#i’ll never finish this but it was cathartic anyways.

[bvckandeddie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @devirnis ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

if we include both of my ao3 psuedonyms (which we are, otherwise this would be a very boring ask meme) i have 14 works!

What's your total ao3 word count?

561,661 😳

What fandoms do you write for?

i’ve most recently written for 9-1-1, but i’ve also written for Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Top five fics by kudos:

reality strikes, so bring back the night (ATLA)

That Midnight Sky (ATLA)

swords of fate, pride of heart (ATLA)

i could (never) give you peace (ATLA)

what a heart can do (9-1-1)

Do you respond to comments?

i try my best, yes!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

no angsty endings, god bless 🫶

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

oh gosh, i don’t know. they’re all happy! i suppose That Midnight Sky because i really put sokka and zuko through it in that one, lmao.

Do you get hate on fics?

uh, yeah, lmao. just once! one of the very first comments on hurt locker was someone who was very unhappy with the decisions eddie made throughout that fic. i think maybe they just didn't understand the concept of POV storytelling ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Do you write smut?

i let much more talented writers than me fill that gap in the literature!

Craziest crossover:

not really a crossover in terms of ao3 categorization, but maybe the Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU i wrote for buddie?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don’t think so, but i do know that i could (never) give you peace is on goodreads somewhere. wish it wasn’t!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! someone recently translated i could (never) give you peace into russian! super, super cool.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

YES, i co-wrote the amazing fruity beverages with megan aka @engagedzukka aka @crosspin. brainstorming that entire universe and collaborating with such an incredible writer was so fun, and it was a huge highlight of 2021. (hi megan ily 🥰❤️ can you believe we wrote that over three years ago???)

All time favourite ship?

my evergreen relationships that i could go find a fic for at literally any time are stony, arthur/eames, and spirk. buddie though…there’s something really special with them 🥹❤️

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

i started a really angsty fic last summer when i was in a bad mood (lol) where eddie and buck kind of knew about the potential of what they could be together. after the lightning strike, eddie was ready to take that next step, but then buck got together with natalia. i kind of just wanted eddie and buck to yell at each other a little bit, y'know? exploring their relationship breakdown was really cathartic for me at the time. with the direction the show is taking now, i don’t know if it’s something that i’ll finish. it seems like the fandom has swiftly moved on from that era of the show, and fair enough. we’re all on the bucktommy train now, right? choo choo! 🚂

What are your writing strengths?

i love writing dialogue!!!! i love writing dialogue so much!!!! it's so snappy and boom boom boom, y'know? all of a sudden i have 1k written and life is amazing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i really hate inner monologue. i’ll write it, because it’s integral to the story, but I’m never like, oh my god, i’m so thrilled to be writing this inner monologue stuff right now, lol. let’s get back to the meat and potatoes of the story, people! dialogue!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i do not know another language, so i tend to steer clear of it, because i know how google translate fails us all.

First fandom you wrote in?

ha. ha ha. the mortal instruments by cassandra clare. i still get occasional favourites on my clace and malec stories from fanfiction dot net. i didn't even FINISH the clace one! anyways.

Favourite fic you've written?

this is hard! i can't pick just one! TMS holds a really special place in my heart because it was the first idea for a story where i was like, wait, i think i could actually write this and finish it. and then i did! and the zukka fandom was so fucking sweet and kind about it.

i’m also really proud of what a heart can do because i was nervous about writing an original child character and i worried i wouldn’t be able to do the story justice. but the reception has been incredible! i genuinely cannot believe i wrote that fic in between doing research and writing my thesis. how did i do that?!?

one fic that i really, really love is swords of fate, pride of heart. i wrote that fic in like, a week. it was insane. the fic is so ridiculous, and it was so fucking fun to write. whenever i get a comment on it, i usually go back and reread a portion of it and i'm always a little in awe of my past self. like, yeah, i wrote that.

this was so fun to do!! tagging @captain-hen @wildlife4life @shitouttabuck @colonoscopys @eddiebabygirldiaz @traumabuddies @try-set-me-on-fire @hattalove and @kananjarus if you feel like it! my activity feed is super messed up rn thanks to that ‘first base is/second base is’ post lmao so i’m really sorry if i missed anyone or if you’ve been tagged already 😭❤️

[disco-tea]

20 questions for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

23, but I have more/older stories on other sites

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

237,183

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, mainly btvs and I have an unfinished Arcane fic dying in my drafts

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hiraeth (TF)

where the shadow ends (BTVS)

Brother Let Me Be Your Shelter (TUA)

the broken gates of kingdom come (BTVS)

skin like the sky at dusk (LOKI)

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

I used to respond to nearly every single comment but rip I have been letting it slip lately 😭

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

Probably I’ll Be Home For Christmas (If Only In My Dreams). It’s a Christmas story about Five Hargreeves stuck in the apocalypse

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly probably The Art of Dying believe it or not 😂

8. Do you get hate on any fics?

I know for a fact I have gotten hate on fics but I straight up don’t remember it because I delete hate and then forget about it/block it out lmao

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

Nope. The closest I’ve gotten was a non explicit “pan to the fireplace” sort of scene

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

Nope

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Though I have written stories and then seen somebody else post a fic in the same fandom that was eerily similar to a scene I wrote.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I wrote this Jason Todd fic when I was a teenager called Just Another Robin and it’s been translated twice!

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

I have not. I’ve thought about it, but I’m probably too much of a weirdo to successfully collaborate with

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

It changes depending on what I’m fixating on tbh 😭

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

There’s like….nobody on this site who knows what I’m talking about but um. I got this fic called Hiraeth a lot of people really like. And I really do want to finish but it’s been so long and I’ve lost the muse/motivation for it. I’m really holding out that one of these days I’ll get a supernatural rush of inspiration and crank out like one final chapter for it

16. What are your writing strengths?

People say I do a good job at writing emotions

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Honestly probably that I’m too attached to my style and too sensitive about certain critiques. Which is why I’ll probably never want to write professionally because for me it’s more of an artistic expression

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

I think it’s good as long as it’s limited and you make sure it’s accurate and the reader knows what is going on anyway. My approach was that it should always be explained clearly later on or be an inconsequential fun little Easter egg for the reader to look up later

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh my gosh. My first fic was Supernatural 🫣

20. Favorite fic you've written?

where the shadow ends I think is my magnum opus at this point in my life. It’s novel length. It’s very emotional and important to me and really had a lot of real life feelings poured into it. It was so strangely woven into my life at the time I wrote it. It’s cathartic. It’s real. It’s a piece of my soul put on paper tbh. And that banner…oh my gosh. It was perfect and I’ll cherish it probably for the rest of my life

A runner up would be this multimedia fic I wrote during the pandemic and it was a fic told through a combo of text messages, pictures, videos, and chapter writing. I’m still v proud of it even though it’s very hard to share anywhere because of the format

[whatyadrawin]

Michael Myers x Fem! Reader (Headcanon) 18+ only -First Fanfic Ever!-

Masterlist

Approximately 1, 775 words

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mental health struggles, violence, strong language, strong sexual themes

A/n: I actually completed this chapter a while ago but something struck me as I did a bit of research on peoples general opinions on certain dark themes being in fanfics. I will talk a bit further about this below the cut so as not to potentially trigger someone who did not consent to reading it but it needs to be talked about. Now having said that I also want to mention that I have been struggling this past week with personal issues and now I have fucking COVID (I am doing ok so far) my anxiety has been through the roof especially because I have asthma. I got COVID despite wearing a mask everywhere and meticulously washing my hands and disinfecting... but this is besides the point. I have chapter 7 locked and loaded but I need to finish the art for it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you so much to all my followers, you are all keeping me going creatively.

A/N continued: The theme that was supposed to make up this chapter was an almost rape scene, Y/N was going to be potentially raped by an intruder and Michael was to come in to save the day. There is a lot of online rhetoric about how common it is to put female characters through rape and especially so in darker more mature fics and I have to agree. I don't have a lot against rape being in stories as long as it makes sense with the context and as long as it brings awareness to readers about the real trauma it creates. As a survivor myself it can be cathartic to be able to write about stuff like that but then I think about other survivors and the fact that they may not feel the same way as I do about it, I want to protect survivors. This means that nowhere in my fic will there be rape, and nowhere in any potential future fics will I depict rape. I have a Jason fic formulating between me and my partner and there may be mention of behaviors that exhibit abuse but I refuse to actually write out a rape scene. These fics are meant to be interesting, sexy, and fun, I want them to be an escape for you all. Anyway thank you for reading and please enjoy chapter 6.

Chapter 6

You come to your senses and feel very cold, your body is covered in a throw blanket from your couch, you realize the room is extremely dark from it being past sunset ok I know that was real, there is no way I hallucinated that NO WAY! You don’t know what to do, you are panicking and too scared to leave the room but you don’t remember walking into the room with a blanket, you hold it close to your exposed body and you look around the room, no one was there, the door was open and you saw a light on in your room across the hall. You find the nerve to get up and you sprint to your room and close the door, you take a second to breathe and calm down a bit what do I do? I need to call the cops, they need to get him he must still be in here You head over to where your cell charges but its not there, you look around the room and can’t find it, suddenly the lights go out in the house, you look out to the street and see the street lights are also out Seriously!? A power outage? Suddenly you hear your room door open and you let out an involuntary scream and see that same white mask in the doorway, it’s Michael, he is so huge he has to bend down a bit to get through the doorway, and he slowly makes his way towards you. You crumple to the floor and hide in the blanket crying.

“Please don’t hurt me, I never did anything to you, please I don’t want to die I’ll do anything!” You are curled into a tiny ball on the floor and you can hear heavy footsteps slowly coming towards you.

 You feel a massive hand grab at your back to tear off the blanket sending you on your back from the force of it and you are once again exposed and now extremely vulnerable to this immeasurably large giant of a man. He looks down at you as you back away still on the ground, your back hits the wall of the room and Michael kneels down overtop of you just like in that dream, his face very close to yours as if he was trying to get a better look, studying every detail meticulously.

“Please Michael, I won’t call the police, please just don’t kill me, please!” You plead to him.

He lifts you to your feet and he reaches up towards your neck, he is so monstrous that his entire hand wraps around fully and his fingers can overlap, but he doesn’t squeeze, he just holds it there and tilts his head to the side and you feel an intense heat fill up your lower half and your clit begins to swell. You stay there silent, he backs away as you hear a siren sounding off in the distance, Michael looks down and focuses on your thighs and you can feel a stream of vaginal juices flowing down, a sense of embarrassment flushes into your cheeks from how aroused you have become. You watch as he tilts his head and slowly leaves the room and disappears into the shadows.

You immediately reach for the sweater and thong from earlier today and put them on, you shut the door and barricade it with a chair. Now you feel trapped in the house but this time you don’t feel scared. He didn’t hurt me, he could have crushed my throat, he could have killed me at any second but he didn’t… why? You can feel a heartbeat in your genitals and you are becoming insatiably aroused, so much so that it almost hurts. I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this about him, oh god I think I want him…You go onto your bed and hide under the covers and exhaustion pushes you into a slumber…

````````

You dreamt you were back in Michaels room in the asylum but it looked different this time, you were sitting on the bed and there were large windows letting bright sunshine in, the windows overlooked Chicago and had the same view as the last apartment you were in before you moved to Haddonfield. You are wearing nothing but the long white silk sheet that was on the asylum bed, you get off the bed and go up to the window to look outside of it, when you look down you see your street in Haddonfield in your new home. Suddenly there is a presence behind you but you feel no fear, only comfort. Large hands rest on your shoulders and make their way down to your breasts, you lean back and expose your chest so the hands could gently caress your nipples. You turn around and see its Michael, he’s wearing the same faded overalls and that creepy Halloween mask, he picks you up and tries to carry you through the open door in the room but it leads to nothing, just a black empty void and you say to him:

“Please, can’t you just stay here with me? Stay here with me and we can live in peace, I will show you peace.”

Michael puts you down but is still holding you, and you start to cry “Please, don’t go through that door, I won’t follow you, stay here in the light with me and keep me safe!”

Suddenly Michaels arms turn to a black mist and he is being pulled through the dark doorway, he tries to hold on to you but he is being pulled away, you call out to him:

“NO! Give him back! He needs peace, give him back!” 

Michael desperately tries to stay in the room but his body becomes a black mist and gets forcefully pulled into the void leaving behind his white mask. The room around you starts to go dark and you turn around to notice the windows are gone and the room looks the same way it did when that loose patient covered in blood was trying to get in, and now you can hear him in the hallway screaming. You are scared and alone now and you start crying and yelling out for Michael but he never comes, you grab the mask that was left behind and hold it in your hands sobbing. The mask turns into a large kitchen knife and you stop crying, you are suddenly wearing the same overalls as Michael and you stand up and feel empowered and angry, I won’t let him hurt me, I want to LIVE! 

`````````

You wake up to a glaring ray of sunshine and it takes you a second to remember what happened last night. You see the chair still barricading the bedroom door and you get out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash up, still vigilant about potentially encountering Michael again, the thought was strangely exciting to you. You get changed into some athletic clothes and hype yourself up to open the door. The chair is firmly under the handle but you remove it with some force, you turn the knob and slowly peer outside, you see nothing. You walk out into the hall “M-Michael?” You hear nothing, cautiously you make your way down the stairs and towards the door where your purse was, you keep listening for any hint of movement but the silence is deafening. All of a sudden *BRRT BRRT BRRT* you hear your cell phone vibrating in your purse and you run to grab it, it was Deanna calling. You race out the door and run out past the gate leaving everything slightly ajar behind you. You pick up the call:

 “Deanna?” 

“H-Hey Hun …are you ok? I was calling to check up and see how you were doing today”

Deanna’s voice makes you feel immediately safe

“I-Sorry I just feel a bit off today, it’s been a weird night”

“Oh, did you want me to come over? Maybe some company will do you good, I can help you clean the basement like you have been wanting to do for a while now.”

I can’t have her over with Michael potentially being in the house, should I tell her? She might think I lost it

“Sorry, I don’t think I will be in a good headspace for any visitors today. I just need some time to myself if that’s ok.”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine *Y/N*, I just want to make sure you are ok since you don’t have anyone in town. You just let me know when you feel like having some company and feel free to call me anytime alright?”

“I will let you know, thanks for checking in on me.”

Deanna says her goodbye and you both hang up. Now you are 3 blocks away from the house and you realize you left everything unlocked and open I wonder if he is still in the house? Surely, he left? you start to run back and reach the gate, giving it a proper lock behind you and head up towards the door and close it behind you. You turn around and call out:

“Michael? Michael if you are there, please, make a noise so I know.” Dead silence.

You figure he ran off after hearing the sirens and you begin to go around the house and lock every window and door you can find; you begin to feel a bit more at ease and start thinking of Michael and why he behaved the way he did. Isn’t he a lethal killer? Oh god he saw the fluid from between my legs! You blush and turn on the T.V. to get your mind off it and the news was on again, this time showing a car chase that was heading towards Haddonfield, you watch closely as the car being chased gets into town and flips into a ditch, the driver gets out and starts running to the bushes and disappears. The newscaster speaks:

“The local authorities have notified us that the individual in the car has escaped into a deep sewer system that stretches across Haddonfield, they have all exits noted and will be ready to catch them. More on this after the break.” 

A commercial about health insurance comes up and you shut off the T.V. Good thing I locked all my entryways, if that guy is in town… well… You rub your neck and think about Michaels enormous hand wrapped around it and that familiar heat comes back into your body, it feels impossible to think of anything else but him.

[a-very-zilly-gooze]

i love depression because, at least in my experience, you miss the little things you used to find joy in more than the big thing you’re mourning- whether it be a loss of a loved one, loss of a relationship, or loss of yourself through trauma and pain.

like yeah, i miss being carefree and loved and held etc etc etc.

but what i miss more is my creativity and ingenuity, my joy.

i haven’t been able to write anything more than the choppiest of poems and the most boring of narratives.

the last book i read was in february. i can’t even finish the newest percy jackson books, which are not difficult, they’re children’s books. the words swim and float and jumble. nothing gets through. it’s so frustrating.

i can’t plan or study or anything. my executive dysfunction is so bad, i can’t bring myself to stand up and get water, much less train for scholars bowl or try to understand my economics work.

i haven’t been able to crochet even the simplest of beanies, not even for my mom’s christmas present.

i can’t talk to any of my friends because i don’t know what to say. i’m scared that i’ll make them not love me anymore.

i can’t find opportunities for good photos because i don’t see the color in the world anymore.

i miss the comfort of my cat. i miss his warm presence. just knowing he was there.

but you know what i miss the most that i never expected? crying.

i couldn’t stop crying when my depression deepened back in may. everything reminded me of what i lost. seeing those who hurt me every single day was excruciating. every day i would sit in my car and just let it all out. over the summer, the most cathartic thing i found i could do was just sob and sing to the radio on my way to and from work.

i think the last time i cried was in august. maybe september. now i am just apathetic. nothing seems worth it, you know? so why get worked up about it. i crave catharsis but can’t make the tears come, no matter how hard i try.

december 2023 marks my thirteenth month of my depressive episode and my eighth month of my major depressive episode. i feel like i’ve tried everything at this point. the meds can only help so much. the pain won’t go away.

all i want to do is just write a fucking song for my band. but thanks to depression, that’s not happening. i just want to create, to release my emotions and pent-up resentment. i just want to truly and deeply feel.

but anyways, lemme tell you a funny joke to distract you from me. that has always worked before, so i’ll be damned if it doesn’t work again!

[katherineholmes]

AO3 Wrapped

Oh my God, the year has come to an end. In many ways, 2022 was the worst year of my life, but in some small ways, it was also a year of learning. I think I learnt a lot things year, about life, about love, about myself, and of course about writing.

Which means I have to do an AO3 wrapped, so here we go!

How many words have you written this year?

287,532 (this is not counting all the drafts that I have scrapped and haven’t published yet.)

How many works did you publish this year?

29

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Oof, I’m gonna give you guys TMI, my nana passed away this August, on a Sunday evening. So two weeks after that, on a Sunday, thick in the throes of my grief, I sat down and wrote The Monster In Her Mind. Seven hours and almost ten thousand words, it’s the most cathartic experience I’ve ever had. (Sorry Elena baby ❤️)

What work of yours has the most hits?

Irresistible

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Fireplace Ashes

Favorite title you used?

Painted Red and Purple

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Probably Taylor Swift.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Klena of course

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Klaus/Elena/Elijah OT3. It’s a challenge, but I love navigating around the three of them- all of them so different, yet they have such strong personalities and bonds with each other. All three relationships are so different individually, but there’s so much potential there.

What work was the quickest to write? Probably The Monster In Her Head. 10k words in ~7 hours is pretty quick. Editing in 2 hours, I posted it the same night, I think.

What work took you the longest to write?

Make It Holy - still developing/writing it.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

14

What’s your longest work of the year?

Irresistible

What’s your shortest work of the year?

Heart and Soul at 395 words.

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

All fourteen of them, I’m gonna have a lot of free time after exam, so I’m gonna try and finish as many of them as I can.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Canon Divergence

Your favorite character to write this year?

Kol Mikaelson - he is so chaotic, he can literally do anything and not be considered OOC (except for stuff I won’t write anyway) and I it’s just so much fun writing him!

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Klaus (but I’m getting better at writing him) - he has so many motivations at the same time! Plus, he’s incredibly unaware of the true cause of his own actions sometimes, so it can be a bit difficult to get into his thought process.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?-

Lucemond (Lucerys/Aemond). Hopefully I’ll have time next year to do so! There’s so much to unpack there!

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Irresistible. I have a terrible habit of either re-reading my own work, or never looking at it again because of embarrassment 🙈

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

8002, I - have no idea how.

Which work has the most comments?

The Monsters In Her Heart - this is also a fic I’m extremely proud of writing.

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Yes! Let’s Start Some Rumours and A Little Wicked with @amandamonroe

And Would It Be A Sin with @sevensistersofsussex (it’s yet to be published.)

Did you write any gifts this year?

Yes, I wrote five gift fics this year for @feralcherry @sevensistersofsussex and @amandamonroe

Did you receive any gifts this year?

Yes! I got some amazing fics from @amandamonroe and @sevensistersofsussex.

What’s your most common category?

I think f/m.

What do you listen to while writing?

The first thing I do while writing/developing a story is make a playlist!

Favorite work you wrote this year?

What’s Love (Got To Do With It).

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Oh God, okay, this is very difficult! There’s literally so many! But I’m gonna pick this one from I See You (From The Shadows).

(She’s learnt a long time ago that pursed lips, and downturned eyes garner far more sympathy than a sharp tongue.) It’s in the faces of all the men who love her and hate Katherine - believing Elena to be toothless, to think that because her teeth aren’t fangs, she won’t sink them in their throats and possess them. It’s the first mistake they make, she thinks, trusting her soft demeanour as they ignore the knifes she’s sharpened her nails into. They’re all so wrapped up in the beauty, they don’t realise how dangerous high school girls really are.

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That I’m somewhat good at it 🥴 I had a writers block till 2021, of almost six years, and I was convinced that I was a terrible writer and that I’d never be able to write again. I’ve honestly put in a lot of effort to improve my writing and trust my gut and I hope I can continue evolving. I’ve had big, big help from @sevensistersofsussex @qvnthesia @amandamonroe @feralcherry @jennifersminds (honestly the biggest reason my writing is more poetic now is cause I read her works!) @kaizsche.

[russilton]

the max getting shitfaced and seeing george in lewis' flat au got me all 👀👀👀 what was the general idea behind it??? and assuming max gets absolutely dunked on, what did george say to shoo him away? - @ruszhou

Alrighty so the general idea actually starts one step backward, with an exhibitionism fic.

Sue me, when I say George would let Lewis fuck him in front of people, I mean it. And what’s a better way to address your friends newly growing gay realisation than to have him watch you get lovingly railed by your hung boyfriend.

This is also partially @thatsmemate’s idea because I, like all simp boyfriends, will expand on ideas she finds exciting for her attention. Anyway the exhibitionism fic never got finished, or started really, I have a sorta detailed middle smut sector, then I hit a bump where I couldn’t figure out how to continue, and ended up getting side tracked writing a prequel/set up about max getting plastered and showing up at lewis’ door to say sorry.

That… idk maybe some day? I’ll finish? It sorta follows max in the 21 season slowly realising that redbull sucks. And that he also sucks, and that he can’t keep deflecting blame onto Lewis and Merc and others, if he is the root of all his issues. Sort of taking in all the friends he “had” at redbull that got thrown under the car for him to get ahead. Pierre, Alex, daniil, perez. He can kind of rationalise it as the team tell him they just weren’t good enough, they’re just bitter. But he keeps feeling sicker with each race result. The stuff he says doesn’t feel right anymore. He can’t stand the voices around him that try to pad his ego. Then AD happens and he’s feeling weird and wrong when he runs into George who he’s hoping will punch him. Physical pain he can fight and all. But Lewis calls him not worth it and that’s what fucks him up bc it’s so much worse to get told he isn’t worth it. Plus George’s hatred he can’t justify as well (though if max knew he and Lewis were fucking he probably would have been able to).

Then in the weeks following AD he drinks a lot and isolates himself before getting really fucked up and going to see Lewis himself bc that’s the benefit of Monaco, where he is greeted with George, and then promptly passes out on their couch.

The next morning comes with talks and accepting blame and an agreement to do better

———

And there’s not much more to it than that! It started out as a sort of cathartic way to approach making a bigot deal with their actions.

I am white, I’ve never been in Lewis’ specific position and I don’t pretend to, but as a trans person there are some similar things I’ve experienced and god do I want some of those fuckers to realise their lives suck and that making mine worse won’t help them.

At the time I could sort of write it bc I could still split fic max from IRL max. But then the season continued AND all the piquet shit happened… it just ended up feeling wrong to write. And that’s happened with more drivers tbh, max is for sure the WORST, but, perez , alonso and sainz I also avoid mentioning. Norris and albon are on that edge. I just ended up wanting to focus on other drivers who don’t make me feel conflicted.

Exhibitionism isn’t off the table tho, that’s what I have a George/Lewis + Valtteri fic for hahaha.

Fuck it here’s another bit of that fic bc I think George is funny even if I might not return to it

———

Alone. Even when he’s dragged back inside he feels alone. The back slaps from partying engineers start to hurt. He can’t hide anymore, Lewis ripped him open with just 3 words. Not worth it. They echo in his mind, never leaving, he can’t bare to look at his trophy. Not worth it. He spends time online, tucked away in his apartment in clothes long since needed washing, reading what Lewis’ fans say about him. ‘Not worth it. He watches his own fans try to attack Lewis for being vocal, then for staying silent. He sees all the dehumanising things they said at his defence. Not worth it. He watches his own interviews, feels sick listening to himself talk. He is sick when his dad visits and berates him for not properly enjoying a win he deserved. It’s no wonder that between resting his head on a freezing toilet rim berating himself, a very expensive bottle of Whisky and a few unanswered calls, he finds himself on Lewis’ doorstep. They didn’t live far apart after all, most drivers in Monaco didn’t. He doesn’t even remember how he got there, but he knows he must look like shit when Lewis opens the door to his flat and his eyes widen

“Max, what are you-, holy shit man are you okay?” Even after everything Lewis is concerned, and that’s all it takes for the walls to finally crumble. If he wasn’t so drunk he’d have been embarrassed by how quickly the tears poured, heaving sobs as the shame crashes over him. Lewis is so much more than he’ll ever be and Max has built an empire on rotting foundations. He doesn’t know what to do, how he’s supposed to fix all this, and now here he is on his rivals doorstep sobbing like a bitch.

Lewis has every right to slam the door in his face. Max would. But Lewis isn’t Max, instead he steps forward immediately, hands hovering as he tries to figure out what the hell is happening, making max weep harder, finally choking out strangled sorries between sobs. As soon as Lewis hears that, he’s tugging max into his flat, shutting the door and wrapping a strong arm around his back and guiding him over to soft and cosy couches, making him sit. Max is lost in his own tears for a while, only sort of registering Lewis setting a glass of water in front of him, and slipping Max’s phone out of his hand to rest on the table. Max is far too drunk at this point, the exhaustion of lacking sleep and food combining with the alcohol into a mix that makes him black out. It’s getting fuzzy, but max is pretty sure that there are more than one set of hands guiding him to lie down, pulling off his shoes and tugging a big blanket over him. There are fingers in his hair, trying to calm him down, and they work too well, max slips into a restless sleep as soon as his breathing stops coming in hitching shudders.

When he wakes, it’s bright out, and his head is pounding worse than after he hit the barriers at jeddah. His mouth is dry, and his limbs ache. His face is sticky and neck stiff from the awkward angle and polo collar he’s apparently slept in. When he can blink one eye open past the blinding light that makes his head scream, he realises he has no fucking idea where he is. He shuts his eyes again and wills the couch below him to swallow him whole, so he doesn’t have to get up and face whatever mess he’d created. He may not remember anything, but he knows a crying hangover when he feels it.

“Ah, the visitor awakens”

A sudden voice speaks next to him, and Max practically bolts up, completely unaware anyone was with him. This turns out to be a mistake as his gut rolls violently, and he hides his face in his knees to try and avoid vomiting.

“Oh Jesus, careful idiot, you’ll throw up,” the unknown voice says, getting closer and then there’s a hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulders

“Lew, hon grab a trash can, I think the couch is in danger” Lewis. He’d shown up to Lewis’ flat last night, that he now remembers. But the voice next to him isn’t Lewis, that’s clear, some part of max knows he’s heard it before. It only takes a couple seconds and then there’s shuffling next to him, and the couch dips on his other side. The movement sends a new ripple of nausea through him, and when he squints an eye open, he’s glad there’s now a small office trash can between his legs.

“Hey Max, good to see you awake” Lewis voice is calm and welcoming, which is a shock considering anyone who was awoken by a sobbing drunk in the early hours of the morning had a fair reason to be annoyed. It takes max a second to reply, waiting till he’s mostly sure he isn’t going to hurl as soon as he opens his mouth.

“I… I feel like I have been hit by a truck”

“You certainly look like it” that’s the unknown voice again, and Max finally manages to open his eyes enough past the dull throbbing at his temples to see who it is. To his complete surprise, none other than George Russell perched on his other side. George looks rumpled, usually well sculpted hair flopping softly over his forehead. His face looks softer, at least softer than max had seen it in a long time, and he’s wearing a big yellow sweater with a 100 across the chest that max is near certain is Lewis’. George must notice the dawning confusion in Max’s eyes, because he sighs and hauls himself up, before turning back to max and Lewis

“I’m making coffee, this is not a conversation I can have uncaffinated”

[missfinefeather]

I’m actually having troubles focusing right now so I think I’ll end it here.

We made... 18 minutes of progress? 0.0;

Gog, and there’s only 18 minutes left of the game! We might actually finish this in the next one or two sessions! 0.0;

To be clear, 18 minutes based on this full playthrough I found on Youtube.

Anyways, I quite enjoyed this session! Min and Noelle bonding if actually quite cathartic after the bad parenting hell we got last session. They almost got a kismesis thing going xD

And Noelle got Min the perfect date location. Never expected her to be a wingwoman in this!

Also, fake toilet water.

Thank you all for joining me! I love you! ,<333

(Click here for Day 15!)

[foli-vora]

So ngl I finished reading You're Somebody Else and this day has been tough due to regular depression, period depression, anxiety, a bunch of medical issues and just waking up on the wrong side of the bed and I wanted to thank you for the cathartic cry - I've needed a bunch of them all day. BUT - I also wrote this??? I've never written fanfic before so you inspired me? There's ALSO MORE but I'm exhausted and just need to go to bed. Anyway, thank you for this. I have a whole ass story in my head now that continues on but here's fanfic of your own fanfic. Love you!

--------

Marcus keeps tabs on you after your release. A massively reduced sentence, only a year, for your “cooperation”. He grimaces. Guilt knaws at his stomach. A not too uncommon occurance nowadays. He tells his partner that the information about where you are is to make sure you stay out of trouble, but he’s sure that Bernie can see right through his pathetic excuse. A pitied look, a soft half smile. 

You had said you never wanted to see him again. It didn’t mean he couldn’t see you. 

—————

A couple months after your release, he had attempted to go to the coffee shop you liked, mainly in a poorly conceived attempt to see you “accidentally on purpose”. He’s immediately accosted from behind the counterby the owner, Shelly - a girlfriend of one of the guys you helped put away. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Marcus sighs. 

“I promise I’ll leave in a minute. I just wanted to know wh-“ 

Shelly scoffs. 

“You got a lotta nerve, you know that? Like she’d even wanna see you in the first place. Didn’t she tell you that she never wanted to see you again? Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know? As someone who dated a criminal, I’ve seen some pretty shitty things, even if I didn’t know the specifics. But what you did? That’s probably the shittiest thing I’ve ever seen. So congrats, you’ve just reconfirmed by ACAB beliefs! The door is back behind you, hopefully it smashes your ass hard on the way out."

She turns and starts to enter the door behind the counter. 

“Please, Shelly. I’ll leave as soon-“

She whirls. 

“She’s. Not. Here. She hasn’t been by for over a year, since she was - you know - in prison. She doesn’t even live in D.C. anymore! Thanks for stripping away the one fucking support each of us had, you piece of shit. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Marcus nods once and leaves. He hears a sob behind him. 

———————

He finds you in a small city in Virginia 20 minutes outside of D.C. by the metro. Marcus was privy to the information provided by your parole officer to the federal government. Since Marcus was assigned your case, he had access. 

Marcus doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. You made your feelings clear…but, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to make sure you were alright. He sees the betrayal on your face when his eyes met yours in that interrogation room when his eyes close shut. Your sobs as he left the visiting room permeate his thoughts at night. Your laughter haunts his dreams, your soft mewls you made when making love sing to his soul. He still loves you. 

—————

Marcus drives past your new shithole apartment. He remembers your old one in D.C. - a home. Your own original pieces lining the walls, books on art and life and love spread across multiple brimming bookshelves, the smell of garlic and onions wafting through the air - courtesy of your stove. This new apartment is sad, lonely, a life belonging to a felon. Marcus has to tear his eyes away. 

He reaches his destination about 15 minutes later and Marcus already sees your little crappy car parked in the lot. 

The park is nice this time of year. Everything is green and vibrant and full of life. He sees the flash of white as he steps out his car - an easel. 

And you. 

His heart pounds harder. You look as beautiful as the night he met you, sitting in that lawn chair. He smiles, sadly. 

You don’t see him yet. You’re staring at the easel. Marcus can see the way your eyes narrow at the ducks walking towards the little pond you’re facing. You’re holding a pencil - a preliminary sketch before the obligatory painting to come. 

After you seem satisfied with the ducks, your head turns slightly towards the easel. Marcus sees you lift your pencil. His breath catches - he always loved this part, whether it was an original painting or a fake, the start of a painting by you was magical.

But -

Your pencil stays glued to that one spot. It doesn’t move. For five minutes, for ten. It stays put. 

Marcus looks at your face again and he finally sees it. The wobble of your bottom lip, the realization that painting was pain, not pleasure. He’s not close enough but he senses the tears in your eyes. Your hand begins to shake. You drop your pencil.

—————

He’s going to come over to you. He’s walking and planning and thinking - “I love you - I’ll always love you - I’m sorry - Forgive me - You mean everything to me”. 

Your hands cover your face. Your frame is wracked with sobs. He’s almost there, he’ll make it better, just hold on - 

Then, he sees him. 

The man beats him to it. Marcus stops short. 

The other man tentatively puts a hand on your shoulder. You startle slightly and shakily wipe away your still falling tears. The man asks if you’re alright. You breathe out a small bitter laugh. 

“I can’t paint anymore.” Your voice cracks. 

Fuck. 

I’m sorry, what??

This is wonderful, anon. Like holy fucking hell. I’m so fucking flattered!

You took time out of your day to write this and share it with me, with us, and god damn it I’m crying. Sobbing.

The pain you made me feel at the end there—fucking ouch. Her whole life is art so to not be able to paint would ruin her, god she must be so heartbroken still! This is so fucking brilliant and I keep reading it and just loving it each and every time and I don’t think I can properly articulate what this means to me, nonnie.

I’m drowning you in love, forever and ever. I appreciate this, and you, so fucking much.

[billylosemynumber]

I’ve been watching ST season 4 but I’ve reread your Yourself or Someone Like You series so many times I honestly don’t even know what the canon characters are supposed to be like any more 😂 I also have this crazy hate for Nancy Wheeler which I don’t know if it’s deserved or not. Anyways, all this to say I can’t wait to read your updates!

Heyyyy!! ❤️ Haha, I just finished watching the final two episodes! Oh my gosh, I know, I think it’s because of the long breaks in between seasons — I get so sucked into my stupid little headcanons and set myself up for disappointment! Like, with all the Mike/Will stuff, for a few moments I was honestly like ‘Please, MIKE?!? haha um Will has a crush on Billy tho?? 🤔’

HAHAHAHA come join me in my little circle of Nancy haters! 😈😈 They just wrote her as being so completely horrible to Steve in s2; I’ll never get over it. I also can’t stand that it seems like the writers are trying to spin their breakup as a mutual thing because it soooo wasn’t, and the Stancy moments this season were so unfair to the character of Jonathan. Stranger Things has seriously got me feeling bad for Jonathan Byers and I will NEVER FORGIVE THEM FOR THAT!!!!!

And thank you!!! 🥺 It feels kind of silly to still be working on a fic that’s now so far from canon, but I honestly really haven’t much enjoyed the last two seasons so it’s been kind of cathartic to write these characters that I love so much actually …. enjoying themselves lol.

[professor-tammi]

I did it I finished AG :D! maybe now I can have my free time back.....

(general thoughts under cut)

- you should play AG if:

you love dimilix. this is truly just the dimilix route

you want to see what the postgame lions dynamics might look like because AG is basically that

you thought Yuri should’ve interacted more with the Lions (perhaps, in particular, Ashe)

you want Dimitri and Claude to team up

you want more lore details on Faerghus and, in particular, The Dads (other than Gustave)

- you shouldn’t play AG if:

you would really hate to see Edelgard get Kaga’d. unfortunately. that’s a thing.

you want actual answers to the mysteries in 3H, like Patricia

you want a proper, conclusive ending. if you really really care about this then honestly do not play Three Hopes at all. I’m starting to think Koei just can’t write endings

- anyhow I said earlier that Edelgard getting her memory back in Slitherverse was random, but... there’s a quick throwaway line during the battle vs Arvalmenides where he mentions that they’re in a sort of prison for souls or something, and Claude goes “oh is that why Edelgard’s memory is suddenly back”, so I guess they... kind of address it? kind of.

- on Patricia, AG explicitly tells you that she helped incite the Tragedy so she could see Edelgard again, but... that’s about it? we learn nothing concrete about Shez’s mysterious possibly-Patricia mother, either! maybe they’re just leaving it for DLC, but either way I’m... disappointed

- so, the ending cutscene... I’ve seen a lot of anger about how Dimitri just leaves Edelgard there, but uh, I’m not particularly mad about that part? seeing that she’s effectively lost her soul bc of Slither magic, what... is he supposed to do? babysit her? it obviously hurts all the more knowing that his stepsister, who instigated a war that killed thousands, has now been reduced to some mentally-12-year-old Slither puppet; and this is not a Dimitri who’s learned forgiveness, either -- who’s learned to reach out his hand to her, like AM!Dimitri. considering where the characters are at in this ending, I think it makes sense that he just... leaves

funnily enough I think if he had princess carried her outside or something Edelstans would be in even more of an uproar. so no thanks!! the ending cutscene is Fine. we can assume she is either dealt with or helped somehow, it is simply ambiguous how (much like how the other Hopes endings are all also entirely ambiguous up-to-you-what-happened-next deals...)

- also Claude’s extremely unsubtle glare at Rhea is really funny

- Hopes!Dimitri initially came across as late timeskip!Dimitri to me -- he’s quite open about his hatred for the Slithers and his desire for revenge, but he’s never driven utterly mad by it. at first, I thought he was just Houses!Dimitri but magically by the threat of Felix and by the aliveness of Dedue more mentally healthy, buuut I think there’s more to it than this. Hopes has a lot of hints that Dimitri never gets over his suicidal tendencies and self-loathing; he never learns to live for “what he believes in”, as Houses put it. and he, further, never gets to reconcile in any way with Edelgard, whereas Houses!Dimitri at least gets to try, and I think the takeaway from that is that he’s learned to forgive people, which frankly is Very Powerful for his mental health (and yours! and mine! I still haven’t learned this cool life trick though. I’ll get there.)

... so Hopes!Dimitri is just, outwardly more put together, but still a mess on the inside, is what I’m saying here

- anyway I miss Dimitri completely losing it though. I miss it a lot. the Flame Emperor reveal on AM is just so iconic

- overall thoughts on AG: I love the Dimilix content I am HERE for this. AG is a dmlx feast. the actual plot of AG isn’t great imo, and a far cry from the emotional rollercoaster that was AM (AM was so much more cathartic!), but all the little character moments are fantastic and more than make up for it and honestly that’s all I’m really here for at the end of the day, so. thanks for dimilix simulator 2022 koei. I loved it

- I completely forgot to mention this earlier but it seems like a bunch of the unique dialogue in the game -- dinner dialogue, chore dialogue, the dual Musou activation dialogue, and some other random battle dialogue -- changes based on support rank, but only for certain pairs. and I’m not sure there’s a particular pattern to which ones? either way, I noticed Dimitri and Felix have this, as do Yuri and Ashe. judging by what’s in the voice lines section, Dimidue also have changed dialogue... I’ll probably make a list of this stuff at some point because I really enjoy these sorts of little details

(in og houses half of the dimilix content in the game was hidden in little reactive dialogues like these... they were a joy to slowly discover those were truly the days)

- I also kind of want to compile all the Dimilix-related dialogue but um. that’s going to be quite the undertaking

- either way, I will do the AG side-route (killing Byleth) for some more Dimilix content, and then I’ll move on to SB since I am very excited for Monica. I probably need a bit of a break first, though :D/

[haegmilkofficial]

Oct 16th, 2022 In other news: I know none of you are wondering how the album is coming along, but I���ll tell you anyway. I got stuck after writing a blues song that didn’t completely match the project, but the song was also really raw and only keeps becoming more and more relevant as the horrors of this years world events progress, so it’s emotionally difficult to finish.  My day job that pays the bills is eating up most of my creative energy. So while I have the track list for the album mostly planned out, starting and finishing said tracks is a struggle. There’s only a small weekly window of silence at my apartment that is conducive to recording, but it takes me several hours to really get in the zone. I know the solution would be to rent a recording studio, but I really don’t know if I should. I can’t justify spending the money on space since my music is a hobby, and I deliberately make it sound unmarketable so I know whatever money I spend on recording I am never going to make back. 

Of course, this project is a spiritual pursuit, a magical experiment, and a cathartic exercise, so the should-I-or-shouldn’t-I of the recording studio rental is less about money and more about finding the balance between my daily mundane responsibilities and the magical life of my artist-self. 

I know by virtue of having a stage persona I’ve committed to leading a double life. A life that was already split in half as a practicing witch who works a corporate job. But Spectress doesn’t pay the bills, [redacted] does. Spectress doesn’t have to eat, she’s just an egrigorical mantle. So understandably the human behind the mask isn’t thrilled at the idea of the fictional persona needing to spend her money. When we took on this project we thought we could record it all in our home on a laptop the way the bedroom pop girlies did in the 2010s. 

Anyway, I am sure me and myself will come to an agreeable compromise. Until then, please enjoy the handful of tracks we have on SoundCloud and Bandcamp. And have a happy Halloween/Samhain season! <3   

[jmflowers]

3, 4, 12, 19 puhleaaaase 🤍

3. Favourite trope to write:

            I’ve sat with this question all day and have been unable to come up with an answer because I don’t think I typically write tropes? Not the ones we usually see, anyways. There’s an enemies-to-lovers component in Epithet, but that’s about it.

            I do, however, absolutely adore taking an idea that seems like it’ll be one way and then completely turning it on its head. For instance, in To Let (Charity/Vanessa) I set out to write a silly piece about that time Charity dropped a deuce on the floor of the house they were currently living in, but it turned into this really romantic thing about how deeply Vanessa loved Charity. I think Vorfreude (Maya/Carina) worked out similarly – a story about socks with clitoris diagrams on them transformed into a testament to how much they were learning together and because of each other (and how arousing it can be to let your guard down and be vulnerable in that way with another person).

            If you have any idea what tropes I write… hit me with the information. I’ve been genuinely stumped.

4. Favourite part of writing:

            Writing is a very… isolating hobby. When I’m deep into a project, I don’t spend much time with other people and it can get really lonely. So, my favourite part of the process is when it becomes a collaborative thing – be it talking through a block with a friend, or sharing a finished piece with an audience, or simply sitting next to someone who wants to keep me company. When I’m working in the production offices on script development, there’s always someone nearby that I can bounce ideas off of and quite often we sit around a table workshopping and editing as a team, which I think is what makes me so drawn to screenwriting as a profession.

            In terms of fic writing, one of my favourite elements is the feedback that comes after sharing a new piece. Spending weeks or months in isolation with a story can make it hard to see the good of it, but the response of readers can help your eyes to open again. There are some messages that are so mind-blowingly kind or courageous that it makes every second of loneliness absolutely worth it and I know I’ll never give this pass-time up as long as what I write keeps touching even one person.

            Historically, one of my greatest collaborations was with my dear friend @themarbledfox. She kicked my ass and made me better and I’m so grateful for her friendship all these years. It’s fun to reverse the roles now and kick her ass a little bit – I love when I can ask just the right question that makes her rethink whatever has got her stuck on what she’s writing. As of right now, my favourite collaboration is with @lacallemojada because she literally sticks to her guns at all times; if I tell her an idea and she hates it, she lets me know. Most of the time, though, she’s keen and helps me expand whatever the thought was. She reads everything I write for Hygge and gives me notes mere hours after it lands on the page. I don’t think I’d have written anywhere near as much as I have for this fandom without her support because she really, truly, makes the whole ordeal feel like a team effort instead of a solitary act. (And she refuses to take credit for any of that, so.)

12. Your most treasured fic:

            Fuck! I should say Extraordinary Measures because that was like running a marathon and @themarbledfox still, to this day, swears it is a masterpiece. And because I still, to this day, get incredible messages from readers about it. But I think, of my published works… She Will Still Love You will always hold an incredibly special place in my heart. It was the beginning of my dive into writing second person POV and it was just super cathartic. There are a few lines in that one that I think were directly for me and what I was going through at the time. I feel something oddly melancholic when I read it now, remembering the young woman I was back then. You can read it here.

19. Most important part of writing:

            It’s silly to say but, getting the words out. I used to spend so much time just paralyzed by a word document because I wanted everything to be perfect in my first draft. That’s unrealistic, though – nothing is ever perfect and definitely not on the first try. Maybe that’s a product of years of dance training that rewired my brain or the result of so many screenwriting classes, or maybe it’s just growing up. I know now that the first draft doesn’t have to do anything but exist. Once I’ve got words on the page, I can spend as long as I like editing and rewriting until they look like something I actually want other people to read. I think, now, I spend more of my time editing than I do writing my initial drafts. And editing, believe it or not, is one of my favourite parts of the writing process. I actually really hope that I can end up in a role within the TV industry as a Story Editor because that’s all the fun of writing shows without the writing stuff – you just edit and fix other people’s work and keep them on schedule and I would happily edit every day for the rest of my life.

            Also… impacting others. I write for myself, first and foremost. But I share my stories because I know, even if it’s hard to believe, that what I’m writing is doing something for someone else. I know that Hygge is reaching young queer individuals and acting as representation for the peaceful, happy families they could have one day (just as another author did for me many, many years ago). I know that Extraordinary Measures made people cry (that’s the message I get most often) and hold their partners a little tighter. I know that, as a f/f wlw writer, I’m telling stories we don’t often get to see in mainstream media, stories that are reaching individuals that are maybe wrestling with homophobia or not being accepted or who are fearful of living their identities, and that these words – however frivolous they may seem to people not involved with fandom or fanfiction – can be of comfort. I will never remove my work from public domain as long as I live for that very reason alone. If one sentence I wrote helped another person to feel seen and safe and loved, then I did everything I set out to do on this earth.

fic writer asks

[katribou]

If you dont mind me asking, whats your opinion on Tatsuya's whole fate in regards to EP? I always felt it was very unfair and unnecessary, especially since it was for such a simple and vulnerable mistake on his part. I understand the meaning and symbolism about it but...It's too tragic.

yeah i dont feel very great about it myself

tatsuya’s whole deal is such a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t in that he literally gets punished for both repressing and hanging onto pasts over the duology… and to me it feels really unfair that after IS’s journey being about coming to terms with facing that stuff, which was extremely cathartic for me as i’ll go into the next paragraph, he’s forced to effectively undo all of that in ep

admittedly as i said in the prev ask my experience with these games has become really personal, my original IS playthrough was instrumental in me finally seeking out a psych for a diagnosis for shit ive ignored for over a decade so IS’s journey felt very real. and so i couldnt help but feel really left with nothing after finding solidarity in how the cast comes to terms with their traumas in IS but then gets all that erased cuz like… wow, if only i could just erase MY trauma and get on with my life! lol

i know thats not what the game is trying to say and so i try to take it more metaphorical, like in a ‘u have to let go of past pains or you’ll never be able to move forward’ type deal but i cant even fully convince myself of that because i’m of the opinion that negative experiences can continue to be apart of one’s identity and simultaneously even beget positive traits

but yeah finishing the game really depressed me bc i felt like ultimately everything was pointless given that the IS cast's journey that i found so meaningful was ultimately made null (which i mean, it wasn't a surprise as that's litearlly IS's ending but i guess there was a part of me that thought it could be fixed in ep), and it made me feel so nihilistic i basically cried to one of my bestfriends for like a week lol. hence ive tried to take a lot of time to think about and process it but idk. i dont know if i’ll ever know how to feel about ep but that’s fine i dont necessarily need to know

anyway tatsuya i owe u my life ✌️

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[shes-a-gryffindor]

I'll Stay With You

A bit of Angst, lots of fluff and a just a touch of smut 🤭

James looked frantically around, dodging the rubble exploding around him, flashes of red and green flew past his head as he tried desperately to find Lily. It must have been their hundredth raid by that point and yet they were no more prepared for the onslaught that had been waiting for them and even less for the Death Eaters - as they called themselves - to be waiting alongside Voldemort himself. Following her voice through the thick haze of the battle he was sure he’d find her being tortured or worse… until finally, too riddled with adrenaline to feel any relief, he found her mid duel, two against one, her face scrunched up in determination. Almost blind with rage, he shot at the cloaked figures curses a younger version of himself had probably once sworn against and even as they lay unconscious on the ground in front of him, the curses continued to explode from his wand, until Kingsley’s voice came, barely audible through the fight raging around them, ordering them all to retreat. Without thinking twice he pulled Lily closer, apparating straight back to the safety of headquarters.

Worse than the attack itself perhaps was the aftermath… Time seemed to move excruciatingly slowly in these moments when they could do nothing but wait anxiously for their friends to return, to see who else had managed to get away, thinking dreadfully of who might not have and whether they should go back.

Relief like an enormous tidal wave flooded through them at their friends’ safety; heavily outnumbered and surrounded on every front, it was by some miracle that they’d managed to get away with their lives. Despite their elation at everyone’s miraculous survival, on days like these and especially now, what James wanted more than anything else was Lily, and home. He’d never been very good at keeping a poker face and his body language always gave him away - the anxious tapping of his foot or the strum of his fingers at his side - at least that’s what Lily had always told him and it was perhaps for this reason that after sharing a knowing look with Sirius, she took James’s hand in her own, smiling ruefully at him before nodding slightly as if to say ‘let’s go.’

Landing with a crack in a quiet lane in Godric's Hollow, they made the short walk home in stony faced silence, their hands inconspicuously gripping their wands, James with an arm wrapped protectively around Lily, looking over his shoulder every so often.

The familiar smell of home seemed to ease some of the tension they’d been carrying since apparating from the fight; grateful to be out of the cold and within the safety of the cottages protective spells and enchantments, they closed the door behind them, shaking off their coats and kicking off their shoes they made for the kitchen; there was almost nothing a cup of tea couldn’t make even a little bit better and it had become something of a tradition that this was the first thing they did upon returning home from a particularly gruelling mission. Lily pottered about the kitchen in silence, making their tea - she found at times like this doing it the muggle way was almost cathartic. It wasn’t until they were both sitting in the nook, their hands cupped around mugs, that they finally spoke.

Lily could feel the tension radiating off of him, “That was too close… “ he said quietly, frowning down at his tea.

Knowing exactly where this was going, she sighed, “It could’ve been any one of us James…”

Scrunching up his eyes he shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of a particularly unpleasant thought, “yes but it wasn’t anyone, was it? It was you, There were two of them Lily, if I hadn’t found you in time-“

“But you did,” she reassured him. “James…” she continued, reaching out to place a hand over his, “it’s o-“

“Don’t say it’s okay” He interjected, standing so abruptly the loud scrape of his chair against the hardwood made her jump. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, jaw tense.

“Obviously none of this is okay,” she said, frowning up at him, “I only meant that we all made it back, I’m fine, we’re fine.”

He paced aimlessly around the kitchen before stopping to lean against a bench. Looking at her for a moment, he took a breath as if to brace himself, “If you would please just consider-“

“No” she cut him off coolly, “how many times do I have to tell you, I’m no less capable than I was before.”

“You’re a right side better than half the bloody Order on a bad day Lily, it’s not about-“

“We’ve spoken about this,” she said frustratedly, “I told you, I won’t sit on the sidelines while you all go out and risk your necks!” She was standing now too, “we made a commitment, I won’t back out,” she finished stubbornly.

“People will understand if we just tell-“

“Yes that’s exactly how I wanted to break the news,” she scowled, “hey everyone, oh, sorry can’t come along, I’m up the duff,” her tone dripped sarcasm, “besides it’s not about that! Do you honestly think I could stand it? Sitting here waiting for you every time, not knowing what’s going on?”

Throwing his head back he ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, “I’ll stay with you,” he told her, looking utterly defeated. It was at this - his willingness to sit out with her at the expense of not fighting alongside his friends, a prospect so out of character for him - that she understood how genuinely desperate he was to protect her; the vulnerability in his expression, so misplaced in comparison to the usually confident, bordering on cocky, grin he often donned. James, so unyielding in his principles, found it incredibly hard to swallow that he was so utterly powerless over something he considered, however outdated Lily told him the concept was, his duty, the safety of his wife, his unborn child, his family. “Please,” he said thickly, “I’m no good to anyone like this… If something were to happen to you, or the baby…” he trailed off, his eyes flickering briefly down to Lily’s stomach, not far along enough for it to be obvious she was pregnant.

Softening a little in her resolve she sighed heavily, walking over to where he was standing to weave her arms over his shoulders and around his neck; looking up at him, her eyes darted back and forth between his own...“Do you honestly think you could stand it?” she said, quietly.

And he thought of his friends…she was right, he knew it.

“No,” he admitted despondently, “you’re right, I couldn’t.” Trying to repress the thought of what might have happened had he found her only minutes later, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer before burying his face at the crook of her neck.

“Imagine if I’d said yes,” she sniggered, “you’d have had to tell Sirius he might be paired up with Peter on missions from now on,” making him smile involuntarily against her neck; Pushing gently away from his embrace to look up at him again, she cupped his face, kissing him swiftly, “I’ll go and run a bath,” she said, before stalking out of the kitchen

He felt a small, irrational pang of anxiety as he watched her disappear into the hall, out of sight. Pouring their half finished tea down the drain, he dropped their mugs into the sink before trudging up the stairs, pulling his shirt up over his head as he went.

Along with his glasses, all fogged up and useless, their battle-worn clothes lay discarded in a heap on the bathroom floor, and steam rose curling up off of their skin, as they sat in the warm, soapy water. It was much easier to forget the dark thoughts that crept unwanted into his mind when he could focus instead on the weight of Lily’s body against his as she lay with her back against his chest, skin on skin… to think instead about how much he loved her hair this way, piled up into a messy knot, strands falling haphazardly out over her neck.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

“Much,” he responded, lowering his lips to press them gently against her shoulder.

“Mhm… thought you might,” she said, raking her fingers across his leg; he felt himself tense beneath her and she grinned with satisfaction at his reaction.

She was teasing him, his stomach lurched excitedly, this was a game they played often, one he enjoyed immensely. “You know,” he said, through a smirk, trailing kisses across her collarbone, “if we’re not careful, we’ll end up with our second baby before we’ve had our first.”

Chuckling softly, hands tracing higher still, she responded, “reckon we’ll have a whole quidditch team on our hands at this rate.”

“Reckon you’re right,” he grinned, now painfully aware of her hand on his leg and the way she was laying across him, she relished in his increasing impatience to have her closer still.

Sliding his arms around her waist he let his lips trail past her collarbone to her neck, grazing her ear, the barely stifled sigh that escaped her made him grin widely again.

“Okay,” she said, suddenly, her voice low.

“Okay what?” He responded, still peppering kisses up her neck.

“No more raids,” she responded.

He chuckled, “I’d have gotten you in the bath a lot earlier if I knew that’s all it’d ta-”, he tilted his head back to look at her, “… you’re serious?” He asked, brows furrowed, “what’s changed your mind?”

“Well...” she began with a sigh, “much as I don’t want to admit it, I have been feeling a little...off, lately, it’s hard stuff y’know, this growing another human,” making him laugh, “anyway,” she continued, “ I suppose it’s not just about me anymore…besides, can’t have you running ‘round after me like a lunatic… get yourself killed.” She rolled her eyes at James’s barely disguised glee, feeling like an immense weight was being lifted off his shoulders and sounding much more like his usual self he laughed heartily.

“I have conditions!” Lily quickly added.

“I’d have expected nothing less,” he said, through laughter, “go on.”

“I’ll still be at headquarters before and after every raid, and I’ll still continue to do all the other stuff I’m doing now, and if Voldemort shows up again you’re to apparate straight back, no questions asked.”

“Okay,” he said, still grinning.

“James, I’m serious…that’s three times we’ve crossed him now, and each time’s been an even closer shave than the last.”

“I know… understood,” he said, wrapping his arms tighter around her, “I promise.”

“So… we’re telling people then?” He asked, his grin widening to its full extent, unable to contain his excitement at the prospect of finally being able to share with everyone the best news of his life.

She was laughing now too, “yes,” she said, twisting her neck to grin up at him, “we’re telling people.”

Her lips were only centimetres from his before he happily closed the gap, kissing her, both their mouths still tugging up at the corners, smiling against each other.

Any lingering anxiety from the events that had transpired earlier had now vanished and James was once again painfully aware of her body on his. Her fingers now dug at his neck and with a gradual intensity he could feel her need for him just as intensely as he felt his own, losing himself in how completely she overwhelmed all his senses… the feel of her lips against his, her tongue sliding across the inside of his lip every so often, the smell of her hair, sweet and hot in the steam floating around them, the tiny sounds she made, her heavy breathing drove him wild and he ached to have her as close as was physically possible.

Giving into the carnal passion that threatened to overwhelm him, gently as he could, he twisted her around, hands gripping the underside of her thighs he hitched them up to his hips so that she was straddling him and lifted her easily out of the tub, eliciting from her a gasp, "Eager are we?" she laughed, making him grin against her lips and she wrapped her legs around him, tightening her arms around his neck as he carried her to their bedroom; and soon, they were laying tangled in damp sheets, their legs entwined, chests heaving up in down in the same rhythm, sheepish grins plastered on their faces.

Heavy eyed and almost drunk with happiness, they lay wrapped up in each other still, talking and laughing into the evening, guessing at their friends’ reactions to their news, musing over names and who he or she might look like, which of their traits he or she would inherit, making jokes at each other's expense about which ones they hoped wouldn't be inherited... until eventually, safe in their momentarily indestructible bubble of bliss, they succumbed to exhaustion, drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.