oven

His favorite program on in the background

When suddenly

His show gets interrupted

And the hero scanner the two of you have goes off in your living room

He immediately turns his attention to the television

Stopping in the middle of the kitchen 

Still holding the cookies

When he sees live footage of you falling from a 3 story building

Onto concrete

He drops the pan

And literally sprints out of the door

He doesn’t even have shoes on

But he doesn’t give a single Fuck™

He rushes down the stairs of the apartment building the two of you live in

And gets to his car in record time

Mans be speeding to the hospital he knows you’re gonna be at

You two had a plan in place with each other and your agencies that if anything would happen to either of you

You would both go to this specific hospital so you two could know where the other was at all times

Of course he was crying while speeding

And his heart rate was way too fast for him to be functioning

But he had to get to you

He had to

And he did

He pulled into a parking spot reserved for pro-heroes and ran inside the emergency room

When he asked about you the nurse told him you were currently in surgery for some severe bone breaks

He got a nasty taste in his mouth

But he just nodded

She told him he could wait in the waiting room

And he did

He sat down in a chair

And he was trying so hard to keep it together

So 

SO

Hard

But eventually Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and even Bakugou showed up

To be fair

Mina and you did work at the same agency

So she saw everything that happened

They immediately went over to him

And he looked up at Mina

And deadass this is the first time any of them see how genuinely serious Denki can get

He asks Mina what happened

And she hesitates

But his face is dead serious

There are obviously tears leaking out of his eyes

But his stare is wildly intense

And Mina knows that if she says no he’ll just keep asking or ask someone else at the agency

So she tells him

“Well… we were patrolling, like usual, when that villain that’s been keeping us on our toes showed up. They’ve never… done anything other than rob people and knock them out so we thought hey this should be easy. Especially since (Y/n) was there. When they saw us they ran into a building and we chased after them and when we had them cornered on the roof they did this weird… sneak attack? But not really? I don’t know it was… odd, they had this like patterned fight technique and they hit (Y/n) in a few different places, and she went to use her quirk to fight back but… nothing happened… and then they hit her like at the bottom of her skull and she just… fell down unconscious. And then they… threw her… off…”

She started trailing off at the end because a sob tore through Denki’s throat

And then he started hyperventilating

Luckily Bakugou and Kirishima were there to help him out

They get panic attacks frequently, so they managed to calm him down and get him to breathe again

And they stayed with him for as long as they had to

Eventually after hours 

A doctor came out and approached Denki

“Pro Hero Chargebolt?”

He stands up very fast

He’s informed that you are out of surgery

And that the surgery went well

However they noticed something odd in your MRI results

It seemed that a portion of your brain was damaged?

But not quite 

It was still functioning

But something about it was off

And they had never seen anything like it before

It was like certain parts of your brain were blocked but everything else was fine

Upon hearing this Denki’s heart broke

And then after hearing the part of your brain that was impacted was the part that contained long term memories

His heart shattered

“We’re afraid she may have severe amnesia. We’re going to keep running tests to see just what is going on, we think it’s the quirk of that villain. A lot of the victims of their crimes have blockages in their muscle groups, but we’ve never seen a blockage in the brain from them.”

Denki is quiet

He literally doesn’t say anything

Until he whispers

“Can i see her?”

The doctor nods

And he leads him to your room

You’re still asleep 

And you’re covered in bandages and casts

It breaks his heart

His friends texted him to tell him they went home but if he needs them at any minute that they will be on their way to the hospital in ten seconds flat

He appreciates it

But right now he really just wanted to be alone with you

He just sat next to you

Holding your hand

He was even moving your pointer finger to trace the Lichtenberg Figures trailing up and down his arms

You always do it when the two of you are cuddling at night 

It helps him sleep

And reminds him that you love him regardless of his faults

And right now he just

He really needs you

This goes on for an hour before he feels you start to move

And he freezes

“(Y/n?”

You open your eyes

And squint at him

“Uh… h-hi… aren’t you that guy in my new class…?”

He stares at you

Completely deadpan

Before laughing a bit

But it isn’t a happy laugh

It’s very much a sad laugh

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Cool, but um… how did you know my name already?… Are you crying?”

Yes

He was

He was laughing and crying at the same time

He probably looked like he was losing his mind

But he really did just lose his whole world so

It’s a prompted reaction

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

His voice was more strained this time

“Are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah, but you’re not. And I didn’t save you, and now you don’t know who I am, and I’m just… I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so sorry.”

The laughing stopped

Now he’s just sobbing

In your mind

You’d seen him a few times while touring the school

And he was always laughing and smiling

Always

So this was shocking

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t tug on your heart strings

You instinctively reach out to grab his hand

And he grips onto it so tight

Almost like he’s afraid of letting go

“…You called me babe?”

He tries to even his breathing

But he nods

“I don’t… I don’t even know you, I-”

“You do. You do, but… you don’t. It’s… it’s complicated and I’m a literal dumbass so… I’ll call a doctor. They’ll explain.”

And that he does

And the doctor does in fact explain

And after the doctor leaves

You ask him to tell you about your relationship

And he does

He tells you even the smallest details

From the time that you painted the nail on his right hand middle finger pink because he lost a bet and he ended up liking it and buying nail polish for himself

To the time that you two told everyone you break danced all night to break in your new apartment when in reality he turned on Lover by Taylor Swift and the two of you slow danced in your living room

All of it

And he even managed to slip in the fact that you’d remember all of this after he caught the villain who did this to you

And he will catch them.

[grey-water-colors]

After All This Time (Bucky Barnes X Fem!Reader) Part 2

I went ahead and wrote the second chapter, I was so excited. I did a lot of research on PTSD and the triggers. I may not have a full grasp on it, but I hope I at least got some of it right. I feel kinda iffy on writing the characters, but I did my best to stay true to who they are. I hope you like this chapter!

Summary: The real world is a scary place, even more so when you’re alone. You live alone in a apartment filed with the ghosts of your memories. You’ve both changed since you last met your fiancé, but can love mend the gap after all this time.

Pairing: Bucky X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture, violence, yelling. Talks about triggers and PTSD. Mentions of death and killing. If there are any that I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 2,492

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve, I don’t understand why you’re dragging me out here to this museum.”

“They told me that they made a new addition to the Captain America exhibit and I didn’t want to go alone.”

Bucky clenched his vibranium hand and continued to follow Steve. “Did they at least tell you what it’s about?”

Steve sighed, “No, they didn’t. I wish they had though, I hate going into these things blind. Who knows what they’ve dug up.

“Steve, did you find it?”

“Uh, yeah Buck. I don’t think you want to see it though. It’s something they had no business digging in”

“What is it Steve. And don’t even think of lying to me, I know you too well.”

Steve sighed and led Bucky to the new exhibit. A memorial just like Bucky’s, but it was dedicated to Y/N L/N.

Bucky scoffed but read it out loud anyways. “Y/N L/N was a childhood friend of both Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Y/N met the two in 1923 and they were close ever since. In 1941 record says that she became engaged to Sargent Barnes, but never married. Y/N was drafted as an Army Nurse but died in Germany in 1944.” A picture of her before the war and in a case were her dog tags, which was weird. If she hadn’t been found, how were her tags here.

Bucky trailed off, the rest just going on about what kind of person she was. They stood in silence for a while, both staring at her picture. Steve finally broke the silence, “How much of her do you remember?”

Bucky looked away and tried to remember the girl in front of him. Flashes of smiles, tears, and laughter floated through his head, but he could only focus on one memory.

“I don’t remember her before the war.” Steve’s head moved to look at Bucky so fast that his neck cracked.

“What do you mean before the war Buck.”

He looked at Steve and backed up until he could collapse on a bench. A deep breath then, “I remember seeing her when I was the Winter Soldier. I vaguely remember a mission, maybe a couple, and then an order. I couldn’t help myself. All I could do was watch as I choked her to death, them dragging her away after declaring her dead.”

He shook his head as if he could erase the memory, make it disappear to never see again.

“If you killed her-“ Steve paused, “If you went on missions with her then she didn’t die in 1944. She was captured by Hydra. Then there could be a possibility that she, well that she could still be alive. Could it be possible that it was staged? Buck is there any chance at all that she could still be alive?”

Bucky shook his head again and looked at his hands. “I felt it Steve, I felt her neck crush. There’s no way she survived that.”

He took a deep sigh and felt the world shift, his heart plummeted to the ground as he realized the full gravity of what happened. “Oh god. Oh god, I killed her. I killed my fiancé, Steve.”

Steve just sat down next to Bucky, still in shock. She had been a good friend to Steve. They had come from similar backgrounds, hell they had grown up together, she understood him in a way that Bucky never could have at the time. She had been there when needed and even when she wasn’t. A ray of sunshine in a dreary New York. He had taken a picture of them after Bucky had proposed. They were all so happy.

It shook Steve to his core that Hydra had gotten their hands on her. He couldn’t imagine the horrors that she had gone through, might still be going through much like his best friend. Was she as much of a shell as Bucky?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt good to walk into her apartment without having to break in. She had hassled every office and bank that had her name in its databases to get her back as a registered live, human being. And to get electricity and water going to her place.

She had already been living in the apartment, but now she could cook, light a fire, and make noise. With her accounts opened again, she bought a couple pairs of clothes to wear while she cleaned the place.

Starting with the kitchen she cleaned every surface, threw away all the canned food that had been left behind.

By the time she had finished cleaning, she was physically exhausted, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the master bedroom. She had managed to turn off her emotions for the day. No tears had been spilled because there had been work to get done. But her new superpower didn’t work now that she had nothing to do. Y/N stood in the middle of the living room desperately trying to stuff her emotions back into the box they had been in, but they had seen their chance and taken it.

Tears filled her eyes and she took her first real look around the place she had once called home. It was like she had never left at all. A place for everything and everything in its place. She turned to face the worn leather wingback. The thick blanket draped over the back just like it always had. She shuffled over to the chair and sat down in it. The leather was cold but familiar with the smell of her life before the war. Ghosts of days past floated through the air around her. She curled up in the chair, thick blanket pulled over her.

Things had been so easy then, and it would be so easy now to just fall back into that time when everything was perfect. Except the person that had helped make it perfect wasn’t here. A tear fell from her cheek onto the leather, and she quickly brushed it off not wanting to ruin the chair.

As she was wallowing in self-pity, a fight broke out on the street below her window, voices piercing the air and pulling her back to a place she never wanted to go again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Project Cecilia had become a nightmare. A nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. The project was a testing ground of trial and error. They tested the trial serums, triggers, enforcers, and everything else to make sure that they wouldn’t damage whoever took the role of Winter Soldier. The project was named after the scientist who did most of the testing.

The serums were bad, it felt like lighting her blood on fire, like hell itself was inside her. But trigger testing was far worse. For every test or experiment, a trigger experiment came after. Is sound more effective than smell? Are words better than sounds? What kind of words work better than others?

Trial and error for over 30 different types of triggers until they settled on a list of words that would mean something to the Winter Soldier. Her mind was blocked off so carefully that she couldn’t remember anything before the last trigger.

Here she was, testing how much electricity a super soldier could take before things started to shut down. And then the doctor walked in. Constantine Cecilia was the man who haunted her dreams. She couldn’t ever quite remember who he was, but somehow she knew that when he arrived, things would be bad.

“How is our little rabbit doing today? I believe a congratulations are in order, you finished testing.”

He put on plastic gloves and his assistant walked up to them both. “She’s due for sound this time.”

The doctor smiled. “Good good.”

Things were going well; the set-up went smoothly. She was ready to receive the trigger, the thing her mind would take as a trauma to seal away all of the bad.

But then a fight broke out, and then people were yelling, screaming at each other. The trigger was set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shuri had done her best at getting rid of the physical effect of the triggers, and by best, she was completely successful. Unfortunately, there was still an emotional effect that came with the triggers. Certain smells, sounds, colors, and even sometimes emotions would send her spiraling into a memory. Most were memories that terrified her, they brought her back to Hydra and their torture. Some were good, like remembering life before the war.

They happened less at home, surrounded by memories of a past that never hurt. The outside world was what tortured her. Going outside was like sentencing herself to relive the worst of her life.

And she remembered it all. Hydra had done such a good job of playing Tetris with her brain that every time that Shuri released a trigger, she remembered everything. Y/N bet that Dr. Cecilia was laughing in his grave at her tragedy.

Y/N fell asleep under the thick blanket on the chair of the man she had loved more than anything else in the whole world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N decided to visit the Veterans Center, hoping that they magically had the cure for what Shuri called PTSD. She walked inside and was met with the smell of burnt coffee and laughter down the hall. She followed the noise until she came to what looked like a break room, or a very poor excuse for a kitchen.

A tall man took notice of her and he excused himself to go talk to her.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I, uhh, came here to talk to someone, hopefully.” Y/N cursed herself for feeling so small. She was a veteran after all. She just fought in a different war.

“Are you a vet?”

“Yes?”

He smiled, “Well then welcome. My name is Sam Wilson. I help run this place. Mostly I work with the people though. Business isn’t really my style.”

Y/N gave a weak smile.

Sam spoke up again, much to her relief. “Why don’t we go somewhere to talk so we aren’t standing in a door way.”

She merely nodded and followed Sam to a room with foldable chairs and a couple beat up sofas.

After they had sat down, and awkward silence filled the air. Sam cleared his throat, “So what’s your name?”

Y/N took a deep breath and “My name is Y/N”

Sam nodded. “What war did you serve in Y/N?”

She froze, of course she could just answer him. She heard there was a whole museum dedicated to the two oldest people on the planet, so why was it so hard?

“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable with it. I’m not going to force you into anything here. It’s a safe place.” The genuinely caring smile on his face helped her relax.

“I fought in World War II.”

Sam looked startled for a second. “Excuse me?”

“I was a nurse with the Red Cross in World War II.”

She watched as Sam’s shoulders dropped. Y/N prepared to fight, to tell him that it was true, without going through the horrors that she had witnessed. She prepared to give him the riot act like she had for every person who hadn’t believed her at the bank and social security office.

Instead, he started laughing. “Man, I wonder how many more of you there are out there,” Sam said between breaths.

The look of confusion on her face must have put more puzzle pieces together for him at how lost she really was.

“You… You actually believe me?”

“Yeah I do! I work with the other two.”

She suddenly felt cold, like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. While Shuri had told her about James, or Bucky, and about Steve and how they both lived in New York in the Avengers Compound, it had never occurred to her that they were so close. So close, yet so far away. Her heart dropped.

“How exactly do you know them? You said you worked with them, so you must be an Avenger I suppose.”

“How much do you know about this time and place?”

She felt, for the first time since she left Wakanda, that someone understood. Only a fraction maybe, but an understanding all the same. Sam somehow knew that she didn’t know much about the present she found herself in. She didn’t really care to learn either though, the world was scary, and she had to face it alone for the first time in her life.

“Not much. I’ve only been off ice for about 9 and a half months now. Most of that was spent in Wakanda, while Shuri worked on getting rid of my triggers.” The more she talked the more Sam’s face filled with understanding and horror and that scared her.

“You were captured by Hydra weren’t you?”

All she could do was nod, her head held low.

“I won’t ask about that. I know better than that. I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors you’ve been through.

“Well, I’m the Falcon, I fly and I see things really well with my goggles. Other than that I’m just a human, no serum or anything.”

It was like all she could do was nod her head, she had been robbed of words.

“Would it be ok if I went home?”

“Of course! Nothing is keeping you here. I’m glad we met, and you’re more than welcome to come by anytime at all. We do close at 9 pm, but here’s my phone number if you need anything after those hours.”

More nodding. Y/N rushed home.

The first thing she did was climb into the chair, drape the blanket over her, and tell a ghost of what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam are you ok? You seem distracted today”

“Yeah. Yeah man I’m good.” Sam looked at Steve for a minute. “Say have you ever met someone named Y/N L/N? She came into the VA today and when I asked what war she fought in she said WWII. She was captured by Hydra. I didn’t press her on it, she got that same look that Bucky does when it gets brought up.”

Steve froze. “What was her name?”

“Y/N L/N, do you know her?”

“Are you sure about what you told me?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

“What did she look like?”

“She had H/L hair and E/C eyes. She was about yay-tall” Sam held up a hand to about her height. “Again, do you know her?”

“I promise I’ll tell you later, but I gotta go.”

Steve took off running through the compound until he got to Bucky’s door. He hadn’t seen Bucky since the museum, but this was important. He pounded on the door, “Buck! Bucky! Open the door!”

A quiet mumbled “Go away Steve” came as a response.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “She’s alive. Sam met her today.”

Silence.

Then the door opened. “Where?”

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Queen

*Credit to gif owner* 

Paring: Dean x reader 

Pov: Readers

Warnings: Dean dressing in drag, swearing, Dean, loss of a bet, Dean being cocky, mention of Sam, Jealous!Reader Angst/Fluff, lots of talks with Sam, lots of talking with Dean towards the end. reader self-doubt, Dean being reassuring. 

Summary: When Dean and the reader place a bet, it goes very much not in Dean favor. Dean has a tendency to get bored quickly though, which leads down a harsh road for the reader. Coming back to the bunker she tries to pretend everything is fine, but Dean wants answers. 

Word Count: 3k 

A/N- I know lots of pov switches I’m sorry... but I hope this is good and y’all like it. 

Main masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @akshi8278​ @deanswaywardgirl​ @hit-meup69​

“Bets are down!” Sam said.

Y/n had bet that if she won that game of pool that Dean would have to dress in drag. Dean bet that if he won pool which he was cocky about winning that Y/n would have to do the research for the next four hunts.  

What neither one of them knew was the bet the other one placed.  

Sam was the only one. So, the game began. I racked up the fifteen Dean grabbed his pool stick, and grabbed me a pool stick as well. He was being sort of gentleman. He chalked the end of both the pool sticks.  

“Are you ready to get your ass beat!?” Dean said handing me my pool stick. “I can’t wait for you to have to do my bet.” Dean said excitement dripping into his words.  

I rolled my eyes and rocked on the back of my heels. “Are you done being cocky Dean, so we can play this game?” I asked looking over at Sam.  

He just shrugged and watch Dean and I. “Come on Dean just play. Stop trying to be an asshole. I bet Y/n doesn’t really care how much you show off.” Sam said.  

Dean huffed and started to play. His board shoulders leaning over the pool table, lining the pool stick up with the white cue ball. I lifted the rack and stepped away from the pool table.  

He struck the cue ball and game began. None of the colored balls or striped balls ended up ports at the corners of the pool table. Dean stepped back and let me have a go, figuring out what ball I wanted to take a hit at I lined my pool stick up with the white cue ball and strikes it.  

The cue ball ended up hitting at least four balls two of which were colored balls landing into the corner spots. Sam sat and watched as Dean looked over at me and huffed once again in a sort of defeat. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Ya hear Dean.” Sam said.  

Dean only shooed him off with a wave of his hand, and continued to play. This cycle went on for a bit. I’d play and get at least one ball in every time. I’d back up and let Dean take over the pool table, I’d go sit with Sam drink whatever beer I had left. And wait.

Wait for the grunt of disappoint when Dean didn’t any of his striped balls into the pockets, or a “Hell Yeah!” from Dean when he got a ball pocketed. Dean’s macho stance whenever he did hit a ball was ridiculous. “You know you honestly make him work for things.” Sam said commenting on how much Dean was really putting effort into the game.

“Come on now Sam. That’ I say waving my hand over the figure of Dean farther away ‘That right there is all Dean. I have nothing to do with any of that.” I said not really wanting to believe that I may have that great of effect on Dean like Sam says.

Dean is great at pool. Dean doesn’t lose bets either. Sam has watched his entire life Dean play pool and win every game. So maybe Sam sees something that I can’t see, or something neither Dean or I can see. Yeah, maybe Sam's right, maybe I have just the great of an effect on Dean Winchester.  

We continued to play, each other us going back and forth from the pool table. Finally, the last-colored ball was sitting on the pool table, black eight ball was staring at me from across the table. taunting me to win the game, I lined my stick up with the cue ball and went through with a solid hit. It hit and within seconds the eight ball was in the pocket and I had won the game.

Meaning that Dean, oh poor Dean had lost the bet. Not a normal thing either for him to lose, but I keep thinking about what Sam said. I really hope that Sam was right for my own sake.  

Sam looked over at me grinning at me. Dean was too preoccupied with a rather younger woman sitting not too far from the bar. He said before he left that he was getting more drinks and that there was no way I was going to be able to hit that last ball in.  

All the happiness and excitement went out the window when I saw Dean flirting with her at the bar. His swagger and smirking face turned on to the max. It would have anyone weak to the knees.  

Sam's eyes followed mine. Even Sam didn’t know that I wanted to be with Dean. Nobody knows, and I’d like to think I don’t want anyone to know. Because if I’m the only person then I don’t have to listen to Sam try and force to tell him, or Dean push me away.... I don’t want any of that.  

Sam's eyes landed on his brother flirting his way into the woman’s pants. He looked over at me. I played a good game of pool, but I didn’t have a good poker face.  

Sam got up from his bar stool at the table. He stood next to me and bumped my shoulder with his own, biting the inside of cheek I took a deep breath in and looked over at Sam. “Dean tends to be blind to the good things in front of him.” Sam said.  

“It doesn’t matter. The happy moment is gone. He’s bored. So, I take the rest of my pride and leave with it. Because I’m sorry Sam, but Dean isn’t worth the heartbreak.” I said putting the pool stick down on the table and grabbing my jacket from the bar stool seat that I was sitting at.  

Sam shrugged his shoulders and apologized for Dean. “I’m sorry for him. Drive back to the bunker, and I’ll get him home without extra company.” He said, before kissing my temple.  

I smiled for a quick second at Sam before walking past Dean at the bar with the women straight out the door and to my car. I slammed my car door and rested my head against the steering wheel. Letting my body finally go through the emotions. Crying until my steering wheel was soaked.

Dean Pov:  

When I finally looked back over at the pool table the first thing, I noticed was no Y/n. Where’d she go? I got up from the bar and walked back with the drink that I had ordered.  

“Sam, where’s Y/n?” I asked, noticing the pool stick sitting on the table. Sam didn’t turn around at all, his eye very much focused on the sports game on the TV screen above. Setting the drinks on the table I asked again.  

“Sam, where’s Y/N?” He turned and just shook his head. “Dude seriously, her jacket isn’t here and her pool stick is sitting on the table.” I said still very confused as to what was truly going on.  

“Dude she left.” Sam said jugging the rest of his beer. “But we weren’t even done with the pool game.” I said a little huff falling out with my words. “Yeah, you were, Dean. Don’t play innocent like you weren’t feeling that girl up at the bar.... Oh, and by the way she won.” Sam said shortly.  

I walked over to the pool table noticing all the colored balls were gone pocketed in the corners of the pool table. ‘Damn that girl beat me’ I thought. Wait I don’t understand why’d she leave just like that. I didn’t say anything to her.  

“Oh my god Dean, I can hear you thinking. Let me guess you can’t figure out what you did wrong can you?” Sam said getting up and tucking his bar stool under the table. “Let’s go. I’m ready to go home.” Sam said. I really didn’t have any choice, so I chugging the rest of my beer, and throw some cash on the table before jogging to catch up to Sam.  

Y/n Pov  

I sat in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey. Sipping it ever so often, but hearing the bunker door open and then shut I decided to just chug the whiskey. It burnt at tad as it fell past my lips and down my throat.  

In walked Sam and then shortly Dean walked in. Sam was silent grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and giving me a kiss on the cheek before walking out of the kitchen.  

Again, it was silent. “So... Sam gave me your bet. I’ll do it. I just have a question’ Dean asked, I turned in the seat and faced him. Dean was leaning up against the kitchen island arms crossed his chest and his ankles crossed. ‘Why’d you leave the bar early.” He said finishing his sentence.  

Bewildered by how Dean thought he had done nothing wrong I sighed heavily and went to say something it couldn’t. The words not wanting to fall out of my mouth. If they fell out then that would mean that they were real.  

“If I dress you in that drag... I tell you afterwards. Deal?” I asked. Hoping Dean would let it go for tonight. I could have the last fun with Dean tomorrow and then I’ll tell him. “Okay fine. Tomorrow after you’re done.” He said pushing off the kitchen island and kissing me on my temple.  

Leaving me alone once again in the vast space of the kitchen.  

I won’t say that I didn’t have fun grabbing all the shit I needed for dressing Dean up in drag. Grabbing laced up combat heels, a black dress, and a shit ton of makeup. I wanted this to be fun. And how can I forget I grabbed a bleach blonde long wig to complete whatever look I was going for.  

Shooting Dean, a message to come to library he was there quicker than you could say apple pie. It was awkward at first since everything that had happened last night, but he had gotten over that pretty quickly. Dean sat down in front of me.

“Are you ready?” I questioned him. “I lost a bet. I really can’t pull myself outta this one can I.” He spoke. “So, I’m going to take that as yes.” I spoke. After almost three hours of me trying to do Deans drag makeup. Constantly having to tell him to close his eyes, or whatever other instruction I gave him. I was done with that part.  

He got up, “My face all the sudden feels every heavy.” He said gently patting his cheeks with his palm. “Don’t touch!” I said swatting his hand away. Dean raised his hands in defense.  

“Here!" I said shoving the bag with everything except the wig to him. Go change, just don’t look at the make-up, yeah.” I spoke. sitting back down in the chair with a plop.  

Dean getting dressed took another hour. He walked out the dress wasn’t tight around his figure and the lace stockings I had also bought he was wearing; the boots look good. He was little wobbly but otherwise he looked alright.  

He walked over to me. Reminding me just how much taller he was then me now that he had a pair of heels on. “Put your head down.” I said quietly but he followed my instructions. When Dean flipped his head back over, he had a wig on. The extra weight throwing his head off for a long second.  

As Dean tried to regain his head balance, I shot Sam a message asking him to come out the library and to have his camera ready. In a split-second Sam was there with his phone.

Dean stood-up his hands on his hips. “Yeah, laugh it up. I’m just going to say that I look like a bad ass bitch.” He said trying to balance on the heel on the combat boots I had grabbed.  

“Can we take pictures? We promise we won't share them.” I asked, getting for a harsh ‘no’, but instead the answer was yes. Sam took a few and so did I. then Sam waved to us saying he had reading he had to catch up on.  

“So... Now that I've done this, can you tell me why you left the bar early yesterday night.” Dean said reaching up to take off the wig. “Yeah, but first get out of the clothes because I bet, you’re uncomfortable and you come back here, and I’ll take all this shit off your face, agreed.” I spoke.  

He gave me a sideways glance, “Okay, don’t go running off okay.” He said as he got up wobbling and holding onto objects as he walked away. Only a few minutes he came back wearing only a pair of sweats and a pair of Christmas slippers I had gotten both of the boys.  

“Please take this stuff off my face, because to be honest with you I can feel it seeping into my skin.” Dean said. I laughed a little thinking about how realistic that explanation was to what it really felt like.  

I got to work. Wiping Deans eye gently with the cotton pad. “Can you please tell me now?” Dean said eye closed. The feeling of his eye not being on me as these words passed my lips was actually more helpful.  

“U mm... you left... and everything was going great, but... You... and then” I said skipping over words and frustrating myself. Dean reached out placing his hand on my wrist. “Y/n just slow down. One step at a time.” He spoke.  

Taking a deep breath in, I started again. “So, everything was going well, you were being your cocky self which doesn’t bother me. And then all the sudden it seemed like you got bored of us... actually, more like you got bored of me and the game. Like whenever it just you and me. Some younger chick takes your attention.” I said, grabbing a new cotton pad and starting to clean Deans other eye.

You’ve got to get the rest of your thought-out Y/n.  

“Dean I would do anything for you. I hope you know that. Literally anything I’d die for you to be able to save the world. But I don't much in return. I ask for you spend some of your precious time with you. I just want your attention. I’ll do anything for you to just want me.” I spoke  

I gasped and covered my mouth. Oops that part wasn’t supposed to come out. I finished in eyes. He opened them and grabbed my wrist before I could grab another cotton pad.  

“Do you really mean everything you just said.” He asked, I kept my eyes the floor suddenly finding that much more interesting than Dean’s emerald green eyes. Or his amazing freckles. I felt a touch of Deans hand on my chin, forcing me to look at him.  

“Did you mean it Y/n?” Dean asked again a sterner tone falling into the words. “Yes, Dean.” I said a frown falling onto my features. So many thoughts running through my head but none of them were the next things that Dean said to me.  

“Glad, because I want you too.” He spoke. Thank god Dean finger was still under my chin because if not my jaw would have landed on the floor between our legs. “So, the flirting?” I asked in a hushed voice. Not trusting my own words at current moment.  

Dean face contorted and he took a moment to think. “Those girls... they were the only way I thought I could get over you, but I realize now that I’m a complete and utter asshole. A blind asshole. I’m sorry Y/n.” Dean said

His hand migrating to my cheek and his thumb rubbing right under my eye in a comforting way. I leaned into the touch. “You are an asshole. Just neither of us knew what the other was thinking.” I said touching out forehead together.  

“Can you get the rest of this makeup off, please, Y/n?” Dean asked. I rolled my eyes and pulled away from his forehead.” Way to ruin the moment Winchester.” I said before I started cleaning up the rest of Deans face.

‘Yeah, I know, but I really wanted to kiss you properly without any makeup on.” He said smashing his lips into mine, and holding down tight onto my waist and forearm. When he pulled away needing air he asked “We’re both idiots, but can we be idiots together?”  I smiled and shrugged my shoulder before lunging in for another Dean Winchester kiss.

“Wait, you don’t care that I don’t look like the other girls the you flirt with?” I asked shyness overcoming me. My grasp on the idea that Dean would even want me was eating away at my brain. Giving me a very perplexed look, and scrunching his eyebrows.  

“Look I know that it looks like I have a type.” Dean said grabbing into one of my thighs. “But, that’s a different Dean, that’s hopefully in the past. I know that I have a track record for only bring home blonde skinny women, but I... I want you and your body. I want all your thick parts’ he said squeezing my thigh. ‘I want your crazy bed head in the morning. I want you to continue trying to beat me at pool, I want you to be with me. I want so many things, but all of them are because of you.” Dean said pausing to let me take in his words. “I want whatever you want to give me. I don’t care what your body looks like because that’s not what made me attracted to you doll. Your heart, mind, and soul are what made me want you. I hope that’s okay” He said.  

I smiling and sniffed my nose trying to stop the cascade of tears that was about to break. “Yeah, that’s okay Dean.” I said grasping Deans strong body for a hug.  

Completed on: 04/11/2021

[editorialsonlife]

Yikes what a chaotic mess life is at the moment honestly. In both a physical and mental and organisational sense and I’m trying to be kind and compassionate to myself about it but like, fucking hell I feel like it’s the end of March and the whole year has been a mess so far and it’s frustrating.

We moved in over the weekend even though the house isn’t done and it’s Fkn frustrating. We can’t unpack anything properly so we’re basically living off microwave food and other shit. Until all the tidy ups are done the fridge is plugged in in the spare room so I can’t work at home and there’s all kinds of issues there.

Work is challenging. Like fun but fuck me its hard yakka. So much history, so much bad behaviour, so much negativity on all fronts and it’s just bloody rough. So that’s taking a toll as well.

Dave is burnt out like heck. He had Friday and today off though which has helped but we need the house to be done so he can have longer I think. We’re in for a punishing April and May where we’re away four weekends in a row (covid permitting) And that’s gunna be a lot.

And to top it all off I’ve hit a distressing new highest weight and being in both the apartment and now at home and in work lifts I’ve realised I really haven’t seen my whole body in a mirror consistently in a long while. And there was a day I was walking down the street and saw my reflection and literally didn’t recognise myself and it’s just horrendous and I feel terrible. And then because I feel utterly miserable I eat more shit food. And I know the last 8 weeks are a temporary sitch and I know the moment we get a cooktop back it’s gunna be veges for life but fucking hell I’m finding it really not to hate my body and fall into an absolute pit of despair at the moment. It’s not good. And made challenging by the fact I can’t track calories without being obsessive over it and the Fitbit is actually horrendous for my mental health and I can’t pick just one direction and commit to it right now (thanks chaos brain) and it’s just a shitty analysis paralysis cycle tbh. I Fkn hate it.

So yay. But in classic life is shit it’s also Fkn great though. The renos are done and the house is ANAZING and so function now and it looks cool and we’re so stoked with it man and work is good and let’s be real, I’ve made it through these 8 weeks with no major breakdowns at all which most definitely would not have been the case 8 months ago or 2 years ago so like how good is personal growth ya know???

Living a pretty Fkn good life right now despite everything.

[hinamoria]

Clumsy ghost

Hitsuhina Week 2021 : Day 9- AU / Ghost

Rating: K+ or T ? (It’s a little bit angst, we’re talking about ghost, so character’s death, but no violence or anything like that)

Synopsis: Living with a clumsy ghost was no rest for Hitsugaya at all.

Word Count: 1953 words

Setting:  Modern world

Author’s Note: my favorite one shot of the challenge <3. The first one I wrote immediately after reading the themes. And, rare enough to note it, I liked what I wrote at the first try xD

—

The sound of shattered glass abruptly stopped Hitsugaya in his chemistry exercise. It was 9:00 p.m., his parents had gone out to see some friends, and he didn't have any cat that could make that kind of noise last he noticed. He almost wished the culprit was a thief sneaking into his home. It would have been easier to justify the disaster to his parents on their return. But no, the probability was almost certain that Hinamori had done something stupid again.

The young boy let out an exasperated sigh and shouted in the direction of the downstairs.

“Hinamori! What did you break again this time? "

Silence answered him. But he was not fooled. Putting down his pen on the notebook, Hitsugaya got up from his desk, stretched briefly, and walked towards the crime scene. The living room seemed unoccupied, but right in front of the wooden bookcase was one of her mother's little blown glass figurines, shattered into dozens of pieces on the floor. Beyond repair. Better get it all out quick before someone got hurt.

As he picked up the pieces, Toshiro noticed a book also on the ground, a few inches next to the statue. “Alice in Wonderland” by Lewis Caroll. A classic. Hinamori probably wanted to read it and must have dropped it on the figurine. However, the culprit still had not deigned to show up.

"Instead of watching me clean your mess in silence, you could at least apologize," he said sternly, keeping his eyes on his task. “My mother loves this stuff, she's going to notice it "

A silhouette gradually appeared a meter beside him, remaining translucent. A brown-eyed brunette teenager, looking half embarrassed-half pained, played nervously with her hands while looking at her white-haired friend.

"Shiro-chan…" She started in a small voice. “Sorry… I wanted to grab the book, but it slipped out. "

This sort of thing has unfortunately happened quite frequently over the past few months. As a ghost, the young woman could not interact with objects as easily as a human being. But as she built up enough spiritual energy over time, she could do small things like turn on the light or the TV, or read. But if turning the pages of a novel was easy, getting the book out of the library was more complex. And she frequently dropped the objects she was holding for lack of spiritual energy.

"Here’s the result," thought Hitsugaya, looking at the fragments one last time before throwing it in the trash.

He will look on the internet to order the same item. With any luck, it would all go unnoticed. In two years of living in this house, he had ended up gaining a reputation as a “legendary clumsy”, completely false. But being the only one to see Hinamori, unless he wanted to be taken for a madman, he preferred accepting the reproaches, and turning against his ghostly friend afterwards.

His parents had made a good deal by buying this house. The former owners, devastated by grief after losing their daughter in a traffic accident, wanted to leave the place as soon as possible. Everything reminded them of Hinamori here, to the point of even thinking they saw her or heard her voice.

Their hallucinations must have been caused by their daughter's ghost desperately trying to make contact with them.

When he arrived, the feeling of being watched had not left Hitsugaya. He wasn't naturally paranoid, but something about this house was bothering him. And then one day, when he almost hit the corner of a cupboard in the kitchen cabinet, he heard a female voice screaming "watch out!" ". His face had crumpled up when he saw the half-translucent young woman right in front of him, and she mimicked his expression as she realized he could see her. And since then, she never left him. Sometimes to his dismay.

Ghost life seemed boring, especially when you mysteriously couldn't leave the house. So the young woman spent her time talking to him about everything and nothing, most often nothing. His ability to grab objects was a small revolution in their lives. Granting some peace of mind for Hitsugaya. He brought her CDs and books from the library every week to her delight. He also frequently left his computer or television on for her.

Sometimes he wondered why she didn't go to "heaven" or the afterlife. But she always dodged this question. So he had come to terms with her daily presence. At least she had the decency not to go into the bathroom. He would probably have asked to go to a boarding school otherwise.

Finishing cleaning up the mess, he motivated himself to return to the bedroom to end his homework and have his evening free.

"Can you take the book and bring it to the bedroom?" Momo asked behind him with a small smile. “I don't know if I would have the energy to do it on my own all the way."

Denying her nothing, he put the open book on his bed, letting the young woman start reading, while he finished his work.

"Alice in Wonderland ". She must have read this book at least fifteen times since he had known her. It had to be her favorite without a doubt. The book was starting to get damaged around the edges from turning the pages.

He walked over to the bathroom to relax in the shower and found himself disappointed that the bulb was burnt out.

"I had nothing to do with it this time!” Hinamori objected reflexively upon hearing his friend's exasperated sigh again.

You spend your time turning on the lights in the house," he retorted. “You are indirectly guilty of that”.

She pouted at him at the new accusation but didn't refute. Spare bulbs were in the attic and Toshiro walked there wearily.

The house had been renovated with the exception of the attic which retained old with its creaky and fragile parquet. A real ghost room, Hitsugaya thought.

Having found the purpose of his visit, he was about to leave when he noticed a partly defeated wooden slat. Better put it back on before someone got hurt. Crouching down, he was about to reposition it when he noticed a metallic-looking object underneath.

Removing the slat, he noticed with surprise a small metal cookie tin hidden in a recess between the parquet floor and the ceiling below.

Intrigued by this new treasure, he opened it. Inside he found a multitude of photos, as well as several papers and small items. He recognized Momo in one of the photos, dressed in high school clothes, surrounded by two boys, one blond and one with red hair.

He then decided to take the set to its real owner.

"I found this in the attic," he showed her, putting the box on the blanket with a small metal noise.

Momo's face lit up at the find.

“My treasure box! I can’t believe it! I completely forgot it was there!"

Abandoning her book altogether, his friend immediately took an interest in the content, scattering the photos everywhere.

"Look! It's Kira-kun and Abarai-kun! "She explained, pointing at the two boys earlier. «I’ve told you about them before. We went to college together and we were in the same class in high school! A real sign of fate. I wonder what happened to them now...”

She paused, staring at the photo for a long time.

"They must be in college today," she continued. ”Kira was a good student. I could see him teaching one day. Abarai was more impulsive. He spent his time being reprimanded. But I think you could have got along.”

Her tone had grown melancholic as she explained the scenes in the photos: Momo dressed in some sort of pumpkin costume for her fifth birthday, a family outing to the beach, birthdays...

"And this is a bracelet I made in elementary school!” She showed him, grabbing a sort of black rubber band with a small turquoise bead. “It's the same color as your eyes. Another sign of fate! » She added, laughing.

She started the gesture as if to put it on her wrist, but the bracelet crossed her arm and fell back on the bed, triggering a temporary silence in the young woman. A cloudy veil seemed to appear for a moment in the young woman's eyes but disappeared before Toshiro could even speak.

"I'll give it to you Shiro-chan!" She finally declared smiling again.

He grabbed the jewel and inspected it for a few moments between his fingers. He wasn't the type to wear this kind of thing, but the style was simple and the stone was pretty on its own.

“Thank you”, he finally answered, picking up a micro smile from the little brunette.

She nodded and turned to the photos again.

“Maybe we could make copies for you and send the originals to my parents?” She proposed. “They would surely be happy to have them”.

He nodded, approving of the idea.

As he began to put them away, Momo spoke again:

“You know…I didn't want to die Toshiro”, she blurted out followed by a bitter little laugh. “I…”

He was surprised that she brought up the subject so suddenly, but let her continue. The veil over her pupils reappeared, brighter than before.

"I loved my life," she said with a tight throat. “I had a lot of plans. I wanted to travel, adopt a dog, fall in love, take a parachute jump, learn baking... Those things may be trivial but I will never have the chance to do them again. When...”

A first sob broke her, and Toshiro, who by reflex wanted to put his hand on his friend's arm, saw it cross her without feeling the contact of her skin. She smiled at him, appreciating the gesture nonetheless.

“Thanks Shiro-chan”, she said taking a deep breath. “I was saying, when the accident happened, I kept telling myself that I didn't want to die and then I ended up at home like...that. A ghost. And then I met you... And I loved those two years with you, I don't think I could have dreamed of a better roommate to tease."

She giggled in front of his "hey!" and continued

“But seeing all of this, I realize what a lovely life I have had. And even if it was a little too short, it was happy and full. I shouldn’t have any regrets ".

Hitsugaya watched her with a slight pang in her heart, understanding where she was going.

"You're going, right? » He asked her

She paused, thoughtful, then turned to her book on the bed.

"Did you know I never finished it?" She confessed to him.

"I've seen you read it a dozen times," he remarked to her in surprise.

"That's right, but I’ve never read the last chapter."

She laid down on the bed and turned to her friend

"Can you read the end of the book to me, Shiro-chan? It would be a shame not to know how the story ends."

"Haven't you seen Disney? She wakes up, that's all," he replied to tease her a last time.

But he accepted, because as said before, he could not refuse her anything. And it was as if she had dictated her last will to him.

The text was crazy. His serious tone didn't match; but he continued to Momo's laughter anyway. And as he said the last sentence, he found that he was now alone in the room, surrounded by photos of his friend. On the back of one of them he could read in a somewhat shaky handwriting: "Thanks Shiro-chan, and goodbye."

[distantdreamboy]

Following up on my last session (x)

Calling it a 'rollercoaster' may be too extreme but my emotions have definitely taken me for a ride since I realized. I go through periods of:

doubting I have ADHD.

wondering what my life could have been like had I known this sooner.

wishing I had known sooner and saved myself a lot of embarrassment, shame, and stress.

wondering if people only like me because of the hyperactive behaviors from ADHD.

becoming hyperaware of inattentive behaviors as they're happening (like almost leaving your computer charger in the kitchen cabinet)

wondering what to do about it and feeling paralyzed by the options.

Among other things, of course. I register its full weight when I look back at how much I must now recontextualize.

Patterns in my behavior, patterns in my schooling, patterns in my relationships--and I must do so without accruing more shame, the hard part. A part of me wishes to shed my skin and start over but I know I must forgive myself before I do. I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed by the task of combing through everything before the daunting journey of working through this neurodivergence. I'll need a good therapist for sure.

My first year at college went pretty smoothly on the academic front. Made the Dean's List. Remember myself sitting at a nice spot in the library and getting good work done. As I got older? Things became a little difficult.

It became hard to manage all the obligations I had--dance, theater, art, homework, my ra job, president of a club, and I had to worry about the impending "real world" that I'd apparently never seen before.

Sometimes I would talk and people would not understand what I was talking about, when I thought I was being pretty clear. Then I'd try to explain and, you guessed it, it wouldn't work.

I'd buy new planners and not use them all the way through. I barely used a bullet journal I bought my junior year.

Assignments and obligations would slip through the cracks.

Sometimes I'd sit down to do homework and not be able to focus and as I think about it now I'm not sure if it was an ADHD thing or a natural college thing.

Not eating consistently.

Forgetfulness, always being late--you know the usual.

I'd still take a 10-15 minute bathroom break in nearly every one of my classes just because I was bored.

Granted, these things became a lot harder to do also because I was self-medicating with weed. I remember, I would smoke under the impression that the weed would "lock me in". It certainly would at times--especially when I was in the gym or writing an essay. It's just that at the time I didn't know that what I was doing was self-medicating and I couldn't quite put my finger on why. I dressed it in different clothes hoping something made sense but I really couldn't figure it out. Like, I was burnt with so much to do and no energy to do it--it was wild. I was so out of sorts and didn't know. I wonder at times if everything I'm attributing to ADHD just stemmed from my weed use but many of these behaviors were presented before I even knew what weed was. Definitely want to look into the relationship between ADHD and self-medication.

If I remember more from my college experience I'll add it as a reblog.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

'Falling Through the Cracks' Chapter 2: Two Worlds Collide

Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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.

As she slept in his bed, Sherlock remained in the sitting room, turning over her words in his head. ‘You’ll be lost like the others,’ she had said. It sounded so eerily similar to what his landlady warned him of. ‘You’ll soon be lost to us all.’ He shook his head, berating himself for actually considering there was some credibility to the old woman’s ‘visions.’ But what had Molly meant, calling this place ‘London Above?’

‘I’ve not seen London like this.’

Mrs. Hudson’s words continued to play on repeat in his head. It was only a coincidence, he decided. Lost in his mind palace, he found his brother cocking a brow up at him. “And what do we say about coincidences, brother mine?”

“The universe is rarely so lazy,” Sherlock answered automatically; in his head or aloud, he didn’t know. All he knew is that it was already too late. He was determined to take Molly’s case regardless of her protests. It seemed too important to pass up. Or perhaps, he was simply drawn to her—a thought he dared not think too much about. The real danger, he realised, wasn’t the unknown journey that lie ahead, but the mysterious woman sleeping in his bed.

.

.

Morning had arrived; the sunlight streaming through the window in the bedroom woke her. She frowned, keeping her eyes shut tighter. Molly knew she’d have to get a move on, hoping Sherlock wouldn’t mind if she kept his shirt. Slipping out of bed, she decided to search for a pair of trousers that might be able to fit her if adjusted right. There was a pair of grey sweatpants with drawstrings. It was the best she could find and she’d make it work.

The door creaked open and she whirled around, ready to fight, but relaxed when she realised it was Sherlock. He held in his hands a pair of jeans and a jumper with a pair of new flats on top. “I took the liberty to purchase these for you, but I see you’ve found an alternate choice.”

She felt her face flush and she laughed nervously. “Thank you,” she smiled, approaching him to retrieve the clothes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to at least keep this shirt.”

“It’s yours,” he replied rather quickly. “So, I suppose we should—“

“We? No. Sorry. You’ve done so much for me already. I couldn’t possibly keep you involved. Trust me, you don’t want to be,” she assured him. “You already seem to be too attached.”

He laughed in disbelief. “Attached? I’m not attached. I don’t attach myself to anyone.”

Molly raised a brow at him, challenging him. “Believe what you want, but I know attachment when I see it. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. You’re better off without it.”

His eyes widened, taken aback by her words. No, not her words, but his brother’s words. “Where did you hear that? Who told you that?”

“Just somebody I’m acquainted with back home,” she told him, worried about where this was going.

Sherlock shook his head, not quite believing this. “What’s his name?”

She shrugged, her eyes searching his for answers in a panic. “I dunno his name. He just goes by The Ice Man. That’s all I know. I plan to contact him for help through the rest of this mess.”

“I’m coming with you,” he insisted, putting his foot down on the matter. He didn’t give a damn if he disappeared out of existence. It’s what happened to his brother, and no one was going to stop him from finding out the truth.

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but she stopped herself. “You’ve lost someone. Who is it then?”

“My brother,” he answered. “Those words you spoke—he’d tell me that all the time when I was dangerously close to forming any sort of close relation with someone. It was a warning not to get involved. He disappeared nearly two years ago.”

She roughly dragged a hand through her hair. “You shouldn’t be involved in this. I’m sorry he disappeared, but the same will happen to you if I don’t leave right now. I know I can’t stop you from coming along, so here’s your warning: if you decide to come with me, there is no going back. You will not be able to resume your life here. People will start to forget you, and soon, no one here will notice you ever again. Is that clear?”

He set his jaw firmly. “Crystal,” he replied. “Let me pack a few things.”

Tears formed in her eyes, the sadness she felt for his life clear on her face. He had lost his brother, and she understood his need to find him. What she didn’t understand was how he was still able to remember him after all this time. It was impossible. Sherlock Holmes was an enigma and he fed her too curious mind.

.

.

A firm knock on the door startled Mrs. Hudson. She opened it a crack to find two sketchy men standing before her. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Moriarty smiled in an attempt to appear trustworthy. “We’re looking for this woman.” He held up a photograph, one he had stolen from her family’s home just before he burnt it to the ground. “She’s in danger and we’re trying to bring her home safe.”

Martha Hudson definitely had seen her. The woman was with Sherlock just last night, and this morning, she wagered, but the two had left in quite a hurry. Her face remained blank. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen her before. I could keep an eye out for you.”

Moriarty eyed her suspiciously. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to his associate. “Well, Seb, we’ve got more ground to cover, it seems. We’ll take our leave now. Thank you.”

When they reached the other side of the street, Seb stopped in his tracks. “I could smell her, James. She was there.”

“I know,” he snarled. “Try to see if you can’t pick up on her scent. Remember, if we fail, we’ll both be dead.”

Seb sighed. “Are you sure we can’t just kill her?”

“No!” Moriarty shouted. “We must bring her back alive. The job must be done properly. Only then will we be free to do as we please.”

Both of their faces blanched at the thought of the carnage from a couple of years back. Seb nodded in understanding, knowing that James was right. This had to be dealt with in a delicate matter, or they’d never see the light of day again.

.

.

“It’s…a wall,” Sherlock needlessly pointed out. He was beginning to wonder if Molly was clinically insane.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, very good, detective. Take my hand.” Satisfied when he complied, she placed her free hand against the bricks, picturing the streets of her home in her mind.

His brows furrowed, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. Soon enough, the wall gave way and it felt as if he was trying to run underwater, needing to force himself through. And then they were falling—at least, that’s what it felt like. When he opened his eyes, they were in the middle of a mostly deserted cobblestone street. It was evening, the air cool. But yet, it had been noon just a moment ago. “Where…are we?”

She slipped her hand from his. “Welcome to London Below,” Molly told him, trepidation lacing her tone.

A carriage swiftly passed by, the clopping of the horses’ hooves echoing through the street. A light fog settled over the city, reminding Sherlock of his London in Victorian times. “Impossible,” he marveled, gripping the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. “It’s as if we’ve traveled through time.” It was all so illogical to him, but the proof was right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been on the sweeties for a long time, so he knew it wasn’t a hallucination. “We haven’t, right?”

Molly laughed softly. “No time travel,” she assured him. “It’s just how London Below has always been. I’m from here, but people from London Above will sometimes appear, having fallen through the cracks of their world. Those who do can never go back. ”

He nodded slowly, processing this information. Everything he thought he knew was a lie. There was so much more to discover in the world. It wasn’t so boring and mundane after all. This case went far beyond a ten in his mind. Nothing would ever top it. “And what are we to do now?”

She sighed. “Well, I need to get in contact with The Ice Man. If he repeated the words of your brother, then maybe he knows where he is. Plus, he can help me get to the bottom of why I’m being sought after by two mad men. But first, we need to head to the Temple and Arch—it’s a safe haven for those who want to get away either for pleasure or safety. I have a friend who runs the place, Meena. She’s glamoured it to appear as an old run down shack, but if you’re in dire need, it’ll appear to you.” Molly reached out and laced her fingers through his. “Come along, then.”

.

.

It was practically rubble. Sherlock gazed upon the supposed ‘safe haven.’ “Are you sure it’s still standing?”

“I see it perfectly fine, but then again, I’m in more dire need than you,” she replied. “Trust me, it’s the safest place for us right now.” She led him inside, glancing over to see his reaction as the inn appeared to him. His eyes went wide, almost childlike with wonder.

“Dor?” The woman behind the counter spoke in surprise, standing from her seat. “Oh, my dear friend, what could bring you here?”

Dor? Sherlock frowned. Mrs. Hudson had warned him against doors—to be careful of them. Never did he imagine the warning would apply to a person.

Willing herself not to cry, Molly explained all she knew, including information she had not yet given Sherlock. “Oh, Meena, it’s been horrible. As you know, I was away doing an apprenticeship with Doctor Stamford, and when I returned, my home was in tatters, my parents dead. And now I’m being targeted by who I can only assume are assassins—most likely the very ones who murdered my family.”

“I’m so sorry, Dor. And…who is this fine man you’ve brought with you?” Meena asked, eyeing Sherlock lustfully.

“Meena, this is Sherlock. He’s a detective from London Above, and he has been quite helpful. And before you say anything, I warned him, but he insisted on coming along,” she informed her friend.

Sherlock shrugged. “You clearly need all the assistance you can get. Also, I’m searching for my brother. He disappeared a couple years ago. I’m beginning to think this is where he ended up.”

Meena held out a key. “I’ve only got the one room.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Molly replied, accepting it. “Thank you.”

.

.

As he and Molly went in search of the room, he couldn’t help but ask what had been bothering him. Mrs. Hudson’s words once again arose in his mind, warning him to be cautious of doors. ‘It will be the beginning of the beginning; the new merging with the old.’ Whatever could she have meant? “Why did Meena call you ‘Door?’”

Molly grimaced. “It’s short for Doreen, my middle name. She knows how much I hate it, but I just grin and bear it. It is a bit funny though; I can open doors of all kinds, and even create doors where there aren’t any. It’s a family ability, but I suppose I’m the last one now.”

They had reached the room, but before she could slip the key in, Sherlock reached out, his fingers trailing softly down her cheek, wiping away a tear that she had fought valiantly against. “I lost my parents too, many years ago. I am sorry you’re going through all of this. I know it isn’t easy.”

She gazed up into his sparkling eyes, feeling as if she could drown in his sea-coloured irises. “Thank you.” It came out as a whisper. “I’m sorry you’ve been through it, yourself. And now your brother. I’ll help you find him.”

Molly unlocked the door, pushing it open. An oil lamp on the nightstand emitted a warm glow. An understanding had come to pass between them, two lost souls left to run and hide from the dangers in their orbit. Their mission was probably a lost cause, but they had to try. At least they had each other…and the one bed they would end up having to share. Molly gritted her teeth. This was going to be a long night.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Eighteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 2.4k

Warnings; swearing, meanery

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You pace in front of the windows, staring out into the city. Every now and then, you’ll stop because you forget what you were doing, but then you quickly make up for the lost time.

There’s nothing really peculiar about the city that you’re looking at. Just staring at the Capitol is enough to make you blank out.. With how their buildings are shaped, placed and constantly refurbished. You’d think that they would be done at some point, but they’re always implementing their newest technology.

Take the whole Tribute Center as an example.

You pause your movement again, placing your hand on the glass as you stare at the building. It’s the tallest, in the heart of the city. And it holds nothing but grievances. You wonder if Coin will bother to burn it down, or if she’ll keep it.

If she doesn’t burn it down, you will. Right along with all the other apartment complexes and houses that discomfort you. You’ll make the Capitol your home, one way or another. It all starts with getting rid of all those places that you’d had to visit in your teen years.

How will arson be for refurbishing?

“Miss Rosecelli, you can sit--”

You look over your shoulder at Coin, who’s staring right at you. The two of you take a moment, and there must be something about your emotionless gaze that makes her drop it. Because her eyes drift downwards, and eventually away from you.

“She’s just nervous about the conversation she’ll be having with Finnick later today.” Johanna says, clicking a pen on the table, “About whether or not they’re gonna be a couple.”

Peeta looks at Johanna, you roll your eyes, Annie shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

You cross your arms, pursing your lips, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Johanna mutters.

“I could, but Finnick isn’t here to strap you down like last time.”

“That’s really rich, coming from the person who lost it on a peacekeeper.” Johanna snorts.

“Maybe that’s enough.” Haymitch says.

“Maybe?” you ask, turning around to see Johanna. Your face puckers up when you realize her back is to you, and taking the opportunity of a lifetime, in one swift motion you slap the back of her head on your way to your seat, at the other end of the table.

“You fucking--” her chair teeters from how hard she’s gotten up.

The door opens, and you look up to see that it’s Finnick.

“Good.” Peeta says, “Control your mutts.”

You turn a harsh eye to Peeta next, since you haven’t even passed him yet. And with the maturity of a middle schooler, you crack your knuckles right in his face.

“That’s fucking hilarious, considering you’re a Capitol bitch, yourself.”

Haymitch has had enough, and he doesn’t wait to see what Peeta does. He reaches over with one arm, yanking you away from the end of the table that you’re not welcome on anymore, considering the people. Johanna, Annie and Peeta. The only reason why you belong on the other side is because Beetee tolerates you and Haymitch doesn’t give a shit.

Or so you thought.

“Knock it off.” he warns.

“Go back to drinking your vodka-infused tea.” you hiss, going for the chair next to Peeta.

“What did I walk in on?” Finnick asks.

“A war zone, apparently.” Beetee has his glasses in hand, he rubs his face tiredly.

Finnick looks at you for a real answer, “What happened?”

“Johanna.” is all you answer, yanking out the chair as you sit on it.

“All I said was--” Johanna’s batting her eyelashes innocently.

“No one gives a shit about what you said.” you cut her off, “Shut the fuck up already.”

She clenches her jaw, giving you a nasty look. However, she doesn’t bother trying again. Finnick just places his hand on the back of your chair, and begins to talk to Peeta as if you didn’t just say the shit you did to any of them.

You cross your legs, and then your arms as you sink in your chair. You bite the inside of your lip and cheek, trying not to say anything that might get you in a deeper hole than you already are.

Although, it’s not like you’ll have to speak to any of the morons ever again after this. This meeting was required, Coin will crown herself as the next dictator later this evening, and then you’re free to choose a place to live. Beetee will likely stay in the Capitol--as for all the others, they’ll likely scatter.

Except for Finnick. He’s going to negotiate an agreement with you.

You told him simply; either you’re living in the Capitol with the rest of the circus, or you’re living so far off the grid that they’ll have to hunt you down for months just to find you.

And Finnick wants to live back in District Four. It’s where he was raised, and he finds comfort there. You can’t really blame him for it. You’d be going for District two, yourself if it weren’t for everything that has happened there. Victor’s village is a ghost town, and you found out the other day that not only are you the only surviving victor from two--your childhood home was burnt down.

So, if you go back to District Two, you’ll have to deal with the reconstruction of the main town, and buy yourself a freshly painted, picket-white-fence house. Or you can go to your fucking victor house that reeks like rotten food and spoiled milk.

However, if you don’t choose there, you can certainly start all the fucking way over in the Capitol. The only thing that would even slightly suggest your background are those apartment complexes. And the more you think about it, the more you’re beginning to consider burning them down.

Of course, you can’t touch the mansion. But everything else can go. They’re not a vital part of your history, and they certainly don’t deserve to continue to stand anymore.

As you’re staring around the room, Johanna catches your eye again because she’s staring straight at you. You’re about to roll your eyes and look away, but she mouths something.

Your eyes narrow, “Say it aloud.”

Finnick’s words falter and he looks down at you, “What?”

You ignore him, “Go on, say it Johanna.”

“What? Can’t read lips?” Johanna says.

“You’re a pussy.” you tell her, “If you can’t say it out loud, you’re a fucking pussy.”

“Is that right?” she grins.

You sneer, “You can enjoy yourself now, but the moment we leave the room, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

She snorts, “Yeah, right.”

You stand, slamming your hands against the table as you lean forward, “You want to see me actually lose it? Because this time I’ll do a lot more than smash your head against a fucking rock!”

“(Y/n).” Coin’s looking at you with wide eyes, “For your sake, I hope that’s an empty threat.”

“It wasn’t.” Finnick tells her, and then his attention is turned, “If you think that I’m going to stop her, you’re wrong.”

“It’s cute how you pretend to care about her, when she clearly doesn’t care about you.”

“Say that to all the times she saved my life on the way here.” Finnick tells her, “Sit, (Y/n), please.”

“I swear to god, Johanna. Say shit one more time and I’ll settle for killing you in here.” you sit back in the chair, elbows on the table as you clench and unclench your hand.

Right after, the door opens again. Everyone turns their gaze to who’s joined you all.

“What’s this?”

“The remaining victors, won’t you join us?” Coin asks, motioning to the table and the one single chair that’s open for Katniss. It’s right between Peeta and Haymitch.

It takes a moment, but she slowly makes her way around the table, taking her spot. Everyone else follows her lead, taking a seat in their chairs and their different poses. 

You watch as Annie blankly stares at Finnick, until her eyes shift away once she realizes you’re watching.

“I have invited you all here for several reasons. But first, I have an announcement, I have taken the burden and the honor of declaring myself interim president of Panem.” Coin says.

Your eyes drag to her. You can’t say you’re surprised, you literally called it just a few minutes ago.

Haymitch coughs like he’s choking on his own spit, “Interim? Exactly, how long is that?”

“We have no way of knowing for certain. But it’s clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision.”

“Maybe you should consider a council instead.” you suggest, but your voice is hollow, “Y’know, so you’re not taking this burden entirely?”

“We’ll plan an election when the time is right.” Coin says, indirectly answering your statement, “But I have called you all here for a far more important vote, a symbolic vote. This afternoon we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths, Capitol officials, peacekeepers, torturers, gamemakers.”

You bite the inside of your lip again, trying to bite your tongue. You want to criticize everything she says. There’s so many flaws, and the others have to see this too, right?

“But the danger is, once we begin the rebels won’t stop calling for retribution. Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So, I offer an alternative plan. Majority for may approve it, no one may abstain.” She says carefully, “My proposal is this; in lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic hunger games.”

Haymitch slowly lowers his tea cup. 

Silence fills the room instantly after. As well as the looks on the other’s faces. Mainly the horror that Annie expresses, the little smirk forming on Johanna’s face, and the deadpan look that Katniss hasn’t lifted since she sat down in her chair.

Then, Johanna starts laughing, “You want to have another hunger games with the Capitol’s children?”

You dig your fingernails into the skin on your thumb.

“You’re joking.” Peeta says.

Coin shakes her head, “Not in the slightest.”

Haymitch scoffs, “Is this Plutarch’s idea?”

“It was mine.” Coin says.

Johanna clicks her pen once or twice, the smile on her face growing.

“It balances the need for revenge,” Coin reasons, “With the least loss of human life. You may cast your votes.”

“No.” Peeta nearly overlaps her speaking, “No, obviously not, this is crazy.”

Johanna leans forward, “I think it’s more than fair. Snow’s got a granddaughter. I say yes.” She looks at Peeta after, like she’s trying to strike a nerve.

“Johanna has a point.” you say, which makes a lot of heads turn, but your eyes are on Coin, “My vote is yes.”

“You guys, this way of thinking is what started the uprises.” Peeta says.

“I vote no, with Peeta.” Annie says.

“I vote no too.” Finnick says, and he looks at you, “After everything that happened to you? You really want to say yes?”

You lean towards him, “Some of those motherfuckers have sons and daughters. My vote stands.”

“No. We need to stop viewing each other as enemies.” Beetee says, you nearly forgot he was there because of how quiet he’s been.

It’s down to just Haymitch and Katniss. Katniss is staring right at Coin, “I get to kill Snow.”

“I expected no less of you.” Coin says, a smile hinting at her lips.

That rubs you the wrong way, and you can tell it does the same for Katniss, even if nothing physically changes. It’s the way Katniss pauses before speaking next, that gives it away, “Then I vote yes. For Prim.”

“Haymitch?” Coin asks, Katniss slowly turns her head to him.

They stare at each other for a moment before he decides his answer, “I’m with the mockingjay.”

“That carries the vote, excellent. We’ll announce the games tonight, after the execution.” Coin says, a smile is on her face.

You get up from the table, “Sounds good to me.”

Your eyes land on Finnick, eyebrows raised. He catches the drift and gets up from where he’s sitting.

“We’ll see you guys later.”

The two of you leave the room with no comments from anyone else. The moment that the door has shut behind Finnick, he’s on your ass.

“You seriously voted yes?”

“I’m out for blood.”

“I can tell.” Finnick says, he catches up with your pace, “I’ve been thinking about what you wanted.”

You slow a little, allowing him a chance to speak without it being rushed.

He takes this as a sign to keep talking, “Before you get mad, I know what you said, alright. You want a fresh start, away from people you know. District Four is like that.”

“Except for the fact that your ex-girlfriend is going to go back there too.”

“She isn’t.” he says.

You look over.

“She’s going to stay with Katniss’ mom or something. I talked to Annie last night to make sure I heard everything right. District Four is ours for the taking. It’s a fresh start to you, and it’s home for me.”

Finnick’s got a look on his face, and with the way that he’s already calmed you down immensely--he’s been getting better at it, lately--you can’t help but to be compliant.

“What happens when your neighbors hate me?” you ask, “Or we fight?”

“Easy, we get you a vacation house here.” Finnick’s proud of this one, he’s got a smile on his face, “You’ll be able to come here whenever you want. Live your life of luxury, and then come home.”

You stop walking now, “You’re sure you want me to go there, though? You want me around?”

Finnick laughs, coming closer. He’s gentle with the way he cups your jaw with one hand, looking down at you, “Honey, I’ve been chasing you around this entire time. I’m not going to stop now.”

You squint at him, “Honey?”

A smile appears on his face, and you can’t help but to smile too.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Finnick says, running his thumb over your cheek.

“I let everything get to my head.”

[technoskittles]

Catradora fic rec list

I mentioned making one of these awhile ago and I’m finally sitting down and compiling some of my all-time favorite fics. I’ve read a lot (like, a LOT), but I feel like a few of those really deserve an extra shout out.

I’ll separate them between multi-chap and one shots, but other than that they won’t be in any particular order. I’ll also try my best to tag the authors here on tumblr if I can find them, but if not, just lemme know if you see your fic and I can edit this later.

I’ll also be including ratings/word count/trigger warnings/etc

(I’ll mostly be including common tw’s so please make sure you also read the tags for anything that may affect you personally! Also, if I miss any, please keep in mind that it’s been awhile since I’ve read some of these so I may not remember all of them!)

Key:

[E] - Explicit 

[M] - Mature

[T] - Teen & Up Audiences

[G] - General Audiences

And for the multi-chap fics:

(O) - Ongoing

(F) - Finished

(?) - Not finished and they haven’t updated in awhile so the author probably died

So let’s get started! (Get ready for a long post obviously)

Multi-chap fics:

1. upper west side by ceruleanstorm (F) [T] ~190,000 words

TW: past child abuse, alcohol abuse

@princessofgayskull

I feel like this is definitely one of the top must-reads for all Catradora fanfics. I know I’ve seen this on a couple different lists but I’m including it on mine as well because it really is just that good.

The chapters are lengthy (but in a good way!) and the story really takes its time to flesh itself out. The character development of the characters as individuals is beautifully done and wonderfully realistic. The pacing of the development of Catra and Adora’s relationship is also sweetly slow, a steady slowburn that invokes that deep-rooted yearning feeling mirrored by the characters themselves.

It’s a really clever premise that takes place in the modern world but implements the canon universe in the form of the book that Adora’s writing that ties back to her and Catra’s shared childhood. The way that aspects of the show were revamped into this fic are so creative and I just....ugh. LOVE.

This fic also has a oneshot compilation that takes place after the events of the final chapter which is currently ongoing and I HIGHLY suggest checking that out as well once you’ve finished this. 

The sister fic for those interested: she’s god (and I found her) (O) [T] ~40,000 words

2. The Devil Is In (The Details) by SeasInkarnadine (O) [M] ~58,000 words

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, child abuse, emotional abuse, use of recreational drugs, Major Character Death

@seasinkarnadine

This is a really great fic where Adora is an undercover cop who sidles her way into one of the largest gang syndicates to bust whoever killed Hordak, a big gang leader and drug trafficker, whose death was originally ruled as an accidental overdose. Her and Catra (one of the gang members) both know foul play was involved and work together to figure out the truth.

The dynamics between these two is so casual and hilarious but still has those gut-wrenching moments that really ground you and realize that their relationship is dysfunctional on a few levels. The exploration of Adora’s conflicting feelings towards Catra hurt in such a good way as she realizes that she does genuinely care for Catra, but also is aware that what she’s doing will eventually screw her over and land her in jail. It’s the best kind of underlying angst and I highly recommend it.

Another really great selling point that I particularly love is that Adora is deaf in this AU and the author really shows this in such a realistic and natural way that shows she really knows what she’s talking about. It makes the dynamic between the two even more interesting considering that Catra also knows sign language which give the two a lot of moments of mutual understanding that doesn’t extend to the other characters. It’s something that the two of them have that’s sort of just for them to be on that level of understanding and it’s so great.

Also, Morgan is just a great writer in general and I highly suggest checking out more of her stuff (her art too!). She’s one of the writers I’ve looked up to since my beginning days in the fandom and it’s still amazing seeing all the great stuff she puts out.

3. Skinny Love by Maychup (O) [M] ~100,000 words

TW: past child abuse

@maychup

Another staple of big fics in the catradora fandom but for good reason. This fic is a wonderful exploration of events taking place after S1 illustrating Catra & Adora’s relationship in a different path that the rest of the show takes. It focuses heavily on their past experiences with each other and how that affects their current situation being on opposite sides of the war. 

This fic is older, published just after S1, so canon divergence is an important aspect of its build. But the way the story is written is so beautiful and grounded that it’s still interesting even now knowing what really happens in the show. 

Their dynamic is kind of back-and-forth, with Catra figuring out what Adora means to her and vice versa and where the two of them want to go from that point. It has so many sweet moments and steamy ones as well (btw, there’s a lot of smut) and the exploration into each of the character’s pysches is so compelling and intriguing.

4. Faded With Feelings by yesimgay (F) [T] ~24,000 words

TW: recreational drug use

This was such a cute, short multi-chap fic. It’s a bit older but I think it’s still one of my top faves. 

A modern au, Catra & Adora are roommates post-college and trying to make their way in the adulting world. Catra has ADHD and smokes weed to help with that. One day Adora accidentally eats a couple of her edibles and cute shenanigans ensue. And that’s just the first two chapters.

The rest of the fic goes on to the girls figuring out their feelings for each other, especially Adora who, in this case, isn’t really sure of her sexuality. All-in-all, a really cute fic that’s a nice break from all the angst that typically saturates the fandom.

5. Chasing the Spotlight by holymountain (?) [T] ~20,000 words

This is an AU where Adora is hired to be Catra’s, a pop singer, bodyguard. There’s so many cute moments in this, though admittedly it’s been about 6 months since it’s last updated so be sure to keep that in mind.

6. we’ve been making shades of purple out of red and blue by darklady21 (?) [t] ~24,000 words

An “and they were ROOMMATES” au. In this one though, Catra and Adora don’t actually know each other and really only get to know each other over time. It’s cute and has a lot of interesting interactions between the two, but it hasn’t updated in about 7 months.

7. Tuning Out by FaiaHae (?) [T] ~2500 words

I actually really loved the whole concept of this fic but it hasn’t updated in like, an entire year so...only read if you’re okay with the fact that it probably won’t ever be finished haha

8. burnt sugar by jeserai (O) [G] ~11,000 words

@jeserai

Oh god YES this fic. The classic “fake dating” au except Catra is a rich kid inheriting a business who essentially hires Adora, a broke college student, to go on a date with her to this big business function. There’s not a lot to say about it other than that without giving too much away, but the fic is about halfway done at this point so it’s a pretty short read as of now.

Just be warned, it’s currently on a MASSIVE cliffhanger so if you wanna wait until it updates I totally understand lol

9. still waters by summerson (O) [M] ~28,000 words

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, self harm

A “The Last of Us” AU. Personally, I’m not super familiar with TLOU because I could never get into the game myself, but this fic is so well done and the writing style is so interesting and well-executed that I still love this fic to bits. But obviously, for those of you who are aware of TLOU, you already know that this fic is going to contain quite the fair share of angst so be ready.

10. Whispering Dreams by dragonesdepapel (F) [T] ~7500 words

It’s been awhile since I’ve read this one so I don’t remember everything, but I do remember really enjoying the writing style and the construction of this fic. It’s a short read, but it’s totally worth it

11. please could you be tender by erce3 (F) [G] ~40,000 words

@figbian

please please PLEASE go read this fic. I’m actually begging y’all to go read this one I loved it so much it’s still one of my top 10 faves out there.

This fic is set in a modern setting where Adora & Catra were childhood friends and are in college and god it’s just SO. GOOD. The writing style and composition of the flashbacks with the present events is so beautifully done and organized and I really cannot hype this fic up enough GO READ IT

12. buried a hatchet (it’s coming up lavendar) by erce3 (O) [G] ~12,000 words

on the note of that last rec, I highly rec their other work which is currently in progress. It takes place after S3 but it’s an exploration on if Catra and Adora got trapped in the portal instead of Angella and FUCK this person is genuinely amazing go read their stuff

13. Senior Year by SimplyAbsolute (O) [E] ~98,000 words

@simplyabsolute

This is a really cute fic about Adora and Catra in their final year of college and I guess for me personally it really just hits hard because I’m also in my final year of college lol. But really, it’s a great fic and I suggest checking it out. It’s actually only got one more chapter left too so it’s almost done!

14. Assassinating Adora by Wicked42 (F) [T] ~13,000 words

@wicked-42

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Jeez this fic was a real rollercoaster of emotions. I loved every bit of it. 

Basically, some people try to assassinate Adora and Catra stops one of them, but both girls are still inflicted by the poison and....it just gets crazier from there. Don’t wanna spoil it too much but this is a must-read for sure.

And this one may seem like cheating but I’m gonna plug one of my own multi-chap fics here

15. Pure Feeling (O) [T] ~30,000 words

TW: brief mention of sexual assault in Ch 5

This is a modern AU set after all the kids have been out of college for a few years. 

Adora and Catra were childhood friends but ended up drifting apart and falling out during their college years. Fast forward about 6 years and they run into each other again, except now Adora has a daughter and is struggling to balance her life as a single mother. Overtime the two girls work on rebuilding their friendship and somewhere along the way might even realize that they’re feelings for each other never really went away. But of course, like all things in life, this isn’t an easy process and they run into more than a few complications - internal and external.

One Shots:

(there’s so many of these I’ve loved so I’m really going to try and narrow it down to about 10. If yours didn’t make it, no offense! I just have WAY too many to include and this post is already so long haha)

1. The Interlude That Never Ends by FMLClexa [M] ~2500 words

TW: Major Character Death, brief mention of sexual assault

Okay I’m gonna be honest: If you ignore all the other fics on this list, READ THIS ONE. This is absolutely my #1 favorite without a doubt. It’s a soulmate/reincarnation au and it’s so wonderfully executed that I honestly cannot even begin to tell y’all how much I love this one. It’s old and one of the first fics I ever read, but it’s so timeless and excellent and I promise you won’t regret reading it. I know I’ve read this about a million times over.

It’s been a whole year and this has held my #1 fave position the entire time. READ. IT.

2. after party by summerson [M] ~2000 words

TW: recreational drug use

God this fic was so great I read it last night and I’m still in awe in how well it was written and the emotions it managed to invoke in me. My favorite scene is the part where Catra tells Adora “I love you” because it’s so raw and desperate and I vibed with it so hard. It’s really difficult trying to tell someone how much you love them with just a few simple words because they really just don’t convey how much you love them and it’s so frustrating and GAH this fic was fucking great please read it.

3. jigsaw by jeserai [G] ~2500 words

@jeserai

This fic is so great and I felt so warm inside reading it. Definitely read if you want sweet, slow friends to lovers burn.

4. Vicious by SeasInkarnadine [M] ~3500 words

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

I really highly recommend this one if you can get past the trigger warnings. It was so well written and very suspenseful with the juxtaposition of the timeline between current events and snippets of what had happened just hours before. But the ending is really sweet and the way that Catra cares for Adora after the whole thing squeezed my heart to pieces.

This is one I’ve read a few times over because of how much I love it. Def in my top 3.

5. Basement by spookyscaryskeletons [G] ~2800 words

This was such a great rendition of “Adora and Catra are forced to talk” and the emotions were raw and bleeding and I love the character portrayals. 

6. Coming Apart by Whorls [E] ~13,000 words (or ~6,000 words each chap)

@crazy-pages

Okay this fic technically has two chapters but I’m including it here in the oneshots because the chapters are identical in the sense of story but the only difference is that in chapter one Catra is a cis woman and in chapter two she’s a trans woman pre-op. Other than that the chapters are identical so it’s mostly based off which experience you would rather have while reading.

This fic was. So. Fucking. Good. Sen did such a fantastic job with both aspects of this story and I love it to bits and pieces. The smut in the beginning is delicious as can be, but then towards the latter half it absolutely sucker punches you with feelings but in a good way. I really, really fucking love this fic and I think it needs more attention than it initially got so I’m imploring you all to please go read this fic. It’s fantastic.

7. Seconds That I Cannot Replace by Mogatrat [M] ~7800 words

TW: child abuse, underage(?)

This is a really heartbreaking fic set before canon. It’s about all the times that Catra and Adora started a romantic relationship only for Shadow Weaver to come in and ruin everything by constantly erasing and resetting Adora’s memory. I still think about this fic from time to time. Give it a go.

8. Come morning light by dragonesdepapel [T] ~1800 words

TW: Major Character Death

Another one that’s technically two chapters but it’s the same events, just covers the perspective of each girl. Adora’s dying and asks Catra to stay with her.

Basically this fic ripped my heart out and I still think about it sometimes.

9. someone you like by caela [T] ~5100 words

oh fuck me yes this fic. A modern au where Catra sorta stalks Adora on instagram and accidentally likes an old picture. Fluffiness galore.

10. When You Came Calling by ActuallyMe [E] ~5200 words

TW: Major Character Death

A 1940′s Mob AU where Catra is a private eye and Adora married high-ranking mob boss Hordak...who’s just been murdered.

Really great one shot. Personally I would’ve loved to see more come of this but it’s great on its own.

And once again, this is cheating but here’s a couple oneshots of my own that I wanna plug real quick

11. hang tight (all you) [T] ~9200 words

Modern AU fic set when Catra and Adora are in high school. Adora struggles to come to terms with her sexuality in an discouraging environment as well as the fact that she’s had a crush on her best friend since middle school. Personally I think this was one of my best works and a lot of other people seem to have liked it too so yeah!

12. as my World d[ivides] [E] ~2500 words

TW: Rape/Non-Con, Underage

One of my darker fics, but still one I’m pretty proud of. Without giving too much away, Adora suffers from a trauma and engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms and Catra enables her because no one’s taught them any different.

[mushykat]

i am failing 4 classes

I’m sick and I don’t like it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I don’t like how it hurts to wake up. I don’t like how the feeling of hearing damage is the only thing grounding me to a plain of nothing but heartache and tragedy. I hate how much I’ve let myself spiral. I’m tumbling down a black spire that I’ve built for myself. What lays at the bottom will hopefully kill me when I connect with the waters below. 

Sometimes I want to draw. The picture I want to use to express the swirling mass of razors and burnt scraps of thoughts that plague my consciousness never turns out how I want them to. I don’t want to sit down and put time into something that I cannot love. It’s why I refuse to try and dig myself from the pit laden with the shreds of memories I hold on to in order to justify the horrible things I see. 

I don’t want to write as a career. A career path means choosing a secondary school, and it means going and applying myself to something. I can’t put the effort into keeping myself afloat in the sea of that of which troubles me, and yet I’m expected to weigh myself down with books full of repeated sentences that will suffocate me with a bad credit score and the inability to apply for a loan. 

I don’t want money to be spent on me for college. I’m going to do bad and eventually give up, like I always do. I never apply myself to anything like I should. I know better. As I sit and write, and let the crisp feeling of the screen sear the exhaustion ridden pupils I’ve tormented as such the night prior, I have assignments I haven’t turned in. If I can’t bother to not fail an 11th grade math class over my own impotence, then how am I supposed to swallow down the poison that is higher education. 

What’s the point of using flowery language to cover the corpse of what I write? What will the sprouts of tulips and daisies do against the rot of myself. Why must I try and work every word into an intricate tapestry to illustrate the images my hands refuse to draw. Why do I try to form the pictures my mind refuses to accept of what I see of myself. Why am I fucking sick? 

I can feel the rise and fall of my chest, and yet my lungs always feel empty. I can feel the beat of a heart cradled behind the intertwined digits of marrow that tuck it away in a forest of fleshy fat, and yet I wonder if I am truly living. Is this all life is to be? Am I expected to carry on in the future. Carry on and carrion are easy to mix up, I presume. But what a simple mistake for such a bloated carcass such as myself.

I feel like if I try to chase after the fleeting ideological wisps of smoke that arise from the coals I smother, and do in fact explore writing as a career, I fear I will run out. I think the only mirrors I can truly accept are the ones others have pointed towards me. The only thing I can see anymore is warped and distorted by the heat of a long burnt-out inferno that ate away at the only thing I could hold dear to myself. 

These little mirrors sit behind my eyes, and reflex off of each other. They shine beams of light to one another, as some sick paradox that I am too shaded to partake in. I want to see the light, but I fear what I may see if I allow illumination into the crevices of where I hide. The dark is cold and safe, and lets me shelter away from that which wishes to harm me. 

The world isn’t out to get you, after all. The only mantra I can remember clearer than the burning gazes of reflected disdain directed towards me. Are the shattered mirrors that try to piece my reality together warped from the heat of myself or others? I think I know who ignited me, but I would rather let the coals die away as I wish for myself. I envy the carbon lumps sitting in the sludge pooled at my feet. 

I am one of the ants that get burned alive under a child’s magnifying glass. I can still feel the heat enveloping me, and can taste the smoke as it hangs around my throat in a familiar noose. I welcome it, even. Why else would letting the smog from burning leaves powder kisses of slime and tar across my lungs? I relish the taste I’m left with. It is impure.

Impurity is the only state I know. Disgrace and dissidence is the only way for me to view myself through the shattered lenses that have been scratched and dulled with age. I wish I could pry them out of my skull with the screwdriver that sits in the drawer on my desk. Maybe if I slipped them out of my head and gave them a good rinse, I could have a clean look at the world around me. Maybe I could be happy. 

What’s to say they aren’t responsible? Holding tender orbs with a sheen of slime from the crevice they reside, smeared with the crimson shame that comes with self mutilation. I wonder if I could view myself with such an event. Could I get a good look? Could I watch myself desecrate the corpse that I walk in? 

Maybe my eyes aren’t the problem. The ants nibbling behind my eyes made my sight throb, as if what I’m viewing of the world is wrong. It’s never right, though. Maybe the ants are just more noticeable when I decide to grace them with acknowledgement. But they’re not real, of course. The idea of something being out of place would require something to be wrong, which there isn’t. I know because you told me. :)

I hate writing. It’s horrible and I’m disgusted with anything I read from myself. I do not approve of the venom that drips from my lips, and yet I refuse to pull my fangs. Maybe I could shatter the rest of my teeth while I’m at it. I could run my tongue over the raw indents where the abused shards of enamel I refused to care for would be. But since when do I care about taking care of myself? I’m scared of what I write. Every word is a little sliver of the mirrors that have cracked behind my eyes. The tears that fall hold shards of the reflective glass, and lands upon the scarred hands with which I type. I’m scared that the mirrors will be gone, and I’ll be forced to see the reality of what is before me in its entirety. And yet, I’m more scared of running out of escaping sorrow.

Why would I pursue a career in writing when I don’t know of what I write? Why would I try to make money off of a skill I do not have? What’s the point of humoring the idea that I can write? The illness that lets the steady drip of sickly ichor flow through me is the only reason I can type as I do. It’s the one who puppeteers this horrid poppet of flesh bound sinew and bone. If I am not sick, then how will I write? 

I cannot write. There is nothing to write about. Any of the scorch marks sitting heavy in my chest, and any of the burns lingering against my face from the reflected magnitude of the heat of the abhorrence of the mirrors others hold are from fault of my own. I am the reason I am sick, and I am the reason I refuse to get better. The feeling of the keys popping under my fingers is proof enough that I am not dead, and yet I let myself make allusions as to why I can only experience a dullness in place of stimulations. 

Every time I try to sit down and write like this, I try to crack a piece off of the mirrors. They’re melted into a grotesque putty, and it’s not delicate work to try and pry shards of it apart. I can swing and shatter the mass of heathenry, but then I would have to stare into the space between the shards. The spaces where I can see. 

How long can I chisel at a deformity before it is gone? Doesn’t the idea of writing to clear my mind imply that there's an end goal. That perhaps I can someday empty myself of the acid that eats away at the tissue behind my eyes. Doesn’t that mean that I’m the reason I’m ‘sick’? I don’t have the right to be upset. I know this. It’s my fault. 

The way others see me is the same, even if they claimed to have shifted their realities. Is it so easy? Why haven’t I done it for myself? I know why. I am lazy and prefer the glorification of necrophagous fantasies over the reality that the only rot in me is my own. The only poison that reaches me comes from inside. The bed of soil I rest in is free from mites and grubs, and yet I wrote. The only desecration is my own. 

As I write and try to put these pathetic ideas against a sickly backdrop of a fake shade of white, I can’t help but yawn., It seems to be tiring to do the most basic of tasks. Sometimes I wish that I could lay amongst the blankets marred with the imbecility of myself and not be roused. I want to slumber for the rest of time, and let the roots overtake me. Maybe as my flesh is eaten away and my bones are dissolved by a hundred rains, I could finally rest. 

I wish that I could bash my head against the wall and shatter everything going on inside of me. If it was in pieces, maybe it would be easier to weep under the rug. I want to hide it from myself. I don’t have anything wrong with me, I am just a hypochondriac that has done too much research. I know seven people who could agree with me. I live with three of them. Even if stories change, the words that linger are the ones that left bruises. Lying can’t fix the purple and yellow that litters my mind. 

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t like this. Sometimes I wished I was loved. But why would it change anything? I would be loved and broken. I would be shattered and adored. I would be coddled and ruined. What difference would circumstances make when I’m the one who sets the table against me? I’m the reason the betting is so low. I picked the numbers, and I knew what I was doing. I’m aware of the horrible things I do, and yet I do them. I know I’m failing classes, and yet I write with blurry vision to try and alleviate a fake weight keeping me from breathing. 

I don’t like school. I wish I didn’t have to go. But what else would I do with my day? I’m stupid. I’m tired of being told I’m not. I don't know the things people think I do. I only know things I can remember, and things that I care about. Neither of those apply to much. My mind’s empty enough that the few thoughts I can hold are the only thing keeping me from falling back into the static burning the edges of my subconscious. 

My neck hurts.

[riversofmars]

May I propose..River and Missy stumbling upon 13 and immediately both go to flirting w her

My lovely anon, I deeply apologise for how long it has taken me to do this. And I have to confess, this is only part one, it has turned out so long that I’m having to post it in two parts! Plus I’m not quite done with the ending and if I hadn’t split it up, it would have been another couple of days lol.

Anyway, I really hope you like this. As promised, probably not what you expected but I got slightly obsessed with the idea of doing a cyberpunk inspired piece so here you are! Read on AO3 or below :)

At The End Of The Universe

The Doctor locked up the TARDIS, just to be safe. At the end of time, one did not want to get stuck or have one’s means of escape stolen. She had often wondered what it actually was like. The very last day of the universe. She had visited once before, watching from Me’s reality bubble. Me had been watching the stars die and she had called it beautiful and the Doctor had found it sad. Me had insisted that it was both and that that wasn’t something the Doctor could ever understand… She had been right. The people around her always seem to know her better than she knew herself.

Now, she certainly couldn’t find any beauty in this place and, yet she was fascinated. This was it, the last straw, where the last people in the universe had gathered. Admittedly, she wasn't actually sure that was entirely true but these people seemed to think they were so who was she to argue? She was too exhausted to argue and at the end of everything, no-one had time to waste on such technicalities. In approximately twelves hours, death was coming for them all and there was nowhere to run.

The Doctor looked around, taking in the atmosphere. It was getting cold, probably because the nearby star was already dying. There was very little natural light now, not that it would have reached the ground through the thick smog anyway. The only light down here was from the garish neon advertisements and signs.

“I bet this has always been an awful place…“ The Doctor started saying but stopped herself. She was alone. There was no-one to talk to on this particular trip. Ryan, Yaz and Graham were still on Earth. They didn’t even know she had made it off Gallifrey in one piece, or that she had ended up in prison shortly after… And after her escape, she had felt no great need to seek them out. Not yet anyway. Her path had lead her here instead. To the end of the universe, with no companions to talk to, no-one to share the experience with. It was probably better that way, this wasn’t a trip she wanted to be sharing with anyone.

She looked around some more and decided, yes, this really must have been an awful place all along. The sort of world where only the rich and powerful flourish and everyone else cowers in the sewers. The sort of place where law and morality would break down in no time at all as the end of days drew near. The sort of place where people would want to see the universe out in delirium. And people around here have already started. They were singing in the streets, shouting, dancing, laughing, some people are crying whether with it was laughter or hysterical fear.

Those that didn’t have a time machine to escape crunch time were each facing up to the inevitable in their own way. They are incredibly brave, the Doctor thought, braver than she had ever been. She would be frantically searching for a way out and try to run away, she couldn’t deny that. She was so tired of running but she just couldn’t stop. She wished she could just stand still and face what was up ahead, head held high, just for once. But it was like a compulsion, she just had to keep going. It was always just one more adventure… maybe the next one will be the one. Maybe that would be the one that would finally give her some answers. Or closure. Or even some sort of happiness or contentment. Something, anything, to satisfy that urge to keep going. Sometimes, she forgot what she was searching for. She had been going for so long now. What purpose did this particular trip serve? By this point it was probably just to make sense of things. Of herself. Her own existence. Her life. The things that had been done to her. And the things that happened because of her. And to try and forget about them.

She could still see it. Every time she closed her eyes, she was right back in the ruins of Gallifrey. She would feel the burning heat from the flames. She would get a burning in her chest from the smoke. Her eyes would be burning from the dust. Gallifrey was burning her from the inside still. Her memories were eating at her, burning all the walls she’d built to protect myself, the structures that held her up and kept her going. She had no idea how to stop this wildfire. Maybe on her next trip, she’d find a way but now, she was here. At the edge of the universe, at the end of everything. This was not the place where she’d find her answers but maybe she could fight fire with fire for a time. Maybe she could gain a reprieve before the flames engulfed her.

She started to make her way down the street. The music was coming from somewhere up ahead. The bass was so deep, the vibrations were making her shake. She could smell alcohol now, the streets were literally drenched in it, this party had been going on for days. It wasn't just alcohol, there were chemicals, drugs, sweat, vomit, sex… At the end of everything, society, morals, inhibitions, right and wrong, disintegrated right before your eyes. There was no need for such human constructs now. Everyone here was going to die in twelve hours, the Doctor could see why they’d rather be enjoying themselves. The biggest, baddest party of the universe. The last party. On the last planet. In the last hours. No-one could charge and judge you now. What better place to drown one’s sorrows, get perspective and forget for a time?

“Alright lovely? Can we interest you in a good time?“ A young man yelled to her from across the street. There was a group of them, young people who still had so much of their life ahead of them, cut tragically short. Under normal circumstances, the Doctor, or anyone else for that matter, would have kept going, but the Doctor stepped closer.

“What’s your poison?“ She asked, eying the selection of drinks and other substances spread out over the hood of a burned out vehicle.

“By this point, does it really matter?“ One of the lads laughed taking a gulp from a half empty bottle of clear liquid.

“Suppose not.“ The Doctor chuckled and picked up a bottle she at least recognised the brand name of and took a swing. The alcohol burnt her throat. It was pure and disgusting but it was just what she needed. “Mind if I take this?“ She gave the bottle a little shake to indicate what she was talking about. Her question got swallowed up in the deafening noise of an explosion barely a block away. Some people probably got bored of waiting for the end. The Doctor took another swing from the bottle as her eyes fell on some colourful tablets. She picked up a couple, red and blue, turned them between her fingers as if they were smarties. “The red pill or the blue pill…“ She looked up to the group laughing to herself a little. “This would be funny and poignant if The Matrix was still a thing at the end of the universe…“

“You’re not even scared, are you.“ One of the boys grinned, clearly impressed, he stumbled a little, struggling to keep himself upright as he leant forward onto the hood of the vehicle.

“Scared of what?“ The Doctor raised her eyebrows without looking at him. She focused on the pills in her hand. What was the worst that could happen? These people weren’t trying to kill themselves, they were trying to have a good time so this was probably perfectly safe… and if it wasn’t?

“You know… the end. And doing drugs with people you’ve never met before.“ He grinned.

“I’m just here to have a good time.“ She shrugged as she threw both tablets into her mouth like candy and washed them down.

“I can show you a good time.“ He reached out to cup her cheek but misjudged the distance, reaching into nothingness. His friends laughed.

“Maybe later.“ The Doctor chuckled with a wink.

“Don’t keep me waiting all night, it’s not long now.“ He retorted trying his best to hide his disappointment.

“Thanks for this.“ She downed the rest of the bottle as the others cheered her finishing it. She placed the empty bottle back on the make shift table and waved goodbye to them. She only vaguely took notice of the sound of breaking glass as the youngsters smashed her empty bottle just because they could.

She followed the sound of the music as she made her way along the crowded streets, people bumped into her, unaware of their surroundings, in a drug induced haze. The Doctor was beginning to feel the effects herself. Her hearts picked up speed, she felt an indescribable rush, as her brain flooded with dopamine. The colours seemed more vivid, her skin tingled, as if she was seeing, experiencing more than ever before. Some remaining rational part of her brain insisted that these feelings weren’t real, that it was an illusion and that she would pay a price when they wore off but for now, she couldn’t care less.

She followed the sound of the music, the bass running trough her as she descended stairs to a make shift nightclub. It really just looked like a massive warehouse but people were dancing and drinking, jerking to the music, partying to their heart’s content. The Doctor steadied herself against the wall, feeling the effects of the drugs, allowing her senses to be flooded. She smiled to herself, her heart felt lighter, as if a burden was being lifted and only the here and now mattered.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor Song.“ Missy called over the loud music as she swirled a glass of bourbon. Even at the end of the universe, she insisted on some modicum of class as she watched River Song emerging from the flurry of dancing bodies. She felt a tingle in her hand as regenerative energy started oozing out of her fingertips and she balled her fist, forcing the process to a halt, yet again. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep it at bay but she intended to have a good time before giving in to inevitable. She pushed her hand into her pocket, hoping River hadn’t noticed as she returned her attention to her.

River wiped her brow, her tank top was sticking to her with sweat but she didn’t care, she was enjoying herself. She recognised Missy immediately, leaning against the counter set up along the side of the massive underground warehouse. She couldn’t help but smirk. Of course, of all the people she could possibly encounter at the end of the universe, it was the Master. Lightheaded and thirsty, her ears ringing with the sheer volume of the music, she made her way over to her.

“Well, this is the biggest party in the known universe.“ River winked at her as she came to a halt next to her and reached behind the makeshift bar. It astounded her that some people had actually gone through the trouble of providing these comforts, wasting what precious time they had left on setting up a bar. The counter top was covered in dirty glasses and half empty bottles, she decided it was safer to go for what was behind the bar instead. She couldn’t really expect anyone to bar tend at this point.

“Without the husband, I see?“ Missy raised her eyebrows.

“We’re not joined at the hip. We are modern like that.“ River retorted retrieving a bottle of whisky.

“Allow me.“ Missy offered her one of the few clean-ish glasses she had been able to find. “We don’t have to behave like animals, Timeladies such as ourselves.“

“I could’t agree more.“ River took the glass offered to her and poured a drink for herself. “So what brings you here?“ She eyed her over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“Where else would I go to kick back and soak up the atmosphere?“ Missy smirked as she looked around the makeshift nightclub, illuminated only by strobe lighting and neon.

She neglected to mention the fact that she was dying and wanted to enjoy one last night of chaos in this body. She had grown rather fond of this lady version. The annoying thing was that she didn’t even remember who or what had killed her. It was such a blur. The last thing she remembered was the Doctor wanting her to play a stupid game and for her to save some people, prove that she could be good. And now here she was without the Doctor and dying. He was bound to be responsible. Which was a real shame as she had actually enjoyed spending time with her childhood friend again… all this effort for nothing. All she remembered was lying in the middle of a forrest, her body starting to fizz with generation energy when she had almost believed it wouldn’t happen this time around. It brought her back from the brink of death and she had halted the process, keeping it at bay by sheer force of will. She wasn’t done being Miss just yet. One more adventure…

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and looked back at River. “I mean, just look around. The confusion, the chaos, the imminent death… isn't it exhilarating? You can smell the fear and the desperation on them…“ She grinned as she took a sip. “How about you?“

“I think I just saw my husband for the last time.“ River retorted, keeping her emotions out of her voice. She was determined not to overthink it too much. She had come here to lose herself in the here and now and stop her mind going in endless circles. She took a gulp of her drink, though it didn’t do much to quench her thirst from dancing.

“Is that so? What happened? Did you actually kill him at last fighting over the remote control in domestic bliss?“ Missy raised her eyebrows in amusement. She knew the last time the Doctor had been with his wife was enjoying domestic bliss on Darillium. That had been in the Doctor’s past when she had last been with him but apparently for River, that time had only just come to an end.

“Oh, he’s quite alive as far as I know. Sorry to disappoint.“ River chuckled. “But by some accounts that was the last night we spent together… who knows, we’ll see. Either way, I needed a distraction.“

“You know, I think you and I could have a great time together.“ Missy smirked leaning in closer. What was the harm really? It wasn’t like there would be any witnesses and there was a certain appeal in seducing her arch nemesis’s wife.

“Is that so.“ River took another sip of her drink.

“Absolutely.“ Missy twirled her fingers into River’s curls.

“Two psychopaths, that would not end well.“ River was drunk but not that drunk. Jumping into bed with the Master was a bad idea and she knew it. “Better not…“ She looked around the room and noticed a petite blonde making her way down the stairs into the club. She steadied herself against the wall, clearly intoxicated, but so was everyone else in this place. River instantly liked the look of her and she was probably a far safer bet than Missy. “You have yourself a good night.“ River downed the rest of her drink and placed the glass back on the counter before turning to leave.

“Oh, I see.“ Missy raised her eyebrows following River’s gaze. Most people in this place had turned into mindless junkies with poor body hygiene over the last few days, so the blonde stood out immediately. She was a pretty one too, innocent, soft features, she probably didn’t even know what she was doing here.

“Enjoy the end of the universe, I know I will.“ River shot Missy a grin over her shoulder as she headed straight for the new arrival. “Hello, lovely, looking for something in particular? Or someone?“ She stepped into her path, demanding her attention. The blonde jumped, clearly startled, she looked up at River with big eyes, struggling for a response.

“How original.“ Missy huffed at River and pushed past her, deciding there was no reason why she should just let River have her. “Are you lost, dear? Need someone to show you around?“

“Go away now.“ River gave Missy’s shoulder a shove.

“We could always, you know, share?“ Missy winked at River who rolled her eyes.

“I saw her first.“ River shot back, squabbling with Missy until the blonde finally found her voice.

“Of course, why the fuck not.“ The Doctor started giggling to herself looking in between the two women in front of her. Of course her brain would do this to her. Why not. The woman that betrayed her and the woman she had abandoned. Her brain was so cruel. She thought the drugs were meant to make her feel good, not give shape to her emotional trauma. “I haven’t got time for this…“ She walked past River and Missy who exchanged confused looks.

“Have we met?“ River asked catching up with her.

“That’s a great pick up line.“ Missy huffed sarcastically. “What better thing could you possibly have to do at the end of the universe?“ She stepped into the Doctor’s way, obviously not recognising her.

“I just want to have a good time, not to talk to myself.“ The Doctor snapped over the sound of the music. She looked around, wondering what to do next.

“Talk to yourself?“ River frowned confused. The girl was probably not thinking straight, her pupils were dilated and she was unsteady on her feet.

“That’s what you are, right? Manifestations of my subconscious? Hallucinations? Shitty street corner drugs…“ The Doctor huffed.

“I can assure you, dear, I’m very real.“ River gave it another go but was getting the impression that this might be a lost cause.

“You can’t be real, River, both of you are dead.“ The Doctor shot back in annoyance. Why was she even arguing with her?

“What…“ River felt her stomach lurch, her hearts skipped a beat. How did this woman know her name? A chance encounter at the end of time… how was that possible? And she knew Missy, too? There was only one person, apart from the Master, who would be capable of coming here and who would know her name…

“What is this? A guilt trip?“ The Doctor laughed bitterly. “I’m trying to run away from my bullshit, not confront it.“ She shook her head and made her way behind the bar searching for a bottle of something strong. Missy and River looked at each other and followed slowly. Neither of them wanted to say it but they both thought the same thing. But how was that possible?

“Doctor…“ River said softly stepping closer. It was becoming painfully obvious. It was the only plausible explanation and the random selection of clothes should have been a giveaway. If this was the Doctor, she had to be from their future… far, far into their future. River had never seen this regeneration of her husband - well, wife? And by the look on Missy’s face, neither had she. The thought turned River’s stomach. What had happened to her? For her to turn up here, drunk, high, utterly out of her mind, clearly thinking she was hallucinating. How far into their future was she for both of them to be dead to her?

“Don’t. Don’t even.“ The Doctor laughed and shook her head to herself. “Don’t even say my name like that.“ She confirmed their suspicion as she picked up the bottle of whiskey River had just poured from.

“Doctor, get ourself together.“ Missy said sternly, she wouldn’t admit to it but she was just as unsettled as River appeared to be. What had been fun and games a minute ago, suddenly turned very serious. What was she doing here? When had he - she - regenerated again? The last time she had seen the Doctor he had been perfectly fine then. This Doctor, however, seemed utterly broken.

[painted-crow]

I haven't been on tumblr in a hot century so it feels a little weird to be writing a submission to you... but I just bingeread most of this blog and your way of explaining the shc system is so gloriously comprehensible that I really want to pour my brain out at your feet and have you explain the bits to me.

I hope life is treating you well and thank you for the awesome blog you run. The way you describe things and the way you help people sort themselves is clear and clever and so very kind of you to do, and that's what I appreciates about you. :)

(This was a chunk of a submission from someone who ended up sending in a second version that I answered in depth, but the fan mail portion from this first version was so sweet that it seems mean to just delete it. So here it is, as a #cutie post. 😊)